#except it loaded forever and ever and then i finally had to force quit it because it froze

[ghcstao3]

Once they’re old enough, Simon and Tommy form a band to spite their father—and after a lot of work, they find more success than their father ever had.

They make music to listen to, not only to be loud. It’s music with significance and some degree of relatability beyond the simple making of something, and it develops into something both Simon and Tommy are proud of. And despite the truth of their origins, they never attribute an ounce of inspiration of the formation of their band to their father—he doesn’t deserve it.

Near the beginning of their growth in popularity is when Tommy meets Beth. They get along incredibly well and marry only after a year of knowing each other. It’s sweet, Simon thinks. It’s something Tommy has needed, and earned. Unlike Simon. But he’s content to play bystander and brother-in-law.

Tommy’s the frontman, anyway. He’s the one meant to get the happy ending.

Then in the in-between of playing shows, Simon’s drum kit gets damaged in transport and he’s forced to buy a new one—so he wanders into a small, local music shop in his search. There isn’t anyone inside except for a man around his age whose far more interested in tuning a guitar than the fact that a customer has entered the sleepy shop.

Despite that, however, his smile when Simon approaches the counter is warm, friendly, blinding.

He’s extremely helpful in finding just what Simon is searching for. And maybe Simon asks a few more questions than necessary just to hear the pleasant lilt of the man’s Scottish accent.

Simon certainly doesn’t complain as the man helps load the parts into his car, either. But the interaction during is rather… odd, given his career.

That isn’t to say bad, however. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“So… whaddya need the kit for? You’re clearly no’ a beginner.”

“I’m in a band,” Simon replies easily. Usually, it’s that sort of statement that ticks someone off to who he is.

Yet instead of that flash of realization, the man just barrels forth, “Really? What’s it called?”

Simon tells him. And there still isn’t a hint of recognition.

“Haven’t heard of it,” the man says, not unkindly. “I’ll look it up, though. I don’t really listen to music.”

Simon blinks. He’s more than aware his face has probably contorted into some bizarre, astounded expression, as he notices the man’s smile falter for the first time since it had been plastered on.

“You work at a music store,” Simon says.

The man raises his eyebrows and glances back to the shop, mock surprise etching into his face. “Well, shite. Never noticed tha’.”

After a moment they both fall into easy peals of laughter, and Simon finds he doesn’t mind when the man seems to lean into him when another fit of giggles washes over.

Nor when the man presses a fist to his shoulder when they’ve both, finally, caught their breaths.

“Y’ken I can work here without listening to music,” the man says. “I just play it instead. And obviously I’m aware of the classics.”

Simon bites his cheek to tame the threat of a smile. “That so?”

The man nods solemnly. Simon’s smile breaks free the moment one is growing on the man’s own face as he holds out a hand. “I’m John, by the way.”

Simon accepts and shakes. “Simon,” he offers. “Do all your customers have to earn your name, then?”

He glances pointedly to where a name tag might typically sit for such a place of work. Though, granted, the rest of John’s outfit doesn’t quite scream uniform, either.

“Only my favourites,” John teases. “And by favourites I mean highest-paying with really nice brown eyes.”

Simon snorts. “Specific.”

“Very.” John grins. “I think you might be my top contender, actually.”

Unfortunately their conversation is cut short when they both hear the shop’s bell ring as someone else walks in, left only to quiet goodbyes and a promise see each other again in some future. Despite his craving to continue talking to John forever, Simon is still just as happy with what he’d managed.

He’ll make certain to see John again. He will. Especially after Tommy teases him about an unusual skip in his step as he unloads his new drum kit.

Maybe he, too, could get a happy ending.

-

(part 2)

[shroudcore]

Speak now, or forever hold your peace. (II)

Summary: You crash the wedding with Grim and Ortho. Unlike the others, proposing isn’t on your mind. You come with a very different approach. 

An angstier take on Ghost Marriage. Idia x GN!reader. Reader is MC, or takes the role of MC in this story. (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

Warnings: none

If the students of NRC thought they’ve seen Eliza at her angriest, they were wrong. The fury she displayed now was incomparable. While Idia fawned over your dramatic anime-worthy entrance, the new interruption was getting on her last ghostly nerve.

“Guards! Seize them!” she roared. Immediately, the ghosts went into action. Idia held his breath as he watched the obedient ghosts charge at you, Grim, and Ortho. He hoped you didn’t barge in with no plan. If you didn’t come equipped with useful items, you would end up like everyone else. 

Chubby, determined to get rid of the intruders that caused distress to his beloved princess, was eager to get rid of you. (”Simp”, Idia muttered) However, eagerness wasn’t enough against an opponent equally as determined. As soon as he got too close, an unknown force threw him backwards to where Eliza floated, shocking the princess.

“Chubby! Are you alright?”

Idia, on the other hand, was elated. 

“Th-that’s so OP!” he exclaimed. He knew you heard him, because your gaze flicked to him for a split second before looking away. Embarrassed, Idia shut his mouth. He’d expected at least a smile. 

After Chubby’s failed attack, other ghosts attempted to face your group. They only met the same fate. Confused, they could only pay their apologies to the princess and watch on in helplessness. Just what did you have up your sleeve? Who did you get such an SS-tier item from?

“Princess, it’s impossible to stop them!” the last of Eliza’s guards told her. For the first time that night, she looked afraid. 

Grim guffawed, while you smirked. A familiar look. It was always there before you jumpscared an enemy, or before you checkmated a poor opponent. Idia might have thought it was kinda hot. At the moment, he was oblivious to his gaping mouth, and how wildly his hair blazed. What were once lightly blushing tips were now an alarming red—a level of ferocity never seen from him before. 

“You can’t touch or hurt us!” boasted Grim, a devious smirk on his face. “We had some he—mprfgh!” He was abruptly cut off by Ortho’s robotic arm covering his mouth. Idia’s brother shook his head at your noisy dorm mate. 

“Release my big brother now!” he demanded. Idia grimaced, but didn’t feel too worried. As long as Ortho was with you and your anti-ghost protective shield, he would be safe. 

As expected, the ghosts were affronted. 

“How dare he order the princess like that?”

“You ought to be punished for your insolence!”

“To intrude on a royal wedding and speak disrespectfully! 

“Send them to the gallows!”

One talked, and one talked over the other. Soon, all that could be heard was an unintelligible susurrus of disembodied voices. One ghost had enough of it, and shouted to Eliza: “Princess, the kiss! Do what must be done!” 

“NO!” You and Ortho yelled at the same time. You continued to walk towards the makeshift altar as your two companions followed close behind. Ghosts rushed to block your path, but you pressed on as your invisible shield threw them back. It looked absolutely badass. Well, anything you did was cool to Idia, anyway. 

 “Out of my way!” You commanded, strong and unwavering. He’d seen you annoyed and angry before, but never up to this point. It basically radiated off of you that a danger warning could be floating above your head. 

“S-so intimidating... “

“So scary!”

Sure, this wedding crasher looked like you, but something was different. An unexplainable sinister aura wreathed you tonight. Was it your glare, or was it that regal suit you wore? Idia must have been too distracted by you, that he only noticed now how your cape seemed to drag shadows with it. You were a villain... much like one of the villains from his video games! And something else that was familiar. 

Whatever it was and wherever it came from, there was a menacing presence in the hall tonight. 

All were silent, except for the wind whistling through the hall. If one listened more carefully, they would hear drowned-out cackles. But it is just the wind, right?

“Wh-who are you?” Eliza finally asked. The ghosts who were ashamed at being unable to seize you began to form a protective ring around their princess. Eliza herself, Idia noticed, was starting to curl in on herself—her presence shrinking the closer you approached. “What do you want?”

“The groom,” was all you said, staring her down as if eyes alone could exterminate the ghost in front of you. 

“Idia?” she asks weakly, glancing at her tied-up groom. Idia said nothing and did nothing but look at you, attempting to telepathically communicate his panic. You barely even looked at him. 

“He’s mine.” 

Hold up—?

More gasps and chatter. They sounded less like whispers and more like the buzzing insects he heard whenever he snuck out at midnight. The world spun. Idia stared at you open-mouthed. 

If he were asked to describe his state of mind at this moment, it would be similar to a loading screen. Suddenly, everything you did together played back in a 1.75x supercut sequence. 

Mine. 

Mine. 

Mine.  

“Wh-what?” Eliza sputtered. “What do you mean?” 

You answered her, voice losing the steadiness it possessed just moments ago. “You have the man I love.” 

Wha… 

KDJAFCKSAJHDKACBSXCJSIEUDS?

Idia.exe has crashed. Reboot? 

~~

The audience’s reactions were varied. Some students on the floor were amused by the spectacle and could have used some popcorn (and a comfortable position) during these times. Some were horrified and disappointed by the idea of the prefect being in love with Idia Shroud the shut-in. Some were much too confused to feel anything. 

“Pardon…? What did I just hear?” Azul asked the floor.

“Puppy love,” Lilia wept, sniffling very loudly. “You know, this reminds me of when I was young...” 

“Whaddaya mean when you were young?!” Floyd snapped. His irritability had spiked up even more when you arrived. His position prevented him from witnessing the events. Everyone on the floor could feel his bad mood rolling off of him in waves. 

“Hey! Watch your tone when speaking to Lilia!” scolded Sebek. 

“... Are they acting?” Leona mumbled. 

“Oh, this better be an act.”  said Vil.  “... though it does not seem to be.” The last part of his observation remained unheard by anyone else, except for Rook. 

“I believe we are witnessing a genuine love confession,” added the Chasseur d’Amour himself, voice soft as he sighed dreamily. “Engrave this moment into your memories, everyone! We are fortunate to witness it…”

But no one shared his enthusiasm about the situation. The others expressed their displeasure by groaning and complaining. “... well, even in this state we are in?” he added as a follow-up. 

~~

Reboot. 

You once fell asleep on Idia’s shoulder after finishing a movie. It was something you both only watched to make fun of, but you were apparently too tired to give your top-tier jokes and meme references. The contact sent his heart into overdrive as he froze, begging for option boxes to appear and help him. The flames of his hair blazed so brightly that it woke you back up. It was embarrassing, and sometimes he would remember it late at night and cringe. 

It was happening again, but worse. Any moment now, he was sure that he alone could burn down the cafeteria, if not the whole school. This was stupid. Why did he get that worked up over an obvious act? A mere ploy to get the ghosts to release him?

Reality catches up and deals him triple attack damage. Crowley probably put you up to this. You were probably annoyed that you were forced to do this, weren’t you? That’s why you couldn’t even look at him. It had to be the cruelest joke that fate ever threw his way. 

“I can’t say I don’t understand you, Princess,” you tell Eliza, forcing a smile. “Idia is perfect, is he not?” He felt your eyes on him. This time, it was he who couldn’t quite meet your gaze. Looking down at the floor was all he could do; it couldn’t judge his blushing face. Only when the warmth in his cheeks faded did he feel it safe to look back up again. 

“You see him, don’t you, Princess?” Your voice began to falter, losing the confidence and authority in it that scared the ghosts. “He’s so much more than what everyone else thinks! We agree on that, don’t we?”

Eliza’s face softened, nodding. “Yes. I’ve seen how these people insult him!” she tells you, gesturing to the ‘failed princes’ on the floor.

“But we’re still different,” you stepped closer, but still far enough so that your invisible anti-ghost forcefield wouldn’t activate. “You don’t want to marry Idia, you want to marry your fairytale prince.” 

Eliza appeared to be genuinely confused. She looked around at her companions, before turning back to you. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in love with your ideals, not the person himself,” you explain. “You only chose him for his appearance. Am I right? His personality, likes and dislikes, and possible flaws don’t matter to you.”

Eliza seemed deep in thought. While she was silent, you release a bitter laugh and threw your hands up.  “I mean, do you even know what his favorite candy is?”

Pomegranate drops. You asked to have some, but he refused to give you any. He wouldn’t tell you why, but he let you assume it was his favorite and didn’t want to share because of that. 

That wasn’t it, though. Maybe he’d tell you once you were both out of here. 

“You’ve never stayed up until 4am just to join him on a raid!” You waved your hands wildly, lost in your rant. Whether Eliza understood you or not, you seemed to have stopped giving a damn. 

“Weak!” he teased, noticing your drooping eyelids and reduced concentration. Deep down, he felt bad for keeping you up late.  “Look, it’s fine if you need to rest.”

“Nah, let’s finish this. What are you going to do without me?” you replied, smirking.

“You don’t even have 4-hour conversations with him on Magicord VC like I do!” 

It lasted up until 3am. You two were laughing at memes. He could hear a groggy Grim complain in the background about the noise. 

“Alright. Here’s a question, princess. How much would you risk for the man beside you right now? Bet that’s where we’re different...”

Eliza’s gaze darted back and forth between you and Idia. Even the other ghosts were silent, waiting for your next words. 

“... because if you ask me, I would risk everything! That’s why I’m here wearing this stupid suit!”

It’s not real. It’s not real. The emotion behind every word was a punch to the gut. If you kept this up, he might need a healer soon. Ever since he realized he was falling, he tried to quell the sparks of hope you ignited whenever you did something nice for him. All that hard work was gone. Each word you uttered was gasoline. 

“To think that if I arrived minutes later… th-that I would never see him again!” A sob escapes your throat, your intimidating persona crumbling.

No, don’t do that. Idia wanted to reassure you that he was still there and he was okay, but he couldn’t. It’s part of an act. It’s part of an act. 

“So please… just let him go.” The front you wore has completely dissolved. There you were, reduced to a sobbing mess in front of a ghost princess and the students of NRC. 

You weren’t the only one. All traces of anger or fear have vanished from Eliza’s face. Instead, she put her hands over her mouth. The princess had been moved to tears. Finally, she turns to Idia. “Idia, they seem to l-love you very much… ”

“That’s right.” You wiped your tear-streaked face and pointed an accusing finger at the ghosts. “And all of you! Are you going to enable her forever? Encourage her shallow ideas of what love should be?” 

They all looked down, unable to meet your eyes. 

“You have no right to just snatch him up and claim him as yours,” you told Eliza with an unfaltering resolve, despite your tear-covered face and your crumbled front of strength. “Did you never think… that there could have been someone waiting for him to return?” 

“I-I never meant to!” Eliza cried. “I was so blinded by my own happiness. I never thought… never even considered…” 

“Princess, it’s alright. We all make mistakes.” Chubby told her, trying to be reassuring. 

“Tell me, intruder. How else am I going to find my prince?” she asked you with no trace of hostility. You stopped for a while, staring at her. 

You must not have expected the question. Idia saw you look at him—it was the longest time you’d looked at him all evening. Clearing your throat, you began to explain. You fumbled a bit, scratching the back of your neck and tugging at the hem of your coat as you explained what a perfect partner should be. 

As you spoke, Idia was enthralled by your voice and most of all, the knowledge you possessed about love and romance. He hadn’t seen this side of you before. How did he ever think that a hundred dating sims could make him a romance expert?

“Is that so?” she sighs, bowing her head. “I understand now. I’m so sorry… for causing you so much grief.” 

She turns to her companions, giving them a sad smile. “There’s only one thing to do. Everyone, we must stop this wedding.” 

Idia wanted to fall to the floor in relief. At least a few exhausted sighs and weak cheers could be heard from the wedding “attendees”. You fell to your knees, exaggerating your gratitude. 

“Thank you, princess!”

“But Princess… what about your happily ever after?” Chubby interjected. 

“I can’t tear two lovers apart!” Eliza wipes a few of her own tears, then turns to you. “I was deeply moved by your words. I dream of having a lover like you,” she sighs dreamily, probably imagining her future lover already. 

While the students of NRC rejoiced at this victory, Idia’s heartbeat quickened in fear. What if Eliza decided to take you for herself?

“Princess…” Chubby muttered, sighing. Eliza only gave him a reassuring smile. Phew. Idia relaxed, grateful that she doesn’t have the idea… yet. He didn’t know what to do if that thought became reality. 

Eliza turns to address the hall with a smile. “I have decided.” Everyone waited with bated breath for her announcement. Idia squeezed his eyes shut and silently urged her to announce their departure already. 

“Idia and I will not be married anymore. She smiles wide, and clasps her hands together. “However, there will still be a wedding!”

Your smile faded. “What… what do you mean, princess?”

She beams. “To make up for my mistake, I will make sure that Idia and his lover are married tonight!” 

~~

To be continued.

Tagging: @teashopwritingzz @twistedcrumbs 

Well, that was long. To think that I was planning for the story to be a one-shot! Once again, keep an eye out for Part 3. Thank you for reading! 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[savagenutella46]

And Thus With A Kiss I Die

Jasonette 1/1 - A fic I wrote for @moonlitceleste because she’s amazing

All quotes/title in bold italics derived from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

"Banishèd' is banished from the world, and world's exile is death."

There's no finite end to where white and black meet. Everything is shades of grey; infinite on a foreboding scale of fate and destiny: entities that push you to make the choices you do.

It had ended with a flash of light—real or her imagination, she had witnessed it between her own eyes. The kind of flashing light that tells you, "you've died."

Ladybug could still hear the shrieks and screams of civilians echoing ringingly around her, confused, scared, as to why an akumatized villain was hurting them the way that it was; this wasn't how akumatizations usually went, maybe a few scratches, worn out knees, but never this.

(—And to think, it had started out as a normal day.

Marinette rose out of bed with the same grogginess lingering at the corner of her eyes, brushed her teeth, kissed her Maman on the cheek as she ran to school, late.

You'd never suspect you were going to die on a day so normal, so domestic.)

What had this person been through before submitting to Hawkmoth with such a vicinity? How had Hawkmoth prayed to a cacophony of emotions like this—to kill, order, destroy everything in its path? Marinette would never catch an inkling, dying and all that jazz.

It's easy to see the world through a rose-colored lens. To believe that people do the things they do because they're bad. (but no one ever talks about why they do the things they do because they're good.)

And Marinette, masked in all her red-and-black glory, had pushed a frozen-with-fear civilian out of harm's way, an absurd amount of unleashed dark magic from the akuma hurtling its way toward them, and she'd taken the hit. Rolled on the ground for yards from the sheer force that the akuma's magic had flew and stricken her and pierced the skin, blood splattering and trailing as she slapped and hit the street from every possible angle.

Ladybug can't move, can't call for help when she desperately needs to, because her partner is miles away trying to fight what has her plastered to the ground, laying limp underneath her dead weight, breathing muffled and heavy underneath her physical detriment.

Ladybug's eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion, barely running on fumes before she had run out in an attempt to defeat what was supposed to be an everyday activity.—Crazy, how something can seem so domestic until its so, so much more.—A hemothorax forming in her chest where Marinette had been hit, a very open thoracic cavity filling up with blood, and she's spluttering for breath, because her throat is closed up, filled with blood from where the akuma hit her to where it burned.

It burns real bad, almost like an explosion stemming from her chest to the nerve endings on her toes. Marinette feels like she's being tortured with every meek twitch of her wrist as she lays on the ground, unable to see over the car shouldering her path, the pain burning behind her eyes, the white-hot disappointment in her heart.

—And she knows it's time. Because this is the work of fate. Her life in its hands. It had seemed miles away from Marinette just this morning, and how she wished she could go back and cherish the moments since she'd arisen from unpremeditated slumber.

She cannot. This is her destiny, as it seems. No one can be saved if Ladybug cannot save herself, can't will herself to detransform and heal herself because she can't, and she feels a gripping amount of remorse before emotions hit her all around—she should've told Adrien something, she can't recall what it is—should've told her Maman she loved her before running out the door in such a rush—should've squealed about the hot superheroes in America with Alya one last time, before she feels nothing.

Nothing except for the white light. And then dark again. Absolutely nothing.

                                               _________________

It's dark when she opens her eyes, and she blinks to make sure her eyes are actually open, and sees a big, fat, load of nothing.

Marinette's—the ladybug suit had disappeared, her normal clothes taking its place—body feels light, floaty, and utterly weightless against the dark mass she's standing atop of. Her head feels eerily light, calm without the weight of the world on her shoulders, and a calm feeling washes over her.

Her voice echoes against endless sound barriers as she utters her first words since death.

"This is what death feels like, huh?" Utterly amazing. Marinette can't believe she didn't do this earlier.

—But, for a moment, she feels empathy. Empathy for the people stuck in Paris, wondering if this was the day they were going to die, the people all around the world living in fear of something so inevitable.

She closes her eyes for just a second, a moment of vengeful peace. Opens them again, and this time, she's somewhere different.

She's in a library. Unfamiliar, but welcoming all the same. The smell of crisp, unopened books float idly in her senses, a synthetic warm feeling creeping up behind her back. Distantly, she realizes that she recognizes the place, tables placed and shelves abundantly filled with books, ranging from science fiction to classic literature, and it feels exactly how it did all those years ago.

Years ago, when she'd first visited the United States of America, the first place her Maman and Papa took her was a public library in Gotham City, New Jersey. It had welcomed her so openly that she couldn't help but smile a little, slip under from her parent's grasp, and wander toward a vast section of William Shakespeare, someone she'd heard so much about in her eight—nine years, she couldn't help but be pulled toward the ordain shelf.

She'd even met someone, too. Her mother would forever deny—if Marinette had still been alive, but Marinette was convinced the little boy sitting against the mass of wooden shelves had been very, very real. Marinette had smiled at him, sat down next to him, even if he gave her a wary, and borderline aggressive look, she'd introduced herself.

"Hi, I'm Marinette." She'd said with a horrible stutter and an almost unintelligible accent. The boy closed his book—a black and white cover with words she couldn't quite understand the meaning of as well as a simple name like Shakespeare's, and she smiled a little harder.

"Jason," He'd said in a heedful voice, staring at her curiously. "Whadda' you want?"

Marinette shrugged as best she could with weak shoulders, and turned her head from the person next to her to drink in every corner of the library that she could see without moving from her increasingly-uncomfortable crouch on the ground.

"Nothing. Just wanted to see what you're reading." She leaned over his shoulder, monosyllabic and complex English text alike filling her view, so many words that blurred together, and she felt a heat at the top of her head in frustration.

She couldn't read English.

The boy next to her—Jason, had seemed to recognize her distress and pull the book closer to him, floundering for a moment before he exhaled loudly, and started to read.

Words flowed out of the him, smooth and languid, and she found herself trapped in the moment, mesmerized by such an eloquent reading from a boy who looked just her age.

"What cursèd foot wanders this way tonight to cross my obsequies and true love's rite?" He reads off, breaking unevenly for gulps of air, and dove back right where he stopped without much distraction, and moments, minutes passed under his voice.

And the memory fell away from view. She opened eyes she didn't realize had closed when a voice seemed to float from the corner of her vision, a body stepping into view and a realized this wasn't imagination.

Another boy, dressed in tattered—but comfortable looking jeans finds his way over to her, a curious glint in his magnificent blue eye and a raised eyebrow, though he looks troubled, aged where he ought to look youthful.

"Who're you?" He mumbles, lips barely moving around syllables as he stares at Marinette, defensive, yet hopeful.

His voice. Despite the clearly street-wise accent, his voice is beautiful. A voice that could recite hundreds of words and never get old in the canals of her ears. Marinette found herself wanting to hear more.

"Marinette." She blinks, seems to realize the way he seems nervous, and, "You like jazz?" Blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which, just so happens to be the only sentence capable of such utterance in damning—literally—times like this one.

Jason finally cracks a smile after a few more moments of cricket-inducing silence, and the newfound tension in her shoulders seems to melt away again, just as it did with her entrance to a magnificent limbo such as this. "Not in particular, but I do like to read." His smile is utterly contagious, and Marinette feels it spread its way along her own face, eyes crinkling under the weight of emotion.

They spend their days in an endless limbo like that, reading, laughing, sometimes in the comfortable chair in the library, and sometimes they're gazing upon clouds, feeling the prickly sensation of grass under their backs as they lie next to one another under a cool breeze and warm sun—which is the scene they're settling in, when Marinette turns her head toward the boy next to her.

"It's been," She pauses for a moment, adding up the days since they've both died—it had to be around the same time—and Jason turns his head toward her in a similar fashion, an eyebrow raised. "A few months? And..." She trails off, suddenly feeling less confident in a horrid question.

She knows the way she had died hadn't been peaceful, and if the boy she'd grown so close to in months of passing had died as painfully, he might doubt their budding friendship, as new as it is.

But then Jason reaches over and covers her hand with his, a blooming warmth enveloping her hand all the way to her heart, her vision snaps back to where it had wandered down to the rest of her body, reliving a turret of emotions. "Marinette," Jason stares at her in earnest, "You can ask."

Another thing she'd never understand was Jason's ability to read people so well. He'd always know her intentions, as bad or good as they may be, like something mundane, a book she'd eyed for a few minutes before he'd sighed heavily and got up to get it for her, or when Marinette wanted to be left alone. Just for a minute, to pull herself back together.

"How did you die?" She watches as Jason closes his eyes, curling in on himself despite the foretold question, and waits.

She's good at waiting. (A familiar feeling of heat creeping up to her cheeks, the same way it did with someone else, not so long ago, but in a different lifetime.)

"It started out when I tried to steal Batman's tires—" Marinette widens her eyes in surprise.

Oh, so they're going way back then, huh?

But by the time Jason finishes speaking, pats his sweaty hands down on the slacks he wore that day that came from God knows where, Marinette finds the humor and her mood had dimmed significantly.

And Jason, he looks terrible. Like it was the first time he'd said something about it since, well, death. Almost hyperventilating, Jason is breathing heavily, gripping onto his pants with malice and intent, almost as if stopping himself from something. He'd told his beginning to end with an increasingly shaky voice, cracking at the edges where he'd relived the fear and abandonment he felt when trapped in an unfamiliar country, in a dirty warehouse, trapped in his own feelings in a suit that he thought would always protect him.

Without a dad that he'd thought would always protect him.  

Marinette feels a little sick. The boy next to her had died so brutally, alone, scared and slowly.

"I don't regret it. Being Robin." He adds quietly after a moment of hesitation. It's small, but it's there and plain. He doesn't regret something that changed his life, but— "Just the death part."

He would want to change his death, and she couldn't agree more.

If only it meant they could've still met despite living, that is.

She doesn't say that. Instead, she laughs a little. "You and me both." Marinette reaches over to hold his hand once more, and pretends not to see the tears climbing out of his eyes.

"So early waking, what with loathsome smells, and shrieks like mandrakes torn out of the earth, that living mortals, hearing them, run mad—?"

How it felt to tear his way out of the ground, shivering, shaking, flinching at the way his fingernails tore away with every claw and scratch at the unyielding wood before him. Jason was vaguely aware of a horrible groaning noise that might've been his own, but when his hand stuck through to crisp Gotham air, dirt flinging and spilling down on his face as he gasped and choked for breath, he could only think of a single quote from such a cliche play.

He thought of it while tearing out the bloody uvula of his victim, spurred on by the Pit and Talia's ruthless training, starving for the sound of screaming that rung in his ear, continued to clang loudly even in sleep, when it bestowed itself upon him.

Because he couldn't think about anything else. Wouldn't allow himself to, because then he would start thinking about her.

About how she left him.

Jason had turned to retrieve a book from their peaceful library limbo one day, muttering to himself about something so mundane that he didn't even remember, but he'd grabbed the book—a simple fiction, because they were both bored of astronomy—and turned around to silence, instead of the shiny mop of dark hair he was expecting.

"Marinette?" Jason calls, swiveling his head around when the chair previously occupied by her stood empty.

Jason waits.

He doesn't know how long he waits, searches, but she isn't there.

And the feeling of disappointment and fear runs up his spine again, before he knows it, he's kneeling on the ground, trying to catch his breath as tears run down because he's been abandoned again, and it's just as damning as the first time.

His father, his brother, his mother, his birth mother, and now his friend.

Jason breaks down again, gripping harshly onto his hair while he cries, where he'd usually hold onto Marinette's hand.

So he doesn't think of much at all, really. Not when he turns on murder mode, not when he forces himself to stare into the eyes of the person he's killing while they die, because he wants to remember how it felt. How it felt before he met another superhero torn away from her life almost as harshly as he was ripped away from his own.

He wants to go back. Before he flew to Ethiopia unsupervised and unprepared, before he took the Robin mantle, before he decided to make quick cash off of the Batmobile, before his mother died by her own hands, loosely holding a syringe and shaking, shuddering from her overdose.

Jason wants to go back to Before. He can't stand living in the After, where he makes the choices he does.

He’s supposed to be good.

permanent taglist: @nathleigh @stainedglassm @officiallydarkgeek @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @buterflies-and-ladybugs @maskedpainter

[yellowocaballero]

The Crocodile's Dilemma: In Which Helen exploits Michael's Labor, Michael suffers an un-identity crisis, and unpaid internships should be illegal

It’s tough being a teenage embodiment of the Spiral. Your boss/wine aunt figure Helen’s a Tory, your inattentive cousin figure Mike Crew keeps attending philosophy classes and day drinking, and you’re pretty sure that this internship doesn’t have any dental. At least it’s good job experience for your future career in...being evil? But do you even want to be evil?

This small story is technically part of my Roleswap AU, but I specifically wrote it so that no knowledge is required. Still, if you’re wondering why Michael’s an eighteen(ish) year old, Mike Crew’s an Avatar of the Spiral, and everybody is obsessed with Melanie King, check it out. Still, no need. Rest under the cut.

Maybe Helen was right.

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

An essential theorem within quantum physics was the quantum Zeno effect. 

Simply put, it was the fact that a quantum state would decay if left alone, but does not decay under continuous observation. Even observing the results after the photon is produced leads to collapsing the wave function and loading a back-history as shown by delayed choice quantum eraser. If something was seen, it no longer existed; if something persisted unperceived, it would exist as long as it liked. 

So it was explained to Michael by the physics professor he was torturing that day. Michael had trapped the man in the physics building of his university, lured in by one too many late nights in his office and the persistent sense that his life was going nowhere meaningful. After a few classes spent sitting in on his Physics 101 class, maintaining constant and forever eye contact, Michael had eventually tricked the man into giving a persistent and ongoing physics lecture to an empty classroom, desperately trying to explain the inexplicable to a college freshman who did not care. Truly miserable, yet ultimately harmless - Michael’s favorite kind of trick. 

But, despite themself, Michael grew interested. They didn’t understand any of what the man was talking about, but that was all of the fun. Understanding ruined the magic of things; broke down the beauty of the universe into cogs and gears. No thanks. They could tell that it bothered the professor, that he said so much and yet knew nothing. That there was so much he would never know, and that he wasn’t so smart after all. How would any of his colleagues respect him?

“So photons degrade if they’re observed?” Michael asked one day, after...some period of time. They had raised their hand and everything, they were so proud of themself. Uni was just like secondary school after all. “Is that true of people too?”

The professor had sweated, deeply uncomfortable with Michael as a person and as a non-euclidean concept. “No - no, not at all. Humans are much more than photons -”

Michael grinned. It wasn’t quite right. “Are you sure?”

The professor sweated harder. “I - no, I’m not. But humans are constantly observed by - by the universe, or something.”

Michael grinned sharper. “Are you sure? Are you being observed right now? Are you sure?”

And the professor was not sure, not anymore, and the fragment of this man’s reality collapsed. 

Well, Michael thought to themself, slipping out of an improbable yellow door, that’s another Statement for the Magnus Institute. Not that they would read it. 

****

“Now, remember this - the first step to being a successful Avatar is presentation!”

Michael squinted at Helen dubiously. “I thought we were fear demons?”

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two sharp knife fingers. It looked as if it hurt quite a bit, but Michael reasoned that they had probably gone through the fifth dimension. “This is the stupidest dimension - fine, fine! Fear demons, then. It is absolutely vital that we conduct our business with style, grace, and the slightest sprinkling of pizazz!” 

Just for the flourish, Helen twirled her fingers, and a faint shower of confetti came raining down from the ceiling. Michael sneezed. 

“I thought it was vital that we harvest fear and trauma from people to propagate our cursed existence,” Michael said. 

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. “More than two things can be vital, Michael. Please pay attention. Now, as a demonstration, I’d like you to take a gander at that man over there.”

Obediently, Michael looked across the bar. They were sitting on barstools in a high-class pub, because Helen knew her worth and never settled for anything less, with glass counters and lots of private booths. But all pubs had their sad men drinking alone, and this one was no exception. 

This man wasn’t sullen and slow like a lot of them. He was wearing a nice suit and thin tie, looking straight out of Canary Wharf. Michael silently agreed with Helen’s choice - they took eat the rich very seriously, and also literally. He also seemed a little jumped up on something, with shaking hands and erratic eyes. 

“He looks happy,” Michael observed. “Think it’s his birthday?”

“He’s on cocaine, Michael,” Helen said flatly. “Cocaine. We are at a posh bar, and he is currently doing a line off his watch.”

Oh! Michael suddenly felt very uncool. They had never been one of those people in secondary school who did cocaine. They hadn’t been cool. “I knew that,” Michael bluffed. “What are we going to do to him?”

“Take the teenager as your intern, they said,” Helen groused, “it’s investing in the future, they said, it’ll stop them from eating you when they grow up, they said.” She sighed, jabbing a finger at the now very obviously coked up man who was staring at the bottles behind the bartender as if they were whispering secrets of the universe into his ear. Helen liked that one. “Use your intuition. Find a good angle to squeeze. What are his weaknesses to exploit?”

Oh, Michael knew how to do this. They shifted vibrations just a bit, dropping out of what Michael liked to call the ‘mild’ spectrum into the ‘spicy’ spectrum. They were distantly aware of a patron’s glass shattering. 

They squinted at the man, picking out his little fears and insecurities like Dionysus picking grapes. Maybe. Michael had gotten a C in English, but they were somewhat cognizant of the Spiral munching heavily on Bacchanalia. Sometimes they felt like some of those children who spoke in tongues and claimed to be from a past life. That had also been the Spiral.

“He owns a Nintendo NES,” Michael said confidently, absolutely sure that this was important. Helen groaned. “His house is painted white, and his girlfriend does tax fraud.”

“Something relevant?” Helen hinted desperately.

Michael just squinted at her. “Relevant to what?”

“...good point. But something useful, please.”

Picky. Michael scowled, but gave the man another good gander. “He only remembers faint details of his father’s face, and he worries that his recollections aren’t accurate,” Michael proclaimed finally. 

Helen clapped, delighted, as Michael took a careful sip of their water, turning it into fizzy water. She took a sip of her own wine, turning it into champagne. Or maybe just sparkling unreality? “Wonderful. Now, how should we play this? Insert a false father into his life, completely separate from his recollections, or is that a bit too Stranger? I suppose we could do some good old-fashioned gaslighting, but sometimes that’s just a bit too Melanie, if you catch my drift -”

“Are you jealous that the Archive girls are better at gaslighting than you are?” 

“Shut it, kid,” Helen hissed, before taking a long drag of her champagne. “My vote is that we convince him to top off his coke bender with some LSD. Then he hallucinates - oh, he hallucinates that he’s in a mental institution, that’s a good one -”

“Why don’t we shift everything thirty cm to the right?” Michael asked brightly.

Helen squinted at them. They beamed back. 

“You are so bad at this,” Helen said. 

Michael would have felt crushed if Helen didn’t express this sentiment roughly once per lunar cycle, contrariwise. As it was, they bore the criticism with a stiff upper lip. Helen had her way of harvesting fear from unsuspecting humans, and Michael had theirs. “Look, Helen, you’re being uncreative! We don’t have to traumatize people every single time.”

Helen squinted further. “We’re personifications of deceit. We eat trauma.”

“No, we eat confusion,” Michael pointed out patiently. “Look at it this way. If you give someone one really terrible experience, then they repress it for the rest of their lives and consider it a brush with Hell. One and done, see? But if you minorly inconvenience them for a really long time, then they’ll never be able to break out of it. They’ll feel as if something’s wrong, but they’ll never know it. You can keep the game going for years that way!”

The idea was very good. Michael had been working on it for a while. Truth be told, Michael felt bad traumatizing people outright and making them scream and cry and everything. They always felt as if they were doing something wrong by making other people’s existences a living nightmare. Michael much preferred rigging a corn maze so you were stuck in it for days inside the maze but only an hour outside. It was funner, and much more confusing. 

But Helen just pursed her lips and stared Michael up and down, making them squirm awkwardly on their barstool. Finally, as if she was delivering a life sentence, she imperiously said, “Well, we all have our different styles, I suppose! It would be quite boring if we were both exactly the same.” Michael nodded vigorously at this, and Helen held up a scaly claw. “But! You’re my intern, which means that you’re learning from the master here. So shut up and let me teach you how to ruin lives.”

“Yes, boss,” Michael said miserably. 

Helen tsked, but she patted them on the head anyway. It tasted like batteries. “Honestly, kid. A literal bleeding heart’s fun for the whole family, but a metaphorical bleeding heart will get you nowhere in life. You can’t exist as you are and feel bad for them. It ruins the point. It’s a paradox.”

“I thought we liked paradoxes, though?”

Helen shrugged, downing the rest of her wine. “Rules for thee but not for me, honey. But I’m a good boss and drunken aunt figure, so I’ll appease you today. Now come on, let’s convince this bar to vote for Brexit.”

They did. It was quite fun after all, tricking a roomful of people into doing something actively against their own interests. But something about the whole thing left a strange taste in Michael’s mouth: not the good kind of strange, or the bad kind of strange that was also good. Just strange, and undeniable, and something that couldn’t be exploited at all. 

****

Maybe Helen was right. 

Not that Helen was ever strictly right, much as Helen was never wrong, but Michael just had to be doing this whole fear demon thing incorrectly. If someone had explained the whole fear demon thing to them two years ago (“Okay, so it’s like you’re the semi-sentient appendage of an extradimensional force of evil that has to consume trauma relentlessly in order to propagate its own debatable existence, also you’re nonbinary now, no those things are not strictly related, probably”), then they would have called them crazy. Which, of course, they were, but that wasn’t the point. So long as the point existed. So long as anything -

Michael was a bad fear demon of the Spiral and Infinite Twisting and That Is Not What It Is and The Twisted Door, etc, etc, All Fear Its Name, etc etc all Hail, because they didn’t always like how their internal monologue could no longer be described through common language. Words and images and understandings were nothing but approximations for Michael now, and sometimes it was frustrating existing outside the boundaries of understanding. Which, of course, was the point, so long as the point existed, so long as anything existed -

It wasn’t always easy. Still, nobody ever got what they wanted if they weren’t willing to put the effort in. The adult world and labouring under capitalism wasn’t easy for anybody. That was what Mum had always said. Who was Michael to complain about their 9-5? Or 24/24? Or infinite/infinite? Or nothing/nothing? Or -

Was it too much to ask to have a linear thought once in a while? 

Helen wouldn’t understand. There were only two other approximations of concepts that Michael knew, and Helen would hardly be any help. The other “person” would probably be a better sounding board, but there was the fact that he was kind of pretentious. Still, it was better than nothing. Well, it was nothing, but only in the sense that everything was - argh!

A yellow door appeared in a nondescript basement, and Michael appeared with it. They melted out of the “wood”, taking a second to check their outfit for this apparition - a nice vintage 50s dress with a painstaking stitch that reminded one of the oppressive nature of housewifery, nice. They elongated their curly blonde hair from a roguish mop into a nice little shag and melted into the crowd. 

It must have been a passing period, because Michael was buffeted to and fro by tall white men wearing backpacks and shorter white girls hoisting strangely identical water bottles. Somewhere Northern, Michael decided, likely private and small. Not that it strictly mattered, but it helped to solidify their grip in reality a bit if they had some idea. They already knew geography was purposeless and a distraction from the real issues, like shrimp, but occasionally it could be useful. Helen had been careful to impart the central tenet of existence as a non-euclidean concept in undefinable space in the twenty seventh dimension: location, location, location!

It was obviously the Philosophy Department, because all philosophy classes were held in old basements built in the ‘60s in identical hallways. For kicks, Michael turned all of the school hallways inwards and sent them in a mobius strip, and changed all of the door numbers into a headache. The key to enjoying your job was to take initiative in the workplace environment and to just have fun with it!

Michael found themselves in front of a door identical to all of the others, with fake laminated wood, and they decided to go in. The universe had guided them to this door for a reason, and who were they to reject its call? 

The small classroom was like most other small, private colleges in unpopular departments that nobody cared about. Lots of single person desks - Michael snapped their fingers and turned them all into left-handed desks - complete with a smartboard and a teacher’s podium. It was already half-full, so Michael carefully slid into a chair in the back and pretended that they had been there all along. A student wandered close, convinced that this was her seat, but Michael successfully convinced her that a different seat near the front was hers, prompting an impromptu game of musical chairs that sent ripples through the otherwise sedate classroom.

There was a blond student already sitting in the front, flipping through a spiral notebook and clicking a pen in no particular pattern. He was wearing a pea coat, jeans, and his hair was weirdly perfect. Michael wished they had a notebook. Was this what you did in university? They had never had the opportunity to go. 

Actually, they had never quite graduated secondary - three months away from graduation, actually. It probably wasn’t all that important. You didn’t really need a diploma to become a trauma eating fear demon. Was there a university of eating fear? That would be funny. What would the classes be in, ‘Enforcing the Powerlessness of Capitalism 101’? What was the difference between that and a Business major? 

Maybe Business majors were the real fear demons, Michael thought grandly. It was a good thought, they would have to remember to tell it to Melanie later. Melanie would approve. Hadn’t Tim been a business major? Yeah, in that case she would definitely approve. 

The student sitting in the front seemed to have finally noticed the game of musical chairs, and as the professor started clearing their throat and announcing something unimportant to the class, he turned around to find Michael sitting in the back of the class. They waved cheerfully. The student scowled. 

‘What are you doing here!’, the guy mouthed angrily. 

‘Hi Mike!’ Michael mouthed back. 

‘Go away!’ Mike mouthed back. 

‘But I’m going to eat your teacher :(‘ Michael mouthed back. They didn’t actually frown. 

‘ >:(!’, Mike Crew mouthed back, also without changing his facial expression. 

This was probably why Mike wasn’t Michael’s biggest fan. Which was a pity, because Michael thought Mike was really cool. He had the coolest name, for one. But shorter, and snappier. Mike was the kind of name girls would call you at clubs. Michael was what, like, your Mum would say as she yelled at you to clean up your room before her book club girls came over. Why were they girls? They were, like, fifty.

Mike Crew was an Avatar of the Spiral completely unwillingly. Chosen as a child and chased throughout his life by an improbably long lasting Lichtenberg scar, he had eventually succumbed to the inevitable and transformed into an even more improbable man. Personally, Michael found it strange that ‘inevitable’ and ‘Spiral’ was in the same sentence, but - well, it had to be everything at one point. Even a melting clock was right once an endless twilight. 

Strangest of all, Mike Crew was a philosophy major. The class, of course, was a high level philosophy course. Mike Crew had been in uni - well, a while - and he tended not to waste his time with the boring shit anymore. Michael listened with interest as the professor dived into the lecture. 

Two minutes in, Mike subtly gathered his things and slipped into the conveniently empty chair next to Michael. He was still glaring at them, as Michael tried their best to look innocent and cute. The effect was a little ruined by the inherent maliciousness of Michael’s pores, but they liked to think it was the thought that counted. 

“To continue our conversation on the topic of paradoxes,” the professor began, “I’d like to introduce a few thought experiments for your consideration as a class. I’ll mention the concept, and then allow you to break into pairs to discuss them.”

Mike leaned into Michael’s ear. “We were discussing Descartes!”

“But isn’t this more interesting?” Michael asked. 

“If you give my professor a mental breakdown we’re going to fall behind on the syllabus!”

“The first paradox I’d like to bring to your attention is the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” The professor flipped to a new slide, which helpfully had a big crocodile on it. Michael admired it. They had seen a crocodile at the zoo once. “Similar to the liar’s paradox, the premise states that a crocodile, who has stolen a child, promises the parent that his or her child will be returned if and only if he or she correctly predicts what the crocodile will do next. The outcome is fairly obvious if the parent states that the crocodile will return the child, but the crocodile faces a dilemma if the parent states that the crocodile will not return the child. No matter the outcome, the crocodile is made a liar: if  the crocodile decides to not give back the child then the statement proves to be true, and he ought to return the child, thereby making it false. Whatever the outcome, he still violates his terms.”

Michael raised their hand. Mike forcibly lowered their hand. 

“If I give your professor a mental breakdown then you’ll have extra time for the test,” Michael whispered back. Mike seriously considered this notion.

“The next paradox is slightly related,” the professor continued. “The Infinite Hotel Paradox.” Michael’s face stretched into a grin as Mike Crew groaned. “It is demonstrated that a fully occupied hotel with infinitely many rooms may still accommodate additional guests, even infinitely many of them, and this process may be repeated infinitely often. This is what we call a veridical paradox: it leads to a counter-intuitive result that is provably true. Therefore -”

“Okay, yeah,” Mike Crew said, slumping in his seat. “You can eat him, this guy is just begging for it.” 

“Yay!” Michael went in for the hug, before Mike pushed them away. Michael’s quest for a cool big brother failed yet again. “Do you want to call the -”

“They’re your hallways,” Mike said, persnickety as always. Maybe he was just jealous that he wasn’t a hallway? 

Michael raised their hand, patiently waiting for the professor to call on them. He stumbled in the middle of his lecture, adjusting his thick glasses. 

“Uh, yes, Miss -”

“You no longer understand gender,” Michael said pleasantly, as they always did whenever they were misgendered. It was an understandable mistake, so they didn’t do it maliciously. Frankly, they just thought it was healthy. Everyone should not understand false things. “Professor, I have a question about the Crocodile’s Dilemma.” They waited for the professor to nod, somewhat confused. “How do you know that didn’t really happen?”

The professor blinked lethargically at them. “It’s a thought experiment. It’s not real, it’s just an idea proposed by philosophers to represent -”

“What makes you so sure?” Michael asked cheerfully. “Crocodiles eat babies. Or dingoes. I think I read a story about this happening in Australia, didn’t you?”

“I - I suppose I did, yes -”

“We wouldn’t talk about it if it didn’t really happen.” Michael felt their voice fall into a rising lilt, like an attractive song that was played to a concert hall but heard only by you. They were distantly aware of Mike lulling the rest of the students into their own hazy daze: aware enough to be confused, but trapped in their seats and the fog of misunderstandings. “Fiction isn’t real. Reality is real. But a thought experiment is in between, isn’t it? Something that strains the boundaries of reality, that proves the fundamental concepts of life, told through a framework of an intrinsic lie. A paradox is a lie telling the truth. You are a truth speaker telling only lies. What you know isn’t so much as anything at all, is it? What do you really know, anyway?”

“One of us tells only the truth and the other tells only lies,” Mike Crew called out, bored. But his eyes were shining in endless refraction, infinite rooms holding infinite guests. “But is it really a lie if you had mistaken it for the truth? What lies are you living, Dr. Young?”

Dr. Young was stammering, eyes swimming, and Michael didn’t dare to break eye contact. It was a delicate spell they wove, but Michael wasn’t so bad at bringing this simmer to a boil. Cooking was about improvisation, and Michael had always been great at that. 

“If your life is a lie,” Michael breathed, “then are you really alive?”

It was clear, when it happened: the professor started inhaling deep, deeper breaths, chest wracking with heaves. His eyes rolled up in his head, he clutched at his chest, and he finally slumped down on the floor. He twitched, jerking slightly, and he would continue jerking. At which point the students would become aware, and they’d call an ambulance for him, and he would be perfectly alright in the end. If a little mentally scarred. 

“Damn,” Mike Crew said, almost impressed, as both he and Michael stood up. He shoved his pens in a backpack, glad to be free of his examination for another week. “What’d you do to him?”

“Made him think he was dead,” Michael said serenely. “He thought his heart had stopped beating so he had a panic attack. He’s going to have to make an appointment with a psychiatrist but he probably should anyway, work’s very stressful for him.”

“Guess I have the rest of the hour off,” Mike sighed, as he held the door open for Michael so they could slip out of the back of the classroom. It was yellow, and a little strange.  “Want to grab a pint with me at the campus pub?” He paused a beat. “Wait, are you even old enough to drink?”

“I’m as old as eternity and reborn every second.” Michael paused a beat. “But I was eighteen last time I checked, and I’ll probably be eighteen for a while, so yes?”

“Great, let’s roll. I need a drink.”

****

Mike’s uni’s pub (Michael had asked the name of the uni but the information had, unfortunately, been lost in next Tuesday, so they’ll know then) was the exact opposite of the high class pub Helen had taken them to. Instead of glassy, shiny, and chromey, Mike’s pub looked strongly as if very many people had puked in it and the staff had tackled the problem somewhat half-heartedly. Michael enjoyed the sight of the puke existing in all points in time simultaneously, giving it a sort of weird yellow-ish shine. Actually, maybe all puke had that yellowish sheen?

When they asked Mike about it as they hopped up on the bar, he just sighed. He flagged the bartender down for a pint, and when the bartender squinted dubiously at Michael they revelled into the micro-confusion of ambiguous ages. Micro-feeding? Like mini muffins?

“Helen made a mistake hiring you. She’s stuck us with a perpetual teenager.”

“I’m as much a teenager as you are a uni student,” Michael said pointedly. 

“I’m not an embodiment of the It Is What It Isn’t Is,” Mike said, oddly aggressively. “I’m just a normal Avatar.”

“Fear demon.”

“Melanie King isn’t always right and I don’t know why everyone thinks she is.” Big words from an honored Special Guest on her show. There were many in the fear demon community who would kill for the honor. It was a good thing she hated intruders in her Archives - otherwise they’d never leave. “But I’m no different from - that douche Peter Lukas or that stoner Elias Bouchard or that btich Annabelle, okay? I’m just a guy. Who eats trauma. Plenty of guys do that.”

“Very good denial of reality!” Michael approved. “Normally Helen tells me to go further into denying reality as a concept, though.”

“God, you hallway people are impossible to have a normal conversation with.” Mike huffed, clearly not as irritated as his words would imply. Michael also approved of the incongruity. “I’m assuming that you’re here for absolutely no reason and that you have no idea why or how you ended up at my uni.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “Actually, I am here for a reason.” At Mike’s extreme surprise, they hurriedly clarified, “Not with any goal, meaning, or intention in mind! But I just wanted to talk about something to someone who wasn’t technically another facet of my meaningless whole. Helen and I are as index and ring fingers on the same hand, but we don’t really get each other sometimes, you know?”

“Does that make you the pinky finger?”

“I actually had a hypothetical for you.” At Mike’s nod, Michael snagged a napkin from the stack on the sticky bar and began creasing it, somewhat anxiously. “Let’s say, hypothetically, you were a teenagerish nongendered sentient hallway intern who happens to eat trauma.”

“This isn’t much of a hypothetical,” Mike said flatly. 

“I’m a hypothetical person. And I’m only a person hypothetically.” Michael started making little folds in the napkin, twisting it up into a strange origami. “So, let’s say, hypothetically, that this person - their name is Michael - enjoyed being them. It wasn’t always fun, and sometimes they kind of missed the world making sense, or at least not making sense in a familiar way. And sometimes Michael got tired of being a sentient hallway and wanted to finish secondary. And maybe even sometimes Michael grows sad that both their parents were eaten by their new boss, who is kind of a Tory! But that’s all fine. Michael’s probably happier like this than they ever were even when they did have parents.”

Mike Crew stared at them a little, slowly sipping his pint. 

Michael hunched their shoulders, and folded up the napkin further and further. They had read somewhere that any piece of paper can only be folded seven times. They folded the napkin seven times, then eight, then nine, then ten. That was something nice about the way things were now, they supposed: no rules, absolute freedom. Only rules, no freedom. That was what Dr. Yung would call a paradox. “But maybe the worst part about this new job is that Michael doesn’t really like hurting people. Sometimes it’s fun to randomly make people very upset, and you always kind of end up doing it anyway, but after a while Michael feels kind of bad about it. Michael likes doing other things better, like making terrible roundabouts and rearranging the pages of books. Maybe they even like reading books. They like reading comic books backwards, from the last page to the first, so every panel is a surprise.”

“There’s lots of ways to be a fear demon,” Mike pointed out, almost gently. Maybe only because he could relate. “Look at me. I’m not feeding off anyone. Just myself.”

“But I like the way I do it,” Michael said, frustrated. “Helen keeps trying to get me to do it the way she does it, but the point is that we aren’t the same. What’s the point in having two of us if both our viewpoints are the same? We’re different in every way, but we’re the same being. I just want to be the Spiral the way I want. Not the way Helen wants.” Their voice lowered, almost unwilling to say what they were about to say. “Not the way the Spiral wants.”

Mike stared at them for a long time, slowly sipping his beer, and Michael focused their efforts on forcing this improbable napkin into something that could be beautiful. A lotus flower? A mobius strip? Or should they just let it happen as it happens, and see what form it decided to take? 

Finally, Mike said, “You are the Spiral.”

“Then why am I always disagreeing with it?” Michael asked miserably. 

“Why are you, Helen, and the Spiral always disagreeing?” Mike pointed out. “Maybe that’s the point. So much as anything’s a point. Isn’t it the most perfect paradox of all, to split yourself into portions that are always disagreeing and bickering? Maybe everything you’re feeling is on purpose. I mean, it’s kind of improbable that you’re feeling at all, right?”

“I retained a lot of humanity,” Michael said. “Maybe a bit too much, actually?”

“Right.” Mike nodded decisively. “Then that’s the appeal. A human mind will always strain against its confines. It will always want different, want the same, want the old and the new and the perpetual and the fleeting and the eternity and the moment. What’s more nonsensical than a human? What’s more contradictory than human nature?” A dark shadow passed over his face, just for a second. “The Spiral kidnaps us and turns us into it. One part of our minds is entrenched in its eternity, and another part is always screaming in agony. But predominantly we are the unholy mixture of human and Entity, oil forced into water. It’s so intrinsically horrifying and wrong that we just get used to it. We are both demon and human, and so we’re neither, and so we’re both. Isn’t it weird, Michael, that unlike so many other Avatars, none of us want to be here?”

“You’re a very philosophical person,” Michael said diplomatically. 

“Thanks, I think too much about my lot in life.” Mike Crew sighed, slumping on his barstool and knocking back more of his pint. “I wish you and Helen would stop showing up in my life so often. When you aren’t around, I can almost pretend I’m a person.”

“That’s why we show up,” Michael felt obligated to point out. 

“Yeah, I know,” Mike said glumly. “I always know. I can’t stop knowing.”

There was nothing Michael could say or do that fixed this, or that could make Mike feel better. They understood, just a little - that nostalgia for a kinder time. But maybe it was more that Mike never had those halcyon, innocent days. He had lived life since childhood in aching knowledge that his days were numbered. Maybe that’s why Mike was allowed to live life as a human even now: his human life was just as confusing and isolated as his afterlife, and that when fear stained every second of his life there was no point in ceasing it. 

Maybe Michael couldn’t keep their human life because they had been happy. At the very least, they had been ignorant. That was one thing the Spiral could not abide: ignorance. 

These days, Michael knew everything. They knew everything so, so much.

So, in lieu of comforting falsehoods, Michael offered Mike Crew a slightest sliver of truth. They passed Mike the little piece of origami that they had made, and let Mike cradle it in his large and smooth hands. 

The origami had no shape. It wasn’t folded into anything. It was just a meaningless amalgamation of points, corners, and creased paper. It didn’t look like anything at all. 

“See?” Michael pointed out. “It’s a bear.”

Mike Crew smiled weakly. “Looks like a sea goat to me.”

There was something beautiful in ambiguity. When something was nothing, it could be everything at once. That was rather Michael’s favorite thing about it. 

“I think it’s a self-portrait,” Michael decided. 

And that, at least, was as true as anything else. 

***

Michael wandered their hallways. 

On some level, they were pretty much perpetually doing that. Even as one facet of them talked with Michael in a campus pub, even as another helped Helen convince a high class pub into voting Brexit, even as they traumatized a physics professor, they wandered these hallways.

Make no mistake: everything in this story has/will/is happened/happening simultaneously.

Of course, on another level Michael was literally their hallways, and thus they were not so much wandering as existing. Pulsating, one could say. Even twisting, if one would be so bold. 

There was a mirror, in the hallway. Not a funhouse mirror - although Michael did enjoy popping out from those and scaring Nikola - but just a mirror. Gilded around the edges, ornate with swirling curlicues. You could see yourself in it. You could see a lot of yourself in it. It wasn’t what you had always looked like, not really, but you just had the sense that this was what you really looked like. Maybe you had always looked like this, and everybody was just too polite to tell you. Were you really a brunette? This mirror had to be right. You had been a blonde all along. Nobody had told you. They were laughing at you. They were laughing -

But this was Michael, and Michael’s, and nothing in here could harm them. It was even comforting. They looked at themselves in the mirror, and saw themselves same as ever. Or not same as ever. They were still Michael, so far as Michael was Michael.

Shortish. Blondey. Raggedy hair. Curled as much as anything’s curled. Fun clothing that they really enjoyed. Tall shoes, because they liked feeling tall. Similar dimensions to the golden number. Non linear, but who’s counting? It was what they typically looked like. 

But, just for a second, Michael even fooled themselves. They saw someone in the mirror that they were not, someone who they had never been, someone who they never will be. Someone different.

Michael, just like everyone else, couldn’t stop themselves from reaching out. Come back. Come back! Let me touch you, let me be you! Michael’s fingers brushed the shiny glass, and the world tilted sideways, and Michael fell into where the sidewalk ended.

They emerged, or maybe they had always been, inside a bedroom. It was a nice little suburban bedroom. It had a peaked ceiling and a window seat. The walls were a soft, navy blue. There was a young person, lying on the shag carpet, leafing through a book. Big headphones were over their ears, and they were bopping along to music. Disco. 

Michael stood, an intruder into a familiar space, and watched the stranger. Their throat felt oddly tight, and their eyes felt strangely hot. The stranger was smiling faintly, flipping the pages of their book somewhat mindlessly. They were reading it for school. Flatland. It was just an assignment, but it was really fucking them up. It was making them think about all of these things that they didn’t normally, in new dimensions. It was really cool. All of their friends were just reading the Sparknotes, but they really wanted to talk about it with someone. 

 This, of course, had happened. It will happen in the future. It was happening now, as Michael watched the scene with an electric sadness. It would never happen, because the Spiral had never been here, and never would be, and always was. 

A knock echoed on the door, several sharp raps. Michael didn’t notice, legs swinging to the music. 

The knock on the door hit louder. “Michael!” A voice echoed from behind it. “Michael, are you ready to go?”

Michael reached up and slid off their headphones, without looking up from their book. “Coming!” They called back. “Be right there!”

The Spiral watched Michael, who hummed absentmindedly as the door knocked again. Dad was downstairs, making sure the gas was off and shutting off the lights. Mum was knocking, knocking, knocking, on a door that was and will always be wood. 

“Have you packed yet?” Mum called. 

“Sure I have!” Michael yelled back, glancing at the empty suitcase on the bed and the messy pile of clothes right next to it. They pushed themselves up, flipping the book shut and rising to their feet. “Be right out!”

“Hurry up,” Mum called, as the Spiral mouthed the words along with her. “We’re going to be late!”

The Bermudas aren’t going anywhere, Michael thought spitefully. They stuffed their clothes haphazardly in a suitcase, took far more care to pack their laptop and DS, and shoved Flatland in a side pocket of their backpack. 

When Michael slung on his backpack, unfolded the handle from their suitcase, they were not even looking at the door they left through. They were entirely focused on managing the unruly suitcase, and walked straight through the crazed yellow door.

Of course, Michael walked out. Slightly stranger, a little better, a lot worse. Exactly the same. They were back in their hallways again, fresh from their little suburban bedroom and the child exiting one world and entering one quite different. Maybe one part of that child would always be in that bedroom, another part in these hallways, and another part always caught in that doorway and the transition. 

Simultaneously, in all points in time, Mum knocked on that wood door, and Michael never let her inside. Simultaneously, at all points in time, Michael watched it all happen.

They hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. At all moments in time, in a little corner of their heart, Mum knocked on their door. If the Spiral lived in your soul and beat your heart, it was easy to find the beauty in it - the magnificence of eternity, and the joy in the moment. Mum was with them - literally, as he was pretty sure Helen was still digesting her. Maybe nothing was ever truly over - just over there.  

Michael stuck their hands in their pockets, whistling a jaunty tune that highly resembled the Shepherd’s Tone. Their hallways pulsated comfortingly, and Michael carefully toed off their platform shoes and eyed down the infinite hallways. No rugs for a while. 

Maybe Michael, Mike Crew, and Helen should get together more often. Just the three of them. They would drive each other batty. It would be a lot of fun. 

Michael set off running down the hallway, and skidded on their socks down the hardwood floor, whooping in joy as they skidded endlessly towards eternity. 

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

OC-tober Day 2: Glass

OC-tober prompts put together by @oc-growth-and-development​! I have to ramble in meta instead of write, because my brain is Mush lately. (I know I’m behind but I have a lot pre-written, I just need to put it into coherent words!)

This one especially can be rambled about at length, because the most important “glass” object in my stories is one I greatly enjoy exploring: Dove’s mindscape mirror!

^ I drew it forever ago; here’s the deviantArt link if you’d like to see the big version! 

https://www.deviantart.com/ravenshiddensoul/art/Dove-s-Keepsakes-Mirror-and-Box-284227087

It’s largely modeled after a bird stretching its wings upwards, with a handle like a tail and certain details are inlaid with Azarathean gold to better channel its magics.

Now, this is where the rambling begins: The mirror’s backstory, and I’ll be exploring one of my favorite things to develop in all of my stories: Dove’s mindscape!

Dove's mirror isn't one of her most prized possessions, nor super incredibly sentimental, but it IS an object touched with her mother's magic, it has flourishes of Azarathean gold (some of the last pieces to exist), and it's useful for introspection and self-soothing, so it does have some value and importance.

Dove struggled with meditating quite a lot as a child, and there was only so much her mother could do to help. Meditation was pretty important to them as both a means of helping Dove control her powers, and as a staple of Azarathean spirituality. As she so often did, Alerina poked around and asked enough questions around the temple that she was told about Raven's mirror, and she decided to replicate it for Dove. She custom ordered a gold-lined wooden hand mirror, and then cast the spells to connect it to Dove's inner world herself. It took a few tries (it's much harder to connect something to someone else's mind than your own, after all), but she was nothing if not determined to help her daughter, and eventually figured it out.

As for its main purpose: Self-reflection! (If you'll pardon the pun.) Dove uses it to meditate, but where Raven uses hers for centering and compartmentalization, Dove uses it more as a blend of escapism and a focusing aid.

Much like Raven's, Dove's mirror acts as a portal to the depths of her mind, and this is where it gets fun!

The vortex that transports the users is usually white and gold, imbued with the same energies that give Dove her powers, at least on her mother's side. It's noticeably touched with black and red in DDD. (Dove's evil side starts taking over her mind, and thus its energies manifest through the mindscape, and Dove's portal into it, hence: black and red energies instead.) It tends to open up like a light tunnel and almost opens the mental world around the user, rather than dragging them in.

Once inside, one can't expect to navigate the same way as Beast Boy and Cyborg did in "Nevermore". Every mind is different, after all! We saw Raven's mindscape divided nearly into emotional sections with a neutral space between them, and the way through each area was preset and linear. While different parts of Dove's internal world manifest in different "areas", they're not so totally divided and separate, and there's no real "neutral" zone except at the very "center". The scenery changes, but it's more of a gradual transition, and though Dove employs thresholds to mark key areas, they're very much just visual aids.

Dove's mindscape is laid out more like a series of rooms and courtyards in a very (very, very, very) large mansion. The ground is generally of crystal, spires and columns decorate the scenery, and the thresholds are modeled after birds with their wings outspread. (While this seems like a play on Dove's namesake, it's actually based on Azarath's architecture, particularly that of George Perez's Azarath in the 1980's New Teen Titans comics.)

Dove's sky shows various stars and often casts moonlight from an uncertain source, particularly when she's introspecting. The ambient temperature varies amongst the locations, chilly in the regions ruled by fear and sadness, uncomfortably warm near her demon's domain, and comfortable and breezy where her peace and contentment reside.

One could easily get lost in her mindscape if they don't know where they're going. The place can shift and change on a whim.

Where Dove spends her time building that peace and contentment, it's very closely modeled after her mother's memories of Azarath (which is where she learned how to find peace, after all): there's marble and gold everywhere, and the stars twinkle with dozens of colors in the sky.

Where Dove retreats when there are feelings of timidity, her excruciating shyness, her grief and doubt, the world becomes shrouded in thick fog. Broken buildings and pale light litter the grounds.

Where she built her love for reading, for history, for creativity and study and learning, it's arranged as rooms with dark marbled tile and a carpeted path, the floor for dozens of feet on either side littered with piles of books.

Dove's inner happy place is an open field on gently rolling hills, where thoughts take the form of birds and somehow the sky holds both the stars and suns. One might find trees, flowers, abstract forms of cottages, and forts loaded with mugs and cozy cushions. If you wander far enough you'll find very tall stone walls surrounding it, because Dove's mind is such that her happiness is one of the few things she really truly believes she needs to protect from the rest of herself.

And then there are the aspects of herself that she shoves the deepest down, secreted far away from the surface: the anger, the hunger for power, the mean streak. (Yes, believe it or not, Dove does have a mean streak! You just have to work especially hard to bring it out. Or trigger her in just the right ways around sadism, violence, war, or death. It's very much Not Recommended; bringing too much of that mean streak out could mean Dove loses control of her powers, or worse: her demonic aspects.)

Those secret forces aren't so much located in one particular space of her mind as they're hidden in every dark corner, coursing through the underside of all the ground, a tantalizing power running through every part of her, only ever set free enough to use the dangerous powers to her own ends.

Her places for Fear and Curiosity in particular will be explored in the upcoming Missing: Raven rewrite. (As they're the strongest things Dove is feeling in that story, that's going to be what Beast Boy and Cyborg encounter.) I also explored the way these things manifest in DDD, and in that same story Dove will focus on rebuilding Peace in the final chapter.

I can't talk about Dove's mindscape without mentioning the "emoticlones". These fun little guys are called by the fanon term given to Raven's "emotion clones", the separate parts of her that express a specific set of traits based on particular aspects of her personality. I had so much fun playing with their voices and thoughts in Dove's head during DDD, you have no freaking idea! I also copied the concept of them having Colored Cloaks from Teen Titans canon, because honestly it's a quick and easy way to identify them, and the fandom's familiar with this system through Raven.

Which colors mean what was more inspired by details from a really old, now-defunct website called Cartoon Orbit that had separate "online trading cards" for each of Raven's emoticlones! On that site, Raven's were labeled as such, and this is what I based Dove's system on, loosely: - Pink: "Raven Happy" - Red: "Raven Rage" - Orange: "Raven Rude" - Yellow: "Raven Smart" - Green: "Raven Brave" - Brown: "Raven Fear" (I'm pretty sure there was a purple one, but I don't recall what it was called. "Love" maybe? That might be from fanon; this site was running like 15 years ago, and I was like 10 years old, so I hardly thought to pay Super Special Attention to it...)

But I digress. The point is, I adapted that system for the key aspects of Dove's unique personality, and came to understand them as follows:

- Pink: Joy, relief, coziness - Red: Cruelty, impulsivity, anger - Orange: Apathy, indifference, disregard - Yellow: Curiosity, study, intrigue - Green: Courage, determination, activity - Blue: Contentedness, pacifism, spirituality - Purple: Compassion, friendship, romanticism - Gray: Sadness, grief, longing. - Brown: Fear, fear, fear!

But for Dove's mind in particular, it's not only HER experiences and personality that form the world! She's a telepath, and though she holds others' privacy in very, very high regard and tries never to read someone's mind without their permission, her sense of receptive telepathy is ever-present. Echoes, lights, shadows, reflections of others' memories and thoughts might affect the very edges of her mind. It's a constant sense, but it only ever causes very ephemeral changes unless something deeply affects her.

Her mindscape also grows and changes as Dove grows and changes, experiences life, learns to cope, and changes how she handles her own emotions.

Most notably, the internal struggle in DDD tore her mind apart. Initially it was due to a breakdown of certainty and confidence, hastened by guilt and grief, but it soon became a deliberate tactic to wage war on the parts of Dove's mind that were trying to resist the evil; eventually her inner demon began intentionally breaking/corrupting everything it could touch.

By chapter 20, that evil is the only strong and stable thing in Dove's mind. Raven's attack to remove the evil in her took away that stability, and strength, and thus took away what was essentially the last support holding Dove's mind together. As it says in the story: "everything collapsed". Dove's mindscape was utterly destroyed, and only the most basic aspects of her remained.

For awhile, that left Dove unable to remember things clearly, or feel emotions without great pain. Rebuilding it to the point where she was able to talk and feel Mostly Normally again took months of meditation.

When Dove is kidnapped and Leyla has distressing dreams about her mother, she, Srentha, and Raven use the mirror to check on Dove by accessing her mindscape. With her powers stripped away, surrounded by people who mock her, and certain Fauni rituals sickening Dove to her soul, naturally her mind is very different: shadowy forms flitted at the edges of vision, the ground wavered, her discomfort was thick in the air and the constant fear made everything so, so cold. "Shadows" of others' thoughts flashed in and out of existence, and Dove's desperation manifests as fleeting voices on the wind. It's uncomfortable to be in her mind while she's so distressed.

It's also worth mentioning that her mindscape changes again, essentially "growing" the part of her that belongs to Love when she finally lets herself love Srentha, and it expands again when Leyla's born and Dove once more finds depths of love she didn't know she could carry.

[bakuhoes-slut234]

Bakugou x reader smut - Meeting His Parents

A/N: Readers quirk is Electricity. Her quirk is very much like Denki's, except much weaker. Reader is in UA but in the Support Class.

_______________________________________________

"Y/N! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" Katsuki shouted from the bottom of the dorm stairs of the support class.

"HOLD YOUR FUCKING HORSES! IM ALMOST DONE!" She shouted back.

Today, Katsuki was introducing Y/N to his parents. They don't even know that he has a girlfriend yet. He just told them that he's bringing a friend over for dinner.

Y/N made her way down the stairs, smiling at how handsome her angry floof looked.

He was wearing black skinny jeans and a dark blue button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and sneakers.

Y/N wore a dark blue skirt that reached her mid-thigh and a white cross-over crop top, along with a pair of black heels.

Bakugou looked up at the sound of footsteps and almost died. In his eyes, she looked absolutely breathtaking, not that he'd ever admit it to her or anyone else.

"Fina-fucking-ly" he grumbled

"Let's go Kat, I can't wait to meet your parents!" She beamed and held onto his arm.

They walked out of the dorms and in the direction of his house. They chose to walk since he lived nearby.

They stopped infront of an average looking house.

Bakugou walked up to the door and unlocked it with his spare keys and gestured for her to come in.

They got inside and took off their shoes. Bakugou put on his house slippers that were by the door and Y/N pulled her own ones from her handbag and put them on.

"WE'RE HERE!" He shouted, making Y/N winced at the volume before putting on her best smile.

A woman with spikey blonde hair and red eyes ran to the door with a scowl on her face.

"HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO SHOU-" she cut herself off as she noticed Y/N. "Hi there, you must be Katsuki's friend. You're so pretty!"

"Um... Actually... I'm his girlfriend. My name's Y/N L/N but you can call me Y/N" she smiled

She looked between Y/N and Katsuki and frowned.

"You deserve so much better, you know that?" She said bluntly.

Y/N's smile faulted as the blonde woman said that.

"What the fuck you old hag!? You can't talk to my girlfriend like that!" He shouted

"I was talking to her. Y/N sweety, you can do so much better than this gremlin child." She said, making Y/N laugh.

"I think I'll stay with this gremlin thanks"

"You better fucking stay with me" Bakugou grumbled.

"Well, at least someone will deal with his shit. Thank you. You can call me Mistuki"

"Nice to meet you"

"Move you fucking hag, we've been standing at the door forever" Katsuki growled.

"Don't talk to your mother like that!" Y/N swatted his arm, earning a glare from the boy.

Mistuki showed them to the table, where the food was already set up and ready to eat. Y/N was introduced to Katsuki's dad and then they all sat down to eat.

The whole time, Mitsuki told Y/N about all of the stories from when Katsuki was a small child and after dinner, showed Y/N his baby pictures.

~

"Thank you for the lovely dinner Mistuki" Y/N smiled.

"It's no problem dear. It's the weekend Tommorow, correct?" She asked.

"Yeah"

"Good. You and Katsuki are staying the night then. Contact your parents to let them know, or whoever needed and then Katsuki will show you to his old room" she smiled.

"Thank you"

Y/N stood up and pulled out her phone, telling her parents that she's staying at a friend's house.

Afterwards, she went to locate her gremlin and found that he had just finished washing dishes.

"You done?" He asked and Y/N nodded.

He wiped his hands dry and then grabbed hers, dragging her down the hall.

Katsuki opened a door and motioned for her to go in first.

The room was simple, a double bed, a lot of hand posters, action figures and some clothes laying on his desk. But other than the clothes on the desk, his room was extremely clean.

Y/N walked in and day down on his bed, just looking around his room in awe.

"Here you go fuck face" he said and threw some clothes at her.

She thanked him with a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

Y/N set the clothes down onto his bed and started to pull off her shirt, but was stopped.

"Oi! What the fuck are you doing!?" He said

"What does it look like? I'm getting changed" she snapped at him

"You can't do that here! I'm still in the room!"

"It doesn't matter, we're dating and I'm not shy about my body." She said and pulled her shirt off.

She looked up to see Bakugou red faced and looking away to try and hide his blush, or give her some type of privacy, she couldn't really tell.

She was about to laugh at his red face until she took in his whole body.

He muscles were tensed, face red and looking to the side, and Y/N noticed his pants starting to tent.

She bit her lip, thinking up either a really good or really bad idea, we'll find out which one it is soon.

She slipped off the rest of her clothes, leaving on just her bra and panties.

She walked up to him, going unnoticed since he was looking away.

She placed both of her hands on his shoulders, getting his attention.

He turned to look at her and blushed, feeling his pants get tighter.

"W-what the hell?" He asked

"Let's have some fun" she suggested and pressed her hips against his.

Bakugou groaned but pushed her away gently.

Y/N frowned and stepped closer again, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He tried to look away from her again but she grabbed his chin with her thumb and index finger, forcing him to look at her.

She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his and hummed.

His hands found her waist and squeezed gently.

He swiped his tongue over her lower lip, asking for access, which she gave him.

Their tongues fought for dominance and surprisingly, Y/N won.

Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, quickly undoing them. He shrugged his shirt off as her hands got busy with the button and zipper of his pants. She quickly undid them and then broke the kiss.

She slowly moved down his body, letting her fingers graze over his toned chest and abs on her way down until she was on her knees.

She tugged on his pants, silently asking if she could remove them, to which he nodded.

Y/N quickly pulled down both his pants and boxers at the same time, releasing him from the restricting material.

She stared at the size of him, blushing profusely.

"Oi! Don't just stare" he growled, but not angrily, but more needy.

"Sorry" she said and gently wrapped her hand around his base.

She slowly pumped him, watching how he reacts.

His head rolls back as he released something that sounds like a groan and a sigh.

With a little more confidence, she let's go of him for a moment, and moved him so that he's sitting on the edge of his bed.

She sits on the floor between his legs and wraps her hand around him again, this time pumping a little faster and setting a steady pace.

Bakugou groaned and growls as Y/N speeds up her hand movements.

Suddenly, she gets an idea.

"Hey babe?" She said and he hummed in response.

"Can I use my quirk?" She asked.

He looked down at her, fear filling his eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't use it very much, I just want to try something" she explained.

Bakugou hesitantly agreed with a nod of his head.

Y/N smirked but wanted to do it when he least expected it.

She licked his tips before taking into her mouth, making him groan at the new feeling.

She swirled her tongue around him and bobbed her head on his length.

This continued for a few minutes until Y/N finally thought it was time.

She pulled him out of her mouth, making him whine and instead, gently brushed her fingers over his length.

She activated her quirk, using a tiny amount of electricity.

She sent small zaps onto him.

His hands flew into her hair, gripping tightly as he let out a moan.

Y/N took him back into her mouth, satisfied with his reaction.

She wrapped her hand around the part that would fit in her mouth and stocking him, using her quirk.

Bakugou's moans got louder and louder. His grip on her hair, painful but nothing she couldn't tolerate.

"I'm close" he moaned out.

Y/N felt him twitch in her mouth.

She let go of him and forced herself to take in his entire length.

He groaned loudly, telling her that he was almost there.

She placed a single finger, right at the base of his cock and activated her quirk, quite a lot stronger than before, but not enough to hurt him.

He gasped at the initial contact.

Y/N slowly started to pull off of him. As her mouth slowly moved off of his length, her finger traced from base to tip.

"Fuck~!" He growled loudly as he came.

Y/N made sure to keep her mouth over his tip as she let him release into her mouth.

His body shook as he reached his climax, his breath ragged, body glistening with swear and face flushed.

She swallowed the load she was given when he finally stilled and then removed him completely from her mouth.

She deactivated her quirk and then got to her feet.

Bakugou looked at her with lidded eyes, still panting.

She sat down on his leg, careful not to touch his member, knowing that he's sensitive right now.

She placed a peck on his lips and handed him his boxers.

She got up and put on his shirt that he gave to her earlier while he put on his boxers.

"W-wait" he said as she lay down on the bed

"Yeah?"

"Don't you want me to return the favour?" He asked

"Babe, I did that because I wanted to, you don't have to do it for me. Plus, seeing your face contorted in pleasure like that was enough for me" she said and went under the blanket.

"You sure?"

"Aw, you're so soft after you cum. That's cute. Normally you'd be swearing at me by now" she teased. Bakugou didn't even have enough energy to glare at her.

She patted the spot on the bed next to her

"Come on, let's go to bed"

He lay down and placed his head on her stomach, instantly falling asleep.

Y/N laughed to herself and kissed his head before dozing off.

[writingsbychelle]

I Quit

Summary: While touring with 5 Seconds of Summer, you suddenly have a bad asthma attack, causing things to shift between you and Calum.

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Request: /

Warnings: description of an asthma attack and uh,,,,smoking?

Word Count: 2.019

(A/N: actually really like this fic! thanks to Amy for proofreading this and helping me❤️)

    “Do you mind?” Calum asked, holding up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as you both leaned against the tour bus, waiting for Luke, Ashton and Michael to finish packing up so you could head to the next destination of the tour. 

    “Not at all,” you smiled at him and tucked your phone into your back pocket before turning to look at him.

    You were currently touring with 5 Seconds of Summer as their opening act, and you guys were close to finishing the tour. After almost four months on the road, it was safe to say that you were ready to return back home and get some well-deserved rest. However, as much as you were longing to curl up in your bed and binge-watch Netflix for the rest of your life, you also never wanted this to end. The shows, the audience, spending time with the guys to whom you had grown incredibly close to over these past few weeks and overall the atmosphere of being on the bus with the band. 

    But most of all, you were going to miss your late-night talks with Calum. 

    Generally just being with Calum. 

    You had already been friends before going on tour. But ever since it had become your routine to talk outside the bus during stops, Calum usually lighting a cigarette while you took sips from your bottle of water until it was time to step back into the bus and turn in for the night. You felt even closer to him than ever before. 

    That was probably going to be the thing you’d miss the most: your bus stop routine with Calum. 

    The way his eyes shone in the streetlights, the smoke leaving his lungs in long breaths, him asking if it’s okay for him to smoke next to you despite already knowing your answer, his teasing eye-rolling whenever you’d say, “that’s gonna kill you one day,” while pointing at the cigarette resting between his plump lips.

    Him. 

    You were going to miss him. 

    Logically you knew you’d still be able to see him, especially since you only lived about 20 minutes away from him. Still, the thought of not hearing his soft snores every night and having deep conversations at random rest stops in the middle of the night ate you up on the inside. It was pretty obvious what you felt for the bassist, but admitting it was something you didn’t even dare to dream of. Especially while you were still on tour and it could create unnecessary tensions between you, him and the band. Still, you couldn’t help but wish for things to be easier, for the tour life to go on forever and for you to spend the rest of your life with the man leaning against the bus next to you.

    “What are you thinking about?” Calum ripped you out of your thoughts.

    Shrugging your shoulders, you replied, “I’m gonna miss this.”

    “Me too,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “touring is always so much fun; it’s hard to believe it’s almost over.”

    “That’s not what I meant,” you mumbled, hoping he wouldn’t hear you.

    No such luck, Calum raised his eyebrows, silently asking you what you were hinting at. Before you had the opportunity to embarrass yourself, you heard loud voices coming towards you, Luke and Michael arguing about God knows what while Ashton was following his bandmates, typing something into his phone before tucking it away when he saw Calum and you leaning against the tour bus.

    “We’re all packed up and ready to go,” Ashton informed you after Luke and Michael had already disappeared into the bus.

    “We’ll join you in a minute,” Calum answered, holding up his cigarette for Ashton to see.

    “No rush,” he teasingly winked in your direction as he walked up the few steps into the bus.

    Ashton was the only one out of the four guys that knew about your crush on Calum. He had figured it out some time ago while you were touring in Europe and since he had become like a brother to you, you had approached him and asked for advice. The drummer had told you just to follow your gut feeling, which at first sounded like shit advice to you but the more you thought about it, the gladder you were for his ‘words of wisdom’.

    Before you managed to get lost in thought once again, Calum exhaled one last smoke cloud, putting out his cigarette before asking, “Ready to head inside?”

    Just as you opened your mouth to answer him, you were hit with the smoke he had blown out just a few seconds before. The moment you breathed in the smoke, you felt your throat closing in and began coughing violently.

    “(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” Calum asked, but you weren’t able to answer him, your chest tightening and you gasped for breath, feeling almost like someone was squeezing all the air out of you.

    “I-,” you tried taking a deep breath, which just ended in another coughing attack, “c-can’t...breathe.”

    Black dots started dancing in front of your eyes, vision blurring as you continued to gasp for breath. Calum helped you sit down, opening your water bottle for you and urging you to take a sip while yelling for someone to call an ambulance. All of this you didn’t notice, too busy trying to get at least some oxygen into your lungs. The water helped slightly, but you were still wheezing, coughing and gasping for breath. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Luke rush out of the tour bus, phone pressed against his ear. Your throat felt tighter and tighter with every passing second, and the last thing you saw before passing out, was Calum looking at you, eyes full of fear.

    That night the ambulance had taken you to the nearest hospital. The second they arrived, the paramedic had pressed an oxygen mask against your face, helping you breathe as you were loaded into the vehicle. You had woken up after a few moments of being unconscious, still barely able to breathe. Calum sat right next to you, your head in his lap, him holding onto your hands and speaking reassuring words to you. You didn’t really understand any of them, but the sound of his voice and his presence were enough to help you calm down a little bit. Once you were on the stretcher, you had asked if Calum could come with you, and apparently, the paramedics decided to make an exception and let him ride with you in the ambulance, holding your hand the entire time until you were wheeled into the examination room. 

    After a few tests, you finally got a result: asthma. The smoke from Calum’s cigarette had caused quite a bad asthma attack, but luckily the doctor had told you if you kept an inhaler at you at all times, the chances of having another attack that bad were pretty slim. With the diagnosis, and the advice to take it a bit slow the next few days, you were released. All four guys of 5 Seconds of Summer were waiting for you and crowded around you once they saw you walk into the waiting room.

    “So…I have asthma apparently,” you shrugged, holding up the inhaler you were given.

    “You’ll be alright, though, right?” Ashton asked.

    Nodding your head, you replied, “Yeah. The doctor said to take it easy, and if I feel like my throat is closing in again, I’ll just have to use the inhaler, and it should be fine. She also said that I could finish the tour, so that’s good news too.”

    “Thank god,” you heard Calum mumble as the others cheered, pulling into a group hug.

   Only two weeks later, the tour had officially come to an end. 

   To celebrate the great success of it, you gathered at Michael’s house together with the people that had helped make the tour possible. You had been wandering around the house for some time now, trying to find a certain bassist, but so far you had no success. After feeling like you had checked every inch of the house, you decided to go into the backyard, wanting to catch some fresh air and hoping to find Calum out there, maybe having a smoke and trying to get a few moments away from everyone himself. 

   Calum had felt distant lately. 

   Ever since your little hospital scare, he hadn’t really been spending time with you. No more late-night talks outside of the tour bus while waiting for the guys to finish up or while the bus needed to refuel. You were scared you had done or said something wrong, and after going over it with Ashton, you finally got the courage to confront him and ask him what was going on. Opening the door, you took a step outside, inhaling the chilly night air and letting out a sigh—finally some fresh air. You let your eyes drift around the backyard until you finally spotted Calum sitting underneath a tree that was decorated with some fairy lights. 

   “No cigarette?” you asked as you approached him.

   His head shot up upon hearing your voice, obviously ripping him from his thoughts.

   “No...I’m...I quit.”

   “You quit? Smoking?” you sat down next to him, his body visibly tensing as you did.

   “Cal...what’s going on?”

   “What do you mean?”

   You sighed, “I mean, that you’ve been avoiding me since my asthma attack two weeks ago. And now you apparently quit smoking? What’s going on, Cal? Did I-did I do something wrong?”

   Tears were rising in your eyes, afraid that something you did, something you were unaware of, had ruined your friendship with the bassist.

   “(Y/N), no. No. You did nothing wrong. It’s just-fuck,” he ran a hand over his buzzcut in frustration and whispered, “I’m the reason for your asthma attack.”

   “Cal…it wasn’t your fau-”

   “Yes, it was! I was smoking next to you and the smoke caused your attack.”

   “The smoke might’ve been the reason for the asthma attack but I had asthma before! If anything, I should be thanking you right now because if it hadn’t been for you and your smoking I probably never would’ve known I have asthma and would’ve kept wondering why I’m always coughing at night and running out of breath after singing on stage.”

   “(Y/N),” he took your face in his hands to force you to look into his eyes, “it is my fault. Whether you like it or not. I quit because I never want to see you like that, lying on the floor, gasping for breath. You-you looked like you were going to die, (Y/N). I can’t risk seeing you like that ever again, do you understand?”

   “You quit for me?” you whispered, not quite believing your ears.

   “Yeah, I did.”

   “You know you didn’t have to.”

   “I know. I wanted to. For you. And obviously also for my health,” he chuckled slightly, face slowly moving closer to yours.

   “Cal, I-”

   “Shh,” he gently shushed you before placing his lips on yours.

   His lips were warm and soft, tasting slightly of the alcoholic drink he had earlier that evening. Your hands, almost instantly and instinctively moved to the back of his neck, your nails slightly scratching his scalp in the process, causing him to let out a low groan. His lips parted slightly, his tongue slowly tracing your bottom lips, slipping inside your mouth once you parted yours. Roughly his hands grabbed onto your hips and pulled you into his lap before wrapping around your body and pulling you impossibly close. 

   A loud cheer from inside the house broke you apart, your head flipping around, afraid you had been caught, just to see everyone still busy drinking and partying inside Michael’s house.

   “You wanna go back inside?”

   Calum’s voice sounded hoarse and lower than usual.

   Shaking your head you replied, “How about we get back to my place?”

   To make your point clear, you rolled your hips, grinding against him and causing a moan to slip from Calum’s lips.

   “Sounds like a plan to me.”

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[maybedefinitely404]

Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely. 

Most of the time, that is. 

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those. 

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did. 

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his. 

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started. 

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him. 

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now. 

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter. 

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer. 

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut. 

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin. 

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit. 

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him. 

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things. 

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Logan has autism. 

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum. 

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough. 

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile. 

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet. 

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water. 

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes. 

He was art, plain and simple. 

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?” 

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up. 

“Sorry.” 

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop. 

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

 Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn��t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO! 

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands. 

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that. 

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly. 

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused. 

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?” 

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would. 

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break. 

 ‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly. 

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.                            

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to. 

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed. 

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay. 

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay. 

This is all going to be okay.

[forthehpfanboys]

Weasley’s Wild Ways

Pair: George Weasley x Reader x Fred Weasley; he/him.

Summary: You, a head strong Hufflepuff, stands up against Umbridge once and catches the twins attention, which most would say was a bad thing. What happens when they swap from sweet to sour and back again?

Warnings: Manipulation, abuse, swearing, probably more, god I’m bad at this.

Notes: Requested and I’m so sorry this took so long and it’s low-key cringy! And it’s super long, to be honest. I’ll edit it tomorrow? I’ve been having a lot of computer problems and second guessing myself on stories. I’ve been rewriting them at least once lately. 

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

You really should’ve noticed when they noticed you.

It wasn’t a coincidence that Umbridge’s classroom all but melted into ashes and smoke the day after you stood up against her and her squabbling little butler and got detention. It should’ve been clear when Draco and his gang apologized not even an hour after teasing you about your family, their faces covered in bruises and small cuts. 

You probably should’ve noticed how your friends held their tongues around you, how teachers avoided you and how two shadows seemed to follow you between classes, how your usual bullies left you alone and so much more. There was a lot you should’ve noticed, but with the pink toad and her helper turning Hogwarts into actual hell, you were far too stressed to focus on others. Stress on uniforms being perfect, staying 8 inches from the opposite sex, doing hypothetical school work instead of actual spells. 

While there was a bucket load of stuff you didn’t notice, there were a few things you did notice, like how the Weasley twins paid attention to you during your shared classes. Like the time you got called on by Snape for a potion ingredient and one of the brothers, you assumed it was George, but you didn’t like assuming, slid you a ripped piece of parchment stating the one you forgot, just about saving you from losing house points.

How you caught their attention, you weren’t even sure. You were a Hufflepuff, they were gryffindors, but everyone knew they should’ve been put in Slytherin, judging from the reputation they held up. In the end, it made sense, they were quite brave, especially since they could look Umbrigde in the eyes and cuss her out if she was doing something they weren’t fond of to friends or family. However, they did become fond of you.

They used to see you as a small, stereotypical, soft Hufflepuff but that changed when you stood up against the pink disaster. You caught their eye, you intrigued them and that was a feat in itself. Everyone, except you apparently, could tell the red-headed twins wanted you and no one exactly stopped them from getting what they wanted, which led to their next move.

You just entered the dining hall, text books in arms, and moving across to your yellow themed table to join your friends. You sat in the usual spot, and greeted them with the usual cheery hi and a bright smile. Your group nodded at you, casting a nervous smile and quick hello your way.

You watched the faces of your friends turn pale when the room grew ever so darker and they fled like cockroaches exposed to a light. You looked around at the now empty benches before turning around to check out what the big fuss was. What you say made your own reflection turn pale. Your eyes met red and gold robes before glancing up at two identical, freckled faces.

“H-Hi?” You stammered out, your voice shaky as you fiddled with your own robes. “Um- Can I um- help you?” Your brain was wracking over what you might’ve said to gain the attention of the Weasleys. Oh fuck, was it over what you said to Jordan Lee yesterday? “I-if this is about Lee? Because I was just joking!” 

The twins let out a chuckle at your panic before sitting, one on either side of you. 

“No, no, this isn’t about that. Lee can take a joke.” The one to your left spoke up. Your eyes frantically bounced between the two red-heads and it dawned on you that you couldn’t tell them apart if your life depended on it. 

“Besides, we’d never target you. You’re perfect. We’re just here to see you, dove.” Leftie spoke up, chuckling as he rested his chin on his palm. His blue eyes looked you up and down before glancing at his doppelganger.

“Oh thank Merlin!” You sighed out, your shoulders relaxing slightly. You couldn’t help but think their chuckles were actually quite charming. “T.. Wait, see me?” You could feel your body heating up. 

“Godric, I knew we picked a good one.” Leftie spoke up again as Rightie scooted closer to you.

“Hush, mate, don’t give us away that easily.” Rightie was chuckling close to your ear as he wrapped an arm around your waist, scooting you closer.

“Oh, come on, Georgie.” Leftie Fred stated as he also advanced into your personal bubble. “Have a little fun.”

“Just don’t wanna scare him, is all.” George shot you an easy smile. The room was starting to feel like an active volcano to you.

“Right, right, Hufflepuffs scare easily-” Fred’s voice was filled with sass. 

“We do not! Don’t you dare fall into that trap!” You pressed a finger into his chest, your face pulled into a sneer. “Hufflepuffs can be just as brave as Gryffindors. I’m sure Cedric and one Dora Tonks proved that very well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ohhoo, feisty! I hit a nerve.” Fred was smirking now. You should’ve known he would’ve wanted a reaction out of you. Fred was like that; always pushing buttons, trying to piss people off and see the reaction. One could say it was his favorite thing above quidditch, but that might be a stretch.

“Fred, apologize. We’re not here to patronize him, remember?” George smiled, gently patting your head to try to get you to calm you down. 

“Alright, alright. Love, I’m sorry. Now between you and me, I don’t really believe someone’s house defines them.” The tall red-head leaned in close to you. Probably too close, but you could see the flicks of green in his eyes. You knew your face was turning bright red. 

“Fine. Whatever.” You grumbled out, pushing him back. You turned away, only now remembering the hand around your waist. “Oi, let go.” You gently bapped at his hand away. “And what exactly did you mean by ‘picked the right one’?” You shot Fred a glare.

“Don’t worry about it, muffin.” George grabbed your chin and made you look back at him. “You’ll find out soon enough.” With that, both the twins just.. Left.

They got up and left like they didn’t call you three couple-esc nicknames and fluster the shit out of you. You spent the rest of your lunch mulling over what just happened and barely eating. You were anxious for Potions class to happen.

You had every right to be anxious. Snape had changed everyones seats, mixing up the houses against his better judgement just to separate the two Weasleys. He was convinced that the two trouble makers managed to cheat, even with the none cheating quills and seperate seats during the test. 

Anyway, the dark glares the Weasley’s kept shooting toward Snape were terrifying to say the least. Snape had unknowingly moved them away from their price and away from each other. Fred was sat next to some sour Ravenclaw who was forced away from her friend while George was sat next to one of your Hufflepuff friends, who was literally sweating bullets.

You didn’t know the two were fuming with jealousy or feel them glance your way every now and then to make sure the Slytherin sitting next to you didn’t cause you problems or touch you the wrong way. Luckily, you managed to recreate the potion skillfully, even helping the Slytherin every once in a while. 

When class finally dismissed after what felt like forever, you gathered your books into arms and began to follow the crowd of students. You could barely get out the door, however. A hand grabbed your arm and pulled you from the crowd. You looked up to see one of the twins grabbing your arm while the other walked behind you. They couldn’t stand seeing you next to that green branded snake anymore.

“Guys?” You looked between them, once again losing track of who was who. When you didn’t get an answer, you spoke up again. “What’s going on?”

“We did mention how we picked you, right?” The one behind you spoke up while the other tightened his grip on your wrist. You nodded your head as the twin in front of you stopped walking. He observed the hall before opening a hidden passageway and dragging you in. “Now that we have privacy we can explain.” 

The passageway was dark, except for the few torches that lined the watts. The shadows of the twins loomed over the pale yellow walls, making you feel so, so small. You looked along the arched pathway, an audible gulp heard in the near silence. You jumped back a bit when they took a testing step toward you.

“But what about our other classes?” You stammered out, biting your lip as they took steps toward you. You took one step back for every one they advantage toward you until your back bumped against the wall. “We shouldn’t be late.” You looked back at the bricks your back bumped against, patting it with your palm to make sure you were, in fact, against a wall.

“We can just make up the classes, doll, relax.” One put a hand against the wall by your head, leaning over. “Just listen to us, will ya?” 

“Freddie and I have been watching you for a while now.” George spoke up as he leaned in a little himself. Ok, that isn’t creepy at all. “And we’ve decided, well, your ours.”

“..What?” You stared at them before shoving yourself between them and walking down the hallway a little bit. “Excuse me? I’m sorry- I’m yours now?” You put a hand over your chest as the red-heads glanced between each other. “Hold on, let me get this straight.” You clapped your hands together before continuing. “You have been watching me for the past couple of- well, who knows how long and have just decided, out of blue AND without asking me, that I’m just yours?!”

The twins glanced between each other for a second time, before nodding at each other, turning to you and nodding again.

“Yeah, Pretty much.” They spoke in unison, moving their hands in a so-so manner. A wicked grin appeared on both boys, causing you to feel uneasy.

“Hit the nail on the head.” Fred spoke up, turning to his brother.

“Should’ve been a Ravenclaw.” George crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Still, pretty sma-”

“You have no right to decide that!” You shouted, hands balled into fists at your side. Both twins snapped their heads to you, their faces barely lit under the light provided by the torches.  “I’m a person, ya know, with feelings and opinions and right now, I’m starting to think I don’t you should go fu-” You were cut off by Fred grabbing your neck and pushing you into another wall. You grabbed his wrists, groaning when your head snapped against the brick. He wasn’t squeezing your neck hard enough to choke you, but just to hold her still.

“Finish that sentence, dolly, and you may end up on our hit list.” Fred’s voice was deeper than you’d ever heard before and it was causing panic to flood inside your veins. 

“See, (Y/n). When we want something, we get it.” George spoke up, his head popping up over Fred’s shoulder. “And what we want is you.”

“Whether you come with us, be ours and do what we say is up to you.” The man holding you still let out a deep laugh. “And if we can’t persuade you with our.. Reputation, I recommend you just remember one thing,” Fred paused and leaned into your ear, “We can do a lot more damage than that pink toad can.” He gave your neck a squeeze while he spoke, causing your squeak to echo in the empty hall.

“So what do you say, love?” A sinister smirk was across George’s lips. Fred’s grip eased up, allowing you to take in a big breath. You wanted the thumping of your heart to not be in your ears.  

“W-Well- I- Uh-” You stammered out. Your brain was trying to figure out the correct response to ‘Hi, we own you now and if you fight back, say goodbye to your future-’. “I-I-I think, um-” Suddenly the hand around your neck was leaving and instead straightening out your uniform. 

“Where did our manners go, Georgie?”

“Your right. Mum would kill us for disrespecting someone so soft.”

How do they act like they aren’t threatening you all? How are they acting so calm when Fred’s hand print was surely on your neck?

“Reckon we should give him some time to figure out what side he’s on?” Fred finished fixing your uniform for you and backed up, putting his hands in his pocket.

How were they smiling like they didn’t hurt you?

“Sounds like a splendid idea!” With George ending the conversation, they both left the way they came, leaving you on the cusp of freaking out as they strolled to their next class. 

You slid down the wall, a shaky hand going to your neck to feel any kind of damage. You stared blankly at the wall. You mulled over words, sentences, expressions- everything. In the end you had several questions, just like earlier, but one stuck out the most.

Why you?

You weren’t sure what time it was when you left the hidden passageway and, frankly, you didn’t care. You strolled down the hallway, hand rubbing your sore neck as you walked to the Hufflepuff common room. You tapped the barrels the same way you had for the past 7 years and slipped inside. You immediately went up the winding staircase, to your dorm and plopped yourself down on the bed.

You didn’t get a lot of sleep that night. You mostly stared at the ceiling thinking over your options. It felt like you only had two. A; be their whatever and stay with them until they get bored and live in hell or B; say no and live in hell.

Either way, hell was coming for you. 

You stared out the window, watching the sun come up. You didn’t want to go to breakfast but you haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday and your stomach was deciding to go to war with your tired brain.

You dragged your body out of bed, heading to the bathroom to do bathroom things and got dressed.. Kinda. You ended up buttoning your shirt wrong and not even bothering with your tie, letting it just dangle awkwardly as you walked to the dinning hall. You were faarr too tired for this shit and it wasn’t even noon yet.

Your tired legs led you to the nearest empty seat at the Hufflepuff table. You shoved the plate away and opted for letting your skull thump against the table. You didn’t bother looking up when you heard a familiar chuckle, instead you just closed your eyes, ignoring the two warm bodies pressing into your sides.

“Aw, come on now, dove. You gotta eat.” A sickeningly sweet tone that you recognized as George’s voice whispered to you.

“I’d rather sleep, thank you.” You spat out, your lips pulled into a grimace.

“Wait, you didn’t sleep?” Fred spoke up, his mouth full, you could tell. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Fred, relax. I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“Just stress, guys. Please give me space.” You grumbled out. How the hell do they expect you to sleep with what happened yesterday? The hand print on your neck had faded, thank god, but still. You were surprised when they scooted away from you a smidgen. You should’ve noticed them sitting beside you. Of course they saved you a seat- or did they? Who cares. 

“Was it over our offer?”

“Offer? Was it really an offer? How the hell could you consider that an offer?” You lifted your head, shooting one of them a glare before sliding the plate back in front of you and biting into a slice of toast. 

“Still so feisty, especially for someone half asleep. Ow!” Fred rubbed his arm after George hit him. “Ok, ok.” Fred fiddled with his fingers before reaching out to gently caress your neck, causing you to flinch away every so slightly. “I’m glad it healed up some. I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday. I didn’t mean to hurt my little dove.” 

“It’s, um.. It’s ok?” Of course your statement was more of a question. It wasn’t ok that he nearly choked you out against the wall, but at least he apologized. You couldn’t help but smile a little when he smiled brightly at you. You didn’t want to admit his smile was cute.

“So did you decide?” George spoke up, his head tilted when you turned to look at him. 

“No.. I.. I need more time.” You turned back to your plate, gulping quietly. You went back to eating, trying to get rid of the small bubbles of anxiety in your tummy. The flip flopping of the twins personalities had your head spinning. Maybe they were only being nice for appearances and would beat the shit out of you later. You ate as much as you could handle, hoping it would counter the sleep your brain was begging for, instead it only seemed to make you more tired. 

You let out a small huff when one twin wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side. He gently directed your head to lay against his shoulder, only confusing you more. You opened your mouth to question him, but he interrupted you.

“Nap. I’ll wake you up for class.” His voice was soft. Seriously, what the fuck? You licked your lips anxiously. You tried to fight it, but his warm body and your full belly dragged your eyelids down.

You were woken by loud chatting and someone shaking your shoulder. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the light before rubbing your eyes and stretching. You looked around, realizing you were in transfiguration, your first class of the day. You furrowed your brows before looking to your side and seeing George next to you. 

“Good morning, muffin. How did you sleep?” He smiled at you, patting down any stray hairs on your head.

“Good, I guess.” Your voice was rough and scratchy, showing how out you’d been. “How did I-”

“Georgie here decided it’d be better to give you a few extra minutes of sleep instead of waking you up.” Fred turned around in his seat, shooting you a classic Weasley Half Smile.

“Oh.. Thank you.” You casted the younger twin your own small smile just before McGonagall came in and started going on a long tangent to herself about students being inappropriate attire in the halls, making you question what the poor witch had seen.

Class mulled over as it always did, slower than a snail racer. While McGonagall was going on about the many uses of transfiguring a log into a tiny hut to hide from shelter, you were busy in your head. Suddenly the twins weren’t as bad as everyone said, but.. But at the same time they were worse. You were brought back to reality when Fred slipped you a note. When you opened the folded paper, you covered your mouth to stop yourself from giggling. It was a moving drawing of McGonagall as a cat, all fluffed up in the rain, running in a circle trying to avoid the droplets.

Before you knew it, you were in potions with Snape again, but it was different this time. Fred and George had done something, apparently, leading the three of you allowed to sit next to each other once again. George repeated instructions to you without judgement while Fred showed you the proper way to add the ingredients, and of course they made you laugh with cheesy jokes while doing it all. The three of you ended up making a pretty stable potion by the end of the hour.

The day went on relatively uneventfully after your classes finished up and you soon found yourself all but passing out in your dorm room after dinner. As days passed you grew closer to the red-headed beaters and soon forgot the mishap that happened when they cornered you all but a week ago. So you gave them your answer, not that you had much of a choice. 

The twins were nothing but sweet to you after that. Fred would carry your books between classes, even if you told him not too. He’d help you finish long assignments and take the blame for your failed potion projects if it was needed. George would leave small gifts on your pillow, usually treats they swiped from Honeydukes. He’d remind you that you are, in fact, human and need to rest after hours of studying.

Everything was going great! You three were giggling and joking, occasionally pushing each other, trying to knock the other off their chair, disturbing the piece in the library when it came to a halt. It came to a halt when a fellow hufflepuff girlie literally wiggled between you and one of the freckled quidditch players. She went on to ask for help about some magical creature care homework she’d gotten. Before you could answer, the twins swept you out of the library, grumbling about how their mom would give them an earful for hurting a girl, so Ginny would have to do it. 

“Oh, babe, no! Not again.” You spoke up, trying to pull your arms free. “Come on! No need to be jealous.” You giggled. Yup, the truly had you wrapped around their fingers.

“But dove, we’re just-” They spoke at the same time, turning to look at you.

“Trying to keep me safe, I know! She just wanted help!” You smiled at them, standing on your tippy toes to give them a short kiss on the nose. “Relax, guys. If I feel uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.”

“Will you?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course! Have I ever lied to you before?”

“No.. Alright. We trust you, muffin.” Fred pressed a hand against your lower back, shooting you a sweet smile. “Now, how about you scuttle ahead, hmm? Head off to the Gryffindor common room; password is chalk dust. We’ll meet you right there.”

“Are you sure?” You looked between them but let out a tiny gasp when Fred gently pushed you forward with the hand on your back.

“Of course, (Y/n). We’ll be right behind you!” George spoke up, the usual sugar coated grin across his face. With that, you nodded your head, practically skipping down the hallway. You were oblivious to the dark glare the twins shot the Hufflepuff girl who awkwardly excited the library before heading to find their little sister. You should’ve noticed when Ginny came over to them with some bandaged knuckles and a small cut on her lip the next day, but you didn’t. You were too wrapped up in the sugar quills George gave you that night and the cute compliment filled note Fred left by your wand on your bedside table. 

Honestly, the Weasley Twins had you wrapped around their finger. They were wild individuals who always got what they wanted and no one could stop them. They had their ways, some painful, some humiliating, and no one fought against them, not even you.

[fellowstrangetownappreciator]

La Fiesta Tech and other unfortunate decisions 1: Greek House powered by hatred (Tank and Johnny)

After my last post about my general play style for university in TS2, here I come with something more specific! (aka a blog that promised to be about gameplay is finally posting gameplay)

I ran 35 Sims through college at once - the 8 Strangetown and Pleasantview teens, La Fiesta Tech premades, plus student bin families from the other two universities. In this post I’ll focus on one of the households, what their general experience was and what are my headcanons about it.

Now, I don’t have the save file anymore. The neighborhood succumbed to corruption just a rotation after, so I restarted. It was a learning experience and now I know to run HoodChecker after every rotation and to batbox gossip memories frequently. However, I’m over it and enjoying my new hood even more, I just thought I write a short disclaimer that these bits won’t have any mentions in future posts. But my interpretation of the characters still stands and doesn’t change regardless of save files.

Anyway, let’s get down to business!

...to defeat Academic Probation.

When Johnny Smith signed up for an assignment to establish and lead a Greek House of his own, he was overjoyed. Even more so when he saw the name "Grunt" as his assigned partner.

Founding a Greek House with Ripp? AWESOME!

But... the Grunt in question wasn't Ripp...

No. It was the a**hole Grunt. They’ve already been living in one dorm (with like 14 other people) and the place was a battleground.

To be fair, Johnny and Tank didn't just fight and nothing else. Yes, fighting was like 90 % of how they usually spent their time together but there was something else...

Chess.

In this particular game Johnny had become surprisingly fond of chess and frequently rolled the want to play it.

Chess has always been Tank's favorite game.

They played quite often and it was one of the rare times they were having fun together and actually talked instead of yelling.

But are a few games of chess enough to earn one forgiveness for a teenhood of nastiness and abuse?

In Johnny's eyes rightfully not.

He had to admit the a**hole is quite chill when he's not being a total d*ckhead but that didn't change anything about the fact that Tank had been terrible to him for no good reason ever since forever and he hated him for that.

Those feelings... weren't completely mutual.

College was Tank's awakening. He found himself away from his father, away from prying eyes that would judge him for not being perfect and for the first time in his life, he felt quite free.

And empty. And alone. He realized he had no friends and that the only person who truly liked him was his father and he would most probably stop if he ever learned of Tank's inner world.

He decided it was a high time for a change.

But habits aren't easy to break, especially if they're the only thing you know. Tank had never learnt to relax around people, never learnt to talk to them just to get to know them, never learnt to express himself, never learnt how to make friends.

Why, he had never needed to! They would have been a weakness, an unmanly stain of lollygagging on his consciousness. He was taught that friendships form themselves on the battlefield and it's a waste of time to try to create them otherwise.

It was quite awkward when he started approaching Ripp in attempts to mend their relationship. Tank has hurt Ripp in the past, he actually treated them quite horribly, fueling his own confidence from being the older, bigger, stronger one and from their father approving of such behavior.

Their father has never said it out loud but it has always been simply there that Tank was the superior one. More obedient, stronger, faster, more masculine. Smarter, even! How could Ripp with an attitude like theirs, with their lousy academic results even compare to by-the-book and hardworking Tank?

Yet it was Ripp who was seemingly happier, like they didn't even care about father's disapproval or the pressure of being the offspring of a venerated general. Tank realized he admired them for that. They did things Tank wouldn't even dream of. They didn't hide who they were.

Forgiveness... forgiveness isn't easy to attain. But Tank was determined to try anyway. At the very least he would stop causing any more harm to his sibling in the future.

It wasn't that straightforward with his new alien roommate, though.

Johnny was special. First he despised him because his father taught him they were inherently dangerous and invasive, they needed to be driven away. But that got quickly buried under memories of aggression and hostile experiences. It was by all means Tank who started it and Johnny was only fighting back but that didn't matter deep in Tank's head, his brain had connected Johnny to unpleasant, awful things regardless.

But he was also the most... attractive person Tank knew. Tank couldn't help himself. He wished Johnny Smith wasn't an alien, so they could've been friends right from the start. He was athletic, even more than Tank, was interested in the same sports as him and was damn good at them, he has always had good grades without seemingly having to study that much, and all around, he would make such a worthy friend!

Friend. Was that something Tank sincerely had on mind when he fantasized about Johnny? (And did he do that a lot!) No. Not at all.

Ripp has long been out, proud and loud about their orientation, not denying they liked boys and girls and anything in between and beyond, and the general was giving them dirty looks and deprecating remarks for it. He wasn't outright punishing them, mainly because he expected nothing more from Ripp and knew his middle child was simply "a weirdo" but Tank was sure his reception would be even worse if he came out.

He was supposed to be the good son, after all. The heir. He was not supposed to think or do or, by the Watcher, be something his father considers perverted and unmanly. He could only imagine the horrible things the general could say to him and the thought alone was enough to make him shudder.

Once again Tank simply didn't understand Ripp. They liked girls, so the world didn't even had to know that it's not all there is to it. They could've just find themselves a girlfriend and not face any judging generals. That's what Tank would do!

But he couldn't. He wasn't like Ripp. He only ever felt attracted to other men and male-presenting people. There was nothing he could do, no way he could force himself to be any other way.

And nobody knew. Not even that girl from their high school that Tank asked to prom so that he didn't look weird. They were on amicable terms but they weren't even friends, they just helped each other out so they didn't seem like outcasts to the whole school on the prom night.

He remembered his father being elated and encouraging him to invite his "girlfriend" for a dinner soon, so he could meet the fine young lady that might just one day become his daughter-in-law.

Tank had to tell him that it unfortunately "didn't work out" and that he "needs to focus on his studies and training anyway" and the general then praised him for it.

Little did he know that his favorite son, even back then, was not only gay but had a hopeless crush on an alien boy.

Every time Tank tried to interact with Johnny and be nice to him, he got reminded of his feelings he was so ashamed of and of his fear of his father disavowing him, so he said something mean instead or didn't talk to him at all.

The only exception was chess.

Sometimes, when a game neared its end, they spoke. And they talked... casually. It was awkward and cautious but it was a conversation and it felt... good.

Playing chess with Johnny became Tank's guilty pleasure. (even worse than watching make-up tutorials on SimTube!)

Being forced by the assignment to live together for six semesters was equal parts a living hell and a dream come true.

They had a small house on La Fiesta Tech premises that they were to transform into a lively Greek House.

"This place looks like shit and smells like a prison cell. Or vice-versa?"

"You got everything you have for free, Smith. Stop bitching."

Johnny sighed and opened up a book. "Says someone whose loaded dad literally sent him money for this house."

"I thought your family was also well off. Is that incorrect?"

"We have a financial situation called None of your business, Grunt."

"Sorry for asking like a normal person."

"Nothing you do is 'like a normal person'."

...

"I quit! You're unhinged, Smith!"

"Tell me something I don't know."

"I found a knife under your pillow!"

"You found -what? Why the f*ck were you looking under my pillow?!"

"I was just changing the sheets. I did mine, so I thought I'll do yours, too!"

"Why the f*ck would you change the sheets on MY flipping bed?"

"Because you are a disgusting manchild and it stank."

"I was gonna change them tonight! And, guess what!"

"What?"

"YOU also have a knife under your pillow!"

"I don't!"

"Yes, you do, liar."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw you put it there yesterday, you galaxy brain. The question is, why the hell do you have a f*cking knife under your pillow?"

"Why do you, Smith?"

"Because I live with your ass. I sleep better knowing you can't just murder me in my sleep. Now you tell."

"Same. I've slept with a knife under my pillow ever since grade school in case a robber got to our house. I won't stop now that I live with YOU!"

"..."

"I won't kill you. I'm not a freak! Killing is wrong, even if it's parasites such as you. And, besides, I'm not stupid. If you turned up dead, I'll would be charged immediately, even if I didn't do it."

"So why do heck do you think I would kill you, Grunt?"

"I... don't know."

"Anyway, were you for real? Are you quitting? We fail this assignment but I'm chill with that if it means getting rid of you."

"No, no! I'm not going anywhere until we pass. I'm not a quitter! But if you want to quit, I'll respect that and be glad this circus is finally over."

"Fine. Are we getting pizza for dinner tonight?"

...

“I invited my family for a lunch...”

“Alright. I’ll be in the library. Or the gym. Haven’t decided yet.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I want you to be here, Grunt.”

“Why? So you can all make fun of me?”

“Stop being so defensive. I want you to be here, so you can just chill with us. And my folks are gonna know you’re actually... okay.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“And if you hang out with mom, dad and Jill, you’re gonna know they’re okay, too.”

“That’s not how this works. I can’t just act like we’re friends now and everything’s peachy.”

“Well, who said that? Maybe that’s exactly how it works. You never know until you try!”

“If anything goes wrong-”

“Nothing’s gonna go wrong. It’s not that deep. We’re been living together for nearly three f*cking years and had a sh*tton of time to talk. In fact, I already told them you’re my friend now.”

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t use the F-word!”

Johnny laughed. “What? F*cking? F*ck? C’mon! Your dad can’t hear us!”

“No, the other one. The FR-word.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and grinned. “Go friend yourself!”

“Okay, I’ll stay for the lunch. I’ll go get my tuxedo...”

“Please don’t.”

Reaching a truce was a painfully slow and slowly painful process. Sometimes Johnny wondered if there’s even a point. Sometimes Tank wondered if it wouldn’t be better just to focus fully on his studies and forget that Johnny existed.

But they had to live together, they had to work together organizing parties and happenings in order to grow the Greek House. They had to speak. And when the exams drew nearer, the only person who was available for evening study sessions was usually the other.

What did they study anyway?

Tank rolled the want to major in Drama while Johnny studied Political Science. Tank has never told his father the truth of what his field of study is and knowing his father has access to the university's statistics and probably could fact check that in Tank's house there lives a Drama major and a PolSci major, he pretended he's doing Political Science and Johnny is the one majoring in Drama.

When the general came for a visit to attend Tank's graduation, Johnny played along with his lie.

The relationship between Tank and Johnny improved drastically over the three years. They still weren't exactly close friends but were healing with a prospect of a friendship further along the way.

Were they romantic with one another?

No. Johnny reciprocated Tank's attraction and maybe something could happen in the future but Johnny fell in love autonomously with somebody else.

With a different Grunt, to be exact.

(typing angrily)

Anyway, even though Tank's crush on Johnny ended up futile, it was still a great experience for him.

In college, Tank Grunt really flourished, despite the initial struggle. He realized a lot about himself and started working on his social skills and repairing his relationships.

He also found a friend in none other than Ophelia Nigmos and she became the first person he ever came out to.

Plus, he was the most academically successful Sim of the whole 35 students I played, being the only one who graduated with a flawless 4.0 GPA.

Unlike Ripp, Tank returned back to live with their father and Buck for the time being. He was expected to enter the army and needed a place to be. Moreover, the general was vocal about choosing him as the heir who inherits the Grunt house someday, so it was simply right for Tank to go back and live there.

Was it? Wasn’t it?

Tank was definitely having second thoughts.

He didn’t wonder anymore if military was the right career path for him. He knew it wasn’t.

But was he ready to let the world know who he really was?

[tiifalockhart]

More Than Friends

Pairing: Zack x Sephiroth

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, fighting

Word Count: 2k

A/N: hiii I’m back with another pairing I love. although this wasn’t requested, I’ve recently fallen in love with this ship... so i figured i would make something of my own for them. i hope you enjoy <3

Ao3 || Masterlist

You’d never really expect someone like the war hero to fall in love. He was distant, oblivious, sometimes he was even cold. It was odd, the way his expressions never really changed except for when he was in the middle of a battle. It was fairly hard to find him too, he didn’t have a routine whatsoever. Besides the constant calls of Hojo, he was usually never in his office (since he dreaded paperwork so much) and Genesis was quite stingy when it came training (since he hated losing). Sephiroth seemed to spend a lot of time avoiding the plagues of his life, such as meetings, paperwork, Hojo... So a lot of times, he would be seen sneaking off with his friends to anywhere else instead of work. 

That’s when he met Zack, the adorable little puppy-like second class SOLDIER under Angeal’s wing. You could tell from his face from meeting Sephiroth that he was amazed. He was energetic, of course, and he asked a lot of questions about Sephiroth, anything that he could think of. Had Zack not been wearing the SOLDIER uniform, Sephiroth would have been convinced that this kid was part of his fan-club. Sephiroth couldn’t hold back the small smile forming on his lips. Zack was different from all the fanboys and girls he met... He was genuine and see-through, his innocent exterior made him quite charming in an odd sense. Much to Angeal and Genesis’ bewilderment, Sephiroth offered to get to know Zack better, inviting him out to dinner no matter how late it was by the time Zack stopped questioning him. 

After dinner that night, Sephiroth and Zack slowly became closer and closer. Even if Angeal was Zack’s mentor, Sephiroth would often find time to teach Zack more about being a SOLDIER. He admired Zack’s unending excitement about anything. Zack could find the good in just about anything; Sephiroth could tell him to take down an entire army in the simulation training rooms, and Zack would take it as a test and go at it with no complaints, even if he was unsuccessful. He was different from anything Sephiroth had seen in a long time. No one else would ever know, but Sephiroth admired Zack just as much as Zack admired him. 

Eventually, they became friends outside of work as well. Often times, Zack would randomly invite Sephiroth out when neither of them were drowning in work. It was odd... Sephiroth usually would ignore those invitations, but he accepted Zack’s with no hesitation. What had gotten into him? Their strange and random outings would consist of random shopping sprees, or restaurants that caught Zack’s attention, or sometimes it would be a walk around one of the sectors of Midgar. Everyone thought it was strange how Sephiroth and Zack were nearly attached at the hip, even Genesis and Angeal were at a loss of words when it came to their strange relationship. 

Sephiroth couldn’t explain this strange infatuation that he had with Zack. Ever since they first met, he felt this odd pull towards the younger SOLDIER. It was strange, Sephiroth had never felt something so strong or different... He was worried about it. Maybe he was getting too attached, should he back off? What if Zack didn’t feel the same way? He didn’t want to ruin anything between them. Were feelings always this complicated? Sephiroth was unsure. 

It began to become noticeable. When Zack and Sephiroth were together, a smile would be present on Sephiroth’s lips. It shocked a lot of people, including Genesis and Angeal. He hardly smiled when it came to them. Whenever Zack would crack a joke, even if it was bad or not, Sephiroth would still let out a light chuckle and sometimes reply with a joke of his own. He seemed more... Open, maybe extroverted is the better word. It was astonishing, even Hojo was at a loss for his behavior. 

The scientists began anxious as Sephiroth developed more through this relationship. Hojo would question him about it, but ultimately be clueless as to what really caused this behavior. He knew Zack had something to do with it, but he couldn’t figure out what was so different about that boy. These new developments within Sephiroth pushed Hojo to immediately send him out on more missions. He was afraid... Feelings could cause Sephiroth to get out of control, and both Hojo and the rest of Shinra didn’t want that. 

They collectively decided to push more of a word load on Sephiroth so that he didn’t have time to think about friendships or relationships. A new mission was presented to him daily, which bothered him. They were all simple clean-up missions, why were they pushing so hard for these? A simple infantryman could solve these issues, yet they were sending out first class SOLDIERs? It didn’t help that Zack seemed to be busy a lot more often as well... They hardly got to see each other anymore. It hurt... Sephiroth finally met someone he felt comfortable with, someone that he could open up to, and it was viciously ripped from him. He hated it so much...

Maybe he should put his foot down. He had the power to refuse these missions, didn’t he? A First Class SOLDIER, a War Hero, handling minuscule missions? That was ridiculous. When Lazard summoned him again for his next mission, Sephiroth arrived with a frown. He denied every mission listed to him, a stubborn tone to his voice. Even after being warned by Lazard, Sephiroth stubbornly continued. He decided that today was his day off, and he was going to see Zack. 

Eventually, Lazard gave up. He couldn’t force the First Class SOLDIER to go, and he didn’t want to face the fury of a disgruntled War Hero, so he dismissed Sephiroth before he grew angry. Sephiroth didn’t hesitate to rush to find Zack afterwards. He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message, searching for Zack. As soon as the younger answered, Sephiroth almost ran to find him. As soon as he entered the training room and found Angeal and Zack, his expression softened. Zack turned towards him and grinned. “Oh, hey Seph.” He said casually, as if nothing had happened. 

Sephiroth let out a breath as he nodded politely to Angeal. “Good morning Zack. After your training session today, I request to see you in my office.” He explained, his voice monotone as usual. He could still hide his emotions thankfully. They both gave him an odd look, before Angeal spoke up. 

“You came... All this way, just to tell him that?” He asked, raising a brow. Sephiroth didn’t notice, but there was a faint smirk on his lips. It’s like he knew. Sephiroth shook his head lightly and looked away. 

“Apologies. It is very important that I see Zack as soon as possible. I’ll be leaving now.” Sephiroth muttered, his brows furrowing as he turned away. Zack tilted his head curiously as he watched Sephiroth. 

“Oh- Uh, okay! I’ll be there soon.” Zack reassured, grinning over at Sephiroth. It sounded like he was snapped out of a daze... What could have distracted him? Sephiroth nodded lightly, before awkwardly leaving. 

That was so embarrassing... What was he thinking when he ran into that room? Hopefully Zack didn’t think differently of him... It didn’t matter. He should just go back to his office and wait patiently, surely they won’t be much longer, right? 

Sephiroth couldn’t just relax, though. He continued to pace around the room, awaiting Zack’s arrival. A couple of knocks would happen, causing Sephiroth’s heart to jump with anxiety, but he would only end up disappointed when it wasn’t Zack. 

Finally, Zack showed up. It felt like hours had passed by the time he knocked on the door. A shaky breath escaped Sephiroth’s lips as he quickly opened the door. A slightly shocked expression was on Zack’s face, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips. “Everything okay?” He asked as he stepped inside.

Sephiroth frowned at this question. “Well... Yes, why wouldn’t everything be okay?” He responded, his gaze following Zack. The younger male leaned against Sephiroth’s desk, raising a brow and crossing his arms. 

“You look like you’re in a frenzy.” He pointed out, snickering at Sephiroth’s confusion. “I’ve never seen you so worked up. Is it because they’re piling missions on you now?” Zack asked, tilting his head to the side. He looked so much like a puppy... Sephiroth mentally cursed himself for falling for it. 

He shook his head slowly. “No... That’s just a minor annoyance.” He stated, crossing his arms and looking away from the other. “I wanted to talk about something... It’s been confusing me for quite some time.” Sephiroth brought it up casually, attempting to mask the growing anxiety inside him. 

“What’s up?” Zack asked, his grin never leaving his lips. Dammit, why was this so hard?

Sephiroth’s mind screamed at him. This could change their relationship forever. No... This will change their relationship. No matter what Sephiroth says, no matter how Zack responds, nothing between them will be the same. He was afraid, Sephiroth had never been afraid of anything. He could take down three behemoths at once, he could traverse the most extreme war-like terrains, but he couldn’t look his crush in the eyes and tell him how he really feels. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but strangely, nothing came out. Zack gave him a confused look, before smiling weakly. “It’s alright Seph, take your time.” He urged, nodding lightly. 

Sephiroth sighed and tried again, but there was nothing again. His mouth was dry, he could feel his palms were sweaty, he felt like he needed to sit down before he collapsed. A shaky sigh left his lips as he pulled himself together. 

“I...” He began, furrowing his brows as he chose his words carefully. “I would like to be more than friends.” Sephiroth stated firmly, as if he was confirming it with himself as well. 

Zack raised a brow. Now it was his turn to be confused. “More than friends? ...Like, best friends?” He asked, which Sephiroth shook his head. “Ohhhh, you mean like... Mega-best friends.” He corrected jokingly, smirking at Sephiorth’s sigh. 

“No, I mean like-” Zack cut him off immediately by throwing his arms around him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. 

“I know what you mean.” He murmured softly. Sephiroth raised his brows in surprise and hesitantly returned the hug. “And I accept. Pretty cool how I managed to seduce the War Hero, huh?” Zack teased, causing Sephiroth’s cheeks to heat up in embarrassment. 

“...Yes.” He responded awkwardly, as if he was unsure of what to say. Zack grinned and took Sephiroth’s hand, guiding him towards the door. 

“Let’s go back to my place! After you change though. That way, we can watch a movie and hang out, you know?” He suggested, even though he had already decided for the both of them. 

A smile tugged at Sephiroth’s lips as he followed along with the younger, relief washing over him. That was much simpler than he thought it would be... Maybe he should try taking more chances more often... But for now, he was satisfied with the results and decided to leave it at that. 

[0vorenation0]

The Island (series #4)

As I stepped outside and walked done the path. I saw the old foundations, where houses used to sit. With further exploration, I walked up to the old graveyard. It’s was destroyed by years of abuse from the elements. As I continued one the oddly familiar place, I came across a old tombstone. I read the name and it was of my grandmother. The name was the same, my grandfather used to tell me about her. It said she was a supreme fighter and warrior but was striked down by a rival clan.

That’s when I heard a branch break in the distance, I stood up and looked around. Then another break of a branch and another. I drew out my sword and waited. I listened and watched, then I saw a dark shadow walk into the light. “ Damn Saladin haha, you nearly got yourself killed. What you doing out hear, btw have you seen my guards?” I ask just know noticing there gone. “Cal I see you found the graves, and no I haven’t seen them. Listen there’s something I need to tell you, but I know your gonna freak out.” Saladin says “what are you talking about, did the werewolf escape?” I ask nervously. He looks as me and says” no he didn’t but I’m much older then I let on Cal, when I first met you I wasn’t gonna take you to the island. However when I heard your name and who u were I knew then and there your useful. I’m all about preserving ancient history and knowledge. I know your a powerful pred back at your kingdom, but hear you have no idea. Shortly after your tribe left the werewolf’s at the least the pack of ancient alpha originals were hunted down. All except for one, everyone thinks there extinct. However the last one was about to be killed when he attacked me. He bit me and his genes fused with mine, I became the first human pred werewolf hybrid. Usually not possible, but since I was a pred, I could turn. I’m gonna show you how powerful I am Cal haha. This is true power.!!!”

I stood there shocked and terrified, Saladins eyes turned yellow. He began to change and morph, he started getting massive and hair popped out everywhere. He nose grew long and his teeth became sharp and long. After that I drew my sword and went to stabb him. His hands grew claws and as I came in with my sword he swatted me up and I flew back into a tree. My sword flew and stuck in the ground and I passed out for a few seconds. When I woke up I looked around and there was nothing. I slowly got up and looked around, my arm felt like it was dislocated. I could defend myself I was helpless as I look around. Then a drop of liquid fell in my hair and I realized it wasn’t water but spit. I slowly lift my head up and there he was standing in the tree teeth put snarling at me. I panicked and ran, I picked up my sword and didn’t make it far before I fell. He jumped down and I could hear him behind me, I went to swing but he blocked my arm and it went flying away.

He got in my face and sniffed me, and then licked my face chin to hair. His breath was so hot and felt like a gush of wind. I could see his maw and I waited for the worst. His mouth was huge and could easily swallow my head. I could practically see down his throat. The beads drops of spit were scary, I felt truly helpless as he poked his maw wide and went to swallow my head but stoped as my head was in his throat. It was so slimy and gross, smelled like death, and I could feel his muscles squeezing me. I felt him pull away and my head left his mouth covered in slime and spit. I was confused, he could have easily swallowed me in one gulp. I was nothing to him but a bug that’s wouldn’t make a dent in his gut. That’s when I saw it though, it was massive and mesmerizing. His cock was huge, and that’s when I realized why he didn’t swallow me. I cleared the slime out of my eyes and felt him grab my legs. He striped me done to nothing but my underwear, and places my feet in his maw. He licked all around them and the. Finally let them go fully covered in his salvia. He grabbed the massive cock and began rubbing it, making it hard once again. It grew to and I possible 15 to 20 inches. My face was turned in horror as he grabbed my feet and slid my feet into his cock slit.

I tried to kick but his strength was ungodly, I was helpless, my arm was dislocated. So I could fight back. I could only sit and watch as his massive cock swallowed me. I used my on good arm to grab a stick. With a quick move I jerked my arm and tried to stab him but he caught my arm. He gripped it harder until I dropped the stick and he let arm go. I grabbed my thighs and pulled me more and more into his cock. I squirmed my feet and could feel the powerful muscled cock walls squeeze and pulse. With every pulse of his cock he pulled me further and deeper. His cock just didn't end, I could tell he was getting pleasure from swallowing with his member. I grabbed dirt and grass, as his cock lifted me off the ground. Gravity kicked in and I was slowly being pulled in faster, that's when I began to beg him. However nothing worked, his pred instincts kicked in and I was helpless. As the king of VoreNation, I was not about to die a bitch. So I made my peace and closed my eyes, an honorable fight I had put up. Nothing last forever, my cock and ass entered passed his cock slit. The slime made me hard and as I was pulled down. I felt myself cum, the made me descend faster and my cum dried down into his own massive balls. My feet finally enter the massive chamber that was his balls and I could feel the puddle of cum I would be descending into.

He placed his massive hand on my head and pushed me down. My time and reign had come, as I was up to my neck in his fleshy giant cock. He pushed the rest in and I was sent slowly in the dark hole that was his cock. I looked up and the light faded fast until it was nothing but dark. I tied to move around but his walls just squeezed and held me. I could feel his massive hand help push me down his urethra. Although he might have been rubbing his cock as the pleasure of swallowing his prey felt good. I began to curl into a ball and then my head finally enter his balls. His cock began to soften, and once I was fully in his balls the weight dropped them down. Saladin began to walk away and entered the lab. He sat down and rubbed his balls, this began the process of churning, I could feel the cum rising. Soon I would be nothing but a werewolf cum.

I had always wondered what it felt in to be churn to cum. Surprisingly it was quite peaceful. There was no pain, I just dissolved into thick white slimy cum. Saladin still in wolf for began rubbing his balls further this made his cock hard again. Once fully hard he began to jerk off, I could feel it hi shi balls as they were jumping and shaking all around. As he jerked out my feet and hands dissolved away, then I arms and legs. The cum balls, filled with cum and soon they shrunk and shriveled up and squeezed me tight. The rest of my body was dissolved and I passed out. Outside the balls, he knew it was close and cries out a load Awhooooo and ropes of cum went flying all over the room. A solid kitty pools worth of cum spewed out and covered the room. After he cummed his balls well saggy and cock went flaccid. He stood up and began to transform back into a human. While he transformed I regained consciousness and the puddle of cum began to reform. It went up in the shape of a human and I turned around at Saladin. He was back as a human, I was naked covered in werewolf cum. I coughed up a bunch of cum and it was all I could taste. It tastes nothing like human cum it was more gamey.

Sometime after gathering what just happened...

”what the FUCK!!! You dick, you cock vored me. I could have died if I didn't drink that serum. Why did you do that, you also we're gonna eat me? What did I not taste good enough so you shoved me up your massive cock?” I said as I walked over to him and threw him against the wall with the strength I didn't normally have. ”it worked, look how powerful you are. I'm a genius, after I got turned I realized I had power. Not just any power true power, something I call true vore. The original type of vore, it gives me complete control over it. Don’t you see I gave you the power too, well not yet. It has take. Me years to figure out of to use the skill properly. First it was powerful strength, then the ability to absorb the engage of prey and distribute it anywhere I want. Cock, muscles, ass, anything why do you think my cock is so big. I can teach you this, your actually the last one who can have this ability. Only ones with what you call the royal gene, but it’s more of an ancient blood line that only true pure bread humans can have. No body on the island but me and you have this.” He told me saying this all while I had him against the wall.

This made me think, he knew everything was going to happen. He planned it, the serum, voring me. He’s right, I do feel different the power I have. As a pred and the last one with the unique bloodline. I must learn this, but no one can know. It would be dangerous to put out knowledge like this. “ how do I learn this? What do I have to do?” I say, he looks at me and smiles, “ well the only way I’ve found is that I have to vore you multiple times. With every Vore you unlock more and more knowledge u til you have learned everything I have.” “ okay I want to learn, teach me. Not know tho I have a kingdom to run, I can’t be away for this long or they will notice. I’ll return soon and we can begin”

With that I returned over the next serveal months, each time I wa scored I u locked more and more hidden talents to Vore. The second session, I unlocked the absorb and redistribute Vore ability. I used it to make myself the ultimate pred. The third allowed me to merge with others, instead of forcing them in a hole. I could simply aboard them through my body. After the finale session it was time to leave the island once again. “Saladin, thank you for teaching me the ways of True Vore. My time here is over but if your ever in VoreNation please come by. We will terrorize the citizens hahaha. Goodbye my friend” I said as i walk away he stops me and places a necklace in my hand. “ Cal I almost forgot to give this to you, it’s a necklace made from the original alpha werewolf’s tooth. I want you to have it, keep it safe. Goodbye” I put the necklace on and boarded my boat and we set sail for VoreNation. I didn’t know but I would meet Saladin again one day. I arrive back home and is greater by Corey. “Hey Corey it’s about time I come see those changes you made to the city. Shall we!!”

(haha yes I know the pics are furry, but I thought it looked better than a regular werewolf. Hope y'all enjoyed it, more to come!!!!!)

[vicecityhq]

██████████████]99% LOADING...SUSPECT INTO THE APD DATABASE...

WITNESS(ES) SAY HE REMINDS THEM OF: autumn, forestpunk, cottagegore, darkest academia . With a slight resemblance to PAKORN THANASRIVANITCHAI of/the ACTOR.

CLICK BELOW TO VIEW ENTIRE FILE.

FULL FILE:

Last Name, First Name: Suwannarat, Briar Alias: Pan (codename for his job), Ari (more of a nickname than an alias) Realm of birth (if earth, nationality): Earth realm, Thailand Age: 29 Date of Birth: November 23rd Gender: Male Preferred Pronouns: He/Him Species: Children of the Twelve - Sagittarius Occupation: Police Detective Sexual Orientation: Homosexual

VISUAL FILE: 

Skin Color: Tanned, burnt orange hue with a smattering of chocolate freckles along his face. He has the same freckles throughout his body, but has bigger white spots along his shoulders, the backs of his ears, and his outer hips. Eye color: Honey Brown Scars: None that have a significant story Piercings: None Tattoos: None Hair color: Dark chocolate brown Abnormalities: Fawn-like ears Horns/ wings/ etc: Small, stumpy antlers that stick just above his hair Transformed form: He does not have a transformation.

PERSONAL FILE:

RELIGIOUS BELIEF: Agnostic, but was raised Buddhist SINS:  greed  /  gluttony  /  sloth  /  lust  /  pride  /  envy  /  wrath VIRTUES: chastity  /  charity  /  diligence  /  humility /  kindness /  patience /  justice KNOWN LANGUAGES: English, Thai, Latin SECRETS: Teen romance can be rough, right? It’s like two colliding whirlwinds of emotions, hormones, and desires. One minute you’re together, the next you’re broken up for no reason. Now when that volatility is coupled with doubts about sexuality, it’s just a disaster waiting to happen. Most people didn’t accidentally melt half of their boyfriend’s face off and cause him to have to undergo grueling, expensive reconstructive surgery that would never quite make things right, though. Briar had told him the gloves had to stay on, but kids were reckless and foolishly believed in their own infallibility so it didn’t take much convincing to risk it all for some skin on skin. Then next thing they knew, Briar was babbling some half brained excuse about a science experiment gone wrong while his boyfriend’s blood curdling screams echoed in his ears. It was believably enough… until a month after - when the swelling from some of his injuries went down - his former lover was able to unintelligibly mutter “Briar did it.” Then suddenly an ‘accident’ turned into a full scale investigation of malicious intent. All Briar could do was tell the truth. He didn’t know which was more difficult - coming clean about his powers or coming out of the closet. But the officer sitting across from him and his distraught mother in the cramped interrogation room didn’t seem particularly disturbed by the confession. His bushy brows only furrowed in disappointment over the entire situation. In the end, Briar was only charged with obstruction of justice for initially lying to police, but the damage to his reputation was irreparable. His mother decided it would be best to relocate, which is how Briar came to finish his last years of high school in Agdoeg.

SAVVIES: hiking, gardening, camping, sightseeing, investigative work, problem solving, riddles and puzzles.

Powers & Abilities: Zodiac Empowerment (Sagittarius: enhanced accuracy, vision, tracking), Zodiac Physiology (see above appearance), Animal (deer) Spirit Summoning, Fthinóporokinesis (Autumn manipulation), Rot Inducement/Decaying Touch, Body Part Erosion, Luck, Evolution Manipulation, Supernatural Bowmanship.

Traits: (positive) Determined, intelligent, neat freak, health conscious, animal lover, usually down to earth, assertive, responsible, (negative) Sarcastic, impatient, untrusting, can have a temper when someone pushes him too far, distant, prioritizes work over everything else.

BACKGROUND CHECK:

Date of Birth: November 23rd

Date of Death: N/A

Crime Record: Most would assume someone has to have a clean slate to enter law enforcement, but that would leave slim pickings in a city like Agdoeg. Briar doesn’t have any outstanding criminal record, but he did have a couple of dings on his juvenile one that were expunged once he became a legal adult and, therefore, they can no longer be found in most databases.

Background/Biography

(tw miscarriage, tw immaculate conception by some strange god XD, tw domestic disputes, tw divorce) 

 Briar’s parents had been struggling to conceive a child for many years, since their prompt marriage right out of secondary school. These sweet hearts had longed to have a cookie cutter life and family, but fate seemed to inhibit that every step of the way. His mother have seven miscarriages due to the condition of an incompetent cervix and was told many times that she may never be able to carry a child to full term. This had been devastating news to the couple, who had no means of affording everything that went into surrogacy and were now facing the reality that they may never be able to have their own children. In spite of these odds, though, they kept trying and praying that whatever Gods that were out there might grant them a miracle.

Their prayers never seemed to be answered, though, and this put an understandable strain on their marriage. It was when his mother was thirty three and beginning to lose hope that she was plagued by a strange dream. She was floating in a vast emptiness, unable to move or even scream. This might have terrified someone else, but she somehow felt safe blanketed in the darkness. It was as if the entire universe lay bare before her, starlight dancing between her outstretched fingertips. Except she didn’t have fingers. She didn’t even have a physical body. There was a sense that she had become a part of something greater or perhaps been broken down into a form akin to what they had all been before the universe collided together in some cosmic firework show to create all that they knew. After what seemed like an eternity if time even passed in that world, the stars began to slowly take shape before her, pulled together by gravity or some other force she would never quite understand. As they converged, the light became so bright that it was nearly blinding, but she was space dust so how could she look away? She remembers trying to rationalize it with that absurd thought as the light shifted around her and the sound of harps and a heavenly chorus interrupted the sacred stillness that she’d been immersed in until then. Heralding the coming of something… or someone. The light came together at the peak of the crescendo, shapeless but she somehow got the sense of a shapely figure wrapped in a gown the longer she stared into it. This motherly figure bent over her and she recalled the warmth as its tendrils of light stroked over her cheek before urging her mouth open. In that moment, she didn’t feel any sense of unease as the being urged her to partake of its light. It traveled past her lips and through every corner of her being, rushing into her fingertips and even the ends of her hair. It was the first time since being in that plane that she had any sense of where she ended and the rest of the world began. The last thing she remembered was that light condensing, forming into its own little star in the lower part of her abdomen and radiating such soothing warmth…

Then she woke up and that was the first time she really had any sense of unease about the strange dream. As someone who had experienced how odd dreams could get during pregnancy, though, she took it as a good sign. Sure enough, when she took a test three weeks later, she was pregnant! Unlike prior, when she’d lost her children around the three month mark, this child was growing strong and without the complications she always worried about. Everything seemed to finally be falling into place. Their marriage and hope in the future was revitalized! And after nine months of perhaps the most physical and emotional pain she had ever been in in her entire life, she was welcoming a beautiful, healthy baby boy into the world and never once thought about the unsettling dream at the start of it all.

Admittedly, Briar was certainly a unique baby. His ears had always been a little odd since birth - bigger than usual - but his parents figured he would just grow into them and found it one of his most endearing traits. However, when he was three years old, that’s when his antlers started coming in. His mother found them one night when she was reading him a bedtime story and running her fingers through his unruly mop of wavy hair. Understandably, she freaked out and brought him to the doctor the next day, who took a biopsy and found the strange growths to primarily be made of calcium. It was unusual, but they decided to simply keep an eye on it since it seemed harmless enough. They only became more noticeable as the years went by, poking through his hair, and Briar recalls the Chinese Buddhists of his neighborhood always telling his mother it was a sign of good fortune. At the time, Briar had always thought it was annoying how they’d always want to lay their hands on him, but he realized as he’d gotten older that they believed the cow was Guanyin’s reincarnated father and the stubby little nubs atop his head made them think he was blessed. But horns and antlers are two different things - one being keratinous and, the other, bone - but he supposed it was easy to confuse them at first glance. Going into adolescence, those things grew like crazy. As if puberty and having velvety twigs growing on your head wasn’t stressful enough, that was when Briar first noticed his parents beginning to drift apart. One night, when coming home late from a friend’s house, he overheard a heated argument between them in the kitchen and his father’s accusations would forever be etched into his mind... “You thought you could trick me forever? I don’t know who knocked you up, but I can’t pretend that thing is my son!” The words drove through him like a knife. Yet after the initial shock subsided, Briar felt for the first time that all the little confusing pieces he’d chosen to overlook his entire life began to make sense. At first his parents had simply assumed he’d taken on more features of his mother, but his father had begun to grow distant as his otherworldly features and powers emerged. The reality was that two humans couldn’t possibly have made a half-deer-whatever-he-was and the only logical explanation was that he wasn’t his father’s at all. He only wished he’d come to that conclusion sooner instead of deluding himself and becoming foolishly attached to the man… The divorce was relatively swift. The judge didn’t even demand a paternity test when his father rebuked having to pay child support. All he had to do was look across the courtroom and he could tell that the speckled, big eared, horned child standing there wasn’t his. It was a dirty, unjust move that besmirched his mother as a disloyal wife and watching her go through that emotional rollercoaster was perhaps the toughest thing of the whole ordeal. Thirteen year old Briar comforted her through the fits of tears and had a strong upper lip when she insisted that she’d never betrayed his father… What bothered him the most was that he couldn’t believe her, but he also couldn’t be angry or blame her either. He had always been closer with his mother and he promised her in those moments of weakness that he would always take care of her. Of course, a single mother with a bad reputation was not an easy gig when trying to support a family. They were forced to move from their smaller town into the teeming metropolis of Bangkok for her to find work and Briar was honestly quite happy with leaving the past behind him. He thrived in the city with its far more diverse population. No one looked at him like he was a freak when he rode the bus or went to buy groceries. It was the first time he felt like he could truly be himself. He had his fair share of rough patches, just like any hormonal teenager, but having otherworldly powers and no one to teach you how to use them certainly caused a few catastrophic, social life obliterating faux pas. His mother thankfully was able to transfer within her company to the Agdoeg branch. It meant not only relocating in the middle of high school for Briar, but moving to an entirely new country. The level of diversity and integration of the supernatural community within Agdoeg was even better than what he’d experienced before. They were in government, owned small businesses… But not all of them were reputable or honest. Briar quickly learned that there were parts of the city that he shouldn’t venture to if he knew what was good for him. However, in spite of the seedier things going on in the underbelly, he was able to find a youth center which helped him to get a better handle on his powers and met his role model who would eventually lead him into his career as a police officer.

INTERVIEW QUESTION (para sample): “Just run us through what happened that night”. - Officer

Briar squeezed his eyes shut tight in an attempt to chase away the spots dancing across his vision from the overbearing fluorescent bulbs that bore down on the table in the center of the interrogation room. It was so intense that he could hear the hum of the electricity going to it and, somehow, he mentally processed that before the weight of the officer’s words. Words he’d uttered himself many times when the roles were flipped. Normally, this was the point a smart suspect would clam up and demand to talk to a lawyer, but clearly this was some kind of joke and he’d just missed the punchline. “Ha. Ha! Very funny.” He gruffed, devoid of amusement as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off the pounding headache settling in like someone was playing the bass drum behind his eyeballs.

The precinct had all been out drinking the night before, celebrating closing a case that had been busting their proverbial balls for the last six months, and there was a point after countless shots of tequila that Briar didn’t even know what was up and what was down, let alone why they were even there anymore. Now, he didn’t doubt that many profoundly stupid things had fallen from his lips and been done, but he hardly would have thought it would be anything illegal. Officers protected their own and someone less inebriated surely would have stopped him before he did anything he’d regret. Trying to wrack his brain, Briar bent to press his forehead to the cool metal of the table with a pitious groan. He remembered waking up in one of the cells to the sound of the door noisily being opened and before he could even get his bearings, two uniformed men were hauling him up and dragging him down the hallway toward the room he sat in now. None of it made a lick of sense.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a joke, Officer Suwannarat. Something very serious happened tonight and we need you to tell us why.”

The brutally stern voice sobered Briar up really quick and he lifted his head up from the table to narrow his eyes on the man that sat across from him, his fawn-like ears flicking in annoyance. He’d worked on the force for many years now and he wasn’t about to be hassled by some nameless rookie who was probably forced in here by his supervising officer, like a lamb being pushed into a cage with a bear. “Listen- no. What is going on?” He demanded with surprising eloquence for someone who’s tongue felt like a dried up sponge in his mouth. Drunk drought be damned. “Am I under arrest? ‘Cause if I am, you better tell me the charges or else I’m walking right out that door and finding your commanding off-”

What was likely going to be a memorable tirade was cut short as the door to the interrogation room swung open and a handful of officers poured into the small space like salmon all fighting to spawn upstream. All Briar could do was stare wide eyed where he was glued to his seat and watch with no small amount of mortification while a cake was set in front of him with messy lettering iced on top that read ‘Congrats on your Promotion! Now you’re their problem.’ Feeling the mixture of rage and bewilderment quickly begin to ebb away, the corners of Briar’s lips twitched into a crooked smile and he shook his head in exasperation. “You’re fucking kidding me. Who’s terrible idea was this?” He demanded with a mirthless laugh as he deflated back into the hard metal chair and glanced around at the familiar faces of the men and women he’d worked with for the past ten years. God, how had he survived their crazy antics and made it this far?

“What do you mean? We had to give you a memorable send-off.” His partner mounted his defense and slunk out from the crowd to give Briar an encouraging clap on the shoulder. “Besides, do you know how hard it was to carry your heavy ass into the cell to pull this off? The least you could do was say thank you. Geez. Too good for us already, Detective?”

Briar should thank him. That much he’d already mentally concluded. But shoving his partner’s smug face into the cake was also a tempting option. Instead, he reached up to gently pat the other’s hand with his gloved one. “Never.” He assured him gently before a chorus of obnoxious coos from the peanut gallery made sure to not only kill the moment but beat it once it was down. Pushing himself up from the chair, Briar swayed unsteadily and shamelessly grappled a couple of his friends for balance on his route to the door. “Ugh. Alright, get me out of this room before I literally end someone and get stuck here forever. That cake better be chocolate, I swear-”

[morwensteelsheen]

i woke up this morning like “i want to write a story justifying why éowyn would have dropped her virginity like a hot potato” and anyways 4,000 words later i am Not At That yet but i am getting a better sense for what i think her life would’ve been like. it’s below the cut in its unproofread state lol also a brief reference to what faramir was up to circa TA3011 because i can’t help myself

Until her twelfth birthday, Éowyn had never thought of herself as particularly more of a girl than a boy. She was addressed as a (young) lady when she wasn’t being addressed by her kin, and had certainly been forced into dresses and skirts — though this came perhaps a little later than it should have, if the judgemental looks from the various women of the court were anything to go by; but outside of those instances, there really hadn’t been much to differentiate her from her elder brother. She had learned to use a sword just as he had, she had been taught (with limited success) to speak several politically-important languages, and had been given as free a rein on Meduseld and Edoras as he had at her age. Those years, she would later realise, had been some of the easiest and most contented of her life, even if the dark cloud of their parents’ passings ever hung over her.

On her twelfth birthday, in a firestorm of misfortune, everything had changed. First, and entirely by coincidence, Éomer had received his first posting, in Captain Grimbold’s éored stationed in the Wold. For Éomer, it was nothing but excitement — at long last he would be able to take off out into the world just like Théodred and would finally get to define himself as a warrior and as a man. That he would be going quite far away from home only heightened the excitement. For Éowyn, who had always been closesr to her brother than anyone else, it was the end of an era, though in exactly how many ways she had not, in the moment, fully known.

Second, she had her first blood. It was not something anybody had warned her about and, in that manner which precocious children are wont to take up, she attempted to solve the problem without knowing quite what the problem was. Hiding in her chambers, hands and knees shaking somewhat at the sight of unexpected blood, she had changed into something thicker (and darker in colour), and bundled the soiled garments up in a spare bedsheet. What little she knew of such matters told her that to be caught bleeding must be a sign of some personal failing, and so must be handled in the utmost secrecy.

There was, she knew, a small fire burning in the western gardens that morning to clear fallen foliage from the previous week’s thunderstorms. With luck and a little careful manoeuvring, she imagined she would be able to sneak her secret bundle into the flames without arousing any suspicions.

Creeping through the halls of Meduseld (mercifully quiet owing to the ceremonial changing of the guard happening later that day), Éowyn had accidentally stumbled upon the third thing that would change her life forever.

Even to her young mind, he immediately seemed a man of contradiction. Undeniably young, but somehow carrying himself with the comportment of a man several decades older; the dark hair and shorter stature of a Dunlander, but the presence and language of a man of the Mark. At first, he had not noticed her — he was so diligently listening to the King that it seemed to her he might not have noticed if an entire éored had passed him by. But when, failing to mask herself fully behind a passing attendant, Éowyn had been spotted by her uncle, the man’s attention had fallen to her entirely.

He was impeccably behaved, granting her the courtesy of a deep bow — despite few ever humbling themselves before such a young girl — and spoke to her levelly (not, to her ears, taking notice of her youth). In the practice yard and on horseback, Éowyn was accustomed to being spoken to with little regard for her age, but rarely was such deference extended into the stricter social edifices of Meduseld.

By any stretch of the imagination, it should have tickled her pride to be spoken to as an equal, it had, of course, been something she had longed for ever since she had first mastered stringing words together into sentences. Something, however, unsettled her about the entire interaction, raising hairs on the back of her neck and forcing her shoulders back into a defensive posture. She told herself that it was a natural consequence of having been effectively caught attempting to bury evidence of a misdeed, and that had she not first met him while she was clutching a bedsheet hiding a bloodied shift, she might have had an entirely different opinion of him.

After she was dismissed and scampered out into the gardens, she was immediately caught by Ceolwenne, the daughter of one of the Lords of the Eastfold who had recently arrived at Edoras to be presented at court. Ceolwenne, who Éowyn had, until that moment, had very little time for, had taken one look at the bundled sheets and Éowyn’s ghost-white face and immediately pulled her into a hug. Together, they had thrown the bundle into the garden fire, and Ceolwenne had, in perhaps flightier language than Éowyn might have preferred, explained what that blood had meant and exactly what she should do to prepare herself in the future.

It should have been a tremendous relief to her to discover that it was not a sign of moral failure and to find that it was something that women could speak to other women about in relatively frank terms. Instead, and for reasons then entirely unexplainable to her, it filled her with a deep, abiding sense of dread.

Thereafter, the changes in her life came on gradually, some of them so slowly that she hardly noticed they had happened at all. The years passed and she grew up. At least two or three times a year, she bled, but now she knew what to expect (though that did not mean she found it any less unsettling). Éomer and Théodred were away for greater and greater stretches of time, and the man, who she now knew as Gríma, took on a greater and greater role in the Golden Hall.

At first, Éowyn had imagined that the duties bestowed upon her were duties given to account for Théodred’s absence — welcoming local and foreign dignitaries, maintaining the daily running of the household, and seeing to the needs of the King. But with these duties came certain infringements on the life she had come to enjoy. Gone were the comfortable linen dresses and loose hair of her childhood, replaced by elegant velvet gowns and coiled, braided updos; no longer could she practice for hours on end in the practice and tilt yards, not when, as Gríma took care to remind her, the household could not cope without a strong commander at its helm.

With the finer gowns and the increased hours spent indoors came a change in how people spoke to and looked at her. After years of hoping to be treated as an adult, she began to learn that what she had hoped for was to be treated as an adult man, not an adult woman. Adult men could sit in counsel with her King-uncle, and could drink until late at night and argue about the mechanics of war and glory. Adult women could not.

It was as much a sign of her becoming aware of herself as it was a sign that she was physically changing. Slowly, so slowly that she hardly noticed it if she didn’t think about it, her hips swelled and her breasts became heavier and more pronounced. Her face slimmed, her lashes lengthened and darkened, and hair grew on parts of her body that she had not expected it to grow. All of these things seemed to her to be things of little note — except, perhaps, as an occasional nuisance when gowns that had previously fitted her no longer did — but seemed of great consequence to the people around her.

The whispers of the women and men at court wriggled their way into her subconscious. Lascivious tales of noble women undone by pregnancies out of wedlock, peasant women trapped by Dunlenders and subjected to unimaginable acts of violence, and women who took so happily to the chore of sex that they freely took multiple partners — to the chagrin of the court. Without expecting it or inviting it, Éowyn soon learned that the mantle of womanhood that she was now inheriting was a heavy and burdensome load.

She was fourteen the first time she had recognised a man staring at her chest. He was a minor sergeant from just outside Aldburg, twenty-two years old, fairly handsome for so short a man, and loud-spoken with a riotous laugh. They had been standing opposite one another in conversation at the outlying perimeters of a celebratory dance when she had followed the line of his sight. When he realised she was aware of where his attention was turned to, he had smirked at her, then disappeared off to find the hand of another young girl for the next dance. Beside her, one of the fluttering twits who hovered around the court in search of a high-born husband leaned in to her and giggled, telling her in no uncertain terms that she should be honoured by the man’s interest in her body. She did try her best to be honoured, but the only emotion she could conjure within her was a vague sense of fury.

After that, she had taken to finishing her domestic duties as hastily as she could so she could slip out of her gowns and exhaust herself in the practice yard. The first few times she had done so, she had moved so speedily through her duties she began to trip up and make careless mistakes, which had resulted in Gríma keeping an ever-closer eye on her work. When mistakes were inevitably discovered, she found herself forced back into gowns for longer and longer periods of time, and being forced back into gowns meant being forced back under the sometimes-lewd gaze of men. These failures, she was told, were an abdication of her womanly duty to maintain a neat household. Thus, womanhood became inextricably bound up with restrictions on her liberty and the unsettling and unwelcomed notice of men.

Ceolwenne married Elfhelm on a cool spring day, a humble but pretty affair. They went away for a few short weeks, and when they returned, she had a wealth of stories to whisper to Éowyn. Ceolwenne, who had been far better prepared for a woman’s life than had Éowyn, seemed to have entered her marriage with a plethora of insecurities and expectations — most of which had turned out to be wrong. Even still, it was the first time Éowyn had heard that sex could be anything other than a wearisome duty to be endured.

When she was sixteen, Théodred’s èored briefly returned to Edoras for some ceremonial formalities. A young rider, at most three or four years her senior, watched her in the practice ring as she proved to her cousin all that she had learned in his absence. Théodred, with a small smirk, departed after just two rounds, leaving her alone with the man. He introduced himself as Alaric, a local boy under Théodred’s command. He was quick-witted and praised her combat skills, and she had been happy to have someone who wasn’t her kin speak admiringly of her ability to fight. He’d told her he had little experience with cleaning up in the royal stables, and that he needed advice on how to properly stack the saddles so as to avoid her cousin’s ire.

Because she was sixteen, and because she had so rarely been around men who didn’t see her desire to fight as a threat to their manhood, she convinced herself she believed that he needed help, and followed. Inside the stables, she made a valiant attempt at showing him the ropes, until he’d pinned her to the wall and kissed her breathless.

It was sloppy, bordering on bad (though then she had no basis on which to judge the quality of a kiss), and it surprised her. But he didn’t seem to mind that he was kissing somebody in breeches who reeked of horse, so she kissed him back until a stable boy interrupted them. When Théodred’s men left at the end of the week, she didn’t watch them leave, and she never again asked after him, though for many years afterwards she often thought of that day in the stables.

A few months later, her marriageability was first spoken of. Lord Boromir of Gondor, a steadfast and favourite friend of Théodred’s had momentarily passed through Edoras on an unofficial diplomatic errand. (After he had left, her uncle had made it clear that he thought Boromir had been sent by his supercilious father to sniff out weaknesses in the Mark.) Lord Boromir had very proudly admitted that he expected that his younger brother, a captain fighting at the far eastern reaches of Gondor, would soon announce his betrothal to the eldest daughter of some lord from the south of the kingdom. It was, he said, a remarkably politically-savvy match, certain to bring the more capricious southern fiefdoms back into line.

Gríma, invited but not desired at that dinner, had, as was his way in those days, managed to redirect the conversation towards the theory of marriage as a political tool, and how a more stringent application of that theory in Rohan (as was seen in Gondor) might come to the kingdom’s benefit. He had implied, though had stared her down while he spoke, that unwed women kin of the King ought to make themselves more available to men of good sense.

Éowyn, who had never before given much thought to marriage, except in passing recognition to the fact that she would likely one day have to marry, blanched at the notion that any future marriages of hers would be discussed so openly. But then it occurred to her, with the swiftness of a winter gale blustering through an open door, that she was, in fact, of a perfectly reasonable age to be thinking of marriage.

In a move that had endeared him to her immensely, Lord Boromir had pointed out that while he referred to his brother as “younger,” he was in fact eight and twenty years old, and his apparent intended was only a few years younger than that, and both had come about the arrangement after many years of unattached life in adulthood.

The door, however, had been kicked open, and the monster that dwelt within could not be so easily returned to its enclosure.

It seemed to her the most frustrating conversation in her life in the subsequent two years, and it seemed to her to occur at two levels. The more overt level was that of the occasional discussion of marriage candidates’ suitability. Men would come, from time to time, to seek out the hand of Lady Éowyn, and Lady Éowyn would, with ruthless efficiency, dismiss them. In this, she had an entirely unexpected ally in Gríma, who seemed to find fault in all of her suitors as quickly as she did, and was far less reserved in his dismissals.

The more subtle level was that of discussions of what would be expected of her after marriage. At first, the language had been amorphous: Théodred had been slow to marry, Éomer was far too pleased with his status as the effective “spare”, what would become of the line of Eorl? Who, asked those who dared ask aloud, would ensure the birth of an heir? In those years, Gríma became a master manipulator of conversations. Where compliments paid to Éowyn had once concerned her ability to uphold her duties, or her voice, or her ability to dance, soon they focussed on her youth, her femininity, and, for the bolder flatterers, the curve of her hips.

She reached an age where she took to working with the elder women of the court on the various tapestries and blankets and carpets that they wrought on their looms. Then, she learned that sex, despite for so many of them being a frustrating burden at worst and a bore at best, was a regular topic of conversation. In their conversations, she came to learn much she hadn’t before had a way to learn. There was a moment, she learned, in the midst of sex where people reached what the women referred to as a “crisis.” For men, this crisis was not only common, but nigh on mandatory, the ultimate and only goal of sex. For women, this crisis was uncommon, but certainly not unheard of, though often stumbled upon quite by accident. Despite their language, all of the women seemed to speak fondly of this crisis, as if it was something to be actively sought after. Having no experience of her own against which to measure her opinions, Éowyn merely accepted that this was the way things were, and that, even if it was a happy one, a crisis sounded like a level of instability she would rather not invite into her life.

Meanwhile, her uncle seemed to age ten years for every one that passed. Her duties became more numerous and more laborious. Stubbornly committed to her precious few minutes of freedom a day, she fought hard to preserve her few hours of swordplay a week, even if it came at the cost of sleep or eating. It was to her benefit and detriment that she placed such a high premium on that time; benefit, in that she never felt as if she couldn’t defend herself from physical harm if needs must, detriment in that it became Gríma’s easiest way to wrest control over her. She had to guard it jealously, had to take to keeping a dulled blade beneath her bed for the days in which she found all the practice blades mysteriously locked away, and had to implicitly enlist the help of the servants to cover her tracks.

More men came seeking her affection, and she sent them all away. Some men, the younger ones, the maverick officers, didn’t come looking for her hand in marriage, but to take their chances at cracking the Lady of Rohan’s stony exterior. It became a game of sorts amongst men in the know, winning her attention was a warrior’s challenge in its own right, akin to slaying a first — or tenth — orc. Whether she was oblivious to it or intensely obstinate the men never figured out, but either way, none ever had any success.

What to them was a game became a struggle for life and death for her. For each man that flirted with her or sent tokens of affection, Gríma tightened his grip further and further. Her uncle had been almost entirely unmanned, his thoughts so consumed by the looming conflict that the social troubles of his youngest ward bled into the background noise.

Gríma touched her for the first time a little while after her seventeenth birthday. It was a brisk spring morning, and she was scheduled to meet a minor lordling from the Gondorian province of Anórien. She had gone out to the veranda without a mantle and, after a single shiver, Gríma had disappeared back into the hall, only to return with a thin, dark cloak. Though she was loath to accept any gestures from him, she was already surrounded by far too many dignitaries of the Mark who could not be trusted with any sign of defiance from the representatives of the House of Eorl. So, she had tipped her head in assent when Gríma presented her with the mantle, and held her hair back as he stood before her and secured it around her through. To onlookers, it would have seemed as if the fastener on the cloak was particularly fussy, because it took him several long seconds to finally catch it through. To Éowyn, the seconds stretched like hours as Gríma brushed long, moist fingers across the hollow of her throat, over and over and over until finally she’d stiffened, and he seemed to be broken from his trance.

A month passed before he touched her again, and then it was only a hand against the small of her back as he passed her in the council room.

A few weeks after that, it was his fingers wrapping around her arm to escort her away from her exhausted King.

Orcs pushed further into Rohan, a worrying puzzle that panicked all those in Edoras who had any business of knowing. Her cousin spent more and more time riding between his detachment and Meduseld, and each time she saw him he seemed tauter, more bereft of good humour, and, unsurprisingly if frustratingly, less able to listen to her worries. Through no fault of his own, he could hardly notice that it was not just his father whose constitution was bowing under the burden of conflict, and failed entirely to notice that Éowyn had grown distant and jumped every time someone entered the room without fair warning.

Her change in mood did not go unnoticed by Gríma, who quickly used it to drive a wedge between her and her uncle. Théoden, who had also become increasingly paranoid, seemed convinced that his line would die out. It took some careful manoeuvring from Gríma, but in time her uncle believed that it was Éowyn’s reserved personality that most threatened the House of Eorl. She was instructed, in no uncertain terms, to have a more open temperament and to show more warmth to their guests and allies.

It went against every defence she had learned. If she were to be more open and inviting towards their guests (who were all, invariably, men) then she would be indirectly inviting Gríma’s jealousy. She had always tried to deny that that is what it came down to — he was twenty-one years her senior, had known her since she was barely into girlhood, it all seemed incomprehensible to her — but at this earliest of breaking points, it was almost impossible to deny.

For three years, there was a stalemate of sorts. It was not a receding of hostilities, so to speak, but there were no escalations either. She found that if she didn’t put up any resistance when his fingers slipped under the hem of her sleeves or he stopped so close to her side she could feel his breath on her face, then she wouldn’t lose time in the practice ring, and wouldn’t be cornered into emotionally devastating arguments with her uncle and liege-lord.

Men continued to call, though there were fewer as the conflict worsened at the borders of the Riddermark. A daughter of a lord of the Westfold came to Edoras, Edith was her name. She was beautiful and self-possessed, she laughed loudly and drank heartily, and charmed the entire court within hours of her arrival. She took many bewitched men to her bed without a hint of shame, and in so doing left no room for anyone to criticise her. Better to die of good sex out of wedlock, she told Éowyn, than of bad sex in wedlock.

Théoden’s condition worsened, and Gríma cast a wider and wider shadow across Meduseld. Éomer was made third Marshal of the Mark, and Théodred began to spend more time in Edoras. The condition in the Westfold became bleaker with each passing week, the Dunlendings now threatened harm greater than they had ever been empowered to do before.

&c. &c. &c.

[fictionalrambles]

Shadowhunters Fandom Story - Part Nine

Submitted by Mary Kate 

Sanctuary by @sfjessii​

Why I love this story:

If i have a bad day, i download this, log off and escape into this wonderful world. This is my comfort fic. I adored the way Magnus and Alec had this instant connection. Never too shy to tell the other how beautiful they are, and described so beautifully. Nala, Alec’s dog was such a vital part of this story, i really loved the way the animals were involved, especially the way Nala and Chairman Meow turned into these wonderful characters of theor own. Nala's bond with Alec was beautiful, how she reacted to his feelings, and was a support for him. This story has little bit of everything, fluff, pining, loving, makes your heart burst with love. We had Magnus' family welcoming Alec, then Alec's also welcoming Magnus! Domestic moments, mornings together at the loft, cuddling, making risotto - What’s not to love.

Favourite lines:

[“You buy pumpkins, all kinds, from me, though you’re allergic, you run after me in slippers, you are... really special.” He grins so wonderfully, Magnus can’t but smile, his cheeks suddenly heating up.]

[Magnus adores the way Alec kisses him after a long day. As if he had missed him every minute he was gone, as if he can only wholly breathe, and be at ease, once he’s with him again, as if Magnus is the reason for his happiness, his sanctuary].

[“It’s not to prove our love, or anything like that. You’re right, we don’t need that, and this won’t change anything, except that this is a once in lifetime experience - well, for us anyway - and I want to have that with you, because you’re the one, the only one, and I... really want to see that glorious wedding you planned, and you outshining everyone in your wedding tux when you bawl your eyes out," he smiles, close to tears, and takes a shuddery breath. "But most of all I want to call you my husband].

*

In the Sin Bin by @otppurefuckingmagic​

Why I love this story:

This fic was my introduction to hockey, i knew absolutely nothing about the sport before this and you really don’t need to, because it’s  so well explained in the story. I love the torture of the slow burn before Malec’s first kiss, it was so intense as there was so much anticipation and neither wanted to cross a line but also really knowing that it would eventually happen. Some of the lines in here are absolutely beautiful, and also painfully beautiful like their break-up because the break-up was because the loved the other so much they were trying to protect them which made it even harder and makes it so easy to get lost in this work. There are so many character developments here too but they happen over a period of time and not rushed which i liked and made it feel real and natural. And our protangonists work things out but there are many twist and turns along the way, and a beautiful friendship between Magnus and Max. 

Favourite lines:

[“This is crossing another line, Magnus"

"I don't even know what a line is"]

[You know,” Max called out as he approached Magnus, “it’s a pretty well established superstition that if you sit on the Raziel statue that you’re doomed to an eternity of forced abstinence.”

Magnus practically flew off the base of the statue in front of the Angels’ arena at Max’s words].

[Because there’s someone I’m involved with and I can’t deny his importance in my life—no matter what the consequences are. The blackmail, my parents.... I can let all of that shit go on the ice if he’s at my side. He and hockey are the most important things to me right now. I’m fighting for my pride as a gay man and an Angel, Coach. It’s not an either-or scenario for me—it’s both.”]

  *

Power Play by @bbmonarch​

Why I love this story:

I had originally seen Art for this story on twitter and i was so intrigued that i had to read the story. The content in this story is heavy and at times quite dark and normally content i hide away from but this one i just couldnt stay away, it’s just so well written with complex yet well-rounded characters &  i when i started reading it, i couldn’t put it down, there are two parts to this and i read it all as one and have a sob-fest. But amongst all the darkness there is enough happy/fluffy moments to keep a balance to the story and the deep love that Magnus and Alec have in this universe is one of the strongest i have seen in any other story, part of what drew me to it and why i love it so much. Another thing i liked  is the friendship between Jace and Magnus and that is something i always love in a story, like when Jace was there to look after Magnus, making sure he got back back safe and took care of Magnus so he was there and well when Alec woke up in a certain scene. We get loads of fluffy moments and cute when it was just them, the normally fearsome Alec a blushing mess when Magnus calls him everything from, pup, puppy, munchkin etc. Lastly i loved the way they cared/looked after each other when they were hurt/sick and magnus looking after Alec when he went off the rails and helping him through his addiction was amazingly sweet, even when they had broken up at the time summed them up to me. 

Favourite lines:

[Magnus smiled and looked down to where Alec was ripping the label into small pieces “Sexually frustrated?”  Alec snapped out of his thoughts and stiffened in his seat, Magnus laughed softly “It’s what they say you are if you play with the labels on your bottles”. “I don’t.. I didn’t know” Alec said and pushed the bottle away. “You didn’t know that what it meant or you don’t know if you are sexually frustrated?”]

 [“I love your eyes” He let out before he had a chance to think about what he was actually saying. “Thank you”. Alec could see in his eyes that he was smiling, not needing to take his focus away from them. “Do you wear contact lenses or something?” he asked and tipped his head slightly to the side, shivering a little as Magnus hand moved around to the back of his neck and his fingers played with the shorter hairs, like he was trying to twirl it around his fingertips. “No” Magnus was still smiling “I am just a little special”]

[‘Magnus’s eyes were filled with love as he cupped his face, leaned down over him and kissing away his tears. Closing his eyes, Alec felt Magnus’ lips against his eyelids so softly it was barely a kiss. Alec moved his hands to rest against Magnus’ knees, feel his own heartbeat echo off Magnus’ palms as Magnus pressed his hands against his chest.”]

[Alec reached for his hand and brought it up to his face and gently places a kiss against the back of it. “I love you just the same. There may be a little bit less of you but that just means the left-over love I have is spread out equally amongst the rest of you” he said, sounding adorably cheesy.

“I can’t with you” Magnus laughed, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time, maybe even before everything with Jonathan happened. “I love you so much, puppy”. Seeing Alec’s eyes light up at the nickname, Magnus regretted not using it more frequently].

*

 Love Is Not a Victory March by j__writes and @lecrit​

Why I love this story:

Tried hard to choose my fave stories for this TOP 5 Favourite's and these two writer have some amazing ones and were so difficult to choose from. I planned to have 'Bright Light's Small Town' and 'Take Me To Church' but this collab had such a huge effect that i couldn’t possibly leave it out. Honestly, one of the most beautiful, deep, meaningful stories I ever read about Alec and Magnus because the raw content and these two writers are hard-hitters when it comes to writing angst. Watching these characters pour their hearts out, falling apart, nearly breaking up and divorcing and then realizing their love was stronger than any of it and starting from scratch, building themselves up again, such an amazing thing to see and also is so very real-life. So many things (and people) had got in their way but they finally managed to communicate and begin again. Watching them fall in love all over again was such a pleasure and so beautifully written. 

Favourite lines:

[He wonders how he could have ever forgotten how it felt to fall in love with the wonder and light that is Magnus Bane. He can’t believe he ever let Magnus spend so many days in sadness. That he was the cause of that sadness. There’s so much he needs to make right]

[“There is the rawness of an open wound in their cries, their embrace certainly the only thing keeping them from completely falling apart. The distance between has been washed away,”]

[There is nothing left but the blunt honesty on his features, the same that always leads one of Alec’s earth-shattering declarations. He never seems to realize how the words he utters so candidly can throw Magnus’ whole world off balance while at the same time grounding him to the reality of Alec’s love for him. It is, quite possibly, Magnus’ favorite feeling. “Every time I think I can’t possibly love you more you just–” he shakes his head with a sense of fatality that he seems to welcome gratefully, “– God, I love you so much.”]

 [‘Carefully, he disentangles her fingers from the chain, pressing a quick kiss against her tiny hands. When he is done, he slips the necklaces off his neck and tucks them away in the top drawer, smiling down at her.]

[Three years ago, Magnus had a grim, morose thought that perhaps it had been the universe’s way of telling him that this isn’t what he should have, that this life he had dreamed of was but a dream, meant to remain unreachable like the stars. He has to believe now, no matter how foolish, that there is a star out there, far away from his reach perhaps but forever embedded in his heart, that is looking over him, over them. He hopes she can feel it, the love he had for her, and he hopes she will forgive him, for failing to protect her.]

 *

Set Me in Motion by lemonoclefox

Why I love this story:

Such a wonderful story. It’s different from the others i have listed as in this story, we start off with Alec having a boyfriend before anything happened between him and Magnus but its made very clear that this relationship is at times very one-sided and that this Raj is not the right person for Alec and he didn’t seem to have any interest in Alec’s life outside their relationship and hadn’t even met his family.  The relationship with Alec and Magnus was so natural, realistic and mature, it was obvious from the start they had chemistry but with Alec in a relationship, nothing was ever going to happen between them and they had this lovely charming friendship. And which moved forward after the break-up primarily thorough Alec looking after Magnus and making sure he was eating when he was working too hard, how sweet is that? The communication between the two is something i really love about this too and you always get the impression they’re both on the same page. There’s wonderful fun and humour between the two and even on the business side, in their jobs , they are each other’s biggest supporter, lastly the story has another thing i love in fic, a friendship between Magnus and Jace. 

Favourite lines:

[‘You don't have to sit here and wait for him," he remembers Magnus saying, that first night theytalked. "And if that's what he expects, he's probably not worth it, they never are."]

[“In more ways than one. Even when other stuff was a mess, being with you always just..."He tries to find the words, shakes his head, and Magnus finds the words for him "Made sense," he suggests gently. He turns his head, and he and Alec just gaze at each other for a few moments, the two of them suspended in time].

[I like you," Jace proclaims loudly, throwing his arm over Magnus's shoulders as they end up sitting next to each other in the far back, once the car starts moving. Magnus is squeezed in between him and Alec, and Alec is just gazing happily at his brother and his boyfriend, a drunk smile on his face. "I mean, you're a bit―" Jace gestures exaggeratedly with his hand. "But it's all good. You're alright”]

[emilx311]

Madara was concerned about how much time the pretty white-haired girl spent in the library studying so she decided to do something about it (No Izuna, it's not because she has a crush-shut up!) 

So this is my entry for @madatobigiftexchange. I was given @delightfulbouquettidalwaveposts here on tumblr with the prompt of fem!MadaTobi. I have never written male characters as females ones before, but I decided to take the prompt anyways as a challenge. And a challenge it was XP This fic really, really did not want to get written. I looked at other prompt lists for plot inspirations and built this off one I saw that went "I work in the library and I'm a little concerned for your health because you never stop studying" (which made me think of Tobi right away). This was an interesting experince, but don't expect me to be doing anymore fem!stories anytime in the near future XP Enjoy and let me know how I managed.

Read on ao3 or here below the cut

Madara glared at the white head almost obscured by textbooks from where she was leaning on the check-out counter. She’d taken the job at the library because it was on campus and the only place, apart from the coffee shop, that was hiring and she’d desperately needed the cash. The Uchiha had known from the start she wouldn’t love it, but she hadn’t counted on this particular annoyance when she’d taken it. Over all the job wasn’t the worst, re-shelving books was boring but kept her away from people and even check-outs were usually fast and efficient since the other students just wanted to get their books and get out of there to finish their projects. She was allowed, even expected, to snap at anyone being loud, annoying, or goofing off. She could even give herself priority access to any books she might need for her classes, and if things were slow her bosses were fine with her reading and doing homework behind the desk during her shift. Really, the job itself was pretty fine-except for one particular thing, or well, one particular person.

That person was the white-haired girl currently camped out at her usual table near the front desk, almost invisible, lost as she was in a sea of textbooks and papers. As always. There was also a large number of used coffee cups scattered around her. As always. She was the first one there in the mornings and was the last to leave at the end of the day. Every day, or at least, every day Madara was there. Madara was pretty sure that if the library was open 24/7 the other girl would have moved in. She wasn’t even completely certain the white-haired girl left to attend the classes she studied so furiously for. It was concerning.

Madara knew, knew, that it wasn’t really any of her business, but she couldn’t help but worry about the other girl. No, she wasn’t a friend or even an acquaintance. Hell, Madara didn’t even know her name, but she knew that living like that couldn’t be healthy. Constantly either reading or working on her next project, or paper, it exhausted Madara just watching her. The other never even seemed to talk to anyone! In fact, Madara had never seen anyone else so much as wave at the white-haired girl, let alone actually say hi or sit with her. It didn’t sit right with Madara. Izuna would say it was Madara’s intense mother-hen instincts coming out, not that her little brother had any room to talk, she thought with a scowl.

In any case, it had been bothering her for months, the sad state of the other girl’s life, and she had finally had enough! Clearly no one else had any plans of intervening in this slow death by school work so Madara would have to do it herself. The white-haired girl was just too pretty to be left to such an end. Not that Madara thought she was particularly pretty or anything, but well, the Uchiha had eyes and so could therefore see fine the girl’s features were. Nodding to herself at her own impeccable logic, Madara went back to work sorting books and trying to think out a plan to save the girl from herself.

Ultimately Madara decided to start small, because even she knew that telling off a stranger about their life choices would come across and creepy and kind of stalkerish. Also, and more importantly, her boss would fire her for bugging library patrons who weren’t breaking any of the rules and Madara did need this job. So, yes, starting small was likely the best approach. Plus, if she was lucky the small disturbances would be enough to startle the girl into reality and taking stock of her life style and improving it without Madara having to ever actually talk to her. Which would be fantastic, and not disappointing at all-shut up Izuna!

Plan, or some semblance there of, in place she saw no reason to delay in implementing it so the next day she slipped a granola bar onto the table by the girl’s coffee while the other looked particularly preoccupied with one of her many books. She does so as she walks by with a load of books to re-shelve, and a quick glance once she returns from doing so shows that the other girl is actually eating it. It’s one of the few brands of such products that Madara actually likes. The only one to, in her opinion, have managed the near-impossible feat of being both healthy and tasty. So, overall, she counts her first step as a in, even after she’s forced to duck quickly into the back so no one will notice her laughing over the face the white-haired girl had made once she finally registered she was eating something and had no idea where it came from. It had been a perfect blend of shock, confusion, and overall befuddlement. Madara would even go so far as to say it was adorable (no she didn’t think the girl was cute, shut up Izuna!).

Madara continued to slip granola bars to the girl on an utterly random schedule. After a couple weeks of that, when the other continued to maintain her ridiculous study patterns, she decided to step it up a bit. She began to alternate between leaving the bars and various types of fresh fruit, keeping an eye out for any preferences or allergies (not because she cared or anything-shut up Izuna!). Thus far though, the puzzled white-haired girl had seemed equally happy with all her offerings. The speed at which they were eaten both amused her and made her worry even more, but as she reminded herself often, she was already doing something about it.

Her next escalation was to add a bottle of water to go along with whatever snack she had brought the other. This made sneaking them onto the table without being seen slightly harder, but Madara was nothing if not determined. The white-haired girl did take occasional breaks, usually to return some of her books, find new ones, or to go get more coffee, and Madara used these breaks to her advantage. Soon this escalated even more to slipping the other more substantial snacks. Before Madara knew it, it had been almost three months and she was practically giving the other girl full lunches several times a week. (She was not overly invested in this-Shut up Izuna!) And, though she would never admit it (especially to her brother), the smile her offerings got, small and always clearly delighted, made butterflies flitter around in her stomach. Those smiles quickly became her favourite, and most looked forward to, part of the day. She’s aware that she won’t be able to keep this up forever, but for now…for now it was good.

It was the other girl who changed things up next, somewhere in the middle of month four, teaching Madara her name in the process. It was a Tuesday and the white-haired girl had left her table, heading in the direction of the coffee shop which was Madara’s cue to sneak over and leave her gift as usual. Except, in the spot she usually left them (a spot which was now almost always clear of debris and waiting for her offering) was a small note.

To My Gift-giver,

      I just wanted to say thank you. I appreciate the food, though you really don’t need to trouble yourself every day for my sake.

                                              ~Senju Tobirama

Madara ended up taking the note with her after leaving the food and kept glancing at it periodically all day when no one was looking. Tobirama’s writing was small and simple, but neat. It was legible and pretty without wasting time on any sort of fancy flourishes. From what she had observed of the other Madara felt it suited her perfectly, as did her name. Unusual, unique, and really quite beautiful-just like the girl herself (okay, so maybe she had a small crush-Shut. Up Izuna!). Madara wrestled with herself for the next day or so, but ultimately decided to leave her own note in reply the next time she left food.

Tobirama,

     Considering I’ve never seen you eat anything except for what I give you I really do. Wouldn’t want you to end up fainting in the middle of the library.

                                         -A Concerned Citizen

The note was perhaps a bit…caustic, but then so was Madara herself, and she had no intention of changing who she was for anyone-no matter how cute their smile. If Tobirama couldn’t deal with a bit of attitude then it was better to find that out now before she got even more invested (so you admit you’re invested! Shut up Izuna!). It would be a disappointment, but still better than the inevitable blow-up that would occur otherwise. Still, Madara spent the rest of the day restless and trying to convince herself she wasn’t on edge because she was worried about how Tobirama would react. She took the first chance she saw the next day to slip Tobirama her food, hoping to find another note-and couldn’t help the ecstatic smile she gave upon seeing there was one waiting.

Dear Concerned Citizen,

      How sweet, but given I managed to survive just fine until you came along, I would say that your concern lacks merit. If anything, accepting food from someone whose name and identity I still don’t know seems more likely to end up causing me harm.

                                              ~Tobirama

Madara’s (slightly besotted) smiled turned into a true grin once she got the chance to actually read Tobirama’s note. Not only did the other girl not seemed turned off by her attitude but she was showing one to match, not seeming cowed in the slightest. It wasn’t a guarantee that this, that they, would work, but is was a start and a pretty good one at that. Madara didn’t quite feel ready to reveal herself and give up the game yet, but she was more than happy to keep the exchange going.

Tobirama,

     You may have a point, but if you are so concerned about the potential harm I could do to you with my offerings then why do you keep eating them? As far as you know they may have been safe so far only because I’ve been working on luring you into a false sense of security. A ploy, which if such were my intention, seems to have been working nicely I might add. Which only gives me more reason to be concerned about your health.

                                         -Your Lunch Maker

Dear Lunch Maker,

      It’s a public space and I have samples of your handwriting in notes admitting to giving me the food, you can’t harm me without bringing yourself down as well. Unless this is all a complicated scheme to get yourself some jail time it seems a rather flawed plan. If it is your way of getting yourself sent to jail, I would like to remind you that there are many more straightforward ways of doing so and would request you leave me out of it.

                                              ~Tobirama

Tobirama,

     You need not worry too much on that account. I am far too busy to go to jail right now. Not as busy as you always seem to be, of course, but that hardly means I have nothing to do! Besides, if I were to ever wind up in jail it would be for something far more dramatic and impressive than poisoning one person’s lunch!

                                         -Irritated at your Assumptions

Dear Irritated,

      I’m not as busy as all that, not really. I’ve been far more occupied many times in the past, though my brother often tells me I have a tendency to commit myself to too much. Still, I am not finding the load to be too onerous. I would, however, like to hear more about this “dramatic and impressive” crime you would be arrested for. To be so specific you must have a plan in mind and I find myself curious.

                                              ~Tobirama

Tobirama,

     I think your brother may have a point. I can’t say I know the specifics of your workload, but given the amount of time you spend in the library I would assume it is fairly large. Shouldn’t you be attending classes regularly anyways? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you leave for one, which does make me wonder. Have you thought of taking breaks, going outside, maybe getting some sun? I hear it’s healthy for you, though given the fact I seem to be your main source of food I still have very little in your care for your health.

     Also, I have no plans for crimes of any sort you menace! As I told you I am far too busy to end up in jail. Besides, who would feed you and remind you of your health if I were arrested? You’d miss me and these little notes, you know you would!

                                         -Not a Criminal

Dear Not a Criminal,

      Not that it matters, but I have an arrangement with my professors that allows me to attend them irregularly because of the number I’m taking. Also, I believe I have told you before that I survived just fine before you decided it was your mission to take care of me, a fact which I would like to once again remind you of. Not that I am ungrateful for your care, quite the opposite really. Your gifts remain very appreciated and you are quite correct that I would miss you if you were arrested, and as you insinuated it would not just be because of the lack of food! Also, there are plenty of supplements that can replace the need for sunlight. Despite this, I would be willing to venture out in it, for the right motivation-if you are not determined to continue to remain anonymous.

                                              ~Tobirama

Tobirama,

     I must admit that your insinuated request both thrills and terrifies me. Though I could not help but notice your beauty, I want you to know that this really did start from honest concern (no one should spend so much time studying!) and not from a hope of securing myself a date with you. I did not expect it to go on so long, or the note you left or the exchange that has followed. After all this I hope I will not disappoint compared to whatever image you have in your head of me.

                                         -Anonymous for now

Madara was forced to admit, to herself at the very least (Izuna was not to know), that she was a bit nervous. As her note to Tobirama had said, this had all started out of genuine concern for the other girl. Yes, Madara had noticed she was pretty, but so were a lot of other people who came to the library. But then, as the letters they had exchanged continued, as she’d found out Tobirama was smart, sassy, able to match Madara as very could and give as good as she got. Well, after learning all that she couldn’t help becoming a bit invested, hence the nerves-not that she was going to let that stop her!

She’d gotten to the library early, before it officially opened actually (her co-worker hadn’t minded letting her in) and had left her last note to Tobirama on the girl’s usual table, minus the food that usually accompanied it. That she had in a simple picnic basket along with a bouquet of wildflowers, because she refused to be so cliché as to ask someone out with roses. She was currently ducked behind her usual hiding shelf, just out of sight of the entrance and Tobirama’s table. All she could do now was wait for the other girl to arrive.

Thankfully the library was to open in just a minute or two and Tobirama was, of course, through the doors only moments after they were unlocked. Madara felt a sort of exasperated fondness at the sight, and the girl’s predictability. She watched as Tobirama made a beeline for her table only to pause nearby, clearly confused by the sight of the note. The white-haired girl glanced around before shrugging and picking it up. Madara watched as Tobirama read it, blushing slightly with a pleased smile that melted into a look of confusion and slight disappointment once she reached the bottom. Madara took this as her cue, and after taking a deep breath stepped out from behind the shelf.

“Hi, I’m Uchiha Madara. I work here in the library and I’m honestly a little concerned for your health because you never stop studying, so I’m hoping to convince you to take a break for once and come outside with me for some sun and food” Madara said, holding the flowers out and trying to look confident.

“Hi, I’m Senju Tobirama, over worked grad student and P.A. My health is fine, thank you, and I can take care of myself, but if you insist on making sure for yourself I won’t say no” Tobirama replied in turn, taking the flowers. The smile she had been wearing early had returned, even larger than before and Madara could feel a matching one grow on her own face and she finally got the girl out of the library, for a time at least.