#for pitch cause i wanted him to be more opposite to sandy

[gus-dix]

watching rise of the guardians with a friend we kept going on about how sandy and pitch had divorced energy and how they could have a kid by mixing their sand together

enters their son cas. which is short for “sand castle” cause i’m very good with names. it was a joke at first but then never got changed woops

after the divorce they shared custody but due to cas “ratio” they assumed he would be naturally better at creating nightmares so he ended up under pitch’s care. turns out... cas has no interest in influencing people’s dreams and do not want to find what he’d be better at. his laziness worries his dads (more on that in the tags)

no clue how aging would work for guardians but he’s a teen so sandy and pitch can fight about him being difficult (having no ambition) and so that jack can get a friend around his age cause oof does he needs it

do not erase the caption, use or rePOST my art (reblog ok)

[winchesterxxi]

Urges of the Subconscious (Din Djarin x Reader) | PART 1

Gif by @keanurevees​

Rating: E (Explicit)

Type: Smut

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Stationed in Tatooine for the night, courtesy of Peli Motto, you and Din are forced to share a room. Thinking that it was more than obvious that the two of you weren’t together, you both expected to find two separate beds - that didn’t quite happen. Sleeping next to the person you’ve been having dreams about for a while now leads to some unconscious shuffling closer to each other - culminating in quite the interesting morning.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: One bed trope, SMUT (wet dream, rubbing, blindfold, nipple play/breast play, fingering)

A/N: I haven’t written for Din in so long, god, I missed my favorite bucket-head. This is also a long one because my gears are oiled and working, so bear with me. Also, part 2? 👀

Buy me a Kofi!

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ 

When Din had told you that there was a fault in the differential and exhaust manifold of the Razor, you knew that meant a trip down to Tattooine. You weren’t particularly excited about it – the scorching hot weather mixed with the sandy landscape always made you feel gross and heavy, sensations that you weren’t particularly fond of.

The child on the other hand, at the mention of a need for repairs, cooed in excitement, eager to encounter his adored Peli Motto, who he seems to have absolutely smitten. Nothing wrong with that, in fact, it was nice to see the kid being in someone else’s arms without fearing for his life.

Down on the rocky ground in front of her secluded shop, Peli looks up at the shadow that suddenly allocated itself in front of the sun, only to adjust her vision and catch the Razor Crest slowly descending closer, until its landing skids contacted the red ground and the large cargo ramp started to lower itself.

Into her vision came what she secretly nicknamed as “The Space Family”: You, with the baby in your left arm, and the imponent Mandalorian just a couple of feet behind, a gothic painting, some would say one that was slowly making their way towards her.

“We brought the Child!” You amusingly exclaimed, grinning as her smile immediately grew and the child was already trying to wiggle out of your embrace.

“Easy there!” she exclaimed as the child cooed and babbled in her arms, content with the reunion

“How much do you want for it?” she asks you “Just kidding. But not really.”

“The kid’s still not for sale. But I have a few repairs that need to be done.” Din intervenes. You know he isn’t being purposefully stern, but the man could sure use some lessons on loosening up and being able to understand a joke.

“Always a pleasure to talk with you, Mandalorian.” Peli greets with an expressionlessly sarcastic face that falls upon her as soon as she looks up from the child  “Point me in the direction.”

After a close inspection alongside the Mandalorian, they both returned to where you and the child stood before he reached for Peli once again and you laughed at his tiny attachment problem.

“ I can get you out of here tomorrow at around noon.”

“Noon? Peli, we can’t stay overnight. People need us.”

“People can wait. Can’t they?” She asks the question in a higher-pitched voice directed towards the kid who she bops in the nose before turning back to you and Din. “And sure you can! There’s a small holsterly just a few miles down the sand, an hour walk and you’ll be fine.”

“We only have credits for the maintenance.” Says Din from your right side.

Peli is about to throw a quick answer, as she always does, but something stops her. She closes her mouth and looks down at Grogu, who happily jiggles the tiny ball between his fingers. She smirks and looks up at you two again, adjusting the kid in her embrace.

“Tell you what. You let me take care of the kid for the night, you two go and have some rest, Maker knows you need it… and the maintenance is on me.”

“We’re not leaving –“ the Mandalorian starts but you quickly cut him off, placing a firm hand on his whistling bird, settling him.

“Deal.”

“Wh- What?” He shakes his helmet in your direction.

“Come on.” You tug him along your side, heavy beskar boots reluctant to move, as you wave back at Grogu and Peli who is smiling like two children who will, more than definitely, be up to no good in the following hours.

But he knows better than to make a scene with you when you are playing nice. So he waits until the pair that was left behind to be out of sight to pull you by your elbow to face him.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, but we are almost out of credits.” You reason with him, picking up on his sentence. “Din, she did a nice thing… not all people are out to get you.” Your voice is calm, and it takes all of your strength not to reach out and touch him, maybe caress the helmet of his cheek, or his hand. But he’s who he is, and you don’t want to cross any lines.

His towering figure lets go of your elbow and he walks ahead through the sand, talking over his shoulder.

“This is the first and last time we’re doing this.”

You grin and bit your bottom lip behind him, feeling victorious from having him wrapped around your finger in situations like this, before speeding your own stride to catch up to him, feeling the heat reflected on his beskar hit your skin.

It was a small inn, there was no doubt, more like a one night resting home for the looks of it, the offer ranging little above a few sleeping quarters along a hall and a shared bathroom at the end of it.

Once unlocking the wooden door, you and Din stepped into the now moonlit room, which ended up being more spacious than anticipated.

With Din closing the door and locking it once again, your eyes scan around the carved walls and the big window, the tapestry on the floor and then – the bed. The only bed. Not even a couch on the other end of the room. Only a bed.

Din seems to have noticed it too as you feel him come to a halt right behind you, helmet turning to scan the room.

“Why would they give us only one bed? I specifically said it was a two people bedroom.” You can feel his aggrieved tone sip through the helmet, frustrated with the situation.

“Two people. Not two beds.” You scoff and he looks at you, causing you to look away and avert your smile from his field of vision – how unskilled Din was with such mundane tasks always amused you. “I’m afraid this one’s on you Din Djarin.”

You walk over to the bed and start to peel the layers of your leather uniform, down to your undershirt and panties.

“Woah, what are you doing?” Din asks you, turning his helmet away once his helmet falls upon your bare legs.

“Getting to bed. You should too.” You state in a deadpan voice, before sliding your legs underneath the cotton sheet and laying your head in the fluffy pillow – something you haven’t had in months.

“No, yeah, I can see that! But I-… do you… Are you…?” he stumbles over his words, awkwardly still standing in the middle of the room at the bottom of the bed.

“Din, rest. Come on, it’s not every day you have a real bed to lay on.” The man huffs and walks over to your opposite side of the bed, before pulling the covers back, getting ready to seat down, before you shoot up on your elbow.

“Aren’t you going to take the armour off?”

“Why would I? Hostile planet, unknown people sleeping next door. Peli might contact us at any minute.” He has a big list of reasons, and he could more than definitely go on, but something in the way you are looking at him through the visor stops him.

“Din. Nothing bad is going to happen for one night.” Your eyes were honest and they pierced his soul melting his insides and kicking his usual hunter instinct out the window.

Not being able to resist, he drops his shoulders and sighs, before reaching for his chest pauldron and unclasping it while you grin victoriously.

“The helmet stays on.” He warns you, while pieces upon pieces of beskar and leather fall to the ground, placed against the foot of the bed until he is in nothing besides his fitted undersuit and beskar helmet.

Reaching for the covers once again, Din finally sleeps into the bed and as soon as his back hits the mattress he releases a quiet grown and you chuckle.

“Better?” you ask him, face turned his way and cocking your eyebrow up.

“Better.” This time, to your surprise, he’s the one that chuckles, the vibration of the modulated sound going straight to your stomach.

“Goodnight Din.” You whisper, turning your back to him and placing your body in your preferred position to sleep. With one look at you, the only nothing he can now see is the moonlit outline of your curves as your ribcage rises and falls at the rhythm of your quiet breath.

He’d be damned if anything happened to you. For as paranoid as he was the possibility of someone breaking in at the dead of the night and harming you, stopped him from turning his back to you and instead, settling with his chest up to the ceiling, helmet turned in your direction.

“Goodnight.”

For the first time in Maker knows how long, both you and Din managed to sleep during a full night with no sudden wake up calls or alarms beeping around. It was nice, he had to admit. So nice, that his body got a little too comfortable, his hands in his slumber reaching for your body and your own figure, unconsciously draw to his embrace let itself be held by him during the long hours of the dark – none of you being aware of such.

But somewhere along that time, in the wee small hours of the morning, your body rotated in his arms, back to his slowly moving chest and his hands, unbothered, had to keep touching you, they had to make sure you were there, hence gently palming your right boob.

It wasn’t until you felt an involuntary squeeze of his bare hands against your tunic, a definite sleep spasm that you were pulled awake and made aware of the situation.

Heat flooded your whole body once you realized the compromising position you both found yourselves in. Gently humming Din’s name, you don’t dare to move his arm, being very aware of his hunter instincts.

“Din.” You repeat again, this time louder and the man behind you hums. At the same time as the sound leaves his lungs, his fingers squeeze yet again. You suck in a breath and bite your bottom lip, preventing any sort of moan from escaping.

Din groans once, the sleep still gripping his system but he must’ve soon realized where his hand was, forearm trapped beneath your weight as he quickly pulls it away, sitting up straight in the bed.

“Kriff. I’m so sorry, I didn’t intend to-“ His chest is rising and lowering heavy, and you can see a hint of the red skin that heats on his neck and upper chest.

“It’s alright, I know.”

A heavy silence hangs in the air, you having since sat up in bed, back against the headboard, only your breathings and and heavy tension floating in the air. You were pretty sure your cheeks were still pink, as they still felt hot.

“I don’t want you to think that I wanted to do anything to you. I would never.” He says, coming off harsher than intended. It’s not that he didn’t want to be with you, Maker, he did, he had fallen head over heels a long time ago… But, maybe you didn’t feel that way. You were too good for him, anyway. A puddle of light in his life that he didn’t want to corrupt with his own being.

“Would it be so bad?” You whisper, afraid that he really didn’t want anything to do with you, slightly hurt by the words he’d just said.

Silence remains and you look to your side only to find the beskar helmet turning in your direction, your hopeful eyes and hung mouth pleading for a genuine answer.

Feeling bold, you reach for his bare hand that rested against the mattress and hold it up to where it was before and he is silently following your actions, but you can feel his muscles tensing at your actions.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” His voice is strained as he looks away but dares not to move his hand.

“Din. Please.” You whisper in a broken voice and that’s all it takes for his helmet to return to face you.

“If I start, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to.”

There is a moment there. One of silence, but that was heavy with unsaid words. A look into your eyes was all it took him to pull your hips gently down and lay you back on the soft mattress while his body shifted to be above you.

His rough fingers gently tugged at one of the straps of your tunic before pulling it down and off your arm, same as with the other one that followed, leaving the thin fabric still splayed over your chest, from where he could now see the hard buds straining through.

Your breathing deepened and you could feel heat pool at your core, shifting your thighs closer together, an action that didn’t go unnoticed to the masked man above you as your knees brushed his crotch.

“Mesh’la.” He whispers, looking down your body, his erection pressing against the fabric of his confined pants.

Putting all of his weight on his elbows, the Mandalorian slides the fabric of your tunic down, revealing your swollen breasts, courtesy of the arousal he was fabricating in you. His fists curled at the sudden need that he had, one that he couldn’t fulfil if there was the possibility of you seeing his face.

Sitting back on his knees, he reaches out to the floor on his side of the bed, where he remembers to have discarded his armour and other layers the night before. When he sits back up, you can see that he is holding one of his undershirts, the one that went directly under the leather layer, made of a soft black fabric.

He motions it towards your head as if asking for permission to put it around your head and all you can do is nod while bitting your bottom lip, eager to give in to the pleasure he intended to deliver.

You lift your head from where it was resting against the pillow and his gentle hands tie the fabric around your eyes, making sure that it was tight enough for it not to slip, but not too much so that it would hurt you.

In the darkness that you found yourself surrounded by, all your other senses tingled in anticipation, especially your touch and hearing as from somewhere lower above you, a hissing sound filled the air, followed by that of metal being placed on wood.

Still sitting on his knees, his eyes could now see you in all of your glory, without the darkening of the helmet. And you were a sight to behold. Hair splayed around your head on the pillow, lips parted in anticipation, breasts aching for him. To the latter he gave in first, lowering himself to attach his lips to your left nipple, his breath fanning over it for a moment before diving in.

You suck in a sharp breath and moan at his action, while one of his hands finds your free nipple, not wanting it to go unattended.

“Din, that feels so good.” Your head lifts up and then drops with a small thud against the pillow taking in shallow and quick breaths as his fingers and tongue continued to tease your sensitive buds.

His mouth and hands were equally skilled, the latter, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, as quick jolts of pain and pleasure rushed through every nerve in your body.

He stayed there for a long time, switching sides every now and then, mouth sucking and tongue lapping and brushing against your nipples.

He sucked and moaned around it every time his tongue stroked the tip of your nipple and your hands fumbled between grabbing the sheets below you or his soft hair, body arching up wanting more. More of him, more of that sensation, just more.

With your tunic still draped over your torso the one hand of Din’s that wasn’t supporting his weight travels down to your core, thick fingers brushing against your clit and soon after trailing a path up your dripping slit, moaning when his digits became wet.

“Did that make you wet, cyar’ika? You like it when I play with your nipples?” his husky voice sent waves of arousal up your body.

“Yes, Din, you’re so good at it, please.” You reach your hand down to palm at his erection “I need you, please.”

Gently he grabs your hand from his crotch and places it down next to your head. “Next time. We need to get going in a few if we don’t want to burn under the midday sun. But I can still make you feel good.”

You moaned at his willingness to prioritize your pleasure over his, going as far as denying himself of an orgasm at this crucial moment, which would have him frustrated until the next time you could be alone together again.

His lips return to your nipples and, at the same time, he slides two digits inside your aching cunt, the warmth and clenching around his skin making him whimper around your nipple, making the pleasure skyrocket on your part.

The outer rim of his free hand now rested against the mound that was free from his mouth’s hold, as his middle finger flicked up and down against the tip of your nipple, making you cry out in pleasure as it synched perfectly with his ministrations against and inside your core.

It was all too much, and tears pooled at the outer corners of your eyes, leaving an eventual wet trail behind as they ran down your cheeks, until being soaked by his shirt that rested around your eyes.

Your body convulsed under his frame, arching against him as a wave of white pleasure washing over you like never before, the joined ecstasy of his two places of stimulation pushing you with full force over the edge you were chasing.

Din rode your high until he felt you could no more, never for once slowing his movement in between your legs as your cum dripped down his fingers and into his palm, and making the most of your sensitive nipples by bringing both your breasts together with his large hand, positioning them in a way that both nipples were almost touching, allowing him to lick and suck at the two simultaneously.

Once your body is spent and limp, chest rising and falling trying to catch your breath and trying to drive some oxygen up to your brain as you felt like being high, Mando finally lifts his face up to your own and, for the first time lets his lips latch onto something other than your chest. The kiss is deep and wet, his tongue roaming your lips before exploring your mouth.

Din then sits back up on his knees, chuckling as your head followed his once your lips parted, not wanting to separate just yet.

His bare hand reaches to the side table where he’d laid the helmet and puts it back on, coming away from straddling you and rather returning to his side of the bed, pulling you in by your waist to his side and sliding the shirt up from around your eyes

He watches you smile, still in the aftereffects of your orgasm.

“Hey.” You muse up at him.

“Hey.” He answers, the helmet preventing you from seeing the lopsided smile that adorned his beautiful face.

“That was…”

“I know.” He completes your thought.

“Was it so bad, after all?” You close your eyes as the question leaves your lips, the exhaustion of this morning activity starting to wash over you.

“Not even close.”

As if on cue, the first ray of sunshine makes its way through the window glass and you know that it means you need to get dressed and out of this place. Din notices it as well, patting your side before slinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing up.

“Come one, mesh’la. We need to go.”

“I know.” You groan up to the air. “But this is so comfortable.”

“The faster we get there, the faster we can go into the Razor and the closer we are to putting Grogu asleep.” He tells you, hands on his hips, a teasing tone on his voice and damn it, he got you good.

“I hate that you know me so well.” You huff with a smile, crawling up to his side of the bed so that you’re on your knees on top of the mattress, still, he towers over you.

“Can’t wait to know all of you.” He whispers as his helmet comes closer down your face and his hands travel to your waist. He then gives it a little squeeze before patting your ass. “Come on now, let’s go. I have a feeling someone is waiting to make grabby hands at us.”

“I was about to say you have a stationed ship waiting to take off, but I’m glad to see you have your priorities straight.” You muse over your shoulder, walking to the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom.

As you go, Din stays behind adoring the view of your hips swaying and ass jiggling as you walk.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

He really couldn’t wait to know all of you.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

TAGLISTS

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@blondekel77​  @pedrobreakmyback

DIN DJARIN TAGLIST

@niall2017​

PEDRITO TAGLIST

@weirdowithnobeardo

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

Want a completely personalized imagine just for you? Click here!

[waywardimpalawriter]

Hi love! Can I get Smut prompt 126 with Bucky Barnes? I love James 🥵

Well hello doll, wow I’m very honored to have you send in this prompt and a little nervous lol. I agree with ya there James is so yummy and fun to write for to. I hope you like it hun.

Smut prompt #126 “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.” (In bold)

NSFW +18 no minor’s please

Warnings = smut, unprotected sex (wrap if your gonna tap)

James, “Bucky” Barnes x Plus size reader

Okay so this got a way from me and is longer than I intended it to be lol (sorry, not sorry)

Smut Prompt list here

Three months that’s how long you’ve been dating, you haven’t pushed to much. Knowing this whole relationship thing hasn’t come back to him yet. Uncertain how to brooch the subject without it becoming weird. You didn’t want to scare him off that should’ve already happened given the fact that your not a size two. But Bucky chose you over everyone else he could’ve dated. Treating you like a china doll, gentle, fragile four words that make you growl low. Spitting curses under your breath while heading back to your apartment. Having seen the smirk on Nat’s face knowing better than to have spoken to her about the problem. Only getting a smile ‘Talk to him Y/N’ making you roll your eyes and stock out.

Nearing your door, placing a hand on the cool wood body thumping with need from watching Bucky and Steve work out. The play of muscles on that man’s back, his delicious arm flexing and the veins in his human arm Gods don’t even get you started. Seeing the way his black t-shirt clung to his form, ass hugging sweat pants that had you rolling. You wanted to jump his bones right then but turned and left missing the confused look in the cerulean eyes. Having caught the sight of you entering, he misses the next punch that lands him on his ass with a deep chuckle from Steve.

“Should’ve been paying attention Buck instead of watching Y/N’s ass,” extending his hand to help Bucky up getting a groan vibrating from the other man’s chest.

“Fuck you Punk,” getting to his feet and moving to grab up the towel, wiping the sweat from his brow. His focus being shit for the last few days, his thoughts straying to you.

Shaking his sandy blonde head, “Go, we ain’t gonna get anything else done today with your brain focused on her.”

“Little brain don’t you mean Steve,” gruff laughter echoing through the gym as Sam comes over, mirth dancing in those deep ochre eyes. “What’s the matter Buck you can’t satisfy my girl anymore?”

Fire dancing as his eyes landing on the Falcon who keeps the smirk spread across his lips. Knowing he’s hit or so he thinks, a little to close to home. “She ain’t your girl Wilson leave off,” heading for the door determined to find out just why you’ve been ducking him for the last several days.

Which brings us back to you leaning against your door eyes closed tightly memories cycling through your mind of all the times you and Bucky made love. Soft whimpers leaving your lips chased by a heavy dose of frustration and need. Hand slamming palm flat against the door, you didn’t want to worry Bucky but you needed more, wanted more. You also knew the way you’ve handled the situation isn’t the best especially when you hear a throat clear behind you.

Tensing up, forehead still resting against the door that you turn to see Bucky, tight black t-shirt clinging to that scalped chest. Sweat beading along his forehead to slide down his cheek lower to tip toe the lovely expanse of his neck you want to place your lips against. Swallowing you straighten and turn to face him, “Hey Buck what brings you by?”

“We need to talk,” voice flat, keeping his emotions closed off so he doesn’t show you how worried he truly is.

Nodding, reaching for the door handle as Bucky nears unconsciously pressing his chest against your back. The contact makes you stiffen and try to stifle a moan with having him so close. Hand shaking so that you barely can get it pulled down and pushed open. Knowing you needed a clear head for this talk yet how can you when Bucky is looking like a fucking status come to life. You’re all but drooling when you turn to face him and that lethal stance he’s taken up. Arms crossed over his chest making his muscles look ever bigger, one leg stepped to the side while the other remains straight. He’s such a fucking tease to you but totally unaware of the effects he causes you.  

“Fuck no one should look that sexy,” thinking you’ve said the words to yourself but the rambling groan from the man opposite you tells a different story. Swallowing you eyes raise to catch his, this time you can see the heat and desire coloring those lovely eyes pitch.

Stepping towards you, hands fisting at his side the soft whirl of his vibranium plate’s the only sound besides the deep breathing of you both. “If that’s what you think doll then way have you been ducking me?”

Chewing your bottom lip, arms crossing just under your heavy breasts pushing them up. Gaining his attention and the slow slide of his tongue over his lips. Mesmerized by the sight no words form in your mind till that smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Snapping you from the stupor you found yourself in for a moment.

“I haven’t been ducking you Buck,” to prove his point you turn to head towards the little kitchenette for a bottle of water. Finding yourself thirsty but for more than water. Parched to the point you maybe ready to beg the man who you turned your back on to just take you right here.

Something you knew better than to do with his light footsteps he’s behind you again, pressing his chest against your back. Hands on either side on the fridge, sandwiching you in with his super solider body. Regretting choosing the thin workout shorts and tank top, feeling the heat radiate from him making you pant with need.

“Don’t believe you baby girl, you did it just now,” voice smooth as silk against your ear. Minty breath fanning over the shell with his cheek pressed lightly against your head. Taking in the soft scent of your hair and skin the scent shooting straight to his harden cock making him throb with need.

Knowing all you have to do is turn and his lips would be on yours in a hot second. You hold out trying to form some kind of coherent thought which is almost fucking impossible with Bucky pressing into you. “I didn’t,” bitting your bottom lip to keep the whine from leaving you lips. Feeling the cool metal of his fingers slide down your bare shoulder to wrap lightly around your wrist. That’s when you snap turning quickly in his embrace, fire snapping in your eyes that makes him pause and take a step back.

“Y/N?” confusion making the pupil retract just as his body does. “Did I do something…”

Growling in frustration to slap at his chest, “Yes you did that’s the problem Barnes, you’ve done it to fucking well in fact.” Watching him recoil a step, makes your eyes close to reign yourself in. “Why do you have to be so damn gentlemanly? Treating me like a fucking piece of glass.”

“Y/N I’m not following you,” even more confused than before yet its mixed with desire. That coats his veins, making his cock twitch at your aggressiveness. Trying to bring. himself under control, not wanting to hurt or scare you.

“Ugh,” tossing your hands up, slapping his chest again. “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily James.” Praying he get’s what your meaning seeing his brow dip makes you angry and you step forward roughly pulling him against you. Crashing your lips into his, nipping at the plush bottom lip demanding entry. When he remains unmovable your heart sinks and you pull back. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” words whispered from tingling lips, body stiff against the island, hands balled tight to keep from roughly pulling you back to him.

Rolling your eyes to look up at him, soft gasp parting your lips at the return of those lust blown black eyes. “You won’t James I know you won’t but sometimes…” sighing shaking your head then look away taking a step.  

“Sometimes what?” vibranuim hand shooting out to grab your bicep to keep you from bolting. “What do you need Y/N tell me.” Gods his voice is deep and gravelly, it takes all your power to keep from flinging yourself back into his arms and demand he fuck you now. Thick thighs rubbing together with one simple possessive hold on your body.

Stealing yourself to look up at him, “I need you to fuck me Sergeant, I need no want to feel you tomorrow when I’m working remembering the way you made me feel the way you took me.” Swallowing harshly hoping you’ve gotten through to him.

“Strip,” single word leaves his lips, eyes flashing dangerously as he pulls you back against him. Hands one cool, the other warm grip your shoulders. “If you want those clothes you’ll take them off doll because God knows I won’t be able to keep from ripping them off your fucking body.”

A shutter licks down your spine at his tone, heat pooling in your core, watching for a moment the tick in his jaw. Hypnotized by the slow bob of his Adams apple that you don’t heed his warning till the sound of fabric ripping meets your ears and your chest is partly bare to his gaze.

“James,” soft gasp leaving your lips, eyes darting between him and your own body. Watching as his vibranium fingers trace between your the soft swells of your breasts setting your skin on fire with the simple touch, coming to pause between the generous globes. Catching the edges of your black bra, ripping the fabric pulling it from your body to join your ruined tank top. As another gasp is wrenched from your lips this time with a tiny squawk of anger. “You’ll pay for those Barnes,” finally breaking from the lustful haze. Wanting to be angry but finding it hard to maintain the heat behind your words with how his touch is firing off tingles and shivers up and down your body.

Full blown smirk crosses his lips, “I warned you sweetheart,” glancing down to catch how your body moves, knowing from the subtle rub your needing release. “About those shorts and panties which I’m betting are soaked right now. Am I right doll? You know I can smell you right, know when your aroused,” brow lifting when no words meet his ears. He takes a step forward you take one back body bumping against the cold refrigerator door. Some how his voice drops another octave as he leans forward caging you in, mouth dangerously close to your ear. “You forgot to say please by the way doll, remember your manners.”

Watching him pull back to capture your gaze, teeth making an indentation in your bottom lip. He groans capturing your mouth with no gentleness. Demandingly thrusting his hot tongue into your mouth, licking into the warm cavern, to tango with your tongue in a dance that leaves you both gasping. His forehead resting against yours when he breaks.  Breathlessly, “Please James fuck me, make me feel it tomorrow, please.”

Deep groan leaves his lip and before you can do anything he’s tossed you over his shoulder, slapping your ass hard enough you know a bruise will be there tomorrow. Only serving to make you squirm in his hold, feeling your clit throb, a moan at being manhandled leaves your lips. Long strides eat up the steps to your shared bed that his tosses you on. Watching you bounce, nipples peaked in the air condition cooled room. Licking his lips, he places one knee on the bed looking the part of a wild man stalking his prey as you move u p the bed to the top. Knowing he has you in his sights, making your body hum with need and reach down to tug your shorts and panties off. Tossing them to the floor, watching his shirt join and shortly after by his tented sweatpants and boxer briefs. Staring for a moment as his thick cock juts from his groin, little pearl drops begging to be licked up sit perfectly on the slit. Til his hand wraps around coating his palm and sliding down the shaft. Desire flaring in his eyes while he watches you watch him. Deep growl rambling from his chest as you tease him.

Spreading your thick thighs for him, fingers tracing your body all sense of modesty nonexistent with the heated look he’s giving you. Plucking your nipples, giving them both a hard pinch that makes your back arch a needy gasp leaving you. Air sucked in through your nose, exiting from your mouth his name riding along on a breathless whimper. “James,” and he’s there slotting between your thighs, one hand wrapped around his shaft stroking twice before running the tip through your folds before slotting at your entrance and start to slide inside you.

Smirking when a huff leaves your lip only to turn into a gasp when he fills you quickly, seating himself deep between your quivering walls. Mouth coming to ghost over your ear, “Hang on doll it’s gonna be a rough hard ride.”

[jamesandthedog]

“Imagine if we dated.” for wolfstar, please?

Sorry this took a while to write! @ashslytherin​ asked for a mixer of your prompt + number 16 so that’s what I did(: The prompts are 11. “Imagine if we dated.” & 16. “Not letting me do it only makes me want It more.”

Check out the prompt list

Imagine if we dated

“Imagine if we dated,” Sirius said suddenly.

Remus, with the day’s Daily Prophet in one hand, a toast in another and an utterly confused look on his face, turned to look at him. Once he realised Sirius wasn’t joking, he let go of the paper and finished chewing the piece of toast in his mouth.

Sirius didn’t know the very thing he had jokingly suggested was something Remus had thought about for the past year or so. Actually, he mostly thought about moving his fingers along Sirius’ pale skin, mapping his tattoos, touching his collarbones. Getting to smell his scent without being embarrassed for liking it when Sirius leaned his shoulder against Remus’ on the couch of the common room. Reminiscing that one smile Sirius sometimes sent his way, the one that almost felt like it was meant just for him. Then there were the more inappropriate thoughts too, the ones Remus tried not to think about on the nights Sirius spend in his bed after having nightmares because they made it embarrassingly difficult to hold Sirius so close.

“No.”

“Why not?”

Remus hoped Sirius couldn’t notice the way his heart seemed to pound in his chest, fast, like it wanted to break out of him.

“Uh…Padfoot, this might shock you but, you’re not gay.”

“But if I were?”

Now Remus’ heart definitely skipped a beat. “…But you aren’t.”

“I could be if it would stop Denbright from trying to feed love potions to me.”

Oh, that made sense, much more sense that Sirius actually doubting his sexuality.

“So let me be clear here,” Remus summed. “You want to date me to avoid horny girls?”

“Maybe.”

“Right…” Remus said. “Go fetch James and Peter from the pitch.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re clearly bored and I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with it.”

Sirius took his wand and with a swift movement, he levitated the coffee pot towards Remus’ empty mug pouring him a fresh cup of coffee.

“Better?” He asked with a tone that made Remus give hin an incredulous look.

“You’re not going to drop the subject, are you?”

Sirius didn’t answer, he just got up, took the rest of Remus’ toast, and patted the sandy haired boy on the head as he exited the Great Hall.

* * * * *

“Are you trying to avoid me, Lupin?”

Remus looked up from his potions book to see Sirius taking the seat next to him. Peter who usually sat on the very spot, shrugged at Remus as he went to sit next to James.

Sirius had his long hair on a bun, with few curls framing his face and Remus found himself noticing his collarbone peeking out of his loosely buttoned shirt. His tie was hanging undone around his neck but that was nothing surprising, it was the last class of the day and Sirius’ uniform always seemed to come undone as the way went on. It was like a clock for Remus.

“Yes, but rather unsuccessfully considering you’ve managed to either sit or pair up with me on all of our classes so far,” he said.

“That’s what boyfriends do, don’t they?” Sirius grinned at him.

Remus rolled his eyes and with a flick of a wand, buttoned Sirius’ shirt. Sirius sneered at it, but let the shirt be.

“This, dear Padfoot, is why I’m trying to avoid you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Remus looked at him suspiciously, but when Sirius just smiled, he turned back to his potions book.

Half a minute later Remus felt the weight on his shoulders as Sirius wrapped one arm around him. Remus sighed. He bit his lip, then took Sirius’ hand  returning it back on Sirius’ own lap as he wondered what he had done to deserve the torture Sirius was obviously putting him through on this otherwise fine Thursday.

“We’re not dating,” Remus said firmly as he let go of Sirius’ hand.He wasn’t sure if he said it more to assert himself or Sirius.

“Not letting me do it only makes me want It more.”

Remus shook his head, closed his book and punched Sirius gently in the head with it before turning to listen at the professor.

* * * * *

It was nearly impossible to focus on brewed glory as they were supposed to with Sirius and his once again unbuttoned shirt around. It wasn’t that Sirius did anything specific to bother Remus, but his collarbones very seriously distractive and he had rolled his sleeves and Remus hard time not staring at the well-defined muscles as he chopped dried fluxweed.

“It wouldn’t really harm you, would it?”

Remus blinked from behind the cauldron. “Huh?”

“Dating me”, Sirius explained as he remeasured the fluxweed. “Unless you’re already dating, which you aren’t. People might notice, you know, notice and want to date you.”

Remus blinked again, before giving it a weak laugh. “You might be overestimating my market value.”

“I’m not. You’re tall. People love your freckles. You got character, you got-“

“Scars-”

“That make you mysterious,” Sirius insisted and raised an eyebrow at him. “Like, where does the one on you hip end? It’s sexy.”

Looking in Sirius’ stormy grey eyes was definitely a mistake, Remus thought as he felt shivers all over his body. The thought of Sirius thinking about the scar on his hip was something Remus would have classified as a thought inappropriate for public places, definitely inappropriate for a class full of people.

Remus cleared his throat.

“Freckles?” He asked.

“Freckles.”

The looked at each other for a while before Remus turned away.

“You keep talking about men like that and the Denbright’s of the world may actually start leaving you alone,” he managed to smile as he on added the chopped fluxweed into the cauldron.

He didn’t look at Sirius any longer, but he was pretty sure he heard him mutter “maybe I will” – Remus wasn’t quite sure since the words got lost somewhere between a rattle of glass and a list of curse words as Sirius’ elbow nudged a bottle of salamander blood on the floor spilling it all over.

* * * * *

Remus was pretty sure Sirius had broken the last bottle of the bloody salamander blood as he tried to reach at the top shelf. He was tall, but it there were any bottles left they were safely out of his reach at the back of the shelf. The door of the storeroom slammed closed leaving him with nothing but a dim candlelight, which didn’t exactly help his cause.

Remus cursed, then startled as he felt the warmth of someone cornering him from behind.

“Date me,” whispered the familiar voice.

It gave him goosebumps. Remus took a breath and turned around trying to find what his friends called his prefect voice.

“This isn’t funny, Padfoot.”

And then he was face to face with Sirius, who was standing surprisingly close to him with one hand leaning on the shelf.

He looked so casual, as if he belonged there. Remus leaned his back against the shelves and wondered if this was what how the girls felt when they got together with Sirius in one of the castle’s broom closets. The difference being he got to look down at Sirius, and unlike with the girls, Sirius was messing with him.

“Fine, I’m getting bored of this too,” Sirius said.

He didn’t have the joking tone in his voice anymore. Remus squinted his eyes; quitting wasn’t something Sirius did.

“I’ll stop on one condition.”

There it was again, the Sirius Remus knew.

“Which is?” He asked.

The darkhaired boy was quiet for a bit, thinking, biting his lip. It wasn’t something Sirius did often, usually he was fire and speed and rash decisions. The sudden change in his behaviour made Remus nervous, because he was usually rather good at reading Sirius’ many moods. He was familiar with broody, quiet Sirius but this was, this was something different.

“You answer a question.”

“…Which is?” Remus repeated.

Sirius glanced at the floor and sighed before locking his eyes with Remus’. Remus wasn’t sure if Sirius had leaned in closer, or if he just thought he had. It felt like Remus could feel his breath and warmth on his skin. He could smell his shampoo. His cigarettes. And then just something that Remus just called smelling like Sirius. It was good, all of it, even the bloody cigarettes.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to ask.”

Sirius rarely looked people in the eye like that, intensively, confidently, honestly. It made Remus feel like he was all Sirius focused on,  a centre of gravity – or maybe it was just him hoping.

Remus swallowed, staring back at the grey eyes, and listening himself breathing too heavily. But Sirius was breathing heavily too, and that’s when Remus got it. The confidence was a mask. Because of course Sirius bloody Black could act even more confident than normal when he was the pure opposite of confidence. Remus had seen him do it before, if happened mostly when they were around Slytherins, especially around the people who knew Sirius before school.

Sirius has trying to hide it, but he was nervous. They both were.

“That makes it a hard one to answer,” Remus whispered.

“Does it, thought?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.

Neither or them spoke. Remus hesitated, then brought one hand on Sirius’ neck. Sirius arched his neck to press onto it like a cat being petted.

He liked it.

“I, er…” Remus started, not quite sure how to deal with what he thought might be going on. “I think I need you to ask.”

Silence. Hazel eyes looking in the stormy grey ones that looked right back.

“Would you date me if I wasn’t straight?”

It was honest, not the type of joking Sirius had done all day.

Remus let out the breath he’d been holding. His fingers found Sirius’ neck hair as he studied the look on his face. He didn’t quite know how he was still standing there when his whole world seemed to be flipping upside down and he had a whole army of doxies flying around his stomach and – and he had Sirius in front of him and Remus was pretty sure he may have actually, for real, confessed liking guys, liking… Remus.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Sirius leaned his hips against Remus’.

“Yeah, I would,” Remus said.

Then he smiled wrapping one arm around Sirius’ waist as Sirius’ hands found his neck Remus’ neck pulling him so close their lips nearly touched.

“Moony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I’m definitely not straight.”

It made Remus beam like a child who’d been let free in a chocolate shop, he couldn’t help it. It would’ve felt embarrassing, except Sirius smiled at him too.

“I suppose I have to let you know,” Remus said once he found his voice again. “If we were to date… I’d still have ask my boyfriend who the fuck is stirring our potion while we kiss.”

Sirius burst into laughter.

“You don’t want to know” he said and pressed his lips on Remus’.

[alternateafterthought]

Arcane

Ø  Meaning: Secret, Mysterious, Understood only by few. MAGIC

Ø  Pairing: Panther Hybrid Min Yoongi x Reader

Ø  Summary: Some secrets are kept for the good of people. Some secrets are kept for abuse or power. Yoongi had been a victim of abuse and power, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else use secrets for that purpose. So, when Y/N comes into his life with secrets, he doesn’t want to fall into that rabbit hole again. He doesn’t want to give all his trust to someone who will abuse their power over him. But maybe Y/N’s secrets are a good thing.

Ø  Genre: Hybrid!au, fluff, angst, eventual smut

Ø  Warnings: None

Ø  Word Count: 1897

Ø  A/N: Hey guys… this is my first Min Yoongi fic!! After finally finishing my first ever BTS fic, GOLDEN TIME, I started working on this one!! If you haven’t noticed, I really love Hybrid stories and I seem to love writing them just as much!!! So, I really hope you guys love and support this fic like you did with GOLDEN TIME!! If you want to be added to a tag list, message me or leave a comment or ask!! Thank you so much!!

NEXT

Training a house dog was one thing. Walking around parks and seeing them full of dogs playing and learning to sit, come, stay, roll over was something rather cute.

What wasn’t cute was walking past those same parks to see full grown adult hybrids learning the same tricks as dogs. They may have animal genetics, they may have eats and a tail, and some attributes of their animal counterpart. Yet, it gives no proper reasoning as to why hybrids needed to be trained to sit, stay, come, roll over for a treat like they were lesser.

Hybrids might have been part animal, but they were also part human. A small detail lots of humans seemed to miss themselves.

Y/N walked through the park, having slipped away from her overbearing parents 30 minutes ago, loving being by herself. Even though it was loud, children running and playing, their parents running and shouting after them, hybrids playing with children, dogs running around. There was so much noise, so much around her, and yet it was the most at peace Y/N had been in months.

She was never allowed this type of freedom, not since she was a kid, and so she basked in the walk alone. The rays of the sun warming her up as she stood in the middle of the grassy area, head raised to the sun, eyes closed. The light cardigan over the dress she wore in the summer breeze moved as she looked around, happy to be alone, even for a while.

“HEY, I SAID SIT YOU STUPID ANIMAL!”

A rather loud, high pitched shout caused Y/N to open her eyes. Y/N blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the bright light of the sun, only to catch the ending of a tall woman hitting a hybrid.

From where Y/N stood she could make out small golden ears on top of the hybrids head, the same colour of the mop of golden hair on the hybrids head. A long golden tail wrapped around the hybrids own thigh as the hybrid curled in on themselves, their hands moving up to cover their face.

The hybrid was obviously scared, and it was even more obvious that no one was going to help the hybrid. Human and hybrids alike just looked as the woman punished her hybrid for not listening to her before looking away. Y/N noticed some hybrids, the closer ones and younger ones looked at the hybrid sympathetically, but the whole world knew that no one could help the poor hybrid. Like Y/N, all they could do was watch, before turning away herself.

Moving off the grass, Y/N followed the path to the edge of the park, joining the crowded streets of people. Y/N only had so much time to herself before her parents found her again, and that was an argument she could wait for. After all, this was the reason she had convinced her parents of this trip to the city, having planned the whole trip out.

Checking her watch as she moved across the street, Y/N only had 3 more hours before she had to meet her parents back at the hotel. She was already setting something up that would undoubtedly give her parents some type of heart attack, the least she could do was be on time.

Well as on time as a daughter can be in adopting a hybrid without her parents knowing she would.

Following the GPS on her phone, Y/N finally made it to the shelter, quickly opening the door. She was welcomed by a lively room, what was obviously once white walls were now covered in pictures of hundreds of hybrids. Some playing by themselves, some obviously posing for the camera and some with the biggest smile and humans, just having been adopted. The people in the room seemed to be just as lively, smiles and laughter coming from everywhere.

Y/N could tell who worked at the shelter, the purple shirts with the words “HOPE Sanctuary” on the back told her just that. It seemed there was a small family who had just happily adopted a dog hybrid, from the looks of it the young hybrid must have been the same age as the son he currently played with. There was also an elderly couple who had just adopted a cat hybrid, the younger feline standing next to the elder woman who gave the hybrid such a warm grandmotherly smile.

“Excuse me?” A voice spoke from behind Y/N. “Can I help you?”

A young woman stood next to Y/N; the purple shirt she wore matched the purple hair she sported. She was beautiful, the smile on her face was infectious, the soft dimples making her look that much younger. Y/N could tell she enjoyed working here, it was always good to see that there were humans like her that only wanted the best for hybrids.

“Hi yes. I called a few days ago about adopting a hybrid?” Y/N recalled the conversation she had with a very cheerful man.

“Ah yes, the older hybrid, right?” The woman’s eyes seemed to spark something. “If you would just take a seat, I will go get the owner.”

“Oh okay, thank you.” Y/N bowed her head  before moving to sit in one of the chairs.

Sitting on one of the free chairs, Y/N’s phone buzzed, reaching into her handbag to check the screen. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking every god she could think of it wasn’t her parents. It was just a reminder, a needed reminder, but just a reminder to take her medication.

It was a simple enough task, one she did willingly, taking the small tablets then the water in the bottle she always carried around. She may not like it, she may not like the effects of them, and she may not like how her parents treated her like some child. But at 24 years old, she knew when to argue about something, and when to accept her fate and do as she’s told.

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N?” A familiar voice made Y/N look up as she screwed the lid tightly on her water bottle. “I’m Jung Hoseok, but please, J-Hope is what everyone calls me. I believe we talked on the phone.”

“Yes, Mr. Jung…” Y/N caught his eyebrow raise before laughing a little as she stood, taking the man’s hand in a handshake. “J-Hope.”

“Would you follow me to my office?” J-Hope gestured towards an office door, and with a nod they both moved towards it. “Can I just say, when we got your call that you were interested in one of our older hybrids, I just had to take your case personally.”

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing to be worried about, trust me.” J-Hope smiled widely, letting Y/N know he was excited. “It’s just when it comes to hybrids, people normally go for the younger children or even teens. I worry about the older hybrids, and unfortunately any hybrid over the age of 21 is considered old.”

“Really?” That was news to Y/N, her eyes wide as she took a seat opposite J-Hope.

With a sad nod from J-Hope, he moved some paperwork around, obviously finding the right stack; “So when you said you had interest in older hybrids, I just knew it was a case I had to take.” He finally found the right stack of paper with a small sound of approval. “We currently have 6 older hybrids here and I would love you to meet them all. Though with 2 of them unavailable you will only be meeting 4 of them.”

“What species of hybrids are they?” Y/N sat up straight in her chair, intrigued and happy. “The ones I’ll be meeting at least.”

“Two dog hybrids, a fox hybrid and a cat hybrid.” J-Hope looked up and smiled as he handed over 4 files to Y/N. “These are everything about them, you can read them first or you can meet them first, which ever you choose first.”

Looking down at the 4 files, she quickly flipped through them, a picture on the front of each yellow file. All 4 hybrids were males, first was a golden retriever hybrid, sandy blonde hair, the same colour as his floppy ear. He had a boxy smile, large eyes that shone brightly and he seemed to have been playing in mud as the picture was taken. Mud covered his clothes, parts of his face and hair had muddy stains, he seemed to be having a great time, even in the picture.

The second was a German Sheppard hybrid, large ears stood tall, tan and black, his head was tilted to the side. He looked to have been caught off guard, a book sat on his lap, his mouth opened slightly. He looked tall, even sitting on what looked to be his bed, his large hands looked like they wanted to move up to block the camera from taking his picture. There was a small note on the front of his file “Would be best suited for someone who lives close to the outdoors.”

Third was a very handsome hybrid. Anyone could tell that hybrid or not, he was truly very handsome, his black hair matched his shorter black ears. His eyes bore into the camera it seemed, welcoming anyone who looked at the picture. His smile was almost childlike compared to his eyes, his lips looked so soft and pink and honestly Y/N could stare at them all day. Y/N saw that he was the oldest of the 4 hybrids, and yet he could easily be mistaken for so much younger than his age.

The final file was of the only feline hybrid in the pile. A hand covered most of the view of the hybrid, but from what she could see was a pair of intense eyes. They looked almost black, his hand covered one of them, but still they drew her in, if not making her shiver. His hair was jet black, as were his small ears, in the light of the photo there was almost purple streaks. There was a small note left for him too; “If he is not adopted in the next 6 months, he must be signed up for the breeding program.”

“Um… could I meet them maybe?” Y/N lifted her gaze up from the feline hybrid. “I just… I think I would feel a lot better if I was able to meet them before making a decision.”

“Of course, you can. Would you like to meet them all together, or one at a time?”

“I think it would be better one at a time.” Y/N moved the files to sit on her knees.

“Perfect choice.” J-Hope stood. “Follow me and I’ll take you to a meeting room.”

Soon J-Hope had set Y/N up in a room, large windows that completely illuminated the room, two comfortable looking chairs and a table between them. J-Hope had left to go get the first hybrid as Y/N paced a little around the room. She was scared to meet them, but she was more scared of walking out of the shelter without a hybrid.

It was the one thing in her life that she truly needed right now, she needed independence. A hybrid would give her that. 

NEXT

Tag List

@ariana-winchester95​ | @haven-raven012591​ | @gracehiii​ | @larenelizabeth​ | @legazix​ | @jiminot7​ | @narcissism-iskey​

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Whumptober No.26

Athos had always been a good rider, but now he realized how much of that ability was based on seeing. As his horse, tied to d’Artagnan’s, trotted along at what should be a comfortable pace, he had difficulties staying in the saddle. With his eyes bandaged, he had no inkling in which direction they were heading, what kind of ground they were navigating, if they were approaching an ascent or descent, and he was at the complete mercy of his animal’s whims. A few minutes into the ride, he’d given up on holding the reins and had been clinging to the pommel instead, his legs soon hurting from clenching them around the horse’s sides. 

They’d discussed letting him ride together with one of them, but Athos had insisted on using his own mount. His dignity was taking enough of a hit already, and he hated being a burden. At least he had d’Artagnan as his navigator. The best rider of all of them and gifted with horses, he was doing what he could to help Athos, guiding the black Friesian with a calm hand and warning Athos about changes in territory or speed.

Nevertheless, when they reached the garrison, Athos was drenched in sweat and sore all over. Under the bandage, his eyes were sticky and stung incessantly, and he could tell they were swelling shut. The cuts on his face were burning and he felt a little seasick. Although he couldn’t see anything, he could hear the noises of the garrison dying down as they rode into the courtyard. Sparring matches ended abruptly, conversations stopped, and Athos felt curious and concerned eyes on him.

“Come on, slide off that saddle.” Porthos clapped him on the thigh. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Awkwardly, groping for his brother’s arms and shoulders, Athos dismounted and heard d’Artagnan and Aramis ward off fellow-soldiers who’d approached to find out what had happened.

“He’s injured, and we’re taking care of him,” Aramis’ voice rang out. “He’s not in any danger. Go back to your posts and give him some space.”

A background of disconcerted murmurs followed Athos as Porthos led him across the yard, and Athos couldn’t remember ever feeling this exposed and helpless. Porthos had hooked him under, and yet he almost tripped on a protruding cobblestone. Jaw clenched, he forced himself not to stick his arm out to feel for obstacles. He didn’t want to look like a fool.

Inside the infirmary, Porthos deposited him on a chair and, with a squeeze of his arm, left to report to Treville. Athos was grateful for the cool quiet of the room and for the lack of an audience. He’d always hated the infirmary, but today it felt like a sanctuary. Exhausted, he let his head sink, fingering the bandage around his smarting eyes. His face hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt.

“Here, drink this.” 

Aramis pressed a cup into his hand, and the familiar scent of Sister Marie’s calming draught rose into his nose. Gratefully, Athos drank it up in a few large gulps.

“D’Artagnan is fetching Doctor Lemay. Until he arrives, let’s make you a little more comfortable, shall we?”

Athos nodded in surrender. The mixture of herbs and alcohol was quickly taking effect, numbing pain and fear and embarrassment to something he could deal with. It made him quietly compliant, and he let Aramis unbuckle his weapons belt, strip him of his jacket and, very carefully, peel the makeshift bandage from his eyes. But he tensed when he heard Aramis suck in a breath.

“That bad?” 

“No, it’s just…” Athos felt Aramis’ breath cool on his face when the medic inspected his injuries. “It’s very swollen, but that was to be expected. It will look a lot less dramatic once the swelling goes down. Sit back and try to relax.”

Aramis’ stool screeched across the floorboards when he got up and moved away. Athos heard him bustle about the room, pouring water, mixing medicines, gathering supplies, and he allowed himself to feel comforted by the familiar noises and smells. He’d witnessed Aramis work miracles within the walls of this room. Maybe there was one left for him.

D’Artagnan returned with Lemay surprisingly quickly. The physician was clearly out of breath when he leaned over Athos to examine him - the impetuous Gascon must have hustled him along at a merciless pace. Even before the doctor addressed Athos, he had identified the man by his clean, mildly perfumed smell and the jingling of the instruments in his medical bag.

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, Lieutenant,” Lemay said in his schooled, caring voice. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be uncomfortable.” 

Athos nodded but felt himself breaking into a sweat.

Once more, his eyelids were forced apart. Once more, pain stabbed into his eyes and tears welled, unstoppable. Once more, he couldn’t suppress a gasp and wanted nothing but to bat at the fingers that were causing him such torment. And, once more, firm, brotherly hands held him through the procedure.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the ordeal. 

Lemay ordered a treatment that found Athos squirming on his back on a table, Porthos pressing his shoulders down and Aramis’ palms firmly cupping his cheeks while an infusion of eyebright was poured into his eyes, streamed down his face and pooled at his neck, all of it, all of it, becoming so unbearable that he pleaded with them to stop until they did.

By the time they had him in a bed, his eyes thickly bandaged, he had to fight through a haze of exhaustion and disorientation to focus on the voices in the darkness.

“...Euphrasia twice a day. Summon me at once at any sign of inflammation.” 

“We will. Thank you, doctor.”

Athos heard light footsteps retreat and a door being shut. To his right and left, leather creaked and weapons jangled on belts, and he felt the presence of a brother on either side. 

“Aramis?” he asked into the swath of stinging black.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t... catch what Lemay said,” Athos admitted, swallowing. “About my eyes. Did he say if…?” He stopped, letting the silence finish the question for him.

“He said he cannot say if there will be any lasting damage.” Aramis’ voice was gentle and accompanied by a warm hand settling on Athos’ arm. “We will have to wait until you’ve healed. For now, it’s important that we ward off infection. We’ll know more in a few days.”

Porthos grunted. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

D’Artagnan, who, judging by the nervous pacing, had to be on his left, didn’t say anything, but Athos could physically feel the anxiety emanating from the Gascon.

“For now,” Aramis continued, “try to get some rest. Porthos and d’Artagnan have to report for duty, but I’ll be here.” The hand remained on his arm, an anchor in the dark. “Just rest.”

***

Athos had survived a lot of injuries in his life, but few of them had been as debilitating as this one. Although Aramis had assured him that all remaining glass had been washed out of his eyes, he could have sworn he was wrong: the constant scraping sensation drove him crazy and rendered sleep impossible. Rinsing them with Lemay’s prescribed infusion of eyebright- as harrowing as the procedure itself was - brought a few minutes of treacherous relief until the sandy feeling returned with a vengeance. And distraction was difficult. The darkness encasing Athos highlighted every sensation and made him feel helpless and claustrophobic. 

To make matters worse, the day after their return, his eyes had swollen entirely shut and started to weep sickly fluid. An urgently summoned Lemay had diagnosed infection. He’d added a solution of milk, honey and cooked onion to Athos’ treatment that Aramis applied with determination and diligence, accompanied by upbeat remarks. Porthos and d’Artagnan did their best to cheer him up with banter and reports from their day at the garrison, but their kind voices and helping hands did little to dispel Athos’ mounting fear and frustration. 

The nights were the worst. Although one of them - usually Aramis - slept on a cot right next to him in case he needed assistance, the silence that befell the garrison became oppressive. Once Aramis’ deep, even breaths announced that he’d fallen asleep, the pitch black behind Athos’ eyelids became an abyss, and he tumbled into it, blind. 

Blind.

What if the infection took his eyesight? And even if not - what if he was left with his vision compromised? Whenever Armis cleaned and re-bandaged his eyes, everything still looked blurry, Aramis a mere blotch in front of him. What if things didn’t improve? He needed keen eyesight to remain a musketeer. If he could no longer see well enough to shoot, to fight, to read, he would have to surrender his commission. What would become of him then? 

While he had no doubt that his brothers would stick by him, even take care of him, the thought was unbearable. Useless, helpless, dependent - it would be the opposite of who he was and not a life worth living. Not for him. 

“Athos?”

A hand found him in the darkness. 

“What’s wrong, Athos? Can’t sleep?” Aramis’ palm felt rough as he touched Athos in his by now familiar sequence - forehead, neck, wrist - checking for fever or pain. 

“How did you know I was awake?” Athos asked back. He’d been perfectly still.

“I could hear you thinking.”

“That is ridiculous.” Athos huffed, no longer bothering to turn his head in his friend’s direction. He’d given up on that useless habit two days ago.

“Not when your thoughts are this loud,” Aramis said, and Athos could hear the medic’s soft smirk in his voice. 

“If that is the case,” Athos replied, “I will make an effort to think quieter thoughts. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your beauty sleep any further.”

Aramis chuckled, and his cot squeaked as he settled back down. 

“That is very gracious of you.”

More squeaking ensued and the flutter of a blanket being rearranged as Aramis made himself comfortable a mere arm’s length from Athos. Silence descended once more, and Athos waited for Aramis’ breaths to even out and confirm that he’d gone back to sleep. 

Instead, softly, the marksman’s voice penetrated the darkness again.

“You’re allowed to be afraid, you know?”

Athos’ heart skipped a beat. His throat suddenly tightened. 

Damn you, Aramis. 

He was their best marksman for a reason, always hitting the bull’s eye. 

Athos swallowed but couldn’t answer. He felt tears rise and, for the first time, he was glad about the bandage covering his eyes. 

“You’re not alone, brother,” Aramis added, and the certainty in his voice almost broke Athos. “And whatever happens, you never will be.”

Fighting for control, Athos didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a few dozen more aching heartbeats. He just lay there, breathing raggedly and infinitely grateful that Aramis had the presence of mind not to touch him now. Eventually, he released a shaky exhale and nodded. 

“I know.” 

Dear god, he sounded like glass.

“Now get some sleep,” Aramis said, putting sternness behind his words. ”I’ll be here if there’s anything you need.”

And with that pledge, they both fell silent again, and, after a while, even Athos went to sleep.

***

There wasn’t a grand moment of truth. Not a momentous unwrapping of his eyes to find his sight suddenly and miraculously restored. Like any severe injury, this one took its time to heal, in stages, and at every stage there was no telling if further improvement would show itself. They were all relieved when the infection faded. The swelling went down, the leakage stopped, the stinging lessened. Every time Aramis changed his bandages, his vision improved just a little. Aramis went from a shapeless blur to a silhouette, to a body and a face whose details slowly, slowly swam a bit more into focus. The light didn’t hurt as much. Blinking was no longer agony. Finally, the bandages stayed off, and Athos moved back into his own quarters, one hand still on a brother’s shoulder to guide him through a blotchy, unreliable world, but grateful for his regained freedom.

Every day, he returned to the infirmary for treatment. Every day, Aramis played down the nervousness in his ever-same question: “Any improvement?” And every day, Athos looked around the room, seeing sharper edges, more nuances and, looking back at Aramis, familiar details reappeared: the scars and the stubble, the fine lines around his eyes and the well-tended tips of his moustache. 

“Yes,” Athos said, and nodded while Aramis’ trepidation merged into joy.

There were milestones that he took. Losing the bandages was the first. Recognizing friends when someone called his name and he turned around, seeing them approach, was another. No longer feeling for the holes in his weapons belt, but actually seeing what he was doing as he dressed, tied strings, closed clasps and buckles was a step as little and as big as the memorable day when, hands trembling, he opened a book and the blurry scrawl morphed back into letters that he could read.

The damage did not heal completely in the end. When he looked at the bright sky, he saw tiny specks swimming across his vision that hadn’t been there before - scars, Aramis explained - but he got used to them, and they didn’t bother him in his daily life. Reading was more difficult by candlelight now, and Aramis predicted he’d need spectacles at some point in the future, but his long-distance vision had returned as sharp as ever.

Treville put it to a test. He had to. When rumours spread - fueled by the Red Guard - that one of the finest soldiers in the regiment was no longer fit for duty, the captain had set up a series of challenges for Athos to prove them wrong. Athos mastered an obstacle course on horseback without difficulty, demonstrated his swordsmanship in a duel that was over in a few dizzying strikes and - the trickiest test of them all -  had to shoot at and hit targets from an increasing distance. While his marksmanship had never been as perfect as Aramis’, it was good enough: His friends whooped as another tin cup became airborne when the ball fired from Athos’ pistol sent it flying.

Afterwards, his fellow musketeers welcomed him back with friendly slaps to his pauldron and words of camaraderie, and Treville stepped in front of Athos with a proud smile to quickly pull him in for an embrace.

When he stayed behind to clean up with the other three, collecting bullet-riddled targets, sweeping up hay that had been strewn about and polishing weapons, Athos let his gaze roam over the garrison grounds, taking in every detail, every pebble and chip of wood, every glint of steel and dust moat floating in the slanting light of the evening sun. Then, he looked at his brothers. He saw d’Artagnan laugh and throw a handful of straw at Porthos, accompanied by some teasing joke. Porthos shook himself, grunting, and cast the young Gascon a sinister scowl before giving him a shove that was never meant seriously. Sitting at the table, an arquebus in his lap, fingers blackened by gun oil, Aramis rolled his eyes at the two but did not suppress a grin. 

Athos saw grown men acting like boys, shedding the worry and seriousness of the last few weeks like dead weight. He saw their hands that had guided him, helped him dress, helped him orientate himself in a suddenly blackened world, now slapping each other across the back, cracking silly jokes. He saw their eyes that had been his eyes when he couldn’t see, now shining with joy, three different shades of brown, three different souls looking out of them at the world, Aramis’ gentle ones now settling on him.

“Is everything all right, Athos?”

Seeing worry return to his friend’s gaze, Athos nodded quickly and decided that it was his turn to smile. 

“Yes,” he said, and sat down next to Aramis to clean his own pistol. “Yes. Everything is all right indeed.”

(Read all of my Whumptober fics on AO3, here.)

[angerydj]

So @animathemutant suggest this one they boys first night with Blake so,,, yeah try to enjoy..

“Oh please! Don’t be ridiculous! Not even we could stoop so low to such a thing!” Adrian huffed at the absurd idea of a late night robbery of baby store “I mean honestly- do we really want to cause such a ruckus?! halting expecting mothers and family’s?” He had a point “we can always get stuff in the morning, Just make do for tonight I guess.” Sandy suggested wanting to stop the yelling before the baby started crying again “I’m sure there’s baby formula and kid stuff in one of the 24 hour stores, I’ll go.” The offer meant a lot, “Thank you, flint.” it isn’t everyday you fined a super powered baby abandoned in an alley way, but hey shit happens .

“I suppose that’s all we can do until the morning and stock up on what we need.” Otto finally pitched in, looking over to the sofa where max had Laid with their new find, he had her positioned on one of the many cushions a blanket covered her and max had tucked her in, he laid down on his stomach facing her. his legs swayed in the air as his hands held her bare arms rubbing them with his thumbs. No burning no pain.

It’s been so long since he touched someone gloveless, the baby’s skin was softer then anything she was smooth and squishy.

Max was infatuated by her and his sparks hummed in delight.

She had been asleep for a while and slowly began to stir awake, balling her hands into tiny fists she rubbed her eyes opening her mouth wide she squeaked out yawn max got visibly excited propping himself better in his elbows to be able to see her better.

“Hi baby!” He cooed, she stared up at him her eyes darting all over the top of his head from his sparks flickering in all direction.

Her hands curled around Max’s fingers, making max smile even more he couldn’t believe the contact was real.

Electro hadn’t been concentrating much on the conversation, he was more then happy to be given baby duties after they agreed to keep her. After a short lived argument which Otto won against Adrian.

———-

Sandy soon left to run his errands as the rest stayed behind. Rhino had walked over towards max looking at her face “she’s kinda dirty..” he commended, smudges of dirt were patched all over her and honestly she didn’t smell how baby’s should smell.

Adrian rolled his eyes “well of course she is.... she’s probably filthy!” The more he thought about the alley way, scattered with trash bags filled with god knows what, the dust and grime, frowning a little the slender man felt his belly filled with guilt. Who could do such a thing?

He already started rolling up his sleeves “I’ll run her a bath.” And turned on his heels Montana raised a curious eyebrow his head followed him until he was out of view “Well he’s sure as hell warmed up fast.” Otto smirked “don’t say anything incase he stops.”

————

It wasn’t long before Adrian has the bath ready, he was satisfied with the level of water and the temperature after checking it with his elbow. Calling for them to bring her in, he stood up and soon max walked in now his hands gloved for protection. Just as Adrian was about to touch her a small pop of static shocked his finger causing his hand to jerk slightly. “Oops.” The electrician innocently let out seeing what happened.

It didn’t matter Adrian had started to undress throwing the old nappy in the small bin he crouched on one knee ready to bathe her.

They all knew of the shrikes that where to come.

And they did.

The little girls cries echoed in the bathroom rattling their ear drums, Adrian had laid her down supporting the back of her neck as he cup his hands with water to pour on her and rub the soap in, his comforts where mediocre at best, consisting of gentle hushes and a few “it’s ok.”s.

finally finishing with up rinsing the soap out of her hair and washing in every possible knook and cranny Adrian lifted her up into Montana’s hands who was holding a towel quickly wrapping her up before the cold air could nip at her.

With out a crib or clothes they had to improvise, after flint returned home with diapers, wipes, baby milk along with bottles and pacifiers.

Montana set her down on the bed opened up the towel pulling out a fresh nappy he opened it up, grabbing her ankles he hoisted her up “excuse me, darlin’.” Before sliding it underneath her and dropping her gently finally strapping it on. Nice and fresh. He wrapped her up snuggly in a blanket “see that wasn’t so bad was it?” Cradling her in his arms he exited the room, her new pacifier keeping her quiet as she sucked away.

The kitchen was a mess water and baby powder spilled on the counter some making contact with eachother and turning into a thicker gooey substance as they reacted. But it was made, that’s all that really mattered at this point.

Looking down monty noticed how her eyes where struggling to stay.

“I’d say this lil missy is about ready for bed time.”

Alex yawned loudly in agreement, he had about bursted every blood vessel from over heating earlier on. After the panic of finding the baby he was told to gun it back to base not getting a chance to catch his breath or even drink until he made the gruelling run home, the rest of the six not too far behind him but got to him as he was on the verge of passing out, quickly getting the Air conditioning on after getting him inside, ice bags pressed to his face he guzzled water until his belly ached he finally rest. Along with a small rewarding peck on the cheek from the doctor causing the horned mans tail to wag happily.

“We could all use a rest.” Max catching the contagious yawn from Alex “how or where is she gonna go though?” Without a cot there was not better option then their own shared bed, it was large, large enough meaning it occupied Alex’s enormous frame along with the rest of the “gonna have to be in with us, shes hardly gonna take up much room.” Jackson stated “just make a lil ol’ wall of pillows and place her in the middle.”

They all simultaneously glanced at Eachother a small shrug and nodded. So that’s what they did.

The infant still stayed in the enforcers arms as he fed her, her first bottle. She guzzled it back, the man could help but awe “poor thing.” Placing the empty bottle down he placed her over his shoulder and rubbed and tapped her back to let out any trapped air hoping she wouldn’t let anything more out.

She did. The look on Montana’s face was priceless, his eyes shut tight he sucked his lips in as he felt the warm spill absorb quickly in his shirt and stuck to his back the baby’s chin dropped into his shoulder rubbing the excess off her face, the men looked up on hearing the wet hiccup and few splashes on the floor and burst into laughter of Montana’s bad luck as he pat her back “good girl.”

Otto rolled his eyes over the childish banter, he had removed his goggles placed on his square frames on and had gotten into something more comfortable. Taking her from Montana one of his mechanical arms had already fished him out a fresh shirt to replace his puke covered one. Peeling it off with a shudder not much got on to him thankfully, discarding the dirty garment in the corner he put on his new on thanking the doctor.

Otto grabbing the already prepared second bottle he used his mechanicals arms to walk over to the bed and hover over her pillow fort laying her down flat on her back and himself laying down on the opposite side of the pillow, the rest of the boys followed in suit. The bed quickly filled up close cuddled tangled bodies they did their best not to rock the bed too much as Otto fed the baby, it was hardly long before the poor dear was to exhausted to eat anymore, her tiny frame could be seen starfished out even under the blanket the scientists swapped the bottle nip for the pacifier as she quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Otto couldn’t help but gently stroke the bridge of her nose with his finger to sooth her to sleep.

“Poor dear is worn out.”

“She’s so tiny.” Alex smiled, it was honestly humous the size differences between them she could basically sit in the palm of his hand.

“Makes it all the more heart breaking.” Adrian muttered, he had a soft side buried down deep and the circumstances of how and where the child was found hit him just right. Max who laid on the opposite pillow starring at her.

“Heck, we’re not even that bad.” Max had his gloves and helmet on now as to not to shock the men while they slept

“Well now she’s got a load of bad guys to keep her safe from the other bad guys.” Sandman was right in a strange way. Silence filled the room for a moment “we should get some rest. Have fresh minds for the morning.” Taking off his glasses with his metal claw he placed them on the bed side table and then reaching for the lights.

They would figure things out in the morning. For now they sleep.

[rxn-awxy-wxth-me]

The Girl makes a request

Okay so I was meant to be writing a proper fic, but then I decided I hated it and wrote this instead! I was thinking about cacti in the zones and how The Girl would definitely get attached to them, then it kinda turned into this. Anyways, hope you enjoy :D

When The Girl approached Poison with her request, they were sat on a torn up booth seat with their legs propped up on the table, watching Jet steadily as he carved notches into the table opposite with a pocket knife.

Their attention was broken as she approached them and stood back a little from the booth, hands clasped tightly together as if trying to contain excitement or nerves, Poison wasn't sure which.

Catching her eye, they saw it was likely both. She seemed to be anticipating something, and clearly had something to ask them.

“Everythin' alright?” They asked evenly, prompting her to bounce on the balls of her feet and put her hands on the table.

“Can I give some water to the cactus out there?” The Girl pointed out of the diner window towards a rocky area next to the building, “S'just that it’s dyin’ and it looks really sad.”

Poison followed her gaze and looked out at the sandy rubble of what must once have been a wall. Small trees had attempted to grow there, but had become twisted and skeletal under the sun’s constant glare. Sure enough, there was a cactus there too, looking off-colour and distinctly sorry for itself.

They stared for a moment, before turning back to The Girl, ready with a firm but regretful No. The word died in their throat however, upon seeing her face.

Poison was always stringent with their supplies, especially water. The five of them could do without a lot of things, they knew, but if they ran out of water they'd be fucked. There was only so much they could carry around with them, and Poison knew it shouldn’t be wasted on anything that wasn’t their crew, even desperate-looking desert fauna.

Still, she was watching them with such a pleading look in her dark eyes, a small hopeful smile on her face at the thought of helping this feeble looking cactus.

Surely half a bottle’s worth wouldn’t do any harm? They could drink a little less themself to make up for it, Poison reasoned.

“I reckon,” They said, sitting up and swinging their legs back down onto the floor, “you can have half a bottle, but don’t go askin’ for no more, alright?” They raised their eyebrows in a mock warning.

The Girl smiled, nodding her head vigorously. She turned to go, but paused and looked back shyly.

“Will you come help me?” She asked.

Poison was silent for a moment, regarding her. It had taken The Girl the longest to trust them out of everyone, probably because they were often, as Ghoul so delicately put it, ‘a pissy motherfucker’. Besides, it’s not like they had ever really tried to properly engage with her, not like the others. She had kept her distance, and Poison was okay with that arrangement.

But now here she was, asking them to come help her.

“Sure thing” They replied.

It wasn’t like they had anything better to be doing, riding out the midday heat as they were.

The Girl grinned and started to lead the way towards the door. As Poison slid out of the booth and turned to follow her, they caught sight of Jet watching them, trying and failing not to smirk. They flipped him off, causing Jet to break into a grin.

Poison shook their head and continued on. Honestly, this is what they got for being nice?

The back of the Trans Am contained a small mountain of junk, supplies, and other random things the five of them had picked up. It was hard to protect your shit in the zones, and having so much useless stuff to dig through to get to anything of value was as good security as anything. Not that it had been intentional. Poison and The Girl dug through it all carefully, hunting for their stash of water.

“Here!” The Girl attempted to pull out the largest water container, which was thankfully still about three quarters full.

“Hmm, not that one,” Poison dug around next to it, “a bottle'll be easier... hah!” They held one up triumphantly.

“Okay,” They turned to the girl and handed her the bottle, “Now we can get this fucker watered, yeah?”

She nodded excitedly and they walked side by side towards the cactus stood in the dust by the diner’s dirty windows.

“D’you think waterin' it will mean it'll be better next time were here?” The Girl asked, glancing up at Poison.

Seeing the plant up close, Poison saw that when The Girl had said it was dying, she really meant it. Usually cacti like that would be a healthy green colour, but this one was so shrivelled that all they could see was it’s spikes. It was dull, sad looking, and definitely on death’s door. In fact, Poison wouldn’t be surprised if it was dead already, certainly wasn’t going to last much longer.

They weren't about to spoil it for The Girl though.

“S’hard to say, but it'd better not go dyin' on us after this.” They gave the cactus a glare, which made The Girl laugh. The sound surprised Poison, high-pitched and delighted, ringing like little bells. They hadn’t heard it very often, and they had never been the cause of it before.

It was then, as she knelt in the sand and poured half a bottle of their precious water around the base of the cactus, that they realised they were enjoying spending time with The Girl. She seemed to want their company too, it’s not like the others weren’t free to come help her, but she had asked them. Poison wasn’t sure how that made them feel.

The Girl capped the now half empty bottle, and stood up, “I’m gonna name it."

There was a long pause.

“Uhh, you thought of anythin’?” Poison prompted.

The Girl sighed, “Ain't very good at thinkin’ of names.”

They smiled to themself at the truth of that, she still had yet to decide on her own name. “What about... Spiky?”

“No."

“Spike?”

“No!”

“C'mon!” Poison waved their hands in exasperation, “What about Prickles?”

The Girl tilted her head in consideration, then nodded, “I like Prickles."

“Shiny."

And that was that. Poison was about to tell her they should go put the bottle away when they heard a familiar voice behind them. “I never thought I’d get to say this, but Poison? You're goin’ soft."

They spun around and there was Kobra, arms crossed, with a teasing grin on his face.

“Won’t look so soft if y’say that again, asshole," Poison threatened, though there was no force behind their words.

“Whatever you say, Pois,” Kobra said lightly. He looked at The Girl mischievously, and she beamed at him.

“Look, if I wanna water a cactus with the kid here, then that's what I’ll do,” Poison gestured towards The Girl standing beside them, then grinned themself, “and y'can’t say shit ‘bout bein’ soft, Kobes."

“Yeah yeah."

By the time they next came to crash at the diner, Poison had all but forgotten about the cactus. They had gotten there late into the night after driving for hours, and the darkness had obscured most of the surroundings from view.

And so it was morning when they were woken unceremoniously by The Girl. She was patting them on the shoulder, whispering urgently, “Y'have to come see!”

Poison would have been worried were it not for the elation in her voice. Quietly they groaned, “can’t it wait?”

“Pleeease?”

“Okay fine, but this'd better be good.”

So for the second time, The Girl led Poison out to the scrubby area where the cactus was growing. As soon as they saw what she wanted to show them, they remembered letting The Girl water it.

Where before it had seemed old and hunched, it now looked a little healthier. They could see green on its main body, and to Poison’s eyes it stood prouder, arms reaching up toward the morning pink of the sky.

“You were right, Prickles is better!” said The Girl.

Poison could hardly believe it. They had been sure the thing was going to wilt to nothing, but sure enough, here it was. Maybe all it had needed was that little helping hand, or maybe the Witch had taken pity on it. Either way, it had managed to stay alive.

“I just said it better not die," Poison corrected, “Maybe it heard me?”

“Mmm," hummed The Girl, fiddling with the zip of her jacket and watching the cactus in front of them, “Can we give it more water?”

“I think it’s doin’ okay on its own now kiddo,” Poison nudged her gently, “We gotta keep that water for us."

“But It’s a survivor, like we are, we gotta help it out.”

“Why?”

“’Cause then it might help us out when we need it."

Poison started to laugh, “What, a cactus?”

The Girl poked them and gave them her best glare, brow furrowed, “No! The desert."

As silly and fantastical as the notion was, Poison found themself liking the idea that the desert might look after them, if they looked after it. They liked it enough to agree to let The Girl water the cactus again anyway.

How did she keep managing to coax them into letting her do it?

They cared about her, and they wanted to see her happy,  that was why. So much of her life was filled with running and surviving and looking over her shoulder. She deserved to have some fun, to be a kid, to look after some random cactus in zone 5 if she wanted.

So they dug out some more water, and she watered it. Half a bottle, no more, no less.

The other three weren’t worried in the slightest about the misuse of water, it was Poison’s job to make sure they had enough, after all. They did enjoy calling them out about it though.

“Poison, lettin' The Girl water a cactus again? You feelin’ alright?” Ghoul was watching Poison from the passenger seat with an over-exaggerated look of surprised concern on his face.

They were cruising down some unnamed road, having left the diner a couple miles back. Poison could smell the sun-baked asphalt beneath them, and their hands felt warm on the hot steering wheel despite the fingerless gloves they wore.

“It was half a bottle Ghoul, it’s not like we were waterin’ every plant in the fuckin’ zone." Poison glanced at Ghoul, “why're you so surprised anyway?”

Ghoul scoffed and slapped a hand over his mouth. Glancing in the rear-view, Poison could see Jet and Kobra exchanging an amused glance over The Girl's head.

“S'just... not like you to use supplies when you don’t absolutely have to," Jet answered after a moment.

“Someone’s gotta make sure our food for the next week doesn’t get eaten in a day," Poison huffed, “lookin’ at you Kobra.”

“That was one time!” Kobra exclaimed, hitting his hand on the window ledge in indignation.

“S'gonna be worth it though, isn’t it?” The Girl piped up, “when Prickles is all healthy again?”

“’Course it is, it’ll be the tallest cactus in this desert," Poison declared.

Ghoul twisted in his seat to face The Girl, “Thanks to you our diner’s gonna look even fuckin’ cooler than before!” Her face lit up in pride as they bumped fists.

“Since when has it looked cool?” Jet teased, smile dancing across his features.

Ghoul shrugged, “Since we been usin' it ‘course.”

Poison was now only half listening to the conversation, thinking about what Mad Gear record they were going to ask Ghoul to put on.

“Just can’t believe you let her do it," Ghoul was saying to them, grinning, “but good for you Poison, you oughta have some fun."

“Who says I don’t have fun?” Poison asked under their breath, watching the road ahead.

Still, they were all happy giving water to the little desert plant was making The Girl happy. So after that second time Poison and The Girl did so, it simply became routine.

Each time they stopped off at the diner, to pick something up, or lay low for a while, Poison and The Girl would go check on ‘Prickles’. Every time they did, the cactus looked healthier. It started to grow too, which brought discussion of just how tall they could get it to grow.

“Tall as the diner?” The Girl asked one time, looking between the cactus and their hideout, trying to picture it that high.

“That'd be one tall-ass cactus, I don’t think they can get that big,” Poison said. “Though,” they reasoned, tilting their head, “it’s done the impossible before."

Although Poison would never admit it, The Girl wasn't the only one who had grown attached to the unlikely survivor. They found themself hoping it would be okay next time they saw it, not just for The Girl, but for the fucking cactus itself. Poison felt glad The Girl had saved it. It had lived, and was thriving, because of her kindness.

The cactus never did grow as tall as the diner, but it did grow to a good height. Poison had to admit Ghoul was right, the whole place did look somehow better with the cactus there. Or maybe Poison just associated it with The Girl and all the silly, and later heartfelt, conversations they had around it.

Every time they got caught in a sandstorm and survived unscathed, or realised they had ran out of water just as the heavens opened, Poison would remember The Girl’s words about the desert looking after those who look after it. They were never sure they believed it, but they were never quite sure they didn’t either.

Regardless, The Girl had helped them realise something. It felt good to maintain life in a desert that was so often having life taken from it. Not only in defiance of BL/ind, but because the desert was their home.

And maybe, just maybe, the desert would decide to repay their favour when they needed it most.

[katiehavok]

👀

::Cracks knuckles::

So, I love Newt. Like, a lot. I love him because I relate to him on so many levels, and I love how he’s been handled in canon (so far), up to and including his curmudgeonly ways because ho boy, can I relate. I also really, really love Tina, and putting them together? 

Bliss.

Of course, me being me, I got to thinking: what if Newt and Tina never did get together in canon? What if CoG went in a completely different direction, or even the ending of the first movie? Or, even worse (because this is me) what if something happened that caused Newt to hare off to be on his own because of [insert convenient and contrived fanfic catastrophe here] and Newtina had to still come together when one part of the equation is fighting against it with every fiber of his being? What then?

Then my brain did what it does best and shit got really grimdark, really fast, and even though I wrote a good chunk of the fic, I ended up walking away because I managed to scare myself off of the idea.

So, have the entire first chapter of that fic (working title: “Mephistopheles”), in all it’s unedited glory since your request has been in my inbox the longest and I doubt I’ll ever return to this piece.

You’re welcome. :D

—–

July 1932

Tina lands on the solid ground of Drear, and looked around curiously while tucking her wand and the portkey — an old, rusty nail — into her jacket pocket.

There isn’t much to see. A thin scree of rocky beach trails down to water the color of dirty undergarments, scrub grass and weeds growing between the crowning monolith of stones that lead inland. Thick fog hangs over all, and she turns in a tight circle, using landmarks to memorize where she’s appeared, before straightening and picking along the thin, sandy trail that leads to the heart of the island.

It’s tough and slow going, and she’s inwardly thankful for her weekends spent on the Quidditch pitch and long, daytime excursions with Professor Merrythought into the Forbidden Forest for granting her newfound stamina. Steady flicks of her wand clear what little overgrowth there is on the foot-worn and obviously well-beaten trail. The sun is directly overhead when she conquers the sloping cliff, and she holds her breath while cresting it, only to frown when she discovers that she’s stumbled upon more of the same. 

The island is spread before her, a landscape of sharp cliffs, thin grass, the rough border lapped by the hungry sea. There’s no sign of life or human habitation, and she squints at the opposite end of the land before sighing tiredly.

“A map would have been pretty helpful right about now, old man,” she grumbles to herself, and squares her grip on her small suitcase before continuing.

Her short sojourn brings her to the edge of a narrow field, and she reaches for her wand on instinct before stepping into it. The tingle of powerful wards is the only warning she gets before the field seems to open around her, unfolding like a flower until she’s staring upon row after row of what looks to be plants. She glances down to make sure she isn’t standing on one, relieved to find that isn’t the case, and carefully picks her way between them while rolling her wand between her fingers.

“Hello?” she calls in a low but even voice, eyes peeled for the human who had obviously domesticated this island. There’s no response but the hoot of wind around the craggy cliffs, and she turns a full circle before spotting the small, sloped cabin tucked beneath a rocky overhang, thin smoke drifting from the crooked chimney.

“Gotcha,” she breathes, sheer relief at finding her quarry making her heart skip a beat. She tucks her wand away and heads toward the narrow front door of the building, climbing the creaky steps and debating whether or not to peek into the dark front window before dismissing it. She takes a few slow, deep breaths and sets down her case before gathering her courage and knocking, trying not to flinch at the hollow sound of her knuckles over the wood.

There’s a clatter from within, as well as what sounds like an admonishing shout. Intrigued, Tina tilts her head and leans forward, straining her ears — only to jolt back a step when the door is wrestled open. Her foot tangled in the dusty welcome mat, and her teeth connect with the side of her tongue, filling her mouth with blood when she goes down hard, landing flat on her ass and sending her case flying across the narrow porch. 

A shape moves into the frame of the door, and she looks up balefully to find a man staring down at her in obvious confusion, his hands hanging in loose fists at his side.

“You aren’t professor Dumbledore,” he says blankly, and squints into her face before his eyes widen with shock. He moves back half a step in an eerie mirror of her, his slender hands clinging to the doorway as the air seems to leak out of him, his strange blue eyes riveted to her face.

“Tina?” he asks in a faint voice, his lips turning pale.

“That’s Miss Goldstein to you,” she snaps, gathering her resolve and her dignity before climbing to her feet, clutching the shaky porch railing for balance. “It’s good to see you received Professor Dumbledore’s letter, after all, Mr. Scamander,” she bites out while brushing off the seat of her trousers. “It would have been nice if you had though to reply to him, though.” She can almost feel the sarcasm dripping off her words, and she refuses to feel guilty for it when she straightens her hat and looks at him defiantly.

Mr. Scamander frowns, his brow furrowing when he crosses his arms defensively and leans against the door jam. “What letter?” he asks crisply. “And, since we’re on the subject, why exactly are you here?”

She scoffs before gesturing around her. “I don’t even really know where here is,” she says frustratedly, “and I’m here because Dumbledore sent multiple letters, only to have them all returned unopened. He was tired of you avoiding him and decided to send me in place of an owl.” 

Scamander stands up straighter. “Here would be the Isle of Drear,” he mumbles, his shoulders tensing when she reaches into her jacket. She retrieves nothing more dangerous than a thick envelope, however, and Tina extends her arm to offer it to him, trying not to roll her eyes when he does nothing more than stare at it blankly. She watches him steadily, only now noticing that his wash-softened white shirt was unbuttoned to mid-chest, his striped braces hanging loosely around his waist. She feels her cheeks heat up, and curses herself for a fool before forcing herself to look at his messy hair. It’s more reddish than the small picture on the back of his book would suggest, and far longer than was considered acceptable for a man, hanging low in his face and curtaining his eyes from view.

“I have a signed copy of your book, you know,” she blurts for want of anything else to say, considering it a minor victory when Scamander breaks his staring contest with the envelope to look up at her confusedly. “One of the earliest first editions. It’s signed and everything. By you, I mean. My sister gave it to me as a gift.”

“Sister?” he echoes, and Tina is seriously beginning to wonder if the much admired and lauded Newt Scamander, Magizoologist and expert of all things beast-related, may not be a simpleton. His strangely monosyllabic answers and obvious confusion certainly suggest it, and yet there’s a certain deja-vu to this scenario that forces her to push the consideration to the side for now and focus on him.

“My parent’s other daughter,” she says patiently and lowers her aching arm to try another tactic. “Listen, it’s pretty chilly out on this porch. What say you and me go inside your place and we’ll talk about why I’m here, like civilized people. I’ll even be nice to you.” She manufactures her most winsome smile, the one Queenie had always privately urged her to use — Smile, Teenie! It confuses people! — only to sigh when Scamander dips his head and reaches for the door.

“No, thank you,” he says quickly. “I’m afraid I have nothing to say to you, and I’m not at all interested in anything you or Dumbledore may have to say. Good day to you, Miss Goldstein.”

She throws herself forward to wedge her foot between the door and the frame, wincing when the heavy wood pinches her from both sides. “I’m not leaving until I’ve done my job,” she says pleasantly. “I’ve got a cabin, a wardrobe, and enough food to last a year in my case, along with orders to stay until you sit down and listen to what I have to say.” She looks into his dismayed blue eyes, smiling sharply when his shoulders sag. “So really, it’s in your best interest to talk to me now, so I can return to civilization and can return to…whatever it is you do here.”

Scamander huffs before widening the crack of the door and looking into her eyes. He says her name softly, and she leans forward in anticipation. “Yes?”

He hesitates a moment, and she can see the conflict in his eyes before he hardens his resolve and uses his own booted foot to gently nudge hers away. “Enjoy your holiday on the Isle of Drear then,” he says firmly, “though I’d suggest you stay away from the northernmost tip unless you wish to find yourself on the wrong rung of the food chain. That’s where I’ve managed to corral the MacBoon’s.”

“The Mac-what’s?” she asks, only to huff in frustration when the door slams between them, cutting their terse interaction short. “Don’t think you’ll be rid of me that easily!” she shouts through the heavy wood, and growls to herself when the only answer she receives is the pointed and heavy snik! of a bolt sliding home. “Of course.”

The porch steps creak tiredly when she descends them, not bothering to watch her footing when she trods across his field, only to stop and look back when her scalp tingles with the curious sensation of being watched. The windows are as dark as ever, however, staring back at her like empty eyes, and a sudden gust of wind makes her shiver and pull her leather coat more tightly around her, further steeling her determination.

She finds a relatively flat parcel of land just outside his wards. There are no natural features to break the wind but she can’t fathom how that could be a problem, and it is within sight of his own cabin and, more importantly, it’s front door. Tina opens her case and brandishes her wand with the confidence of long practice, magically constructing the tiny cabin she and Professor Dumbledore had put together back at Hogwarts. She fills it with the meager furniture she had brought along before constructing a small shed to store her food and adding a wide front porch. She smiles at the results, conjuring a cozy curl of smoke from her chimney — standing straight and tall, thank you very much! — before nodding her approval.

Tina spends the rest of the day getting the cabin in order and formulating a plan of attack. She takes her simple evening meal on her front porch, washing down bread and meat with water and watching the cabin a short distance away from her for signs of life. There are none until the sun begins to fade, earlier than she would have expected. Then, curtainless windows of Mr. Scamanders abode brighten from within, and she watches him assemble and take his own supper before apparently settling down to read. His mouth moves on occasion as if he is speaking to someone, and she mentally takes note of the quirk, only for her mouth to go dry when Mr. Scamander unceremoniously sheds his clothing — treating her to an expanse of surprisingly toned and freckled skin — before taking a bath. 

Something nudges at her then, making her frown, but she ignores it to focus on him. Bathing apparently finished, she tries not to stare too hard when he towels off and quickly finger combs his hair before crossing to one of the windows facing east, away from her. There, he stands and looks out over the dark island for nearly an hour, and Tina wonders what a man like him would spend so much time thinking about until he abruptly walks a circuit of the cabin and douses the lights before climbing into his narrow bed. His windows go fully dark, cutting off her view of him, and Tina gnaws on a fingernail in thought before pushing him, his cryptic words and his frustrating lack of…well, anything for her to go off of to use her wand and clean up her meal.

It isn’t until she’s climbed into her own bed, warmed with a simple charm, that the mental nudge turns into her a prod and then, naturally, into a realization that keeps her staring up at the ceiling well past the moon’s zenith, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

Mr. Scamander was magical, there was no doubt in her mind about that. She had sensed it on him before he’d even opened the door. And yet, for all the times she had observed him this day, both on his porch and from the comfort of her own temporary home, she had not seen him use a single spell or incantation or, indeed, wield a wand at all.

“What would cause a wizard as powerful as you to turn your back on magic?” she whispers and is unsurprised when the dark offers no answer save the forlorn hoot of the wind around the eaves.

—–

Send me a 👀 and I’ll post a snippet of art/writing that I never got around to finishing this year.

[herondaleholly31]

“I’ll keep you warm”-Ben Hardy X Reader

Overview: You and Ben take Frankie on a winter beach walk :) 

A/N: It’s been a while I know. Who would’ve thought being in your final yea of A-Levels actually meant you had to work? I’m back on top (at least for the moment) so I am catching up on the some writing so hopefully I’ll upload some more soon. Since my last imagine there are a lot more of you so this is just a quick Hi and thank you for reading my stuff it really means a lot. I hope you like this imagine too. If you have any requests send me a message :) 

Like and Reblog!! 

Word count:1615

Frankie was barking with wild excitement. His head kept popping up from the boot, no matter how many times you asked him to get down. When he saw the glittering mass of sea the dog got so excited, he started barking at the window, only stopping when he got too excited and smacked his head on the window.

“Is he alright?” Ben whipped his head around.

“Watch the road!” You laughed, lightly pushing his cheek to look forward “and he’s fine. Ok, next right.”

The music blasted from the speaker of your old car, the bass so strong it was causing the tub of chewing gum to vibrate violently.

“Remind me why we had to drive your old car?” Ben half asked, half yelled.

“It’s a tradition! I always come to the beach in this car.” Your feet stretched further on the dashboard, looking over at Ben who eyes were back on the road. Damn, he looked cute; particularly when he chuckled at your last comment, shaking his head slightly. As he continued to drive to the shore, your chest felt warm. It felt great to be home.

 As soon as you pulled into the makeshift car park and the engine spluttered off Frankie was at it again, scratching against the boot door and whining. You opened the door and he shot off like a cork. Ben called him to stop and the dog skidded to a halt, kicking sand up into a small hazy cloud. The car park was deserted, normality in the middle of February. The tracks of car tyres and dragged body boards with pattering’s of feet had been dusted away, making the place seem almost forgotten. It made your blood tingle with excitement. That was until You peered into the boot and groaned “oh noooo.”

“What?”

“I didn’t bring enough layers,” you shook your head “I’m such an idiot it’s freezing.”

“But Ben, I never get cold at the beach,” your boyfriend mimicked you higher pitch voice “The beach was practically my bedroom when I lived here.”

“Oh, you’re so FUNNY!” after failing to think of a comeback all you could do was mock his laugh. Ben’s face softened.” I’ll keep you warm love” he grabbed your hand and tucked It into the nook of his elbow, yelling at Frankie to stop sniffing and start walking.

 Light grey clouds scuttled across the sky, a watery sun peaking through the cracks onto the deserted beach. It was nearly golden hour and a chilling breeze lapped at the sparkling water. The scent of salt stuck in your nostrils. Frankie, too excited to stay with you, bolted down the sandy path and shot towards the water. His bark caused seagulls to fly from where they stood, cawing indignantly. You and Ben took your time, him holding onto your hand so you wouldn’t slip on the crumbling sand dunes. Voices raised to be heard over the wind you two huddled close together as you walked by the shore. Occasionally Ben would break away to throw Frankie his tennis ball; bowing when you’d applaud a particularly long shot. His cheeks were flushed pink with cold but he was grinning widely, his blonde hair tangling into a messy mop. One time you stretched out to fix it but he swatted away “I want the beach look,” he laughed. It was nice to see him so relaxed. Back in the city Ben rarely had time to stop; if it wasn’t a movie then it was interviews, dinners with directors, gala or benefit nights. They were fun, but it was always work. Here, he could concentrate on him and you. Being just your boyfriend, not working you into his schedule like you’re some kind of business partner.

“I can see why you and your friends would come here,” he said, “It really is beautiful.”

“My friends mum owns the beach café on the hill” you pointed to the cliff that curved towards the sea “we used to spend all summer making bonfires and eating free chips.”

“Please say she’ll give us free chips,” Ben groaned.

You shrugged “She might give them to me.”

“Will she change her mind if I use my full name?”

“Using your fame for free food?” you pretended to wipe tears from your eyes “I’m so proud.”

 An older couple were strolling in the opposite direction. They wore matching green coats and walked with the lack of purpose that was common on a Sunday afternoon. They smiled sweetly at you and Ben, the way that you cuddled into each other, your paths weaving haphazardly when one of you would laugh so hard, you’d stumble. The wife turned to her husband and asked if he remembered what it was like to be that young and in Love. The husband looked over, saw the way you’d steal kisses and how Ben would jump on your back in a piggyback motion, roaring with laughter when you’d almost topple over head first into the sand. A small light haired dog yapped by the sea shore in delight, biting at the waves and looking confused when he wasn’t unsuccessful.  The husband looked back at his wife and smiled. Yes, he said, I still feel like that now. He loved the way his wife blushed,linking her hand with his. They continued to walk across the beach, the sound of you two ringing in their ears.

 “Did you see that couple walking along the beach?” you asked, dusting sand off your knees and upper thighs-it had already gritted into your wellie boots. “They were so cute. Do you think you’ll still love me when I’m that age?”

“I’ve got to be with you until we’re like that?”

“Rude.”

“I have no doubt about it,” Ben winked. He got distracted saw his dog splashing in the froth “Frankie,” he sloshed over to scratch behind his dog’s ears “You coming?” he called to you still on the shore. You shook your head and tried to protest, but Ben wouldn’t hear it. “Come on,” he grabbed your hand and dragged you in.

“Ben nooo” you tried to pull back but your boyfriend was persistent. 

“If you don’t stop whining, I’ll push you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He wiggled his eyebrows before gently pushing your shoulder “oops.”

“Stop it.”

He did it again, harder. “My bad.”

“Ben,” you shoved him and he stumbled, causing seawater to slosh onto his jeans.

“Oh, you wanna play that game?” light shoving dissolved into a play fight, pushing hard enough to stumble but not to fall over-that was until your boot slipped into a dent in the sea floor. You wobbled, gasped, and fell with a soft smack into the sea. Instantly your skin numbed with cold, skin and clothing sticking together like glue. Your eyes stung with salt as you gasped for air. Although you couldn’t see you could hear Ben laughing hysterically.

“Oh my- “

“I’m so sorry,” Ben gasped “You just…. you” he couldn’t finish his sentence as he fell into silent laughter.

“BEN!” You watched your boyfriend flailing about, clutching his sides and his laugh becoming higher and higher with hysteria. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” When you stood up your clothes made a sucking gloop before starting to pour like a shower. Your teeth started to chatter. “I’m so cold.”

“I wish I’d filmed it.”

“I have no spare clothes. I’m cold and wet and I have no clothes. DON’T YOU DARE MAKE A JOKE,” you pointed warningly. Ben closed his mouth again. When you tried to walk out of the sea more water trickled down your stomach. Tears pricked at your eyes. “I’m cold.”

“Oh Y/N” Ben’s face softened as he saw how upset you were. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“You got me wet,” you whined.

“I’m not going to make a joke, I’m not going to make a joke,” he closed his eyes and shook his head smirking. Ben followed you as you went out to the sand, then started to take off his jacket. Ordering you to take off your wet clothes he pulled off his big hoodie, goosebumps already littering his skin “Here.” Without hesitation, you pulled the jumper over your head. Although the warmth spread across your skin that wasn’t enough for Ben, who pulled you into his chest and wrapped his coat around so you were smooshed into his chest. He rubbed his hands violently on your back. You moaned softly as the warmth made your skin itch slightly. Ben rested his chin on your forehead, drawing you closer as your shakes subsided. He didn’t want to let go though. “Warmer?”

“Much warmer.”

“You’ll laugh about this one day.”

You poked at his side, causing him to jerk “ow! Okay maybe not.”

“Stop moving I’m getting cold again,” you smiled.

“You were the one who made me move!”

“You pushed me into the sea so I win this argument.”

Ben shook his head but he was smiling. You lodged your chin onto Ben’s chest, admiring this angle of his jaw and lashes. “Wanna go get those chips now?”

“In a minute. I want to hold you like this for just a bit longer.”

In the background, Frankie was barking at a seagull. The waves crashed onto the sand. The sun was starting to set, staining the sky a burnt orange and smudged with grey clouds. The jumper was soft against your skin, and you already knew you were going to steal this jumper. Ben felt a wave of calm with you in his arms, your heart beating against his chest.

 “I would push you in the sea a thousand times more if it meant I could hold you like this.”

“So, you admit you pushed me on purpose?” you teased.

“Just shut up and let me kiss you.”

“With pleasure.” 

[high5nerd]

The Misadventures of Fanty and Pitch Black---Chap. Seven

They had to knock him out. They had to! Pitch was putting up such a fit not to go shopping with them and making failed attempts at escaping, that Angel knocked him out. Xion, Star, Drago, and Mystic stared at his unconscious body in horror.

Fanty demanded, "Angel! Was that necessary?!"

Angel huffed, blowing hair out of her face, "Hey, his tantrums were out of control, and secondly, we're only two miles away from sticking him in a feminine dress. I want to see him in a dress!"

The five other girls stared at Angel, their mouths open and their eyes wide, blinking in sync. Angel pursed her lips, worried maybe she really did make the wrong decision.

"That is….a genius!" Xion cheered, and Drago broke into an excited grin.

"Dude! The prom dresses are still being sold at Kohl's! Let's get him in one of those!" Fanty declared, and everyone agreed in happy unision.

"I vote a purple, sparkly dress!" Star shouted, raising her hand in favor.

Everyone cheered as they raised their hands in favor, too. But then Fanty, after agreeing on the unanimous vote, looked at Pitch's body. He looked like he was midway doing the worm with his bum in the air. Mystic raised her hand as if to spank him, but Drago lowered her arm with a roll of her eyes. Star snickered behind her hand, "white high heels." And the other girls snickered along.

How were they to put him in the car? Fanty thought for a good long ten minutes.

"You think Pitch is okay?" Xion asked as she fidgeted in the passenger seat as Fanty drove to Kohl's.

Fanty nodded, keeping her eyes on the road as she took a right turn.

"He's fine. Mystic was able to find enough climbing rope to keep him secure." Star piped up from behind Fanty, forgetting to buckle in again.

Yep, they strapped Pitch to the roof of the car. And yes, his bum is still in the air. Almost every kid on the block that still believed in him stared at the car as if it was a human carrying a horse on their back instead of riding the horse itself.

Through the blackness Pitch wandered through in his unconscious state and trying to regain his senses, he heard faint giggling and a loud cackle that was immediately shut up by a chorus of shushes. About fifteen minutes later, he finally pried open his eyes, blinking at the strange lighting. It was more white than Fanty's apartment. And when he looked up, he was met with a closed red curtain with black Velcro holding it shut for privacy. He raised his arms to touch the narrow walls that enclosed around him, like a wooden cell with no bars. But then he saw his arms was covered with a lavender purple and glittering sleeve. Pitch's eyes shot open even wider, and his mouth let out a horrified gasp as he looked at his arms, got off the chair he was on and looked at his legs, only to wobble in his place at something that strangled his feet tightly.

"What in Manny's name?!" Pitch shouted, looking at his reflection in the mirror with pure terror.

He heard giggles from outside, followed by a snort, and then loud laughter. Feeling the fury bubble up and flow through his fiery veins, Pitch saw his own eyes in the mirror turn silver as a sign of danger, whipped around and whisked open the curtain to see six girls, yes, the girls he knew sooo well, either reading a magazine, texting, observing the paintings on the opposite wall or looking away so he wouldn't see them struggling to hold in their laughter.

"YOU ARE ALL EVIL!" Pitch screamed, and the six friends burst out laughing.

"Worse than you?" Fanty grinned, looking him up and down, "I have to say, that dress style suits you!"

"Ha-ha! I love those heels, by the way." Mystic grinned, and Star patted her back in admiration for finding those.

"I hate you all. You better be careful when you fall asleep tonight. I'll be there." Pitch threatened, pulling at the dress's waist. He was dying in it, and he was itchy as hell!

Even his threat didn't stop their giggles, but Drago calmed down and said soothingly, "Pitch, it was just a little fun. Fanty chickened out halfway through and felt bad." She glanced at Fanty with an understanding eye.

Fanty didn't look at anyone, just the pile of folded clothes in her arms while biting her lip shut. Xion snickered and said teasingly, "Goodie two-shoes."

"Oi!" Fanty exclaimed, her neck snapping up to look at her, "At least I wasn't looking for makeup and bras for him!"

Xion, unfazed by Fanty's remark and Pitch's mouth dropping to the floor in pure horror, pointed at her and winked, "Touché, my friend."

"Anyways, I found these for you," Fanty said, standing up and handing the bundle to him, "And it's for real this time. I picked them myself."

"Nope. Now I'm definitely not trying them on." Pitch snarled, folding his arms in anger.

Something made him stop. Fanty looked up at him, her eyes sad and begging. She even stuck out her lower lip for an extra effect. Everyone watched, thinking she was actually hurt. Pitch could hear Mystic cracking her knuckles. Pitch watched Fanty for a while, doing her perfectly foolproof Bambi eyes, before growling, "Fine." And snatching them from her arms.

Fanty grinned, her victory smile making everyone relax.

"I can't stand when you do that." Pitch muttered as he closed the curtains irritably, kicking the high heels off.

Before Mystic could say 'Maybe it was my prepared knuckle sandwich that changed your mind', Pitch exclaimed, "OH, MY ANKLES! How do women even wear these torture devices?!"

That sent everyone into hoots of laughter, and Fanty immediately shut herself up as she watched his feet under the curtain. She watched one foot disappear and another as he put on pants, and turned just a bit to look at the boots she found for him. She could tell by his pause he was unsure.

"So much leather…" Pitch groaned, not liking where this outfit was going.

Everyone's head whipped to look at Fanty who wildly grinned back, her eyes sparkling.

"Oh, no, this is bad." Xion mouthed, trying not to snicker.

"Fanty, the last thing we need is you getting the hots for Pitch." Drago whispered to her, sounding a bit concerned.

Fanty looked at her, confused, "Why would I…?"

Mystic grinned, folding her arms boldly, "You kind of have a thing for men in leather. We've noticed that before you."

"Crap." Fanty's eyes widened, realizing her mistake.

Pitch drew back the curtains, and saw every girl's eyes widen and their jaws fall to the ground. Pitch awkwardly smirked, liking that reaction better than being laughed at.

"Fanty, you're a genius." Mystic breathed, not tearing her eyes away from Pitch's leather jacket.

"Notice how I didn't get a shirt since the jacket looks like a v-neck when closed? Aren't I smart!?" Fanty beamed at her success, but then resumed staring at Pitch.

He had black leather boots on, which he would definitely prefer over white high heels with diamond hearts on the buckle. His black jeans hugged his skinny legs, and were held up by a black, leather belt. Even his leather jacket hugged his body perfectly.

Pitch finally grinned, feeling like he was not only noticed, but dashing.

"All I need is a motorcycle." He said, looking down at his legs once more.

"You're single, right?" Angel asked, and everyone looked at her, shocked. "Angel!"

"What?! It's just a question!" Angel defended herself, blushing in embarrassment.

But when Angel looked back at Pitch, he grinned and winked at her, causing her to make some sort of noise like 'eek!' and hid her face in the beanbag chair. Fanty gave Pitch a look, and he grinned mischievously.

"Don't play with your food, Pitch." Fanty said, smiling at her joke.

Everyone burst into laughter, even Pitch. Fanty went out of the dressing room for a minute and brought back aviator's sunglasses, black of course. Pitch put them on, and struck a pose, finally feeling…human. And he liked that feeling.

Mystic fainted for a second, but she was recovered.

Man in Moon smiled down at the world, and although daylight, some could see him in the blue sky. He watched Jack for a while play a game with Bunny on who can knock down the most elves with basketballs. Shaking his head, he observed Toothiana, smiling at her hard work she gives every hour and every minute. North did just the same, and Sandy-of course- slept comfortably on a downy pillow in his Sand Ship.

But when he looked over in Pitch's direction, something made him stop.

What…the…heck?

He saw a Boogeyman walking down the street with six other girls, three on each side, wearing full on leather and shades. The girls wore the same theme as him, and they looked like a Fast and Furious cast into reality.

Pitch, Manny said, shaking his head while laughing, I knew you would change, but not like that.

But there was something Manny kept thinking about that kept his mind busy. The Guardians, many nights before today, had a meeting about Pitch. They came to a conclusion that he was honestly quite surprised about, and even Jack's seriousness somewhat startled him.

"This isn't a joke anymore, a spirit is dying." Bunny said, "Granted, its Pitch and we don't like him, but that can't mean he has to die."

"I have to admit, I feel bad for thinking it was a good thing." Jack admitted, and Tooth gently rubbed his back at his bravery for admitting such a thing.

"Manny chose him for reason. Manny knew him from before his time as Boogeyman, so maybe he sees something we don't." North said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

Sandy looked at Tooth for her voice, his eyes reading his own message. Tooth smiled gently and nodded in agreement, "You're right, Sandy. We all have a purpose on Earth, just like humans. That means Pitch does, too. He can't die."

Sandy smiled, giving her a double thumbs up in agreement, and then silently clapped.

"I have to say," Jack said thoughtfully, "and this may be an effect from meeting Fanty, but I can see why Pitch must exist. Fear keeps others from doing things bad, right?"

When he saw the blank faces around the meeting table, he clarified, "I mean, fear keeps people from disobeying the law. They don't want to be caught in a criminal position. Fear keeps children from sneaking things and lying to people, as well as learning about their world. Fear helps courage grow…right?"

Everyone stared at Jack. He would be the last person who would EVER admit that aloud. Tooth blinked, and then smiled dreamily. Yep, she was head over heels for him. Nothing could prevent that. North smiled softly, seeing how Jack really has changed over the past couple of years since their victory over the Nightmare War.

"Jack, I'm so proud of you." North said, and Sandy nodded in agreement.

Being speechless and confused at why they were acting like this, the Spirit of Fun felt a furry paw pat his shoulder, and he looked up to see Bunny giving a slight smile. "I guess you're not thick after all, mate."

"Buttwipe." Jack smirked, shaking him off and making Bunny glare at him.

"Don't kill the moment, Jack." Tooth said, rolling her eyes while smiling.

"Maybe that's why the girls like Pitch, though." Jack said, looking back at everyone.

"Because they believe in him?" Bunny guessed, and Jack shook his head.

"Because he's helping them strengthen their courage."

FEELS. OH, THE FEELS. Kidding, there's no feels. ;) Again, please cast your vote on the poll on my profile page! It'll mean the world to me.

Oh, and I have an announcement! I would like to send this message out to any deviantarts or artists out there who enjoyed this chapter to make a picture for me. Instead of payment in cash, I will follow you on DeviantArt, dedicate a chapter for you AND have you star in a cameo appearance! :D Pretty cool, right?! The picture could be either of these two: Pitch in the sparkly purple dress, looking very furious, or in that leather style outfit with a smirk on his face and aviator glasses.

PM me if you have any questions and send me the link in your message (spaces between, we should all know that by now) to your work of art. Good luck, and drop a review for me! :D LOVE YOU ALL!

[hello-imasalesman]

arthur and kieran in a boat out on the lake. and they rock the fuck outta it.

yeeaaaah boooooy!!! short n sweet PWP, 1k words exact 

“I ain’t good at fishing.” On the opposite side of the rowboat, Arthur’s under-his-breath grumbles are just heard above the water lapping at the hull.

“I know.”

“... I hate fishing.”

Kieran side-eyes Arthur, still slowly reeling in his line. “I know.”

“There’s plenty of things we could be doing instead.” Arthur grouses above the click of Kieran’s spool. Arthur’s irritation is more than apparent with the force he’s using flicking the rod across the water, too hard to attract any fish. Flat Iron lake is beautifully placid early morning, with the sun having just only recently risen east. 

“Fishing ain’t that bad, Arthur.” Kieran says softly. “You’d enjoy it more if you tried.”

“Haven’t caught a thing.” Arthur stretches out his leg, nudging the bucket sitting on the boat floor with the toe of his boot. It’s starting to fill with fish, small-mouth bass, though nearly all of them are Kieran’s catches.

Kieran ignores Arthur. He can hear Arthur folding his fishing rod back up, but he pays him no mind. He can do as he pleases, but they promised Pearson at least one buckets worth of fish for the camp stew pot. The boat rocks as Arthur shifts from one side to the other. Kieran spreads his legs to ground himself, digging his heels against the bottom of the boat. “Aw, c’mon, now. Don’t tip us over just ‘cause you don’t want to fish.”

“Not tipping the boat.” Arthur grunts, suddenly close to his ear. Kieran feels himself jump, his startled yelp coming out strangled as the boat pitches sharply to the side, dips enough that some water splashes up and over the side.

“Coulda fooled me!” Kieran warbles, arms outstretched as the rocking slowly evens out. “You know I can’t swim well.”

“Hm.” Arthur hums. His breath plays hot against the shell of Kieran’s ear as he wraps his arms around him from behind. “Well, you’ll keep still then, won’t you?”

“Arthur—“ Kieran sucks in a sharp breath, shivering as Arthur settles his chin onto Kieran’s shoulder, pressing cheek to cheek, knocking his hat akimbo on his head. He’s white-knuckling the grip on his fishing rod, trying not to jerk it too erratically. “Arthur, you’re going to scare away the fish.”

“Damn shame.” Arthur mumbles. Kieran finds himself not minding half as much as he should, not when he can look down and see Arthur’s thick fingers skating down his chest. He worms his hands underneath his shirt, gun-calloused fingertips brushing against the softness of his belly, tugging teasingly at the dusting of hair there.

“I’m serious.” Kieran says it with little conviction, especially as Arthur drapes himself around Kieran fully. The boat leans in warning. Arthur’s fingertips try to find their way past the hem of Kieran’s pants, but his belt is in his way. He makes short work of that, tossing it away to land wetly on the floor of the boat. The fishing rod in Kieran’s hands is dipping as his hands go slack; it’s awful hard to concentrate as Arthur thumbs the clips of his suspenders off his slacks, lets his pants sag. He’s already half-hard, embarrassingly enough, and Arthur doesn’t hesitate to pull him out of his pants, spit into his palm before he wraps his hand around his cock.

“Alright—“ Kieran nearly drops the rod into the lake. “Arthur, we’re out— anyone could see us—”

That doesn’t slow Arthur’s strokes. That’s how it usually was in-between them, stolen moments in semi-public situations; he can’t stop thinking of the last time they fished together, the man swimming naked around the bank. It makes his cock twitch in Arthur’s hand, shamefully, the thought of someone from the sandy shore seeing Arthur draped over him like this, his arm jerking lazily up and down, his cock only blocked by the side of the rowboat. Arthur Morgan, Van der Linde Gang muscle, wanted in Blackwater for $500 dead— alive was not recommended— wetly mouthing at his neck, his free hand now occupying itself under his shirt. 

“Thought you were serious?” Arthur breathes against his ear, scraping a thumbnail against his nipple, hard and pebbled. “There’s a bucket to fill, O’Driscoll.” He turns his mouth to his throat again, runs his lips against the stubble there. 

“Can’t catch nothin’ with you...” Kieran swears under his breath, his fingers fumbling with the handle of his spool. Almost turns his head, to speak more at Arthur, but it turns to him just tilting his chin up, exposing more, a silent plea. “With you neckin’.”

“Then be quick.” Arthur says, almost growls, sinks his teeth into Kieran’s neck in the way that makes him groan and his fingers flex useless around the rod.

Distantly, he feels it, in his slack fingertips— something’s on the end of the line, tugging at the price of corn hooked there. Nibbling, ever-so-slightly. He closes his hands around the rod a little tighter. (So does Arthur, squeezing at the base, calloused grip on just this side of painful—) With trembling fingers, he starts to slowly, slowly, reel it in. The fish bites; and Arthur squeezes, rolls his thumb over the head of his cock, ruddy and oversensitive. 

Kieran comes, sudden and hard; he can feel Arthur’s laugh, muffled against his neck, when he shoots between his fingers, over the edge of the boat into the water, the boat rocking underneath them as his body lurches. Kieran hunches and shivers; the rod lies on the floor, line snapped. Arthur flicks his hand out over the water, ripples forming where the drops land, unceremoniously wiping the rest onto his work pants.

Kieran lets himself lean back boneless into Arthur. The boat rocks. He could be lulled to sleep, almost; the solid warmth of Arthur at his back, the sound of the water against the wood, the quiet, faraway trill of calling morning birds on the shore. Arthur presses his lips to Kieran’s forehead. Not quite a kiss. 

[hadesgoddess]

Dawn is Coming, Open Your Eyes; Chapter 2!

Here is the 2nd chapter in my Aster/Rose fanfic! I’ve given it a new title (I have to go back to the first chapter and change that) and all my love has been poured into this! 

Thank you so much for the positive response with the first chapter! I can’t wait to get started on the 3rd!!!  Next chapter, we will finally get to meet ‘that slippery little hare’ Bunny mentioned in the first chapter.

TW, light angst (with much love and affection after!) Also, I’m shortening the posts for easier readability!

The rafters of North’s workshop seemed like a good place to skulk about. No one was hanging around there; everyone was too preoccupied with the party below to worry about a little spring spirit hiding and watching from above. Glumly, Rose swung her feet back and forth from her perch. Even if it was for a moment and with a queasy guilty stomach, she hated the beginning of Spring.

How was that for irony? The Herald of Spring got sick at the thought of Spring.

Why wouldn’t the gnawing pit of guilt in her stomach go away? It still haunted her every footstep.

She sighed and leaned back, searching for the supporting beam with her hand. Instead she encountered a soft, expanse directly behind. When the surface moved, she snatched her hand away as if she had been burned. Whipping around, she discovered that she was not as entirely alone as she had thought.

Jack Frost grinned at Rose from his seat next to her, no doubt taking amusement from her embarrassment. Her mouth worked open and closed like a fish out of water, trying to figure out what to say or if even to say anything at all. After all, he wasn’t a friend and had met her only once. But neither did he know about her choice to remain silent most of the time.

While she was trying to rub two brain cells together and talk, Jack’s amusement faded to confusion, then hurt, and finally a look of understanding crossed his face.

“You came here with Nightlight, right? Are you brother and sister, or twins, I guess?” it was understandable of him to think so; many did when they first meet her and Nightlight. Opposites but identical in a way. Him, a child of the Moon who rode on clouds and danced through the stars, and her, a daughter of the Sun and Earth who sang all the calls of birds and bloomed like the meadow flowers. And yet, they were not twins or even siblings, except in the soul.

She shook her head slowly, still unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t shy of answering someone, but she had been quiet for so long, it was hard to keep up sometimes with those who found speech a necessary part of their day.

“You two look a lot alike though.” she giggled and shook her head again. Feeling mischievous and wondering how well he would be able to read her hand signs, Rose signed,

You and Nightlight look more alike than he and I do.

At her quick gestures, he frowned in deep concentration. A minute later, his brow lifted and he replied, “Us? No way, he’s all small, white hair and pale skin and I’m all... kinda taller, white hair and pale skin... Huh, I guess you’re right.”

Well this was a pleasant surprise! He understood her signs! Quickly, she signed, You know what I’m saying?

A minute later and several slow, clumsy, but well-meant hand signs later, Jack replied, Yes. Sandy try to teach me so I am fast.

She grinned and said aloud, “I think you mean so you can ‘keep up’.” and gestured the correct sign as she spoke.

“Oh, so you do speak! And here I thought you didn’t have a tongue! Do you only speak to people you know well?” he laughed. She couldn’t help but giggle along and gestured, It depends, with a little so-so wobble of the hand.

“I will speak occasionally and yes usually with people I know well. Nightlight will too, but he would rather stay silent. He learns more from observation than talking.”

“I can understand that.” Oh yes, many spirits could understand that. Jack had nothing but years upon years to sharpen his observational skills. Most of the big holiday spirits had believers and didn’t understand how it felt for people to see right through you. But the smaller sprites, those who did minor, but important jobs for seasons were practically invisible.

“Are you ok?” Jack’s voice broke through her thoughts and she turned, surprised, to see his concerned face. A quick shrug was all she could say.

“I mean... I saw you... talking. With Kangaroo. You looked pretty tense.” Oh no... How long had he been watching them? He didn’t think that she was mad at Aster did he? Did he know the truth? If he did, would he defend on behalf of his new teammate or want to hear the whole story? She figured, even if he wanted to hear her side, there was little evidence to suggest that he would understand.

Again, a quick lift and drop of the shoulders was her only answer.

Instead of pressing her for more, as Rose thought he might given what she knew about his curious nature, he seemed to drop the subject. She let out a silent sigh of relief. Already, she had faced her past once tonight and that was one times too many considering she had just woken up.

“Maybe you two just need to talk it out? That's what we did... sort of... But it worked out ok, we just had to learn how to talk without arguing.” Or maybe his curiosity was greater than she imagined.

“It's not something that needs to be talked about. It only has to do with me and my... old friend. The Guardian of Hope was merely a bystander who made himself involved. That foolish Púka....” the last bit Rose muttered to herself, remembering how he had offered his Burrow as a sanctuary. She frowned slightly as she thought over the old memories.

How dare he....

He didn't know any better!

He knew about Pitch.... and he still sought him out.... after everything....

He’s just a lil’ ankle-biter... He’ll learn....

I taught him plenty.... if he refuses to listen, that's not my fault....

Is that it then? You're just gonna give up on him?

He can't stay here.... not if he refuses to listen.... and brings doom down upon us all....

Rose shivered, chilled by her own harsh words. It was centuries later, but the regret and guilt still held a keen sting. Swallowing the bitter taste at the back of her throat, she also warred with the longing to see him again.

“No... you’ve lost his trust...”  

“Oi! Rose!” The universe seemed to be opposed to Rose having a second to think to herself. The distant shout came from directly below them. Sharing a bemused glance, Jack and Rose peered down from their perch to see... Who else but E. Aster Bunnymund. He didn’t seem mad, but judging by the frown on his muzzle, he was a bit annoyed.

Rose wondered if she should answer. Maybe it would be best to stay up here with gentle Jack who knew hand signals and nothing about her past.

A shock of cold touched her hand; Jack had pried her clenched fist from her lap where she had been twisting the fabric of her dress terribly.

“I think you should talk it out with him. Whatever is going on. He’s not so bad when you talk to him calmly.” Jack advised kindly. She had to smile at him; for a new Guardian, he already had a touch of wisdom. But still, she was hesitant.

Another faint yell from Bunnymund drew her attention and she knew she at least had to go down to meet him. If she didn't, he might cause a scene.

Sighing, Rose climbed to her feet, thanking Jack for the company and promising to talk to him again as soon as she could before stepping off the rafter. Even inside and far north, her hold over the East Wind was strong. It was no trouble to float down to the crowds below.

Up close, Bunnymund was even more agitated than she had anticipated though. His nose twitched with barely controlled emotion, his ears going this way and that, seeking some unknown disturbance.

When she landed neatly next to him, she barely had time to get out a simple ‘Is something wrong?’  before he grabbed her hand, tapped his foot, and fell through North’s richly carpeted floor.

“What are you-!”

The hard packed dirt of the tunnel cut her off and forced the air from her lungs. She groaned, but was up in a flash. The ground did not agree with her backside and she glared at Bunnymund, rather cross that he so rudely dumped her through a hole.

“Ah, sorry. Y’alright?” he reached out a paw to steady her, as though she would faint.

“I am perfectly fine!” she said, a bit stiffly. Would it have killed him to simply ask for her cooperation? She was no child to be led around and told to respect her elders. She was an adult in her own right and mind.

“And what, may I ask, was that all about?” her hands patted the dust out of her skirt as she leveled an icy look at Bunnymund.

“I'm taking you to the Warren. It's time you hash things out with the lil’ ankle bitter,” he stated firmly, planting his feet. She knew he meant business when he made his warrior pose. “And if I had stopped to ask, you woulda said no or run off or both.”

Rose bristled slightly, but he had her there.

“He's happy, is he not? That is all I need to know. He doesn't need me.” she considered it sad, but true. She couldn't be counted as a stable friend. People seemed to get hurt when she got close.

“Of course he's happy, no thanks to you, East. I've made sure he never wants for anything,” Shame burned Rose's cheeks, but she kept quiet. This was the longest the Guardian of Hope had spoken with her and despite herself, she was desperate to hear about her friend. “And he's never wanted anything more than to see you again...”

She couldn't help but close her eyes, willing away the tears that threatened to spill over. She thought she knew what she wanted and what was best for him, but after so long... she wasn't sure. All Rose knew was that it was time for something different; this had to change.

“...Alright...” She whispered to the ground, unable to meet Aster's eyes. “I'll come with you.”

Suddenly, her view was of soft, gray fur, and she grew comfortably warm from the arms now wrapped around her. Aster had responded with a joyous hug instead of words. Rose was helpless to stop herself from melting into the embrace.

Little did they know they were being watched by a pair of dangerous, glowing eyes. They observed the pair for a moment longer until they faded, a malicious laugh tailing them into the wind.

[wristic]

Hey Yo! I still have nothing to post after all these months so I’m gonna throw an old wip I never finished into your face and hope you enjoy the idea I once had.

I might just like, do that, start throwing old wip’s in your face. Let me know if ya’ll are down with that.

Bittersweet Sea

So the idea was: Kwenthrith’s first born daughter, Moira, receives tragedy after tragedy. Mercia being sacked, her brother taking the line of succession, and then her mothers death. The pain of these events shapes her as it shaped Aethelwulf, into a vindictive and lethal individual, but Moira has one purpose to fulfill in her life. To follow in her mothers footsteps:  take Mercia back for herself, slay all enemies in between, and bring her promised country into greatness.

Sounds SO epic right? And I got like, a chapter and a sliver done. I’m glad I hadn’t posted the first chapter cause that would of disappointed so many people.

“No, you, you must live-”

Moira snapped her head up and saw a treacherous sight, as treacherous as those words. A girl of ten years, a Princess of Mercia, first born to Queen Kwenthrith, yet it was her younger brother being held close in a cloak and being shared the last bit of food where she was to starve.

The ice fall had been biting at her fingertips as badly as the hunger in her gut. Now, while they shared a coat, Moira hung a step behind, the heat of her near delirious rage had her feeling like walking through a midsummer's day. She kept so quiet they hadn’t thought to look back on her and she was glad for it. Moira wasn’t sure if she could keep to her courtesies and hide her newfound hatred for Prince Aethelwulf. He cared so much for her mother and brother did he, but not sweet little Moira, not the promised future Queen of Mercia. Moira would remember this day, if not for how grueling and terrifying it’s been, then to spite Aethelwulf in her court.

When nightfall came and it was too dark to venture further. Her mother left the tent instead of sleep, as she’d always been wanton to do. Moira knew why and it only infuriated her more. Sitting up in the pitch dark, Moira listened as the footsteps lead to the Prince's tent. Moira wasn’t sure if her heart could slam any harder in the heat of her fury. The insults just kept coming, again and again, Princess Moira being spurred to the side to entertain others.

“Mama?”

Moira couldn’t answer Magnus, could barely hear him. The droning sound of her teacher rehearsing laws filled her head. The laws, the damn laws, that was why her brother was more important. She’d show them. Mercia is already promised and no one was going to take away her mother's legacy.

Magnus tugged at her sleeve and she snapped at him.

“You’ve nothing but the blood of savages in you.” she snarled before slamming back down to the ground and tossing the blankets over her. Her breath was fast for the minutes of silence, until she heard Magnus start to sniffle. His sniffling turned to whimpering and finally the cold broke through her skin. Moira sighed, guilt bringing its own bout of cold to her stomach and rolled over to grab her brother and pull him close. She let him cry in her chest but she didn’t apologize. To calm him she ran her hand through the foreign sandy hair so opposite of hers and her mother's. The boy was soon back to sleep, or at least quiet, she’d be surprised if anyone could sleep in such cold with the nightmares of the past week running through their heads.

They started the walk before the sun was even out, the world held in a dim faded blue. The announcement they were almost in Wessex was a blessing to everyone, the journey going to be much easier than the past two nights.

Aethelwulf nudged Moira, “You’ve been very quiet.” She resisted glaring at him by looking in the opposite direction. “I’m sorry Princess. I know you’re hungry and cold-”

“I wonder why.” she grumbled, half hoping only she would hear. It was hard to keep her tongue bit with so much happening in so few hours. He glanced back at Kwenthrith who only smirked at him, he got himself in that mess.

“I don’t want you to hate me Princess, will you really not be sweet for me?”

Aethelwulf sighed and gripped her arms to face him when she didn’t answer, Moira a little surprised to find him on one knee. “If you feel like you’re suffering at your brother’s expense...I suppose it’s because you are. But I’m not doing it to hurt you, I’m doing it because I know you can take it. He’s a small boy, he can’t handle the elements like you can.”

Moira crossed her arms, straightening her back in defiance. “And the favor towards my Mother? I suppose that’s because she is small and weak too? Or would you call it my imagining.”

Aethelwulf scratched his beard trying to think of a good answer. “You...you know that as Queen she will always take precedence-”

“So I’m stuck in a limbo of unimportance is that it?!”

He squeezed her little riled up form attempting to ease Moira, so mad she looked like she was about to start kicking him, “No! No not at all!” Pulling her a little closer he bade her to listen. “Do not treat this as any sort of reveal on our nature, but yours.”

Moira crinkled her face clearly confused. “We’ve been treading through snow and enemy territory, no sleep, no food and you’ve still enough heat and energy to hate me like you do.” He was laughing a bit at the end but Moira only felt it was the hate itself that kept her going as it did.

“-and when Magnus comes of age-”

Moira ground her teeth, staring wide eyed in anger at the table.

“No, I think it best for Magnus to stay here-”

Her grip turned white on the chair, her feet threatening to kick the nearest leg.

“-but if Magnus-”

Moira slammed her fists on the table and stood. “Magnus, Magnus, Magnus!” she shouted at the top of her young lungs, “Always Magnus! I am the Princess of Mercia, I am the firstborn but you all talk of him like I don’t exist! Like I don’t matter now that he’s born!-”

Her mother put a gentle hand on Moira’s closed fist. “My sweet little Moira,” she almost smiled waiting for Kwenthrith to tell them wrong, to spur the laws and the years spent promising Moira would be Queen one day,

“You don’t.”

The two words were like a lance through Moira’s love. Tears filled her eyes out of pure shock, without a doubt the cruelest thing her mother had ever said before. Moira snapped back her hand and charged out of the room to cry.

Ecbert scoffed, tried to hide the disturbed lump in his throat. Little girls didn’t deserve such callousness. “That was a bit harsh wasn’t it?”

Kwenthrith only sighed into her cup, “If she wants to be smart enough to notice her irrelevance then she must learn to be strong enough to handle the truth.” she halfheartedly laughed before finishing her drink. “Why do you think I named her Moira. The second I saw no piece between her legs I knew. One day she’ll become her namesake, one day she would be like me,” Kwenthrith shook her head, “...a sea of bitterness.”

Moira refused to see her mother and brother after that. It was hard enough not crying while she was alone, how could she walk around the castle? It felt like betrayal. Having been told her whole life she would be Queen, to suddenly be told she was anything but.

A knock came on her room. “Go away!” She sniffled. But they didn’t, sneaking their way in.

It was King Ecbert, and the first thing he did was sigh. “I’m sorry Moira, that was cruel of your mother.”

“My mother is a cruel woman, to her enemies.” Moira’s voice caught and tears heated again. “She never lies to me and I’ve always thanked her for it. I feel her honesty has made me smarter than most.”

But the honesty was cruel sometimes, and the words you don’t taunted her. All a sudden Moira broke. She dropped the embroidery she was trying to focus on to ease her mind and covered her face sobbing again.

Ecbert was quick to be by her side, a fatherly hand pushing back her unkempt hair. “Oh gentle, sweet Moira. It was not honestly she gave you, it was only cruelty. To say you don’t matter…”

“But she's right,” Moira choked, “I might be first born but I’m no boy. They would never accept me. My mother is strong and cruel and they still don't accept her. How can I imagine a world any different-”

“Moira, you don’t need to be a Queen to be important. The people love you, we love you, the heart of Kingdoms will always be yours.” She looked to him and he smiled. “You don’t need a title for that.”

“But I want to be a Queen. The people need me to be their Queen.”

“Why do they need you to be their Queen?”

“It is my destiny to bring Mercia into greatness!”

The look he gave was pitying. It took everything in her little body not to glower at him. “Maybe it is...but it won’t be as a Queen.” Moira went to defend but his manner shifted, continuing, “The reason I came in here…” he pet her hair again, so nervous it made Moira uneasy. “Your mother has passed.”

She fretted in her seat, Ecbert holding her still as he talked over her again. “It happened in the night, it was very peaceful-”

“I want to see.” Moira demanded.

“I’m afraid that's not possible-”

“I want to see her!”

“Moira, listen to me,” he cupped her cheek, brushing her fresh tears. “Mercia and Wessex have united...under my rule.” It felt wrong to hear those words. The more she fought to deny what she knew he meant, the more sick she felt. Ecbert could see the conflict in her face, petting again. “But fear not, I will protect you and your brother. You are now my ward. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear it.”

One last tear fell and her sorrow turned to rage. Ecbert was her ally and he betrayed Kwenthrith, just like she said he would. He killed her mother, he carved out her lands for himself. And now he sat on his knees petting Moira because that's what she was now, a pet.

Gulping hard she had nothing left to say to him. “Please leave me to mourn then.”

Ecbert's hand slowly fell in disappointment. “I am...truly sorry.” Gracefully he rose. “I will take care of you as if you were my own daughter. I hope in time you will be happy here.”

The day Kwenthrith descended into her tomb, Moira cried, loudly and pitifully. She wanted them to see her so weak and fragile and broken. It was what they wanted to see too. Sweet little Moira crying from all the heartbreak in the world.

Ecbert was there, petting her away. Looking up at them Ecbert was pitying her with a grim smile. But Aethelwulf interested her more. He bore no light in his eyes, not even the twinkling of tears. She was surprised Ecbert didn’t feel the hole being burned into the back of his head.

Moira reached past Ecbert and tugged on Aethelwulf’s shirt. He blinked but that amount of hatred was hard to leave. Something told Moira his eyes would always be like that now, a hint of madness behind them. But he bent down to her, letting her bury her face in his chest and wrap her arms around his neck. She felt him sigh, picking her up and holding her tight.

He didn't put her down, not even as they walked back. With his distance from the others Moira dared to ask. “Did they kill my mother?”

Feeling him tense and look in the direction of his father, she didn’t have to explain. Voice carrying a vicious edge he was honest. “I believe so.”

Moira shuddered. “I thought as much. They said she died peacefully. Mother would never accept death with peace.” There was a moment, juggling an idea, whether she should or not. With a shifty eye she spoke evenly. “Did you know she was pregnant?”

Aethelwulf abruptly stopped, still as stone.

“I don't know if she knew, but there were some changes she was going through, like when she was pregnant with Magnus. There should have been two graves today.”

For a moment she could swear she felt the slamming of his heart, or maybe that was it shattering. Either way he held her tighter, burying his face in her shoulder to hide it, and she held him close. “Don’t cry Aethelwulf. It’s going to be okay. We’ll be alright, someday.”

Something mixed between a laugh and a cry bubbled up from him. Raising his head she could hear him smiling, “Oh Moira, Sweet little Moira. I am blessed everyday to know you.”

I will be Queen. Moira turned to him with a gentle smile and kissed his cheek. Even if I have to wear a crown of bones and sit on a throne of ash. Mercia will be mine.

[lynxadventure21]

Fore-shadowing in RotG for Jack’s Center is crazy!

Ok so I was re-watching Rise of the Gaurdians and it has crazy good fore-shadowing for Jack’s center being fun.

1) when he first found out he had magic his immidate reaction was to start playing.  While this isn’t one of the better examples of fore-shadowing it is still there because there are many ways people would react to suddenly having powers, expecially if right before that you were feeling scared.  (as seen in the blurry pictures below) he started adding frost to the ice running around and smiling.

2) he froze the kids tounge to a water fountain.  While this coud be seen as a cruel trick you need to keep in mind that when he was written (during the script writting faze/the very first step of making any movie) he was planned to be a 14 year old immortal boy.  So to him he probably sees it as nothing more than a harmless, mischevious, prank.  Something that many (except the victim) would consider fun, and this is proved when not only Jack laughed but so did the kid’s friends.  And he continues to freeze things such as another child’s gold fish bowl and frost buildings continuing to laugh thinking of it as nothing but harmless pranks.

3) directly after all that, still laughing he says “now that, that was fun”  while this is not the most subtle fore-shadowing it should still be taken note of.  Directly after this he calls out for the wind to take him home and lets out a hearty “woooooohoooooooooo!”  as the wind carries him he seems to be spinning almost out of control and laughing the entire time, kind of like a thrill seeker doing sky diving.  But as you continue to watch the scene like how he does a jumping position over the clouds it appears that he has control over how the wind carries him and merely chooses to fly in a way that Woody from Toy Story would describe as ‘falling with style’ simply because he finds it more fun then flying in a more stream lined position.   Jack continues to flip and do a sort of flying parkour while freezing everything he touches not once did he stop laughing.

4) Jack has been stuck as a 14 year old boy with no memory of anything before Jack Frost for 300 years. 300.  300 years of no one seeing him, and pretty much no one talking to him.  The guardians seem to have heard of him but other than Bunny it dosen’t appear that any of them had offically met before hand.  Let’s do a head count.

Tooth: We see Tooth swooning over his teeth which are SAID to ‘sparkle like freshley fallen snow’ and she said “I’ve heard so much about you so clearly she never met him.

Sandy: While North was doing the introductions he introduced Sand Man.  And when Sand Man tried to explain what was going on Jack had no idea what he was saying therefore Jack has only ever played with Sandy’s sand but never interacted with Sandy himself

North: Other then knowing that Jack holds the record of being on the naughty list he defintly dosen’t know anything about him.  He didn’t even know that Jack had tried many times to break into his toy factroy.

Bunny: Clearly the 2 have a history due to him freezing Easter Sunday in the blizzard of ‘68.  When North was doing the introductions he said “you know Bunny, obviouly” with Jack responds to with “obviously” however any and all of their interactions seem to have been in a bad nature

so in short any contact he’s ever had in 300 years was to show exreme dislike or possibly hatred, but deffinitly anger.  300 years and he has somehow remained complely sane.

So Jamies mother reminds Jamie to wear a hat and says “Jamie, hat.  We don’t want Jack Frost nipping at your nose.”  and when Jamie asks who Jack Frost is she tells him that he dosen’t exist and that it’s just an expression.  Granted Jack did retiliate by yelling “HEY!” but other then that he did nothing.  We all know had his mother said that Jack was the one who brought winter Jamie would have beleived it in a heart beat but instead she said he didn’t exist.  Jack has not been seen for 300 years, and lets be honest, he’s pratically desperate for someone to see him.  Out of spite he could have easily done something like freeze a patch of ice under her feet and file it under another harmless prank, after all he has made people slip on his ice before and was fine with it, but he dosen’t.  Instead he starts a snow ball fight with the kids.  300 years and he gets a chance to be seen only for the hope to be ripped out from under his feet and instead of retiliating cruelly he decided to have a little fun instead.

5)  He makes a snowball then blows on it causing it to glow a bright blue.  Jack then throws the ball at Jamie.  We see glitter appear in front of Jamie’s eyes then he grins from ear to ear and starts laughing.  Jamie soon starts throwing snowballs at his friends.  

6) During the snowball fight one of Jamie’s friends accidentally hits Cupcake.  Cupcake clearly upset and angry in a threatening manor bears her teeth and growls.  The other kids are visibly scared.  Jack throws another one of his special snowballs and glitter appears before Cupcakes eyes.  Soon she starts laughing then starts playing with the other kids having fun.  He turned Cupcake’s anger into joy.

7) Despite just have a very sad one sided conversation with M.I.M when Sandy’s dream sand appears he giggles and smiles.  He even plays with the dream sand.

8) His immidiate reaction after getting out of the sack was to laugh and respond with sarcasm.  Almost like he was talking to a bunch of old friends doing a stupid prank.  I litterally said the exact same think to one of my closest friends when she litteraly lassoed me.  Considering pretty much everyone in that room is a stranger and the only one he actually knows has a strong dislike for him he dosen’t act like most people would: weary, angry, upset.  Basically just negative emotions, while he wasn’t exactly happy about it his immidate reaction was to try and have a bit of fun with it.

9) another obvious one, while he was trying to convince the guardians (mainly North) that he wasn’t guardian material he said “Look, this is all very flattering, but ah... you don’t want me.  You’re all hard work and deadlines, and I’m snowballs and fun times.  I’m not a guardian.”

10) yeah all his sarcasm and stuff is a personality trait, but when you think about it that’s kind of his center to.  The center is kinda like what they all revolve around, everything that makes up who they are one way or another it connects to their center.  (I like to think of it as a similar thing to MLP cutie marks)  During his argument with Bunny his immidiate reaction is to make fun of him, call him a name.  In a way kind of even crack a joke.

11) His reaction to the sleigh.  He was surpirised, intrigued and probably thinking ‘cool’.  Sure you can put that down as what North says “everyone loves the sleigh” but come on, we all know that’s not true.  Bunny absolutly HATES it.  To me it seems like a roller coaster.  You either love em or you hate em no in between.  When he sees Bunny clearly freaking out on the sleigh he chuckles.  The entire scene when they are sleiging through the ice tunnels to gain momentum he is smiling from ear to ear, tbh honest that smile was big enough to be worthy of the Joker.  Not to mention how he also played a trick on Bunny by pretending to fall off the sleigh only to be lying on the feet.  And his face when North gave Jack the reins to the sleigh, need I say more?

12) When they go to collect the teeth Jack immidiatly goes into competition mode.  Not only did he Bunny start taling smack about racing but they also competed with the amount of teeth they gained.  Even using certain tricks such as making ice for Bunny to slip on.  In all honesty can any of you tell me that this isn’t just like a fun competition between friends?

13)  He’s a lil prankster.  Which I did mention earlier.  When Jamie’s greyhound starts growling at Bunny he decideds to start messing around.  “But that’s a um, that’s a greyhound.  Do you know what greyhounds do to rabbits?”  While Bunny is distracted going on a rant on how he can take the dog down Jack taps the alarm clock with his staff causing the alarm to go off.  Scarring the greyhound and causing it to chase Bunny all around the room.  Because of this Sandy’s dream sand hit pretty much everyone but who it was intended for.  First putting Tooth to sleep soon followed by Bunny, they the greyhound, the North, folowed by Jamie.  While watching the result of his chaos Jack laughed and said “Oh I wish I had a camera right now.”

14) Jack vs Pitch.  During the first real fight (at least on screen that we’ve seen after all it was loosley implied that there was a battle in the dark ages) Jack won.  Some people may say this is because fun, Jack’s center, is the oposite of fear, Pitch’s center.  This is both right and wrong at the same time.  Like bravery, fun and fear go hand in hand.  Many things that we call fun wouldn’t be fun without just a touch of fear.  Rollercoasters for example have quite the touch of fear to them but we are able to let go of the fear therefore allowing us to have fun.  When we play tag or hide-and-seek we fear getting caught/tagged yet we are able to let go of that fear and have fun.  Jack isn’t the opposite of Pitch he’s more like the better side to him.  In all honesty if Pitch weren’t evil they’d make quite the dynamic duo but I’ll get more into that in another post.  Anywho he was able to beat Pitch in the battle by ‘letting go’ of fear.  He litterally exploded the nightmare sand.  And at the end of the battle when Pitch is in his lair he declairs “finally someone who knows how to have a little fun”

15) Despite never being seen he understood how to play with children better thant the guardians.  The guardians who can be seen by kids since the end of the dark ages. Because they are, as North said “we are very busy brining joy to children we don’t have time, for children”  Despite Bunny probably being his least favorite guardian he used his magic on Bunny to help him play with Sophie.  Using a snowflake much like he did with his snowballs glitter appeared in front of Bunny’s eyes and he smiles.  Then he starts playing and interacting with Sophie without any more mess ups; having fun. (looking at you Tooth, blood and gums, gross!)

16) Can you honestly tell me that that’s not a mischevious smile that says “I did something that I found completly hilarious and others will too and when you figure out what I did it’s going to completly mess up your day”

17) Since this is technically before he realized that his center is fun I’m going to count it.  His memories.  In it he was entertaining his little sister and her friends hanging upside down in a tree, goofing off with antlers against his head, and of course the ice skating one.:  

“I know, I know.  But your going to be alright.  You’re not going to fall in.  Uh, we’re gonna have a little fun instead.”

“No we’re not!”

“Would I trick you?”

“Yes! You always play tricks!”

“Well, alright.  Well, not, not, this time.  I promise.  I promise, you’re gonna be... you’re gonna be fine.  You have to beleive in me.  You wanna play a game?  We’re gonna play hopscotch!  Like we play every day!  It’s as easy as, one, whoa, two, three!  Alright, now it’s your turn.  One.  That’s it, that’s it.  Two, three.”  He saved his sister by having a little fun.  And this further shows what I said earlier about letting go of the fear.  If you watch his sister you can see that she is afraid, and rightfully so.  But as she plays hopscotch with Jack you can see her let go of some of her fear and have a little fun.  Like when he made her laugh by ‘almost’ falling.

18) When he goes to get Jamie to keep believing he does it by having fun.  Sure some of you may think that since he can’t see Jack Frost there was no other way to do it.  If Jack can draw an easter egg and a bunny in his frost then surely he can write “the easter bunny is real” in it.  But instead he frosted the windows and drew an easter egg in it then a rabbit.  He made the rabbit sort of come to life (idk how else to describe it) then it exploded making it snow in Jamie’s room.  Jamie laughs and smiles while the ice rabbit hops around in his room.  Having fun.  Which ultimetly lead to his first believer, having fun, using his center, he finally got a believer.

And that concludes all of the fore-shadowing for Jack’s center that I could find.

[donatnetherlystudios]

                     The Downsizing

                   Chapter 1 – Fallout

  The dust and ash had settled, so we collectively thought after the third world war     hope was restoring itself. Families and friends of families ushered out to an atmosphere enshrined in sandy driven air, almost like mist with dirt. Craters lay everywhere from each major explosive that had set off and the radiation was finally dissipating. Mountains and deserts for miles were the only environments that could be seen,

not from war, but for this particular area of the country in general. As for our hope

and faith we relied upon, we couldn’t have been more wrong at the time.

    Previous allies who had long supported Americans such as Russia, China and others had turned against us at turning point in the war. The remaining ones took neutral stances. Anxiousness and fear were overloading them to oppose what had become new superpowers. Our allies in UK, Canada, Australia and Israel were still with us to the end. Sadly, they would suffer the same consequences we did. The only thing that saved us from total destruction was nuclear chaos in every country, no one knew where they came from. Every country was alone now dealing with their own woes. Betrayals came from every spectrum, but none as sinister as that of our own. Our own military had dissolved due to casualties from war and the government in place collapsed. When the opportunity arose the remaining officials and military who had planned for takeover assembled. They rose up and formed a dictatorship led government, with the army itself forming into more of a widespread militia. Our country had become what some of us had felt about other nations before it started, third world. Common folk were treated like peasants in medieval times. Labor camps were installed left and right, barricaded, highly fenced, heavily gated and with plenty of militia to keep everything exactly how the government wanted it.

    Militia was dressed in all black with red symbols of a picture of our great country in the center and an X over it to show their anti-American sentiment. Politicians who were actually against the new order had either fled the country or taken up with the new ones to become just as corrupt. Our encampments were called settlements, with tents seen for miles in the distance. “Move along.” says one soldier as they scramble us forward like cattle. Militia quarters mirrored actual building structures made of stone and steel. Laughing, drinking, and all types of rustling sounds could be heard from structures. Frankly, it made me sick. The tents were more quieting since the majority always felt defeated, ashamed or just weary of how things unfolded and how much worse they could actually get.

    My name is Eve, which suits me because I had always wanted the forbidden fruit, so to speak. I was in fact named after Eve from the bible as my mother was of the Christian faith. My father had always been more of a realist though and was an agnostic who believed if there was a God, things wouldn’t have gone down the way they did, with so much suffering. In the long period before the order had come together properly, there was a time of dead silence everywhere. We were alone from other people, but we didn’t care, since we were together as a family.

    A gun goes off in the middle of my daydream and rattles me with me almost jumping in the air. “Shit” – I turn around to catch a glimpse of who was eliminated and realize it was the old man who mentored my father, who had just turned 70. I walked forward while the line and militia were moving the opposite direction to investigate further. “You’re going to get caught” came from a familiar voice. It was Emmy, my best friend in the settlement, possibly my only friend. Heeding her advice, I turn around, met with being struck in the face with the back of a militia hand. “Next time you’ll get the gauntlet” he muttered as he pushed me back in line. The gauntlet was a solo event the militia devised for their evil amusement and found one poor soul being forced to wander across a field while soldiers from all sides took places shooting them. It wouldn’t be merciful and fast because the person in question would be shot in areas less severe and gradually getting worse until they reached close to the end. Most were dead from bleeding out before they got there. Thinking further back I started to remember my father teaching me survival skills from a tender age that involved archery, throwing knives, scavenging and surviving in the wilderness. Guns weren’t permitted for civilians even then, so they were out of the question. He always told me the ammo would run out anyways. A loud noise of a piercing sound mixed with a siren commenced to go off and snapped me out of my daze. I recognized it as the escape siren, this time a group of five attempting blitzing some soldiers and forcing through the gates, only to be put down a few seconds later from gun fire. Any people attempting escape were killed and disposed of in the desert. We all knew when deaths occurred, despite our captors giving us light explanations of the missing. It had become like concentration camps from the second world war, only in the year 2032. All ammunition had begun running extremely low and other resources declined not far behind it.

    Men who were able bodied were put to heavy labor working the fields or in construction. Women were treated as if they worked in sweat shops and treated as objects or toys for the militia to play with. Elderly people and those with major disabilities were terminated quickly to preserve supplies. Pregnancies were forbidden, with any woman and her offspring wiped out shortly after it was known. We’d hear babies cries and painful screams from the women giving birth. Following that was dead silence, which seemed worse than the noise. As we knew what that meant.

“Time is 21:00, all civilians please return to your homes” blurted out over the PA, as people everywhere scrambled away like mice. My face was the shade of the bark on a tree from the mud and debris I had worked with all day. My hair was matted against my head and shoulders from sweat and the color copied the same shade. I was still only 20 years old and small but was lean and agile. My skin was tan from all of the sunlight and even though I was of Indian descent I had always been a lighter skin color than my family. The rebellious side of me was from the Irish in my blood, as well as me holding my liquor whenever we could sneak some from the passed-out soldiers on more idle days.

    Nothing to see in front of me, everything pitch dark. Soldiers had streetlights but they were as good as useless. They would sway back and forth and flicker nonstop against the midnight backdrop. A light came into view from the distance and I could finally tell it was my tent. A candle sat in the doorway with a bell, as I would post it there as my porch light and used a cowbell to pretend as a doorbell. Gradually I winded down for the night plugging my ears with a mix of cloth, leaves and other material worked into a ball with doughy material. As I lay there, I think back to the day my parents were killed. Both had come ill and the moment those bastards found out they were spoon fed a kind of quick acting poison. I was only 16 at the time. My father could sense he was fading from a source other than his illness and was able to tell me bye. My mother never got the chance, she plummeted a mere minute or so after the poisoning. I was handed over more lies of how it happened but had an inside source who told me the real events.

    That evening I lie motionless, with every inch of my body asleep. Clattering noises tap the ground back and forth, nudging me partially awake. Telling myself its due to the wind is what becomes of it. The corner of my eye catches a shadow lingering behind me and showing a silhouette on my tent. My candle makes it like a light show. Finally, I hear obvious footprints in the back, leaving me completely petrified. Unsure how but the shadow seems to fade as fast as it came, and I decide I’ll be alright. “Cling” – My cowbell drops off its foothold and to the ground. The sound shakes me enough to cause me to finally turn around toward the tent flap opening. It is now wide open, even though I safety pin it at lights out. I remain there speechless and dumbfounded, frozen in place. As I turn around a hand is already grabbing me by the arms and forcing me to my cot. Though it’s still dark, I recognize the force to be one of the soldiers clearly drunk. I screamed but it was done in vain, as no reinforcements would come to aid me. The heavy smell of tobacco and alcohol was enough to cause anyone to gag. He grabbed my miniscule wrists using only one hand. Meanwhile he hit me several times with the other to silence me, as by that time I had given up waiting on anyone else. Bloodied and beaten I was severely weakened, but I came from a family of survivors and fighters. His sweat and mine allowed my hands to slip from his grasp, but still on top of me. Using all the weight I could whip around and forward; I landed a few strikes with my fists to which he barely flinched. He smacks me again and my arms flop beside me. As he leans forward, I feel my arm thinking its way over to the side of me. Though dark I can feel the insignia on my Mother’s pen knife lying on the bedside table.

    As fast as he was there, my right arm flew forward and forced the pen knife into his chest. Feeling he would fall over any second and I’d be free were my only thoughts, not thinking about alternative possibilities. Slowly he pulled out the knife, glaring at me with his evil, bloodshot eyes and a smile that showed me just how little effect my short-lived attack had on him. He was simply too strong and overpowering. I was winded and my head lay to the side toward the tent entrance. I concentrate on the candle, attempting to black out what is ahead of me and try and imagine a different place. Although the entire event took only a few minutes, I was raped for what seemed like hours. A tear crawled down my cheek, as my innocence was ended. I’ve never been one to cry, but one could fill a river with the amount occurring at the time. The sheets were painted red from his blood and mine. They were also damp from sweat and tears. The air itself was suffocating because all of the malice around and the fact he smelt like a chimney. Since most of our settlements were in the deserts, he had dry chapped skin. As he rubbed up against me, that dryness could be felt to the left and made even lying beside him more unpleasant than it needed to be. Snoring and sleep grunting seeped from his vocals and I could sense he was passed out. After I had peeked around and confirmed it, I had my eyes set on the way out. I slowly backed away from my side of the bed and dropped to the side, before making my way around the front end and making a break for my front flap entrance.

    Although still shaken and frighten, I manage to stumble through our row of tents trying to seek out a safe place to finish out my night. “Thud” – Falling to the ground out of exhaustion I collapse. Sobbing proceeds to take over as I start to release the cries of anguish I had longed for earlier. The tent flap opens, and a girl approaches I recognize as Emmy, who assists me off the ground and inside, before penning the flap back up and walking me over to the bed to be able to sleep my pains off. She lie beside me stroking my hair and just whispering it’ll be alright. Sounds of my crying didn’t cease so she simply allowed me to finish it out, before I eventually drifted to sleep.

    Barely a month following the assault, I found I was indeed pregnant with my abuser’s child after being a few weeks late. Knowing the consequences for me and the child, I foolishly had thoughts of attempting escape to a border state away from New Mexico. Alas, the gates were heavily guarded and little way over the fence, so I returned to reality. Emmy comforted me with her only advice being something we came to call back alley abortions. It was a play on words, since we had no alleys and were out in the desert. They simply took place in a secluded area of camp where nothing had been constructed and were out of view of any lighting not provided. They were risky and dangerous, as the procedure wasn’t precise and couldn’t possibly be unsterile. A risk of being caught was a common fear at the same time, with patrols not sticking to their normal routes for certain all the time. Unlike some young mothers I actually yearned to keep my child, for they were from me and would be the last family I ever had. Arriving at the vacant tent, Emmy ushered in her light. The stand in doctor asked if I was ready and I reluctantly nodded. He approached me and I chose to swing my head to the side to black it out and bury it like other traumas. The physical pain was immense but didn’t compare to the emotional pain I would endure. Thoughts of vengeance consumed me with the thoughts of violence spiking as we approached the end of the event. Although the doctor and Emmy are mumbling in the background, I remain still and as dead as before. From those moments on I swore nothing like that would happen again and that it wouldn’t be the end, but the beginning of a revolution. My abuser would be my first target and just as he had snuck into my tent in the dead of night, I would use a stealth tactic to get to him. I figured it wouldn’t require much to amp the settlement up into an uprising, as things had been heated between the men and soldiers for the past year. I couldn’t save my family but was going to save my friends I had and other’s families from this abusive new nation by any means necessary. Only after they had been overturned would I find peace and a restful heart.

    I’ve always heard time heals all wounds, it wasn’t something I believed in. My mother’s gift of dispensing hope and faith caught ahold of me, meshed with my brain absorbing my father’s training in survival. If this new tyranny thought it was over and that the rest of us would remain their slaves, they were wrong.