#fucking hell put a hole in the net why don’t you

[england-nt]

WHAT A GOAL

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt 11

Alright! Let’s do this!

If you’re new around here you can find the first chapter [here] or if you just want a refresher you can find the previous chapter [here!]

Summary: Like most plans Remus and Janus’s have, this one starts off really great!

Word Count: 13351

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

“I fucking hate you,” Virgil snarls under his breath, as Remus (lightly) shoves him in the direction he needs to walk. He’d given up kicking and screaming about seven blocks and ten subway stops ago, after Remus had (not lightly) acquainted a concerned citizen who had stopped them with his fist, but Remus thinks he might have still been (very not lightly) biting out of sheer spite , if it weren’t for the cute little face mask Remus shoved on his face before manhandling the reporter out of his own apartment. 

“You and Janus can rot in fucking hell together, assholes!”

“I love when you talk dirty to me, honey,” Remus says to him, grinning with all his teeth on display, sharp and pointed and freshly brushed with Virgil’s own shitty Aquafresh toothpaste that tasted like every type of bad mint flavor put together as a brilliant new torture method. “Now keep quiet and be more scared.”

“I should have just fucking killed you, you motherfucking, insane— ”

Remus pinches him sharply in the side as a warning and his clever and completely accurate description yelps off into some even more creative swears.

Honestly, Remus would have loved to hear the rest of Virgil’s thoughts about him. It had been interesting to watch Virgil lose every ounce of his respect for Remus as Janus had started laying out the details of his plan; Interesting in the same way Remus thinks that watching someone perform an autopsy on his still-living body might be interesting, in the way that being buried alive in wet cement might be interesting, in the way that naming each piranha that takes a bite out of his limbs migh13t be interesting. 

As far as plans that Janus had, this was shaping up to be one of Remus’s favorites already. The details were tedious and extensive, much more than Janus’s plans usually were, although with the way that Janus kept glancing at Remus throughout it Remus could understand why he was going so overboard with their timeline and plannings. The usual safety net they operated with (aka Remus’s fucked up power) was showing to have some decently large holes in it and those weren’t just put there with Roman’s shitty Probability scam. 

Virgil’s face had gone from pale to deathly pale to walking corpse pale in the matter of minutes.

Apparently not only watching Remus nod along to Fun Ideas, but also listening to Remus contribute to what is Absolutely the Best Idea They Have Ever Had was where Virgil had drawn his line in the sand and refused to cross it. But that was okay.

Virgil’s role did not exactly include him needing to be cooperative with it. Which Janus had planned for. Because he was amazing and Remus was in love.

And while part of Remus (the same part that still loved Roman for no reason, the same part that urged him to call his mother no matter how much it would hurt, the same part that was very clearly sadistic and wanted him dead in the slowest most painful ways) was rejoicing at things going back to normal, the vast majority of his psyche that wasn’t already busy swooning over how normal Janus had looked waking up in the bed next to Remus, was mourning the loss of that good happy ending for him, Janus, and Virgil that had almost seemed possible for a whole, entire second.

Remus kinda hates himself for thinking it could have been a thing, for scanning through Janus’s face to wonder if he also felt like they had taken all the wrong turns and missed the exit to that future where Virgil stays with them, chooses them, believes that together they have something that’s worth all the scary parts for.

“Remus— Remus wait— please you don’t have to do this— ” Virgil starts again, barely more than a murmur over the crowd that is around the target building. He digs his heels into the ground, but Remus just drags him along, elbowing their way through the thickets of people that apparently have nowhere else better to be and nothing better to do than gawk. The cameras are flashing, reporters from all the local news stations and a few national ones talking over each other, poster wavers protesting and applauding just about everything that can be protested and applauded, and despite it all, no one stops Remus or Virgil.

No one even looks at them twice.

“Listen to me, dickhead! There’s still time to turn back and tell Janus he can— ”

Remus’s skin feels like it might be radioactive, like he’s glowing, burning, bristling and boiling all at once and there’s not a single person who knows it. The last time he was in a crowd, it nearly killed him without anyone ever knowing what sort of things he could do, what sort of liar Roman could be, what sort of tragedy had bleed from their veins onto a car hood at 3AM.

The noise vibrates through his soul, into his bones, into his blood and it prickles the back of his neck in the way that a baby bird might get right before it’s sucked into the jet engine turbine of an economy class passenger plane.

He grips Virgil’s shoulder tightly, like a tether, pushing him along so that if Remus gets swallowed, Virgil will be right there with him. For better or worse or Death. 

“Oh my god!” Someone right next to them says, her camera inches from Remus’s face, sparkly nails glittering in the rare sun, right as he gets near the front of the line— because there’s a fucking line, jeez—  elbowing at least six people who didn’t have the brains to not be outside right now. “You’re that guy! Oh my god, you’re— !”

Last time he was in a crowd, they didn’t know who Remus was. This time the crowd is going to learn how to mind their fucking manners.

“Hey Roman!” Remus yells, dragging Virgil right in front of himself. “KNOCK KNOCK, MOTHER FUCKER!”

He gets maybe a second to see Roman’s face, the way his eyes jerk up on instinct at the sound of his name, the way that his mask hides most of his expression but not enough because he sees Remus and his mouth open in a rounded ‘o’ shape and his hand shifts to his rapier handle and, and, and. 

And then Remus is shoving his boot into Virgil’s back and kicking his hostage directly in Roman, and sending them both through the propped open doors of the grand, sparkling Public Library that the FBE had commandeered.

“This party looks boring,” Remus says loud and clear and maybe a little too excited for the flashing cameras and the screaming fans and the fight as he stands at the top of the flight of  old granite stairs. “Don’t worry, I brought some toys to spice it up!”

The news reporters surge like a tidal wave, the citizens stir up in the whirlpool of noise and signs. The police were already on site, keeping the nice little barrier between the building and the crowd so that brave souls could walk up to greet their grand hero, but the police saw Remus go toe-to-toe with Roman and everyone remembers that it ended with Remus holding a gun to Roman’s begging face.

The fear that wafts off them tastes like tear gas and his own burnt flesh. 

Behind him, further in the building was already a commotion as Virgil hit the ground limbs tangled in Roman’s, scrambling away the best he can when his arms are tied behind his back with a truly insulting amount of duct tape—Janus had found it in one of the drawers in Virgil’s kitchen while Remus had held him down with a great deal more delight than he should have had. The tumble probably left him with spotted bruises, maybe a sprained wrist, but it doesn’t matter much because the farther back he tosses himself with reckless abandon leaves him crashing into Zeal as well.

Patton Hart. The name sounds made up, bizarre and foreign in the way that Remus can’t explain so matter how long he spends staring at the high school picture online. He looks like someone, and also like no one; a combination of every friend that had chosen Roman over Remus and somehow that makes Remus feel absolutely nothing at all.

Patton melds out of the bookshelves and crowd like some concerned civilian and not someone who would commit war crimes if he was told not to think too much about it. Virgil lands almost completely in Patton’s arms, throwing all his weight into him, because he figured out about twelve hours ago that Remus is far more insane than the heathen who wears socks with sandals and shoots down innocent people during a riot.

Roman barely manages to roll back to his feet before Remus is strolling towards him grinning in a way that makes the handful of privately hired guards that were “helping” provide security to such a high profile location train their guns on him. They’re stationed strategically around the building, in more places than Janus had predicted: four along the back wall flagging the large stained glass windows, three at the check-in counters with the “doctors” two on either side of the main doors and another two on the mezzanine level above. It’s enough to make people think twice about causing trouble. There were probably more in the conference rooms where the actual testing was going on but those weren’t Remus’s concern.

They would have...other problems soon if they weren’t already facing them now.

Just like Janus said, none of these hired guards would dare start the fight themselves; not without Roman acting first, not without certainty that Remus would go down without a problem. 

And considering how the last fight almost ended (back before Remus had even a theory of what Roman’s power was), if Remus had been in their boots he’d be scared too. He’d be terrified of what a monster a Sibyl could be, what types of things they could know about him, what types of futures they’d woven out of existence. The fear would clot in his arteries until he was unable to so much as twitch his finger to pull the trigger.

“HELP! SOMEONE, HELP!” Virgil screams, hints of his sonic power turning the air to static around them. “HE’S GOT A BOMB!”

Oh, yeah. And there’s that too.

((Remus is twenty one. He’s seen people shriek over thousands of dollars worth of casino coins spilling across a playing table, seen people scream over a flambeed corpse exploding out of a jewelry shop without warning, seen people screech over a body falling from a balcony onto a car windshield at 3AM, seen people panic in a riot started on a stage by a careless superhero; and still somehow the pitch of the yelling and chaos nearly catches him off guard, reaching a crescendo that even violins in a classical symphony in a stolen car in a future that Remus didn’t choose failed to top.))

Roman stutters in his steps, unsure and doubtful and Remus shimmies his hands into the air, clearly showing off the one empty hand and the other very much full hand, spreading his jacket open so that everyone can see the vest he put together late last night, between pressing kisses into Janus’s mouth just because he could.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he says loudly and proudly and completely unhinged in every way that everyone who ever knew him had expected him to turn out. His hands aren’t shaking but he thinks they should be absolutely quivering with the urge to ruin the surprise before anyone’s properly had time to be scared, before Roman’s had a chance to dig his own grave, before Remus has been able regret not kissing Janus one more time. 

There’s a guard to his left, finger on the trigger, mouth in a firm line think, think, thinking. 

Remus beams. “You aren’t going to like what happens if you take that shot. Even in your best dreams, Princey boy can only maybe save a few of you and even then the building is firewood. That’s the problem with old places like this.”

He can’t see their eyes from under their visors— these faceless, emotionless people who could be anyone and anything from Remus’s own mother to Kyle from that casino who never found out that Remus’s bites when he kisses— but the stiff lines of their mouths make it clear they at least aren’t as trigger happy as the police were during the riot. The emblem on their shoulders is strange and threatening and very much not a good sign according to Janus: the white lotus flower looks very out of place on the deep navy blue padding and creates an interesting dichotomy to their violent, deadly weapons. Remus stares them down with his best smile. 

“But hey, I mean a 60:40 split ain’t bad!” he says. “There’s what, twenty people in here? That means about 12 people get out and the rest of us get to have an explosive end to all our days! A real bang! But of all the ways to go, I can tell you being blown up is pretty lame. Personal experience talking here: it’s over far too quickly for anyone to properly scream about it!”

“REMUS!” 

There was a time when Remus was six-seven-eight years old and the sound of Roman yelling his name meant that it was going to be a good day. There was a time when Remus was nine-ten-eleven and believed Roman called his name from love, that it was them against the world, that when Remus had nothing he would still have the brother he refused to let leave him behind. There was a time when Remus was seventeen years old and Remus would have given anything for Roman to say his name the way he used to and all he got was “I don’t need you!”

This is none of those times and Remus feels the ache of the years apart like a physical pressure in the air. Roman is there— Remus’s neck cracks when he turns his head to look at his twin— looking just the same as he was a few days ago: like a cartoon character pulled into the real world with only one obnoxiously white outfit that makes him memorable and wounds that don’t stick past a few audience laughs. Topped with a red mask, red boots, red sash— red like the blood in both their veins that doesn’t have a single difference because they both have superpowers and Remus never should have been treated differently and Why is it so hard to just believe me for once?

There’s no hints of the wounds that Remus left on him: no bandages on his forehead from the gash that had bled over his eyes, no bruising from Remus’s shoe going into his cheek, no scratch marks or scuffs on his clothes to suggest that they had ever been in a fight. Almost as if Roman would tell him that the fight a million cameras caught and streamed nationwide had never happened at all and Remus was just sick.

“And if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Remus calls with enough bite that the room seems to chill. “Hiya, Ro! Can I just say, congratulations on day three of trending on Twitter! The number two spot isn’t bad; although you aren’t used to being number two, are you? I know I’m not used to being number one!”

“Are you insane?!” Roman snaps out. His hair is gelled today, although his quick tumble knocked a bit of it out of place, so he looks like Baby’s First Prom Night With A Girl Who Asked Him Out As A Joke That He Still Thinks Is Genuine. The white of his outfit is offensive on all levels, the red accents just enough of a shade off from blood red that Remus wants to fix it for him by actually making him bleed! The golden tip of his rapier is out and ready for a fight but even with the long range, Remus is hilariously out of reach.

Maybe if Remus had come in with a gun, with a sword, with a knife or a smoke grenade it would have been a good fight, a good chance to bash his head in again and figure out if he would feel bad about Roman dying after all.

But that’s the beauty of how Janus’s mind works isn’t it? He almost laughs. 

“Didn’t we already cover this conversation, Roman?” He asks, grandly. “Come on, it's like you don’t know me at all!”

He sweeps his hands in the air, watching the way that Roman’s eyes track the remote in his hand with a focus and intensity that borders on panic. The ridiculous mask on his face might be enough to keep the public in the dark about his inner thoughts, but Remus could read Roman like a picture book: creased lips hiding the way he’s nearly biting his tongue to remind himself to keep a calm face, wrinkle between his eyes that point to him running through all the different way that he might be able to save the day heroically, a twitch of his hands that imply he’s still not very good at following directions.

At the very least Patton is keeping an eye on the crowd (twenty, Remus thinks, all with various powers or weapons and all nervous and unsure about how this is about to go and who are about to be tested in ways they have never been prepared for) that they have trapped in the building, keeping them calm with low toned orders of back up! and we’ll handle this! We’re professionals! Virgil seems all too happy to have someone else handle things: even with his hands still bound he has no problem melding back with the other hostages, still struggling at the duct tape, out of sight and out of mind. Roman doesn’t even flick his eyes over to check on any of them, as if he could magically make Remus forget anyone other than him exists through sheer force of a stare.

It feels ridiculously familiar, in the painful, stabbing way that everything that reminds him of their childhood feels painful. If he blinks at the wrong second, Remus will wake up and find himself on the school playground again after he told the wrong kid to stop running before he ends up slamming his head on the asphalt and that kid decided to take offense with Remus’s face for it.

Remus doesn’t remember the name of that kid anymore, or their hair color, the sound of their voice or the feel of their tiny stupid fist or what shards of his skull Remus had gotten to see. He remembers that Roman hadn’t been there when all the other kids had started backing up and watching with excitement that someone was finally, finally going to shut Remus up and none of the teachers stepped in until the fifth fist had landed. 

He wonders if somewhere out there that kid without a name is maybe realizing that Remus wasn’t lying about seeing him die. He wonders if that kid would feel sorry about punching him until the teachers had to pry him off Remus. He wonders if Roman really did feel sorry about not stopping it like how he had said he felt when he was helping Remus press ice packs to his body afterwards. 

He wonders if Roman remembers that day at all.

“Remus,” Roman says. “Give me the switch. Please.”

“So polite,” Remus croons.

“Remus, you don’t need to blow yourself up— ”

Remus laughs. “Oh this?” Remus says waving to his vest. “Nah, this was just for laughs. I had some Christmas lights around…You know! Reusing! I care a lot about the environment. My whole outfit is completely thrifted except for the parts that are not! But no, the real bombs are up there.”

It doesn’t take anyone more than a few seconds to see them once Remus has nudged their attention upwards: the handful of flashing blinking red lights littered across the grand opulent ceiling, at the junctions that would bring down the whole flaming ceiling on them all, clinically tested by Remus. Someone screams and its fucking music to Remus’s ears. The air buzzes with panic that just barely avoids setting off the charges with electrostatic-physics-pseudo-magic. Remus meets Virgil’s gaze head on, and nearly laughs at how Virgil leans back into Patton’s very capable, altar boy arms and desperately tries not to throw himself into an unfortunate panic attack that might get them all killed when his sonic waves interfere with the delicately placed devices.

“How…?” Roman says, flustered, red faced, and rightfully horrified.

“I know a guy, you might have met him, he goes by the name Basilisk. Tell me if this rings any bells but he can turn into literally any fucking animal, excuse my French. Public Library schematics are easily found online— bet you didn’t think that through when you chose this place to set up shop, right? And really who didn’t spend their formative teen years trying to build things that blow up? The only actual hard part of all this was tying the bombs to my sexy squirrel boyfriend so he could sneak in through the skylight.” Remus says, eyeing the nails on his free hand, tsk-ing at the chipped nail polish he hadn’t had time to fix while preparing everything for this moment.

Roman doesn’t really flinch, but the tip of his rapier inches upwards at the mention of Janus’s self-picked name, and his teeth grit together just barely short of a sneer that offends every part of Remus on a spiritual level. 

“I was here last night— ”

“Yeah, you were dealing with the molotov cocktail that was thrown through the window over there at…. nine thirty-seven give or take a few seconds,” Remus jerks a thumb over to the window that had been shattered and boarded up by the time that anyone had actually woken up for the day. “Really, this is a public library, Bro. What will the public think when they hear you didn’t even have the firemen come check the building out last night? And that instead of closing it down for today, like it should have been after an event like that, you went ahead and gave me twenty three shiny little hostages! And then we wouldn’t be having this conversation and I wouldn’t be trying to find a reason not to…let go of this button.”

Behind him, Patton, or Zeal, or Whoever He Was, whispers something to Virgil and steadily lets go of him, only glancing back once to make sure that Virgil won’t drop to his knees and brain himself on the polished wooden floors. It's a close call from the light buzzing in the air that makes Remus think of TV static. 

“Prince,” Zeal says warningly in a way that was probably meant to be a mumble but the staunch silence of the library crafted it into a local announcement. “There are people in the back conference rooms having their evaluations done.”

“Oh yeah!” Remus agrees, “Two individuals and a mother with her seven year old daughter. I can even speed up the process for you: Linda Maddock makes really great chocolates, her daughter is super sweet and I hope that the first person stupid enough to break her heart gets eaten by a panther considering her daughter can speak to animals. But honestly they freak me out, you know? I mean, a parent who cares about their child? I wouldn’t know what to do if that were me.” 

Something flashes through Zeal’s face, short and fast and Remus thinks it might have been something like pity. Remus’s body aches from a riot that he almost didn’t survive, his eyes burn from tear gas that had been avoidable, his tongue itches with all the things he wants to tell Patton Hart to do with his pity.

“That information is confidential,” Roman says in a hard voice. “How did you know— ?”

“I know a lot of things! In case it wasn’t clear before, I can see the fucking future,” Remus says. Roman shifts a foot forward, and Remus holds up the mechanism again in case his ridiculously short minded brain forgot what exactly Remus was holding over all their heads. Literally. “Though, you’ve got everyone so fucking sure they really are still back there. Where did you get your magical power scientists from, Roman? Where are their licenses? I’ve seen drug dealers with better certifications than these guys and that’s after I hacked the FBE records to find out who would be hosting these registration interviews.” 

Remus chances a glance toward Virgil, who seems to freeze like a twenty year old Remus in an eighteen wheeler's headlights. One of the other civilians must have crept over as a silent bequest of Zeal because they were working at trying to quietly undo the duct tape now.

“I hope you get shot,” Virgil hisses, although from the lack of reactions from everyone around him Remus guesses that it was a display of Virgil’s frankly impressive sound control. A special secret message for Remus and Remus alone. 

Remus winks at him and turns back to Roman. “How do you know they didn’t shuffle each of those people off into a big white van out back? How do you know those people who trusted you aren’t screaming your name right now? How do you know any of them are coming back through those doors, Roman?”

Someone is crying. Remus would feel bad, if only he hadn’t grown up being told his tears were pointless and changed nothing and didn’t make anyone feel better. His fingers ache, pinpricks of pain that feel exactly like needles being methodically slid into each of his digits.

For a moment, he thinks about just opening his hand, letting go of the remote, and watching Roman’s face go from defensive to horrified to scared-out-of-his-mind. Something to pay back for the years and years and years of terror he inflicted on Remus. An end, The End and Remus wouldn’t ever have to worry about figuring out his own emotions about a brainwashed, dumbass brother.

“Nothing is going to happen,” Roman says, very heroically. “Nothing like that is— is that what you think I’m doing here?! Kidnapping people?! You rigged the building with bombs because you think I’m kidnapping people?!”

He sounds like Remus suggested he play an extra in a Broadway musical instead of the lead. He sounds like he doesn’t think Remus is actually dangerous. He sounds like he did right before he told Remus that nothing bad was going to happen at that party four years ago. 

He sounds like he still thinks Remus doesn’t have a power. So sure, so certain, so indigent. 

“What is it about his face that makes you people trust that?” Remus asks. “Do you even hear him? Roman, do I need to spell it out? Big Shadow Government. Preppy Dancing Monkey. A list with the names and addresses of everyone who has an ability and what it is.”

“For getting resources to those that might need it!” Roman says. 

“Oh yeah, definitely not so certain people might go missing in the middle of the night. Do you also fall for Nigerian Prince phone call schemes, too? What’s your social security number?”

“What do you want, Remus,” Roman says, dangerously, less like a question and more like demanding permission to punch him in the face. Less like the actor Remus had spent seventeen years building up and more like the person who had thrown it all back in his face. Less like this façade he’d convinced everyone else is real, and more like who Remus knew he was underneath.

“Prince,” Zeal, Patton, whoever, says softly, warningly, nervously. It almost sounds like “please don’t do something stupid” and “when do I start getting paid for being your babysitter Roman?” and “why do you always get to be the center of attention when I’m just as morally unethical?”

“Stay back,” Roman tells him, with all the authority of a man who doesn’t believe a black hole would be able to kill him and Remus definitely wants to see what he would do.

“What I want,” Remus bites out, “is for you to be dead in a ditch, so disfigured that no one recognizes you and no one will remember you. But seeing as you’ve been on international TV parading around bullshit and dumbassery, I’m settling for you being dead and everyone hating you as much as I do.”

As if waiting for the right moment, the civilian helping Virgil finally manages to break through the duct tape and free him. Remus tenses his shoulders, bending his knees just so that if Virgil takes a flying lunge at him Remus can maybe dodge before his head is slammed through the polished wooden floor for all this.

But in the end Virgil just glowers at him like they hadn’t just spent three days together, practically roommates except that Remus has never paid rent before in his life and is not about to start. He looks pale and sweaty but otherwise content to slip further and further away from Remus, from the stage he’d built, from the spotlight that Remus is certain will burn them all one day (maybe even today). It really was a shame finding out that he had opinions on Self Preservation and feared Death like it was something he could avoid forever if he never did anything slightly upsetting; Remus would have loved to see what other things that voice of his could do.

But then the civilian who was helping Virgil stands up again and Remus thinks that maybe it would have been better if Virgil had knocked him into his next life.

"Oh," Remus says, because he can’t forget a death even if he tries; it doesn’t matter who it is, when it is, where it is, Remus remembers, remembers, remembers when no one else will. 

Sharp angels, pale skin, jet black hair tousled by the short sudden panic of the crowd when Remus had made his entrance but Remus only remembers all of that highlighted by humid rain and street lights of a road that he had never walked before. The man’s eyes are bright and blue and narrowed in suspicion through thick lenses with a finger print on them and Remus memorized the sound of construction workers, the feel of a weightless free fall, and the taste of a name he's never spoken. 

Maybe it’s destiny, if Remus believed in something as benevolent as that. He squeezes the deadman's switch so hard he almost thinks he crushes it. 

"Ain’t this interesting!” He says. “A dead man walking! Future corpse! How’s your life going, Logan?”

The other people shy away from Remus's sudden target, but Logan merely tips his head to the side without an ounce of fear towards the situation he’s currently in. There's less than ten feet between them, the ceiling rigged with all sorts of flashing lights that he and Janus spent a decent amount of time orchestrating; there's no reason he shouldn't be afraid, there’s no reason that he should know that he dies somewhere else some time else, there’s no reason that Remus should like that. 

Unafraid people do unexpected things. Unafraid people think they know everything. Unafraid people tell Remus he can’t see the future and then ruin his life a million times over because they don’t know what it’s like to feel blood between their fingers and realize that every death is preventable if Remus kills himself enough for it and somehow that makes his life worth less than theirs.

"Is there something you need from me?" Logan asks neutrally. "Or rather any of us here. I believe that if you have drama to work out with... whatever The Prince is to you, then you have no need to keep any of the rest of us from our daily lives. This whole thing is already ridiculous without you wasting our time." 

And Remus does believe it’s ridiculous and that he’s wasting their time. That’s the whole point of this; dragging each second out as far as he can take it and milking their attention for as much exposure time as he can. He wants this attention, he wants to be seen, he wants Roman to see him and there’s something about Logan’s gaze that doesn’t sit right with Remus so he--

--blinks. 

"In fact," Logan continues, quite confident for someone who might not survive to see the sun again. "This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once." 

Remus, who had talked before, who had screamed, who had begged and cried and argued before, sings, "Oh, I sincerely doubt that."

Logan's eyes dart to the side glancing at the other hostages just for a second and the boy he's with, the young man with a Starbucks cup who's name Remus never learned shakes his head subtly. Logan clicks his tongue in something akin to disappointment or distaste, and sets his gaze back on Remus. 

"I will try again then," Logan says, standing straighter, shoulders squared and spine far stronger than Roman’s had ever been. "Based on your previous actions and reactions, you don't have any actual motivation or urge to hurt anyone other than The Prince, and perhaps Zeal, although I doubt that as well. So you will step away from us and you will avoid hurting civilians in your endeavors to continue... this charade you have set up here. In fact, you will cease your performance because you do not believe it has any purpose in helping your ultimate cause of The Prince’s death."

Remus blinks, almost about to laugh, almost about to ask what Logan thinks this is going to accomplish, almost about to go back to Roman and Zeal and The Plan when his grip loosens and the remote falls into the empty air so much like a body tumbling down a manhole that Remus can do nothing but stare at it and wonder what the fuck just happened. 

Logan smiles at him, smugly, condescendingly, pompously, and that’s the last thing Remus sees before Roman is hurtling into him like a freight train.-- 

--blinks.

 “In fact—” 

“Stop,” Remus, who had talked before, who had screamed, who had begged and cried and argued before, blurts out like his ribs didn’t nearly snap from the force of a blow that never happened. “What the fuck was that?”

Logan's eyes dart to the side glancing at the other hostages just for a second and the boy he's with, the young man with a Starbucks cup who's name Remus never learned looks just as bewildered as everyone else. 

“I see,” Logan says slowly, a smile creeping across his face like a scythe glinting in the moonlight. “So it did work. Fascinating. This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once.” 

“No,” Remus says.

Logan’s eyes narrow. He takes a step forward like he doesn’t even notice Patton or Roman telling him to stop. His back straightens, and he towers and the people behind him inhale sharply and stare at him as if he’s lost his mind. “You’re angry. You’re angry and you don’t think anything will change no matter what you do. It won’t, not like this. Not even you believe this will actually change anything about how The Prince sees you. So you will step away from us and you will avoid hurting civilians in your endeavors to continue.”

“Logan,” the kid warns.

“In fact, you will cease your performance because you do not believe it has any purpose in helping your ultimate cause of The Prince’s death," Logan continues so certain, so convinced, so unchangeable.

Remus’s grip loosens and the remote falls into the empty air so much like a body tumbling down a manhole that Remus can do nothing but lunge for it again and brace for Roman diving into him like a wrecking ball.--

--shifts his weight to the side, favoring the ribs that aren’t broken, the leg that isn’t sprained, the arm that doesn’t feel dislocated. “You changed the script that time,” Remus says more to himself than to Logan. “Why did you change the script?”

“In fact— Pardon?” Logan says cut off from what he was saying. 

“Your power,” Remus says, ignoring Roman’s claims for his attention. “Phrase activated? You changed the script but not all of it. Why didn’t you change all of it?”

Logan seems to realize something, his chin shifting slightly, and his voice raising. He straightens his back and steps forward and the people behind him shift behind him like Logan’s flimsy little body will protect them from a bomb. “You don’t think you can win this without your power. No one in this room thinks you can win this without your power. Zeal and The Prince will attack right now because they are heroes and they can beat you.”

Remus’s mouth opens, but before he can make a sound, Roman is slamming into him, toppling them both to the ground and the remote skids out from Remus’s hand. --

--jerks reflectively from the impact that doesn’t happen. 

”In fact— ” 

“What’s your power?” Remus interrupts. “Voice activated? No, bitch, eyes on me. What is your stupid ass power?”

There are a billion seconds between them, a gazillion decisions to be made and Remus’s throat feels as dry as a polar desert. Each breath pricks at his skin, yanking at the invisible seams holding him together in a future that Remus isn’t going to live through and Logan steps forward like he feels it too.

Logan’s too sharp, too keen, too knowing eyes dart back to Remus quick and lethal and evaluating. “...I don’t think I should tell you that.”

“Remus!” Roman says from miles and eons and dimensions away. “Your issue is with me!”

“Not anymore,” Remus says and nearly laughs because he knew there were going to be problems in this plan, he knew there were going to be mistakes and consequences and Remus wasn’t going to be able to rely on anyone to help but staring at Logan feels like staring at an exploding sun that’s collateral damage is so vast there’s no one left to acknowledge it.

Remus swore he wouldn’t die, Remus swore he wouldn’t use this power stupidly but Logan’s eyes are narrowing. When Logan’s mouth opens it feels like he’s talking to every version of Remus that has ever died, every version of Remus that wanted to live, every version of Remus that stood in a gas station bathroom clutching the grimy sink and staring at himself in a mirror with a giddy grin left over from being run over that first time.

 “How many times are you going to go through this, Remus?”--

--grins with all his teeth.

”In fact— ” Logan continues and then he doesn’t because Remus is lunging the distance between them without warning. He slams his fist into Logan’s face, knuckles scraping against Logan’s perfect teeth, shoving all those perfect words back into his mouth. He hears the wind go out of the room, the sudden stillness of shock, and the buzz of panic and click of seventeen triggers being pulled.

“Did I say you could talk?” Remus snarls, and that’s the last thing he says before his inner organs all explode at the same time from a dozen dimestore guard’s guns.

He does not hear Roman scream his name. But then again… he’s not hearing anything anymore.--

--immediately knows that Logan has fucked up Janus’s plan to high hell.

"I'm wasting your time? What do you have to do so urgently, Logan?” Remus asks like his ribs didn’t nearly snap from the force of a blow that never happened, his lungs aren’t punctured with bullet wounds that tore through his body like paper, like his nose isn’t suddenly stuffed up with more blood than the rest of his corpse. “Die?”

“Remus!” Roman snarls. “Your issue is with me! Leave everyone else out of it!”

Logan frowns, eyes narrowed and lips pinched into a mostly straight line that reminds Remus of the polished lid of a coffin right before it’s lowered into the ground. The bees in his guts swarm up to his ribs, flitting between his lungs until he has to focus to breathe regularly and not scream.

“Do you know you die from falling down an open manhole?” Remus asks, ignoring Roman entirely. “Completely avoidable! If only you or your brother were paying slightly more attention!”

Said brother (younger, stupider, better) freezes at the comment, eyes hidden behind those aviator glasses that reflect Remus’s own silhouette right back at him. His iced coffee is clutched in his hand, still half full, with ice cubes clinking together silently compared to the rumbling tension in the room.

Roman’s signature is not on it. Remus isn’t sure why that makes him want to fucking laugh.

“You die, nerd,” he says. “No do overs. No take backs. No— ”

“I didn’t,” Logan cuts in.

“You will.”

“You are misunderstanding,” Logan says loudly, taking a step forward in the way that makes several other people whimper and scoot back behind him like a shield they could trust to protect them and Remus clenches the deadman’s switch in his hand tighter.

“Logan,” his brother hisses. “You can’t talk away a bomb!”

But Logan doesn’t even look back. He’s nearly Remus’s height, with the edges of his black trench coat sweeping around his calves when his slightly scuffed formal shoes, and Remus doesn’t exactly feel like a frog on a dissection table but it’s a near and very interesting thing and he thinks that Janus would either fall hopelessly in love with Logan or put his claws through Logan’s lungs with no in-between.

“I did not die,” Logan says, slowly and pointedly like the teachers who thought that because Remus claimed to see the future that meant he was stupid because he didn’t see their pop quizzes coming enough to study for them. “Although I’m unsure how your power works, when we ran into each other previously you granted me the vision of my death. Yesterday, the event played nearly the same as what I had seen: I had taken off my glasses to clean them from the rain and the second before I had fallen, I caught myself. I was able to circumnavigate the manhole.”

There’s a beat where Remus is certain that the entire world freezes: the space of air that rings between the tick and the tock, the breath before a scream, the white nothingness that comes after Zeal hits him with his power.

There’s part of a scoff deep in his chest that trembles like an earthquake that only Remus can feel. 

“It was like Deja Vu,” Logan says, simply, clinically.

--”I didn’t say anything about rain. I didn’t say anything about you taking off your glasses. I didn’t say anything— ”--

--”Did you feel your death? Did your brother? Did he cry? What’s his name?”--

--”How did you see that? What did you do that hundreds of other people have never been able to do? Why did you get to live?!”--

--”What the hell makes you so FUCKING special?”--

--”THIS IS MY POWER! WHY DON’T I GET TO CONTROL WHO SEES THE FUTURE?!”--

There’s pressure in the back of Remus’s throat and it tastes like rainwater when he swallows. He instinctively drags his free hand under his nose, barely acknowledging the lack of real blood before he acknowledges the fury bubbling in his soul. 

Logan stands in front of him, unbothered by his own death, untouched by the fear that people liked to look at Remus with, unchanged by the fact that he knows Remus has a power and what kind of bullshit is that?! Why of all the people, of all the times, of all the futures, why is it Logan who believes him? Why is it Logan who could see it?

((Remus is twenty one, but for a blink he feels like he’s thirteen again cornered in the boys locker room after gym with the other boys pressing him to tell them if one of the girls will say yes if they ask her out, and how does he know, is he sure, where’s your proof, Remus? Come on there’s gotta be something, I think you’re holding out on us, maybe this is jog your memory— ))

Remus’s laughter sounds like getting hit by a bullet train. “Deja Vu! Ha! Good one! Okay, nerd! You seem decently smart. Riddle me this: why did you choose to spend the rest of your life? At the FBE? You dragged your brother all the way out here, too?”

Logan’s expression flickers further towards annoyance. “All persons with extraordinary abilities are required by law— ”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Remus says. “If all the other kids were jumping off the bridge would you jump too? Here’s a hint: water from a 25 foot drop can still feel like concrete if you do it right enough.”

“Don’t you mean ‘wrong enough’?” Zeal asks, looking queasy.

“Do I look like the type of person who means ‘wrong enough’, bitch?” Remus says. “Oh come on, Pattie! You saw me in that crowd! I was less than a foot from you and I died three times in ways that were directly your fucking fault.”

“Remus!” Roman cries again, stepping forward even as his precious sidekick pales further. 

“I believe we have entertained this far long enough,” Logan cuts in. He takes another step forward, gently pressing his glasses back up his nose, and Remus wants to know if he smells like rainwater and concrete. His voice is an orchestra that catches everyone’s attention, including Roman’s, and for someone who is not a hero parading around on TV and taking autographs, Logan looks perfectly in his element. “This entire thing will be resolved if you put down the weapon and try talking for once.” 

“You’re right!” Remus says, twitching his nose as he feels the pressure of a nosebleed already starting to form. The right side of his body aches from the collision course Roman seems to be itching to throw them into, but he forces his muscles to tense and not give it away to anyone. “I am wasting your time. I’m wasting everyone’s time, aren’t I, Logan? Let’s stop with the pleasantries! You want me to talk so much, then I’ll talk! Congratulations, everyone! Welcome to the trial!” Remus announces, as loudly as he can. His voice dances off the aching antique building making him impossible to mishear, much less ignore. 

“You’ve been selected for jury duty and you don’t get to opt out. And Logan, you just got promoted to the fucking chairman! So take a step back and shut the fuck up.”

Zeal takes an audible breath, drawing Remus’s attention like a snap. “I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here! Remus, if you have a power, we can get it documented right here! It will be official for everyone to see. All you have to do is hand over the remote and let us deactivate the bombs and get these people out of here. I promise.”

He offers out a hand gently to Remus as if he were a wild animal that just needed the healing power of God to fix whatever was wrong with him. Remus thinks about biting into his hand, chomping down until Zeal is screaming, until the bones shatter, until Remus is tasting blood that isn’t his own.

“Hard pass,” Remus says. “I can print out a certificate of Fucked Up-ness at Staples.”

“Where is, uhm, Basilisk?” Zeal says, undeterred, and Remus remembers that expression from when a taser latched into his spine and killed him, from when he was looking at a wind maker and stole their power, from when he looked at Janus and raised his hand and Janus dropped like a brick. “He— or they— seemed to be more… uhm…”

Remus’s jaw pinches. “I don’t have him GPS tagged. Why? Do you think he’s a better conversationalist than me? I think I’m offended, Altar Boy. Almost enough to just....”

He twitches his wrist and both Roman and Zeal jerk forward with twin looks of panic on their faces. That’s only aborted when Remus yanks the remote back and raises an eyebrow at both of them.

Logan purses his lips and checks his watch as if he has an appointment he’s going to be late for.

“Just kidding,” Remus says, cheerily. “If we did that, then no one would have time to hate you as much as I do!”

Roman’s eyes flicker green, little lights that remind Remus of all the Christmases where Roman got everything on his wishlist and Remus got a new pair of shoes. The sight of it makes Remus’s teeth hurt, makes his stomach roll, makes the acrimony in his chest grow like a tumor that hasn’t figured out if it's going to kill Remus yet. 

Roman puffs his chest. “If this is about me then let everyone else leave!”

“But it’s not!” Remus smiles. “It’s not about you, Roman. Despite how every other thing in our lives has turned out, not everything is about you, specifically!”

Roman grits his teeth, "Really?" He waves his arms around. "Because it feels a lot like it’s all about me right now! It’s time to end this Remus! Give me the remote, and we can get you help. See a specialist— "

"Been there! Done that!" Remus says. "Or did you forget how many meds my specialists would put me on no matter how many times I told them it wasn’t like that? Did you forget how Mom would grab my hair, yank my head back, and force pill after pill after pill into my mouth before school? How she'd stick her fingers in my mouth to make sure I didn't hide them under my tongue, because she didn’t trust me? How she called the school to assign a teacher to watch me when we got to the building to make sure I didn't head straight to the restrooms to throw it all back up? Because surely that was the only reason I wasn’t getting better." 

There’s a silence in the room that Remus wasn’t expecting. A stiffness that swallows the entire Library that makes the books and the shelves and the aching, ancient walls seem like they’re suddenly listening to Remus too.

"What?" Zeal  whispers. 

"Is he telling the truth?" Logan asks Roman, and probably for the first time looks like he isn’t trying to storm back out the doors. 

"That’s like...that's gotta be illegal," Virgil adds. "So illegal. Oh my god, I'm gonna throw up." 

((“Do you really think that you can keep your brother talking about himself for that long? Surely even he runs out of things he likes about himself,” Janus had asked a million years ago and a few hours ago and five seconds ago, while holding the fourth rough draft of their plan in his hands. And Remus had nearly snorted that last of Virgil’s tin roof sundae ice cream out his nose.

“I’m not going to be talking about him,” Remus, who was confident, who was in love, who knew Roman more than he knew himself, who was twenty one and stupid and so tired of hurting, says. “I’m going to be talking about me.”))

“Where were you, Roman?” Remus asks just to push, push, pushhhhh. “How could my life have been a living nightmare for every single day and you didn't notice at all? I was begging for someone to save me!”

The crowd shifts and mumbles and Remus can feel their apprehension rising like a hot air balloon in the middle of the library. Roman can probably feel it too.

“You didn’t— I wasn’t— ” Roman stutters like he’s looking for someone to break into the conversation and call out the line he forgot was in the script.

Remus just stares at him, a smile plastered to his face like a mask when everything underneath it felt he was being boiled alive. Brainwashed or not, someone else holding the strings or not, eleven minutes between them or not, this tastes like relief.

"Oh yeah?" Roman snarls, and just like that the hero persona finally evaporates, folding and twisting and warping Roman into someone completely different and very familiar and I’m sorry they like me more than you! Maybe if you weren’t such a freak you would have been invited too!

"Where were you, Remus? You want to pretend to be the victim here? Want to act like you've never done anything wrong? Where were you when I was drowning under Mom’s expectations of a perfect son? Where were you when every single mistake I made was turned into a world ending event by her? Where were you when my power lashed out and got Dad killed?!" 

"Getting run over on I-90 probably," Remus says. "Guess it depends on when he died. I could have been dropping toasters in the bathtub in a hotel in South Dakota or screwing up parkour in Chicago, too." 

"Is everything a joke to you?" 

"Do I look like I’m laughing?" Remus laughs. "Why should I be sad about the death of the man who couldn't look me in the eyes for our ninth birthday?" 

Because Remus had been nine years old and only eleven minutes younger and Roman had gotten to choose the cake flavor for them because Remus had seen Dad trip off the ladder when pulling their presents out from the hiding place in the attic and hadn't been able to stop crying all day. Because Remus had been nine years old and only eleven minutes younger and he’d heard Dad read Roman a bedtime story in his bedroom and then listened to the steps pass right by Remus’s room. Because he’d been nine years old and after that first diagnosis from his psychiatrist, after the first round of pills that hadn’t worked, after that first time that they hadn’t listened to him, their dad had disappeared out of Remus’s life. 

As quiet as a ghost.

((Remus didn’t know he was dead, dead, dead and in the ground. Gone and never coming back. Burned to ashes and scattered into the wind. Six feet under in a cemetery that Remus will never visit. Some part of him (the part that remembers bedtime stories read in silly voices, forehead kisses and hair ruffles, and hugs so big that Remus could disappear into them and forget about seeing blood on bumpers of silver sedans) howls.))

“Really, Roman,” Remus says, when Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information anymore than Remus knows what to do with it. His voice doesn’t shake, his throat doesn’t burn, and his hand doesn’t let go of the remote just to reach forward and strangle Roman to death, but Virgil is staring at him and Remus knows he’s not completely fooling everyone. “If you want to throw the victim card back and forth we can, but you aren’t going to win. You don’t get it. Whatever happened, whatever bad thing occurred you always fucking had someone who cared about you. You had Mom. You had teachers. Doctors. Friends. Other students. Do you know what I had?”

((A snowglobe. An eighteen wheeler. A toaster. A noose, scissors, keys, a freefall—))

“An incorrect diagnosis,” Remus says. “That wrecked my entire life.”

“It’s not incorrect!” Roman snaps. “You—!"

“Even if it wasn’t! Even if I couldn’t see the future, do you still think any of the way you treated me for my entire fucking life was fair? That it was fine? That it was good and role model worthy and you deserve to be looked up to?!” Remus yells, his voice echoing in the cavernous hall, maybe shaking, maybe cracking. “Do you?!”

Roman takes a step back and Remus takes a step forward.

"I was eight years old, Roman!" Remus yells, "I saw my brother die! I was scared and I was asking for help in the only way I knew how to!" 

"You were making it up for attention! Just like you’ve always done! Just like you're doing here! Now!" Roman says hotly, eyes burning, burning, burning. "You haven’t changed a bit, Remus!" 

“He’s going to get everyone blown up,” Virgil strangles out.

Patton seems to be of the same opinion from how he calls out Romans name, barely more than a begging whimper of a catholic school child desperately trying to convince someone to avoid hell by just… not being gay.

Roman doesn’t spare him a look, and Remus soaks up the attention like a sponge. If Remus was capable of being embarrassed he thinks he might be embarrassed at how delightfully his lungs fill up when Roman is glaring at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

But hey, if Roman wants to dig a grave, who is Remus to stop him this time? Or all the times before this? All the times that never happened?

Who is Remus to shy away from all the things that Roman had grown into long before seventeen year old Remus had left him behind?

“Did it ever occur to you that I hadn’t been?” Remus asks, because if he has enough air to breathe he has enough air to twist his own words into a noose to hang himself. “Did you ever wonder if maybe you weren’t so special, Roman? Did you ever think I was worth the air I breathe?”

Roman doesn’t answer. Roman doesn’t answer and it feels like an answer all by itself. Remus’s freefall is ending in a collision, his thundering heart is exploding in his chest, his soul is finally finding that rest in the suddenly overwhelming static silence around them.

“I thought the world of you,” Remus says and he means it. “Some hero you turned out to be.”

He twists his wrist, shaking the remote between them.

“Okay, this is ridiculous!” Logan finally snaps out and Remus knows enough about wearing out people’s patience to know he reached the end of Logan’s. “Why are we even entertaining any of this?!”

Logan shoves a pointed finger at Roman and Remus. “You! And you! Both need therapy! Not to be jumping around like… like sophomoric imbeciles content to utterly disrupt the rest of our lives because of your puerile communication skills! Remus, I am sorry that your childhood was terrible, but it is not my job to facilitate or placate your uncouth attempts to find closure for the undoubtedly distressing attacks made against you by ignoramuses in your life. This entire farce is the exact reason why he is so confident in his ridiculously shallow minded insistence that you have no empathy, and you are smart enough to know that, which leads me to the conclusion that you are just wasting my personal time while you stall for Basilisk to finish whatever activity he’s been executing in the back area of this Library! And one! More! Thing!”

Remus’s mouth opens, a hundred billion futures rolling off his tongue, tripping on his molars, jumbling around in his throat all in the blink of an eye, in the pause of a breath, in the space between heart beats and still Remus isn’t fast enough to stop Logan from talking.

“—the bombs aren’t even real!” Logan yells furiously. “They are just flickering Christmas lights wrapped around probably empty boxes held together with duct tape!”

The entire globe seems to stop, and Remus can feel the jolt under his feet. Every noise seems to funnel directly out of existence before it can manifest. Remus’s lips ache from his grin, but there’s not a single part of him that is smiling.

“Why would you do that, Logan,” Remus says. “You ruined the surprise.”

“What?” Roman echoes. “They’re fake?”

“I never said they were real,” Remus says, with a shrug, shifting his weight back. “I never even said I had a bomb! Everyone really is just willing to believe the worst things about me. Honestly I think I’m offended! Seriously! What have I ever done to make all these very wonderful hostages believe I’m capable of building a bomb, much less a dozen of them? And then get them into this building without anyone noticing at all? Shame on you! And Jannie, I’m running out of topics to go through so if at any moment you'd like to finish up before Igetmybrainssplattered—"

Remus lunges to the side, just in time to avoid Roman’s lunge with his rapier, and then the deafening boom of gunfire hits the air he would have been if he were slightly slower. The glass doors crack and shatter and the screams start up again bouncing off the walls like thousands of firecracker filled pinballs.

“Hey PitPat!” Remus says, “Catch!” 

Patton’s eyes widen and he panics for a whole second, with the wispy white light flicking out like the world’s most disappointing trick candles. Remus doesn’t give him time to figure out the rest, flicking the remote in his hand into the air, to give sweet, sweet relief to his cramped wrist.

Patton lunges forward rolling on the ground and Remus doesn’t wait to see if he actually caught it in his illogical distress. He grabs Roman’s rapier wrist and twists around him before the next round of bullets can find a target, shoving Roman’s hand in between his shoulder blades, in a way that he knows hurts.

“You’re brainwashed,” Remus snarls right into Roman ear. 

“And you’re fucking insane!” Roman yells right back. The world floods green and R--

--oman’s center of gravity drops as he curls forward, throwing Remus back into the line of fire, head over heels and several thousand curses on his tongue. The edge of the rapier scrapes the side of his neck, hot and blood and someone is screaming his name, harsh and violent and gratingly hopelessly worried. The vest takes two shots like fucking swords slamming into his already struggling lungs and Remus looks up just in time to see the next one inches from his fa--

--oman’s center of gravity drops as he curls forward, throwing Remus’s body over him like he weighs absolutely nothing and means even less to him. He twists his neck to side, barely avoiding the blade edge and someone screams his name like a prayer, like a call to a god that is not listening, like a beg to Roman to think for once in his fucking life. Remus’s lungs take two punches to them, and leaves him g-g-gasping for air where there is none. He spits out a curse right before that last bullet drives right through his jaw and everything around him explodes--

--emus lets go of Roman before he can leverage Remus into the air. His body rolls to the side, avoiding the bullets that send the crowds both outside and inside into a panicking screeching riot. 

“REMY!” Logan screams and now he doesn’t sound anything like the bold character who talked his way into getting Remus murdered.

Remus’s ankle catches on the floor tripping him into the polished hard wood so hard his teeth crack and his mouth blooms with blood, blood, blood. Bullets slam into his back, his shoulder blade, his spine tearing through the padding, and Remus catches sight of black combat boots in a forgotten iced coffee mixed with something far too scarlet to be anything but blood--

--emus lets go of Roman before he can leverage Remus into the air, and then he shoves him forward with all the strength that he can manage. The bullets freeze, terrified of hitting their own superhero, and Remus watches as Roman stumbles directly into Virgil’s arms, watches the way that Roman gathers his balance, his mouth curls into a grim thank you, as he shifts to turn back to Remus because like usual he’s not looking at the right mouth because Remus hates Roman but there’s someone who hates him more right there--

--emus throws himself away from Roman with enough force that Roman goes stumbling directly into the line of fire that had previously been marked as Remus’s. The bullets freeze in the air, too worried, terrified, petrified at the idea of tearing through Roman’s precious paper skin. Remus chokes on his blood, spitting it out of his mouth before it causes him to vomit, his head riiiiiinging with the sounds of gunshots and screams from futures that aren’t going to happen and ones that are. 

Roman stumbles into Virgil, his rapier nearly tumbling to the ground from his twisted wrist. Virgil’s eyes widen, the whites gleaming in the artificial light. Remus feels the seconds grind to halt; everything happening so fast that his brain-mind-thoughts are moving hundreds of times faster than the events around them, than how rapidly his own body can move, than how quickly anyone else can seem to comprehend what is going to happen.

“It’s time to pick a side!” Remus yells, taking steps back. “Aren’t you tired of hiding? Of being alone?”

“It’s over Remus!” Roman shouts, eyes glowing green, green, green.

There’s an inhale.

Virgil has startling brown eyes, with speckles of purple in them. 

Exhale.

“Aren’t you tired of being scared of Death?” Remus asks. 

“You’re the worst,” Virgil says clear as day, voice vibrating through the air like a sword slashing away all the other sound, his body moving as fluidly as air.

Roman has half a second, a fourth of a second, an eighth of a second to turn back at the sudden noise distortion— it’s not even enough to recognize how Virgil’s fingers hooked his mask and dragged it down and how his tongue rolls wetly over his thin lips before they open and—

Remus only has half of a second, a fourth of a second, and eighth of a second, to dive the fuck out of the way before the static air slams Roman at him like a brick wall. A catapult of Red and White and Regis flings over his shoulder and Remus can’t stop himself from gawking at Roman slams into a shelf of books and topples it. 

“Great!” Virgil yells, “They’re going to revoke my library card now!”

But all Remus can do is laugh.

The nearest hired guard turns their gun towards Virgil and Virgil swears on Remus’s mother, as he throws up his arms like that would defend against a bullet to his face.

But before they can pull the trigger, another man appears from the back halls where the conference rooms were, wearing a doctor’s lab coat and glasses with graying out hair and charges recklessly right in between the guard and Virgil. The man is screaming something that Remus can’t quite make out with all the static noise in the air but from the way that man points behind him and Remus can’t help the grin on his face.

The guard hesitates for a moment looking where the doctor points and well…that’s all the time that Dr. Janus Witchall needs before he’s driving his knee into the man’s gut, just under his chest protector. The gun falls from the man’s hands and Janus spins and kicks him in the head like some type of martial artist master in a lab coat and Remus is swooning.

 “Apologies, darling,” Janus says, scales dancing along his cheeks, as he pulls off the wire rimmed glasses and tosses them carelessly over his shoulder. His hair swoops back to the blond he prefers, and it’s like looking at a sophisticated version of Janus that had been forced to go to Med School instead of being forced to kill his only friend. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long.”

“Basilisk!” Zeal yells, sounding wounded, sounding hurt, sounding betrayed. “What did you— ”

Janus smiles sweetly. “Relax, Patton. I left your doctors with some very lovely headaches. Please don’t blame Mrs. Maddock too much; her daughter thought it was really funny when I told her I wanted to play a prank on her mom. Poor woman fainted the moment I grew a tail.”

Remus actually had the strong suspicion that it was less of the woman fainting and more of her sitting quietly as Janus knocked out the doctor and stole his clothes, considering she hated the whole FBE registration requirement with all of her heart and when Janus had visited her with about $30,000 in cash asking to dress up as her daughter, the woman had pushed the backpack away and said he could do it for free if he made sure to punch Roman in the face. Remus would even bet real money that the woman had calmly discussed tea flavors with Janus as he tied her up to make it look like she’d been caught by surprise.

Remus didn’t respect a lot of people, but Linda Maddock was probably one of his new favorite people.

Remus laughs bubbling like blood flavored champagne in his chest. “I was worried you were going to miss the party!”

Janus cartwheels over himself, driving his heel into the face of a hired gunman so hard the visor shatters and the man screams despite the No Talking sign right next to them. Even in the form of a forty seven year old, he moves with all the grace and fluidity of his regular self. “Why do all your parties involve you covered in blood?”

“I think it’s really sexy of me to still be breathing right now!”

“Can the two of you flirt some other time?!” Virgil snarls ducking under a table and clamping his headphones to his head as Zeal’s power misses him by inches. “Son of a bitch!” 

The remaining glass windows shatter at his exclamation, knocking several more gunmen to the ground away from him but Virgil very much looks like he didn’t even notice them approaching. He squeezes his eyes close, gritting his teeth, and curls up like he jumped on a live grenade.

“Just fucking get out of here already!” 

Janus meets Remus’s eyes, gaze calculating with a question that Remus has already answered again and again and again. 

“Come now, Dearest,” Janus says without needing to look at Virgil. “You chose us, didn’t you? Why would we leave without you?”

“Fuck you!”

“Asshole!” Roman explodes out of the pile of books that Virgil acquainted his stupid perfect face with. Remus laughs, dodging forward out of the way of Roman’s recovery rapier slash by inches, centimeters, breaths.

Roman presses forward, blocking Remus out of his escape with that stupid sword of his, nearly nicking Remus’s fishnets, and Remus grabs a book from a shelf and throws it at his face before sliding around the aisle. Several of the civilians had launched this way when the gunfire had started and Remus didn’t, doesn’t, won't have a plan but he reaches out and is grabbing the first person he sees and yanking them in front of him as a barrier between him and Roman.

“You wouldn’t hurt a civilian!” Remus says facing Roman, gripping the kid— ah fuck it was the kid form Logan’s futures, the one with the glasses and the ice coffee, the one that wanted Roman’s signature in a future that Remus hadn’t realized didn’t happen until it was too late. 

The kid— Remy? Remy— was just tall enough to be annoying, with Remus’s hold on his throat from behind causing the kid’s spine to bend awkwardly at an angle that did not do either of them any favors. But even with him struggling like a fish on a hook, and Remus’s heart pounding like a drum at how Roman blocked him off from joining up with Janus and Virgil to get the fuck out of here.

Roman pants, snarling but doesn’t attack. “You dishonorable— ”

“Sorry, I wasn’t afforded a childhood that allowed me to have honor,” Remus says dragging Remy and himself back another several steps, and ignoring the sound of something crunching under his boot.

Remy, Logan’s brother, swears and claws at Remus’s arm.

“Shut up and work with me if you don’t want to die,” Remus growls under his breath.

“Bitch!” The boy spat out. “Those were my favorite glasses!” 

To their left, a guard flings through the air and crashes through the elegant stained glass windows and into the crowd outside. Roman throws his arms up to protect himself from the onslaught of sound vibrations and books tumbling off the shelves.

Remus spits blood out of his mouth and grabs the collar of Remy’s jacket and hoists him through the nearest door away from Roman. He shoves the kid forward and yanks the door closed behind them, swirling around to find something to block it with. Except that, Remus’s lungs scream when he recognizes the bland concrete stairwell that must lead up to the mezzanine level, and that his hostage had already scrambled up the first half flight while Remus was wasting his time. 

Remus takes the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way that the fight rings and echoes in the confines around him. He scoops up Remy again, catching him before the fist can land in his face and tripping the kid before he can get any good contact with Remus’s shins.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to actually fight?” Remus asks.

“Girl, I’m too cute to be involved in fights!” the kid says. “Let go, man! Logan will— ” 

Remus kicks open the door to the mezzanine floor, ducking out of the way of several stray bullets before he drags Remy out with him. He feels like the air is shattering, like gravity is working from every direction to tear his limbs apart, like every single one of the bullets that whizzed by had actually exploded through his rib cage. 

Remus had only glanced at the mezzanine floor when he had been looking at the floor plans, plotting where he and Janus could place the fake bombs while everyone was concerned about the little fire up front. When he had come inside the library there had been two guards up on the level watching with a critical eye but the cavernous layout of the main entrance made the “bombs” still too far away to make out. 

Virgil’s sound vibrations had knocked one of them to the floor so hard he’d been knocked out, and Remus didn’t see the other one, though he kept Remy pinned in front of him as he checked the shelves with a quick look and then analyzed the fight down below.

The drop is close to twenty feet, and Remus has jumped, skipped, fallen, danced off higher, but his stomach churns at the sight. 

Remus swears under his breath, “This is not where I want to be.”

The blood in the back of his throat tastes like death, like his esophagus had suddenly decided to go through emergency surgery, like his stomach acids had suddenly gotten formed a union and were rebelling against working conditions. He could jump, leave Remy right up here for Roman to console, he could jump and roll and only shatter his leg into a billion ways. He could fall and break his neck, he could spring and belly flop and hope that Janus could move fast enough to catch him. 

Janus flips, swinging a tail around behind him to knock two different attackers in their throats. He might be able to grow wings if Remus tested his adrenaline enough, but Janus moving so fast would…. well…Virgil is back-to-back with him, hands raised and every projectile shot towards him slams to a stop and drops to the ground as if there was an invisible wall in front of him. If Janus chose to save Remus, Virgil’s back wouldn’t be protected.

“LOGAN!” Remy screams from Remus’s arms and from the awkward angle behind the receptionist desk Logan’s face pops up in distress.

Janus yells something to Zeal, but it's Logan’s cadence that answers back. 

“Yo, Banshee!” Remus yells ducking as the bookshelf holding Eastern European history books explodes under gunfire. “Flood the building with white noise!”

“What?!” Virgil screams. “Do I look like a white noise machine to you?!”

“Logan’s power is voice-fucking-activated!” Remus yells back, hauling Remy up when he trips on the threadbare carpet. “Shut him up before he says something worthwhile!”

Virgil doesn’t respond but it doesn’t matter much because Remus’s ears are ringing and he can hear the door behind them slam open with Roman’s signature heroic entrance and Remus is out of time. 

“There’s nowhere to go, Remus!” Roman yells.

Remus shouldn’t look. Remus shouldn’t look. Remus shouldn’t look anywhere but at Janus who is so far down below yelling out something about a plan, but at Virgil who is nodding to him, but at his own future because he promised himself he’d stop dying when he didn’t need to and if he dies than everything about this was just wasted time.

But then in front of him, miles away and only twenty feet at the same time, Roman is screaming his name from across the ocean of wood floors, furious and angry and green eyes alight and--

--And Roman is standing there in the kitchen, winded, out of breath, his lips on the cusp of a smile that Remus hasn’t seen ever directed at him since they were eight years old and didn’t know about five words or silver sedans or how alone sharing a room could feel. He looks happy, lovely, free; like who he would have been, if Remus hadn’t loved him with all that he was. The sunlight pouring in from between the curtain windows paints him like a golden angel, like a god blessed hero, like something more than Roman Regis. 

It matches the blood stain on this chest.-- 

-- and that green light washes over the mezzanine level diving right into the ancient, antique wood boards with all the grace of a pretty ineffective light show, and Remus has his mouth open to stall for more time, any more time, any time he can get before he has to admit he failed.

The entire building shakes from the sound vibrations Virgil is sending off, and Remus is holding a child hostage in front of him and there are no kitchens here and Roman probably deserves it if he was going to be shot dead suddenly and Remus’s skin is breaking out in goosebumps and his throat is sore and he thinks that all the screaming in the world will probably never reach Roman if nothing else today had. 

“D-don’t come closer, Roman!”

But Roman is looking at the ground with a wide eyed, panicked expression. “Wait, Remus— !”

Remus’s foot slides back the last step.The railing is digging into his back, the kid is clawing at his already injured arm and Remus feels the cracking before he hears it. 

There’s a rumble under Remus’s shoes that he almost believes is his brain misunderstanding gravity for a moment, that the combined weight of him and the are muddling with his ability to stand on his own two legs, that maybe he’s more injured than he really knew, bleeding from a place he hadn’t realized because he’s so used to the unwavering high of losing all the blood inside of him. But then the vibrations race through Remus’s entire body enough to make him stumble and almost lose his grip on the boy’s jacket. And the poppoppoping and tingtingting of the gunfire around them is drowned out completely by the aching, brittle snap, snap, snapping. 

“Oh fuck,” Remus grounds out just as the railing and the ancient wooden floors splinter under his and the kid’s combined weight and Remus plunges into a freefall that tastes like a thunderstorm at 3AM.

[Next Chapter]

[koala-confessions]

03/17/2024

Alright kids, today’s letter is T and the word of the day is TRAPPED. Today's number is 90. That is the number of days I am trapped at Koala. I feel like such a fucking bitch for saying that when I should be kissing the ground at Donna’s feet for this haven of a hell hole that gained my escape from the confines of CCDC, that spared me the gates of prison. Sometimes it is hard to remain humble when I am continuously watched for the slightest infraction, a reason to say, “lock her up”. Drug court is hard, staying sober is easy. One misstep leaves me grounded until they say otherwise. Like really grounded. Trapped. I want to fast forward through this part, sleep it away and count commissary and linen exchange days until it is over. I want to be given the freedom to excel and soar, to find my footing and gain by leaps and bounds instead of baby steps. Real baby steps. Not just tiny ones, but ones where you hold on to the tables and walls for support and take many tumbles. That has never been my style. I jump in full force. Maybe that is why I make it to the top time and time again and just when I think I can enjoy the view, I fall. Maybe my foundation has been made of cards. Hastily put together footholds so I can climb without any reinforcements, no safety nets in case I tumble. I never expect the unexpected and it always catches me off guard. That saying, spend like there’s no tomorrow, is so suitable for my way of living. When I am on top, I cannot see anything below the skyline and there is no limit to how far I can go. I think I am walking on concrete when I am really walking on clouds. Stormy ones that churn angrily beneath my confident steps. 

Maybe then I am trapped not to cage but to learn. I must need to learn something here. Maybe to build a solid foundation. I don’t want to build my life brick by painstaking brick. I want to throw some U-Haul boxes together and build a cardboard castle. I will deck it out in Louis Vuitton and Michael Kors and no one ever need know how flimsy it is. I am well aware that is what got me here. I am well aware that those stupid bricks and pasty mortar are waiting for my painstaking labor to build my life. My tools are waiting, building up as they are being given to me one by one by my instructors, judges, coordinators and case managers, all that's left to do is roll up my sleeves and hold on to the table while I learn to walk. 

[onceuponastory]

revenge - nick fowler x reader

Plot: When somebody hurts Nick’s girl, he’s going to make sure they regret it. Pairing: Nick Fowler x Female!Reader Warnings: Death, violence, reader being hurt, injuries, blood and bruises, guns, shooting, death threats and a very violent, protective Nick Fowler. Also some spoilers for The 355 (including some lines from the film), incase you still somehow haven’t seen the movie/don’t know anything about it. As always, if I miss any triggers please let me know. Notes: Would y’all believe me if I said I wasn’t actually planning on writing another Nick fic for a while until this idea popped into my head? Can you blame me though? Like...look at him Anyways, I remembered a few scenes from the movie earlier, and immediately thought of protective!Nick saying those lines, so here we are: a Nick fic where he’s actually a pretty nice person for once.

Also thank you to @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ for beta reading this for me! 

“Y/N! I’m home!” Nick calls, stepping into the home he shares with his girlfriend. There’s no response from Y/N, and he frowns. “Hello? Y/N?” He calls. As he steps further into the house, his feet crunch on something. Immediately, panic mode sets in. What the fuck is going on? He quickly switches on the light and realises that he’s standing on broken glass. Nick’s heart rate immediately rises in fear. In his job as a corrupt CIA agent, he’s made multiple enemies...and got the scars to prove it. If he had a penny for every time he received a death threat in the course of his job, he’d have enough to leave both his job as an agent, and his job as a criminal. After a while, the threats just became a part of life to him.

Of course, Y/N knows about the danger her boyfriend is in every time she kisses him goodbye before he leaves for a mission. He told her these threats were just part of the job, hoping it calms her nerves. Even though that’s why she’s asked him if he’s considered leaving the Agency at least twenty times already. And Nick has thought about retiring a few times, thinking that if he did, he and Y/N could move to the countryside, buy a nice house, raise some kids, and live a quiet life. One that is not stained by blood, or ruled by danger. He can tell that’s the life Y/N wants, even if she doesn’t say it outright. And that’s the life he wants to give her.

 But Nick knows he can’t do that. He’s too deep into this criminal enterprise, and he’s spent so long reaping the benefits that a part of him feels like he’d be lost without that safety net. Not to mention the bounty and threats on his head, on both of their heads, if he left. And the last thing he wants to do is put Y/N in danger. So, he stays, even though he knows it’s not what she wants. And Y/N stays and cleans his wounds, despite her obvious discomfort. Nick has never told her just how many threats he has received...and continues to receive. If she knew the truth, she’d never let him go on a mission again. He knows lying about something like that is a terrible thing to do, but his enemies only ever targeted him at work, and they only ever targeted him. Y/N was never brought up, so Nick thought she would be safe, especially at home. As Nick looks around at the destruction his home has been left in, his fist clenching in anger, he realises that he was foolish to think that.

Because someone finally broke into his safe space. And now the love of his life, his girl, is in danger. If someone took her, he would find her and punish whoever was responsible, come hell or high water. “Y/N? Are you here?” He calls one last time, hoping and praying that she’s still here.

“Nick? Nick, is that you?” A fearful yet familiar voice calls out from upstairs. Nick breathes a massive sigh of relief, and he takes off running towards her. The destruction continues as he reaches the top. Picture frames and mirrors lay smashed, their glass all over the floor. Some walls have holes punched or kicked in them, whilst others have wallpaper torn or marked...and large crimson marks stain the carpet. Stains that Nick recognises immediately, but would rather not think about right now. He reaches their bedroom and bursts in, finding Y/N lying on the bed. “Nick...” She mumbles. Nick runs up to her, taking her hand. Y/N tries to turn away from him so he doesn’t see her face, but Nick notices the purple bruises and dried blood on Y/N’s face and body immediately. His eyebrows furrow together as he looks over her, his anger growing rapidly. 

“Who did this to you?” He asks, his voice full of venom. 

“...Nobody.” She lies. Nick sighs. 

“Y/N. Am I supposed to believe you trashed the house yourself? Hm? Or was it a poltergeist?” He asks, and Y/N averts her gaze from his. “Y/N. Who did this to you?” He repeats, gently running his hand down her cheek, trying not to hurt her any more. At least...no more than he has done already. When she stays silent, he sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you this countless times. Nobody except me touches you, and especially not like this.” Getting up, he moves towards the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” She asks.

“I’m going to go hurt the bastard who decided it was a good idea to lay his hands on my girl.” He hisses. “If you won’t tell me who did this to you-” He cuts himself off to pull out his gun. “-I’ll go find out for myself.” As Nick is about to walk out of the door, Y/N sighs. Nick is determined, and she knows he won't leave any stone unturned or any blood unspilled in his quest for revenge. She might as well tell him the truth.

“Nick, wait.” She calls. In an instant, he’s back at her side. “There were a few men. Maybe three? I don’t remember. But they said it was for someone called Clarke.” Y/N’s eyes water as she recounts her experience. Nick’s fists clench in anger as she cries. Clarke did this. His fucking boss. This whole thing was organised by his fucking boss. Especially after he told him that Y/N was off-limits, and Clarke promised him she was. Nick pictures Clarke’s fucking smug smile in his mind, and he imagines all the things he’d like to do to him. That fucking bastard is going to pay for what he’s done. “I-I don’t know why they did this to me. They didn’t say.” She sniffles. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let them come in...I should’ve phoned the police, or you. It was just...so fast, a-and I didn’t have time.” Nick shakes his head.

“No. No, this isn’t your fault, baby. Please don’t ever say that.” He whispers, gently brushing his fingers through her hair. “It’s mine.” Y/N frowns, turning to face him and wincing slightly as she does.

“W-What does that mean? How is this your fault?” She asks. Nick sighs.

“...It’s too much to go into just now. But don’t worry. I’m going to make sure that bastard pays for what he’s done to you.” Nick feels awful that he still can’t tell her the truth, but she doesn’t need to know the full story. A few months ago, he made a few bad decisions which ended up losing Clarke some money during a high stakes deal. Nick was sure it wasn’t that serious, especially since it wasn’t that big a loss, and they made the money back only a few weeks later. And it’s definitely not something worth harming Y/N over. And yet, the bastard still did it anyway. Nick’s anger levels rise once again. He’s angry at Clarke for sending his men after her, and angry at them for bloodying and harming Y/N’s beautiful face. But most of all, Nick’s angry at himself. How could he be so careless? How could he fail to keep her safe, especially knowing the sort of people he works with? 

At least now he’ll know never to let his guard slip again. And Clarke and his men will know never to touch his girl again. Nick’s fists clench even tighter, so tightly that his knuckles turn white. His blood burns. Burns with a desire for revenge. “I’m going to kill him.” He hisses.

“No. Nick.” Y/N begs. “Please don’t. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.” Nick raises a brow. Considering the state of her face and how she’s still wincing with every breath she takes, he can tell that she’s lying.

“Baby.” His eyes narrow. “Did they threaten you?” She sniffles, and that answers his question for him before she confirms it with a nod.  

“They said something about how they’d do the same to you but worse if you came looking for revenge. Please don’t.” She cries. “I love you so much...and I can’t lose you.” He can’t stop a small smile from playing on his lips as she says that. Nick Fowler knows that he’s a total asshole, and he often questions why someone like him deserves the love of someone like Y/N. Especially considering all the danger he’s put her in, like now. But despite it all, she still loves him. He bends down, gently pressing a kiss to her temple. She’s his girl forever. And they're going to learn that nobody hurts his girl and lives to tell the tale.

“...And I can’t lose you. Or let people think that this will go unpunished.” He whispers, making her smile softly. He stands up, straightening his jacket and placing his gun into its holster. “I’ll be back soon, and in one piece. I promise.” He kisses her on the lips. “I love you.” 

“I love you too. Be safe. Please." Nick nods, before stepping out of the room.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Nick climbs up the steps into Clarke’s meeting room, his steely blue eyes gazing around the room. He notices a few men looking at him, some snickering to themselves. His eyes flicker down to their fingers. When he sees there’s still some blood on their knuckles, his trigger finger twitches. Those must be the men who hurt Y/N. It takes everything in him to stop himself from grabbing them and making them feel all the pain she felt...or just shooting the bastards. As he breathes deeply, Nick realises that he cannot harm them just yet. Their punishment will come soon enough.

“Ah, Nick. Good to see you again. What brings you here?” Clarke’s accented voice speaks finally, causing Nick to turn to him. 

“Don’t bullshit me. You know exactly why I’m here.” Clarke frowns as if he has no idea what Nick is talking about, which causes Nick to become even angrier. “Y/N. I told you that my girl was off-limits, and yet you still sent your men after her.” Nick hisses. 

“Oh yes. Her.” Clarke laughs, and Nick becomes even angrier. “I mean, what did you expect, Nick? You damaged my reputation, so I damaged something of yours in return. At least now you’ll know not to be so careless with other people’s things. It hurts, doesn’t it?” He smirks. Nick’s hands move to his holstered gun. Just one little pull of the trigger, and they’ll be gone. Just one. “And now you’re here to come grovelling at my feet and beg me to not lay another finger on her pretty head, I presume?” Clarke asks. 

Clarke looks up, noticing Nick’s hard stare and his hands at his waist. “Oh. You’re here for some revenge. I guess I’m not too surprised.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you do that. And besides, I did tell them...” He gestures to the men at the side of the room. Nick’s jaw clenches. He was right. It was them who hurt Y/N. “...to pass on the message that you’d end up the same way if you ever tried to stop me, but I guess she didn’t really care enough about you to pass on the message. Although, given the danger you’ve put her in...I don’t think you care about her that much either.” Nick’s hand moves even further back, his fingers wrapping around his gun. 

“You better shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” He warns. In response, Clarke simply rolls his eyes. 

“Nick. It really doesn’t have to be like this. You and that girlfriend of yours learned not to cross me. If I were you, I’d leave whilst you still can.” Nick stays where he is. “Well. So be it, then.” Clarke clicks his fingers, and the men at the side of the room start moving closer, ready to close in and grab Nick. “But if it’s any consolation, I was told that she’s gorgeous, especially when she screams. I heard it’s like music to-” Nick cuts him off by pulling his gun out, shooting all the men attempting to grab him without even looking. Their bodies hit the floor with a thud. Nick moves quickly, pointing his gun at Clarke’s head without even stopping to watch them fall.

“Don’t you ever say that shit about my girl again. You hear me?” He orders, his voice low. Clarke doesn’t reply, looking at the bodies on the floor. Nick chuckles, glancing down at them. “Yeaaaah.” Nick sucks his teeth. “You really need to up your security in this place. I mean, your security guards outside went down without a fight, and so did these guys!” He kicks one of the bodies to prove his point. “And that really is a shame. Because I wanted to make them suffer too. I wanted them to hurt just as much as they made Y/N hurt...and even more on top of that.” Clarke’s eyes look back up at him, and Nick catches a glimmer of fear in them. He grins. That’s all he wanted to see. “But that’s okay. It’s just you and me now. And I intend to make sure you suffer most of all.” He moves his gun closer, pressing it hard against Clarke’s forehead. “One reason. Give me one reason why you should keep breathing after what you did.”

“I-I...” The man stammers. Nick scoffs.

“Come on. You told me all about how much Y/N screamed when you sent these guys...” He jabs his heel into their bodies again, angrily. “...after her. You told me more than enough, actually. So it’s only fair I get to hear you scream too. I bet it’ll be music to my ears.” He presses the gun against Clarke’s head even harder, so hard it will probably leave a mark. The first of many marks Nick intends to leave on Clarke’s skin. One for each of Y/N’s injuries, and then some more for good measure. “Come on. I’m still waiting. One good reason for why you should keep breathing. Now.” He orders. 

“Nick, I didn’t even tell them to kill her, it’s not like she was in danger or anything-” Nick cuts him off by forcefully slamming his gun against the side of Clarke’s head, causing him to scream out in pain. 

“Not a good enough reason.” Nick sighs. “You are a good screamer, though...let’s hear some more.” He orders, readying his fist for another blow. The punch lands in Clarke’s stomach, and he doubles over, screaming in pain. Nick brings his elbow down on the back of Clarke’s head, and it lands with a dull thud. When Clarke lifts his head, he doesn’t even get a chance to say anything before Nick’s fist connects with his nose. 

“Fuck!” He hisses. “Nick, come on. I think you can stop now. I-If you do, I’ll make sure you can come back and work for me. This will be water under the bridge, alright?” He asks. Nick laughs, shaking his head.

“…No thanks. I’m good. I don’t think you will be though.” Before Clarke can even react, Nick lifts his fist again.

.~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few hours later, the front door to Y/N and Nick’s house slams shut, and Y/N gasps, sitting upright in bed despite the pain in her side. What if the men are back for her? Her mind goes to Nick, and what happened to him? Did they kill him? Footsteps sound up the stairs, and she hides under the covers. 

“Y/N? Baby, are you in here?” Nick calls, making her breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, I’m in here.” As soon as he walks into the room, she runs into his arms, forgetting her pain for a moment. “Ooof!” He gasps as her body collides with his, and she begins to shake and cry.

“I was so worried...I-I thought you might be...” Y/N says through her tears. 

“I know. I know.” He soothes, rubbing her back. They pull apart, and she looks him over. There doesn’t seem to be a scratch on Nick...and yet, his face is dotted with blood. His shirt and his suit are also pretty stained with blood. She frowns, and her eyes look over him, hunting for a source of the blood. Nick notices her looking over him for injuries, and he smiles. “Hey. I promised I’d be alright, didn’t I?” She nods. “And as for this...” He gestures to all the blood. “I took care of things. You don’t have to worry about him anymore. Or anyone else.” Y/N leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you, Nick. I love you so much.” She whispers, kissing him again.

“I love you too.” Nick whispers. “I told you I’d keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. Because you’re my girl. If anyone hurts you, I’ll make sure they’ll live to regret it.” He presses another kiss to her temple before pulling her close. “And I intend to make sure everyone knows that.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

TAGLIST:  @buckysboobs, @ccmarvelxx, @bearly-koalafied, @xoxoloverb, @simplybombshell, @phildunphyisadilf, @loudchaosjellyfish, @littleeuphoriaelf, @livstilinski, and @charmed-asylum. I know most of you wanted to just be tagged in Lies part two, but I thought I’d tag you in this too if that’s ok!

[mypoisonedvine]

awestruck || lee bodecker x modern!reader

based on a request for how lee would react to today's women.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: smut (including oral, m and f receiving, and anal... lots of anal), degradation/praise, reader being a complete hoe for lee bodecker because I know y'all bitches and I know what you're up to, essentially pwp because I refuse to explain how/why lee is in the modern era

You were very, very different than the women Lee was used to.

With them it had been months of courting and flowers and seduction to get a few minutes of kissing, maybe even some over-the-clothes touching, but if he went too far he got slapped and dumped.

With you it was a swipe right and half an episode of something called "net flicks" and you were straddling him and grinding on him and kissing him like you had never wanted anything so much.

With them, sex was missionary only, every other week only, in bed only, and even when he made them feel good they didn't like to show too much enthusiasm because it was unladylike, apparently.

With you it was things he hadn't even realized were options-- like the very first time, when you were holding onto his knees for balance as you bounced your ass on him, moaning loudly, your pussy gripping him for dear life.

With women back then, sex was a thing women let men have as a begrudging favor, but you begged him for it, sobbed and shook and shivered beneath him, opened your legs for him constantly... he could barely keep up, honestly, but he was more than happy to try. When he couldn't come any more at least he could get you off with his fingers or devour your cunt, and you loved it.

Almost as much, you loved doing things women absolutely did not do in 1966. Only hookers gave blowjobs then, but you got on your knees and sucked him off gladly, getting wet just from his cock down your throat. You even swallowed his come; you even let him paint your face with it and it genuinely blew his mind.

He was totally in awe of you. You weren't just the woman of his dreams, you were beyond that: never in a million years could he have dreamed up a girl like you. Even further, he never would've thought he'd actually get to call you his girl.

"Yours, yours, all yours," you chanted as he pounded you into the mattress.

"Yeah you are," he agreed, "my fuckin whore, huh? My pretty fucktoy?"

"Yes," you sobbed, and he loved how much you loved being called rude things like that. "Whatever you want..."

"But it's not about what I want, is it?" he grinned. "It's about how you want to be used, all the filthy things you want me to do to you, ain't that right?"

You whined a little but nodded.

"So tell me what you want," he prompted.

"I want... I want you to take my ass," you admitted suddenly, biting your lip a bit as he stopped moving to stare down at you in shock.

"You— I— what?" he stammered.

"You... you don't have to, if you don't want—“

"Oh, I want," he cut you off to assure, "I wanna give you anything you ask for. I just... I didn't even know... How long have you been thinkin' about this?"

"Ever since the first time you fucked me," you admitted, making him choke on his gasp. "Remember, how I rode you and you kept staring at my ass? I kept hoping you'd hold me down and put your thumb in it while you fucked me..."

"Oh Christ," he groaned, "so that's how it is then? You're tryna kill me?"

You giggled, and he pulled out to roll you onto your back, kissing you suddenly.

"You're too fuckin good to be true," he sighed against your lips. You laughed and hugged him closer, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I'm really nothing special," you denied with a smirk as he kissed his way to your neck, "a lot of girls will do that nowadays."

"It's not that you're willing to do it, honey, it's that you want it so bad," he explained in a whisper right against your ear. "I don't need half the stuff you do, I'd be happy with wholesome lovemaking three times a week. What's so amazing is that you want more... and for some goddamn reason you want it from me."

He kissed you again, a little slower but a lot harder, until he pulled back just enough to growl: "Turn over."

You happily flipped onto your stomach, arching your back to wiggle your butt out towards him.

"Quit actin' so desperate," he scolded with a hard spank that made you groan. "You're a hell of a woman but you sure as hell ain't no lady."

"You like it," you pointed out with a grin.

"Well, that's beside the point," he smirked back as he reached down to circle your tight rim with his finger. You reached up to your bedside drawer, from which a bottle of lube appeared in your hand that you passed back to him. "Now what's a sweet girl like you doing with this in her bedside drawer, huh?" he mocked, popping the cap to apply some to his fingers. "I see, you've got all sorts of guys coming over to fuck you in the ass, I'm just one of your hookups."

"No, just you," you sighed as he started to slide his lubed up finger over your hole. "I just want you, Lee, I swear."

"Hey, you're a modern woman, it would be too much to expect you to be a devil in the sheets and strictly monogamous..."

"Lee, baby, it's just you, haven't even thought about anybody else since I met you— fuck!" you gasped, interrupting yourself as he pushed one finger in.

"Just relax honey," he instructed, "if you can't take a finger I won't put my cock in you."

"No, please, need it," you whined. "I'll be good, please..."

He smiled and pushed the second finger in, slowly twisting within you and starting to stretch you out.

"More," you whispered, almost too quiet to hear but he heard you and quickly added a third finger which made you tense up at first before relaxing again.

He was entranced by watching your body open up for him, amazed at how well you were adjusting and how clearly your noises indicated enjoyment. He wouldn't have agreed to this if he didn't think you'd like it, and he had fully prepared himself for you to change your mind, but here you were... looking like you were having an even better time than he was.

"Please, I'm ready, I want it," you begged.

"No, baby, you need a little more," he assured, pushing his fingers deeper to be sure you'd be able to take him.

"Please please pleeeaaasse, I need your cock in me, I need you to fuck my ass—!"

He cut you off with another spank, pulling his fingers out of you to slather his cock with some lube and line it up with your hole. "You're sure?" he hissed.

You nodded eagerly and he barely moved his hips forward, just enough to start to slide his head into you, and you both let out a deep noise of pleasure together. But he didn't slow down until he met the end of you, one long smooth stroke into your waiting body until his hips met yours and he thought he might lose it right then and there.

"Oh my god," he sighed, "your ass is... so fuckin' tight..."

He started to move a little faster, pinning you down as you gasped and moaned so beautifully.

"Won't be by the time I'm done with it," he promised through his teeth, picking up his pace once again as you clutched at the sheets beneath you— yet your back arched to push your hips up towards him, so it was obvious you loved it. "That's whatcha want, sweetheart? For me to stretch out your ass?"

"Please," you whimpered.

"God, you're good, you're so good," he hissed, his hips slapping into your soft flesh loudly now, his rough hands pinning your shoulders down. “Too fuckin’ good…”

Your moans sounded different than usual— deeper, needier, desperate in a way he very much understood as he tried to hold himself back from fucking you too hard. It was difficult to pick where to look since every part of you looked so beautiful like this but he went ahead and settled his gaze on your face, the breathless moan you were perpetually caught in as your eyes fell shut and your mouth was open slack.

You chanted his name in a hoarse whisper as he fucked you harder, one more reminder to both of you that it was his body filling yours, his cock penetrating you in such a taboo way.

"I'm— I'm gonna come," you stammered, causing his brain to short circuit for a moment.

"You... you're gonna come, from this? Just this?" he realized.

You nodded, and he really had to hold back to not fill you instantly at the thought of you coming from anal alone. He understood now how he had suddenly appeared in this strange time, with no idea how or why; he must have died and gone to a very fucked up heaven.

“Go ahead and come then,” he instructed darkly. “Wanna see you come for me.”

He could all but see the shiver run up your spine, your upper teeth digging into your lip as you whimpered louder and louder— and it was a bit harder than normal to tell by the feel of you that you were coming, but the noises you made were incontrovertibly those of a woman thrown into pleasure. Your eyes rolled back, your moans exhausted and weak, and he couldn’t take it anymore: with a grunt of his own, he filled your insides with his spend, barely managing to hold his weight up so he wouldn’t crush you.

You hummed, wiggling a little under him as you caught your breath, and it was almost too much on his sensitive, softening cock.

“That was… you are…” he started over a few times, not even sure what to say.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you announced as you sat up and gave him a quick kiss. “Join me later?”

“O-okay,” he mumbled, watching you dash to the bathroom as he fell back onto the bed and contemplated the wonderful insanity his life had become with you in it. Maybe the future really is bright after all...

[bontenten]

Ours

Pairing: Osamu x f!reader, Atsumu x f!reader

Tags/Warnings: noncon, infidelity, pregnancy/forced abortion, knife stuff, gore, body horror, snuff, wound, necro-stuff, abuse, yandere, angst

Osamu stares at your pregnant belly; a round barrier that’s keeping you away from him. He knows you don’t even want it. Otherwise why would you come crying to his onigiri shop crying tonight. It’s obviously because you tried to go to a clinic, but who in their right mind would try to abort the baby of famous athlete Miya Atsumu? 

Atsumu gagged them all with money, tied their hands together with even more promises. There’s nothing for you to do but stay put and birth the child. It took everything for you to find a time with no bodyguards to slip away. If it weren’t for the excuse that you wanted to shop for baby clothes, Atsumu would never have allowed you to even step foot outside the house.

“Please help me,” you sob, taking a step closer to the one who looks almost identical to your fiance. “There’s no one else but you.”

You look pathetic, makeup smudged and messy. Osamu smugly looks down at you. “Only now you finally realize?” He grips your jaw and forces you to look at him, fingers squeezing your cheeks and making your lips pucker. “I told you before, didn’t I? Atsumu’s a crazy bastard, but I would take care of you. All he wants is to use you as a breeding cow, his little cocksleeve. That’s all you’ll ever be to him. Shallow, gold-digging bitch, you reap what you sow.”

“Shh-shhamoo, ‘Samu” you slur between your teeth, “shorrry.” Sorry. You regret it now. You probably shouldn’t have turned Osamu down in the first place for Atsumu. Maybe you really were blinded by Atsumu’s reputation and prestige...and his money. He could give you what Osamu could not at the time and the simple life working tirelessly, saving and making ends meet wasn’t how you wanted to live. But really, you shouldn’t have ever gotten yourself involved with the twins.

“Sorry? SORRY?! You say?” Slap. Osamu yanks you back up with a fistful of your hair. “You hurt me. I loved you and gave you my heart, but you...you broke me. And now you’re just going to sweep it all under the rug with ‘sorry’?”

“Sorry, I really am ‘Samu,” you sob, wincing from the sharp pain shooting through your scalp. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Please help me, I’m begging you. I know only you can save me now.”

The tight grip on your hair relents and Osamu wipes the messy trail of smudged makeup from beneath your eye. He smiles almost gently, “That’s right, only I can protect you. Stupid, took you too long.”

Osamu’s kisses are deceptively soft. Another reason you left Osamu for Atsumu is also this. Osamu made you feel like you were dangled over deep waters with no safety net. You couldn’t tell what was on his mind, he hid his thoughts much better than Atsumu. Atsumu was more straightforward and that gave you security. But right now, only Osamu can give you safety and protection. Even though you know it’s not right, the time and the person, you can’t help but respond back

Your hands thread through his grey locks as bodies come closer until Osamu feels your pregnancy pressed against him. He pulls away abruptly and stares. You follow his eyes to your belly and the unmistakable growing biology within it beyond the skin and flesh.

“You want to get rid of it, right?” Osamu mutters, palming the protrusion.

“Yes...but—” 

“Shut up,” he snaps, stalking to the kitchen quickly. You find him back a moment later with a knife in his hand, sharpened tip pointed at you. “You asked me to help, I’m going to help you.”

“What are you doing?” you ask hesitantly, unsure and frightened. With the blade pointed at your throat you have no choice but to back up as Osamu comes closer to you. You feel the edge of the table at your hip, another step and your stumble, falling back onto the table surface. 

Osamu loosens the tie on his apron and stands between your legs, forcing them apart. You hear some buckling noises and strain your head to see his length fully erect. His hands travel to your waist to pull your skirt and panties down. Your hand stops him in their tracks. Your widened eyes are alarmed at what Osamu really wants.

“Not this! Please, not this ‘Samu,” you argue, trying to pull his hand away from tearing the clothing from you.

Osamu deftly slices the knife across the back of your hand, drawing out a thin line of red. The pain has your hand flinching away, letting Osamu pull the skirt down, exposing the naked skin of your belly, and pussy folds below it. “Gonna fuck this bastard out of you,” he mutters, stuffing himself into your hole.

You scream, legs kicking out wildly as you feel the thick intrusion sheath itself into you fully. You can feel the tip pushing through your tight muscles, getting closer and closer to your womb.

“Fuck,” Osamu groans. “If I didn’t see your pregnant belly, I would’ve thought you were a little virgin. You’re so fucking tight.”

“No! Please I’m begging you, stop!”

“You begged me to help you get rid of the little bastard.” He hammers into you even harder, assaulting your cervix, the one that’s plugged like a gate.

At some point, your wails are lost when the cries become increasingly lewd. You can’t help the moans that slip out of your mouth each time Osamu pushes into you. Each draw and thrust sends waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. The bliss is almost enough for you to forget that you didn’t have your current burden, the pregnancy, that fetus. It’s kinda a pathetic state for you, being fucked on a table of the restaurant belonging to your fiance’s twin? And enjoying it?

This thing within you...if only it weren’t Atsumu’s but Osamu’s instead. It was a mistake all along.

The pain comes swift and overwhelming, an agonizing hell when you register the three inches of blade buried above your pubic bone, carving its way horizontally across. Your flesh parts like gauze, the skin splitting open sideways, the yellow paddings of your fat and the red that floods over. 

Osamu pulls out the knife as he buries himself deeply into you, shooting his seed into the sealed-off womb. Your body shudders as the pain signals run havoc in your brain and the orgasm washes through beyond the pain. Your head tosses from side to side as empty screams fall from your throat. Shock takes over your body as more and more blood comes pouring out from your womb along with the fountain of amniotic fluids.

Osamu isn’t so much as bothered by the amount of red and clear pooling behind you and dripping onto the wood floor. He sticks his finger through the laceration and fingers through your guts, pushing the intestine aside until he finds the tear in the womb.

“Found it!” Osamu delightfully shoves his hand in, grabbing at the mass of dividing flesh and umbilical cord sustaining it. The mound is more difficult to remove than Osamu thinks, he tugs and tugs. It takes the muscles of his whole arm, the same ones carrying rice bags daily, to successfully detach placenta stuck to your womb.

The blood spurts in a flood, filling your belly cavity, painting Osamu’s shirt crimson. Your blood splatters across his legs and drips down his cock.

Osamu has never seen a full placenta like this in its glory. He has heard of people who have cooked it before. It’s the nature of a chef to be intrigued by ingredients of a rare and bizarre nature. But not today.

He drops the mounds on the floor, worse than food scraps. He clambers to the top of the table, knees straddling your body.

“I did it,” he tells your open yet empty eyes, looking for his thank you.  He reaches his stained hand and caresses your faded cheek, smearing red across your skin. “I got it out for you.” He kisses your cold lips. 

You don’t respond.

“‘Tsumu and I are genetically identical,” he tells your body. “You know what that means? That means the same cell that created that, I have it too.There’s no difference in biology, between his and mine.”

Osamu's hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length, the slick of blood squelching around him.

“But you didn’t want his version, huh? You wanted mine right? “ He chuckles and positions his cock against the gaping hole where your womb begins to deflate.

Your residual warmth still wraps around him, the yellow fats squishy and soft. Osamu wraps your gash around him, thrusting straight into your womb. 

“Could’ve been with me, could’ve been...ours.”

Each thrust propels your body back and forth, tugged along his movements like an empty doll that's chewed and clawed broken. Fallen apart by seams, insides spilling out, completely drained. Only to be filled with Osamu’s seed, that you’ll never have a chance to foster.

[katsukisbimbo]

Kuroo x Volleyball Player! Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Volleyball Player! Reader

wordcount: 3,087

genre: strangers-to-lovers au with fluff, crack and a little bit of smut :)))

summary: meeting kuroo tetsurou might be the best thing that has ever happened to you

first of all

kuroo pissed you off to no end

absolutely pissed you off

the first time you met him was when you were a first year

your brother keishin has asked you to come with them for the practice match they had with nekoma

the moment you got to school you had to DASH to go to the washroom because you had to pEee

gosh

curse your tiny bladder

when you went out everyone was already on the bus

sigh

you were gonna have to sit with someone you don’t know

because FOR SURE

your stupid brother keishin would be sitting next to takeda-sensei

the moment you hopped on the bus

everyone suddenly became quiet

0.0

everyone was jus like

uh

who’s this cutie

is she lost

she’s from shiratorizawa what’s she doing here

huh

and noya and tanaka are just screaming at this point

“wHO IS THIS GODDESS WHO DECIDED TO BLESS US WITH HER PRESENCE?!?!? I LOVE YOU PLEASE SIT NEXT TO ME RYU GET OUT NO I DONT CARE GET OUT”

cue tanaka landing on the floor

“nOYA-SAN WHY”

and you’re just like

lmao what

and literally all the seats are taken except for the guy who literally yeeted his bald friend into the next dimension

sigh

i guess you had to sit next to the cutie huh

you look at your brother pleading for help

but he just ignores you and talks to sensei

sIGH

your brother was so thirsty that he didn’t even CARE if these boys ate you alive

gosh

it’s okay

it be like that

f in the chat for y/n

oKAY enough self pitying

you reluctantly sit beside the really loud guy

“hi my names ukai y/n! what’s your name?”

“m-my name is n-nishinoya yuu”

cue noya looking like a literal tomato

“nice to meet you!! i’m excited to work with you nishinoya-san! if i may ask, what year are you in?”

“iM in sEcond yEar”

gosh noya’s so proud

“oH you’re my senpai then!! it’s really nice to meet you senpai!! i hope we have a good trip”

GAHSJDJSHS

you called him senpai

without him asking you to

GOSH

could you be any more perfect

“agHjsjdhsjajszjJAK”

“those aren’t words...”

“...”

“...”

and at that point noya was brain fried so you just put on your earphones and chilled

...

...

*gagging*

“hINATAAGAHAJSKSHS”

what

what was going on

you turned your head

and you saw this orange haired babie throwing up on the bald guy who got yeeted

and suddenly

chaos ensued

everyone was screaming because of the stench

you were gagging so hard that you felt your breakfast coming back up

but your seat buddy was having the time of his life laughing at his two friends who were having a dilemma

gosh

today was gonna be crazy

finally you guys had finally arrived at nekoma and honestly that’s as the most chaotic car ride you’ve ever experienced

but luckily on the way you’ve made yourself familiar with everyone on the team

especially the third year cuties

and no you did not say that to their faces because you’re shy :((

you guys finally get out of the bus and you see

a god

with crazy looking hair

“well if it isn’t the crows” “did you have a good ride here you country bumpkins?”

and daichi’s bout to lose it

“kuroo-san nice to see you again”

and you can definitely feel the tension in the air

was it just you or is it hot in here

kuroo suddenly turned to look at you and honestly you’ve never been more intimidated in your life because wow

he’s beautiful

“who’s the pretty girl daichi-san? is she your girlfriend?”

“no no she’s our couch’s sister”

“hi i’m ukai y/n, nice to meet you”

and you shake his hand and you’re SHOCKED

“kuroo tetsurou, likewise”

his hand is so warm n rough oh god

you suddenly wonder what it would feel like to have his hands slowly wrap around your throat as he starts to thru-

NO

nO DIrtY ThOuGhTs

bad

bad y/n

you’ve been so caught up in your day dream that you didn’t realize that you were still hold kuroos hand

and you look up to see kuroo looking like a smug little shit as if he was saying

‘are you ever gonna let go or?’

and it really made you wanna hit him

really badly

you wanted to punch his mouth

with your mouth

GAHSJDGA

stOp

okay anyways

you snatch your hands away from kuroo and he just smirks at you like a smug little bastard

“what’s wrong kitten? didn’t wanna let go of my hand?”

at this point you’re too flustered to even talk so you take it as the time to back off and just let kuroo be a little fuckhead

but suddenly you’re snatched by tanaka and noya

you somehow end up bumping into kiyoko and you’re just like “omg i’m so sorry kiyoko-san i didn’t mea-“

“don’t worry about it y/n-chan, accidents happen”

and wow

wow

a goddess

now you see what tanaka and noya see

she’s beautiful

maybe you do want the best of both worlds.....

...

...

ANYWAYS

tanaka and noya end up showing you off to their equally as weird friend taketora and of course like the normal person you are you greet him and introduce yourself

but before he even gets the chance to talk kiyoko’s already pulling you away telling you that she needed some help with setting up some of their gear

and of course like the puppy you are you follow her because yes you’re in love with her

i mean

who isn’t

lesbi honest

everyone’s a simp for kiyoko

moving on

finally they’ve started to play a match

and you’re very impressed

especially by hinata and kageyama because wow their skill was amazing

and hinata’s jumps were crazy

obviously you played volleyball yourself being ukai’s grand daughter

and you weren’t that bad

considering the fact that you play for japan’s u19 team with ushijima

who was a very close senpai to you

so close to the point where you’d call him your older brother

rip keishin

back to the game

everyone in karasuno was very promising and you were getting excited with the ideas that were flooding into your head

but nekomas not too bad either

they were pretty solid with their defence and some people might think that it’s all about the attacks but

your attack doesn’t mean anything if the ball doesn’t touch the floor in the court

you were very impressed with the bedhead’s receives a n d blocking

every time he managed a good save or blocked anyone he would always glance in your direction

and it may or may not have made you feel nervous because who doesn’t get nervous when an attractive person looks at you

sadly

the game finished rather quickly

at this point everyone was already cleaning up and of course you decided to help

you thought that you would be able to play just a little bit but your brother just wanted you to familiarize yourself with the teams before you went on the week long training camp with them

which was in two weeks

:)

you were trying to take the volleyball net down until a tall figure comes up behind you and takes the net from you

you turn around and guess who it is

kuroo frocking tetsurou

what a surprise

“don’t worry about it peaches i got it”

wha

did this man just call you PEACHES

peaches as in the scary girl who goes to famous peoples houses?

i think NOT sir

“pEACHES? what is that supposed to mean??! huh?!?”

“woah woah calm down babe, it’s just a nickname. i call you peaches cuz you smell like peaches”

ohhh

okay

that’s fine

“i’ve been wondering though, if you smell like peaches then would you taste like peaches??”

wHAT

wHATSGFSZHSJ

rip y/n’s remaining brain cells

“how about it doll? are you gonna give little old me a taste?”

and he’s suddenly pushing himself closer to you

and you close your eyes because it really looks like he’s about to kiss you and omg it’s like your first kiss hELP

but instead of a kiss

he just laughs at you

this man is literally bent over and CACKLING his lungs out

“you’re so cute doll, i wouldn’t kiss you without your permission. plus i gotta take you out first. wanna go on a date with me some time?”

and you’re just so caught off guard

that you can’t even manage a verbal response

like you just nod your head and then he’s ruffling you’re hair and walking away with the volleyball net

what the hell just happened

did you just score yourself a date

yes

yes you did

you go girl

sadly

it’s time for you and your babies to go

and kuroo being the good person he is

walks you guys out

but before you can get on the bus

kuroo pulls you to the side and bends down to your height to whisper in your ear

“text me sometime peaches”

and you suddenly feel him putting a piece of paper in your back pocket

then he’s pushing you onto the bus and you’re just dumbfounded

did he just touch your bum

could he not just hand it to you

not that you were complaining,,, but now you just wanna know what it would feel like if he just grabbed your bum with both of his hands while you sit on his la-

nO

BAD

BAD

BAD

gosh you have it bad for this boy

the moment you got him you debated whether to text him or not

i mean

you didn’t even look at the piece of paper yet

so you go into you back pocket and open the paper

‘xxx-xxx-xxxx text me when you get home peaches, i already miss your pretty face -kuroo’

WHY IS HE SO CUTE

you get up and start looking for your phone

and you spend like 6 minutes trying to think of what to say

but you finally settled with

hi :)

hopefully that was normal enough

and not even 1 minute later you already got a reply

hey cutie :) did you get home safe

wHY IS HE SO DARN CUTE

and your conversation goes from there

you guys literally talk about everything

from his favourite colour to the time when your leg fell in a hole and you slammed your whole body on the ground causing your ribs to shift and now whenever somebody touches the top of your chest they can feel the top of your ribs

(that was actually a true story and yes it happened to me and yes my ribs are very very fucked up but i’m still alive soooo)

by the time you were back in tokyo

you and kuroo were basically best friends

you guys texted, called, and facetimed every day

you stepped out of the bus and low and behold

it was kuroo waiting for you

“tETSUU”

you run to him and jump in his arms

and he catches you and swings you around a few times

everyone was just like

o.o

‘when did they get so close’

and your older brothers just like

>:(

this is n o t good shaggy

and kuroo introduces you to everyone

especially his buddies bokutou, akaashi, and kenma

and bokutou’s bombarding you with questions

and he asks why you’re wearing a shiratorizawa sweater

and you’re just like ‘i go to school there..’

and he’s just like

“oH YOU KNOW USHIJIMA? IM IN THE TOP 5 ACES RANKING WITH HIM IM SO COOL RIGHT”

“bokuto-san i think you’re scaring her”

“aKAAASHGHSI YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SAY ‘bokuto-san you’re so cool’”

and you and kuroo are just laughing your asses off

while kenma’s playing with his psp

pspspspspsppss

“bokuto-san you’re so cool”

“aKAAASHUDID YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAY IT EARLIER”

at that point you and kuroo have already walked away

and he brings you to your room

and helps you settle down your things

gosh he’s such a gentleman

y/n was ready to risk it all for this man

“peaches you okay?”

“oH i’m fine yes yes i’m fine tetsu”

“okaaaayyyy if you say so peaches” and kuroos just going through your bag checking if you have snacks

“tetsu i don’t have any snacks in there for you”

“really? what do you mean? you do have a snack for me tho”

and you’re jus like lol no i don’t

and he’s slowly walking towards you and you highkey feel intimidated but fuck that you’re not a bussy

at this point kuroo’s sitting on your legs while his arms are slowly creeping up your sides

and in your head

you’re just like

‘ahh this is it i’m gonna have a heart attack’

and suddenly

kuroo’s tickling you and you’re crying on the floor because HSJDJH

TICKLES

“tETSU PLEASE I CANT BREATHEEHHHD”

“what’s that peach? i cant hear you”

“tETSU YOU DIPSHIT PLEASE STOPFDISHS”

“hmm i don’t know, i think i’ll stop if you say ‘nya’ for me”

“gO TO HELLSKDIS”

“come on pretty, say it for me”

you’re blushing sO HARD

“n-nya”

and kuroo just freezes up because he didn’t think that you’d actually do it

“tetsu? u ok?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“tetsu”

“o-oH yeah i’m fine silly i was just thinking”

“what were you thinking about neko-chan?”

“you.”

GAHSJDJSHSGS

he was going to be the death of you

you, kuroo, bokutou, akaashi, hinata, and tsukishima suddenly ended up at an empty gym

and you guys wanted to play a match so

why not

it was you, kuroo, and tsukki

versus bokutou, hinata, and akaashi

it was a very intense but fun game

akaashi set to bokutou and bokutou did a cross shot

which wasn’t properly blocked by tsukishima

but luckily you were there to pick it up

and kuroo set to you and you slammed it down before they could even block you

the whole gym was silent

wha

how did-

hUH

“peach what”

“what tetsu”

“since when were you so good at volleyball”

“tetsu i play for japan’s u19 team, why did you think i was here in the first place? i’m here to help you guys”

and hinata’s just yelling

“y/n-cHAN I DIDNT KNOW YOU PLAYED NO WONDER WHY YOU LOOKED SO FAMILLIAR OMGJDSI”

after you got exposed

it was only you and tetsu left in the gym

after everything was cleaned up

kuroo pulled you aside before you could leave the gym

“t-tetsu what’re you doing? the gym lights are already of-“

“shut up for one second”

o.o

ogey then

“peaches i really like you. i know that we haven’t known each other long but it feels like i’ve known you since forever. will please let me take you out”

what

...

did he just

yes he did

“t-tetsu,,, i really like you too, and i would love it if we could go out on a date sometime”

and at that moment tetsu just

“HELL YEAHHH”

and he’s getting close to you again

to the point where he’s pressing you against the wall

he cups your cheek and leans closer to your face

“peaches,, can i please kiss you right now”

“yeah”

you close your eyes as you feel tetsu’s hot breath hovering other your soft lips

gosh

this was it

your were gonna kiss tetsu

your crush

until

...

...

...

...

“gET YOUR HANDS OFF MY SISTER BRAT”

and kuroos just like

wHAT THE FUCK

it’s your brother

keishin

“nII-SAN WHY”

“gET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW Y/N”

and you sadly look up at tetsu

and he just smiles at you and gestures for you to go

until you get up on your tippy toes and kiss tetsu full on the mouth

you catch him by surprise but he quickly kisses you back

you wrap your arms around his neck and slowly work your way up into his hair until you’ve got a good grip on him

kuroos hands weren’t staying still either

his hands were slowly creeping down your sides until he grabs the back of your thighs and pulls you up and holds you against him

his hands end up on your bum

and then

he squeezes

“THAT IS IT Y/N STOP SUCKING FACE AND GET OVER HERE”

oops

[pinkbalrog]

Of Gods and Tombs

A Noragami Lost Tomb AU I decided to actually write up. Apologies for cultural errors. I probably could have researched more. No offense was meant. :) Feel free to comment. I consciously tried not to sink too much focus into this because I am a perfectionist and would have brooded over this for weeks, and I do have other projects! All supernatural elements are improvised, perhaps badly. I also wasn’t sure of Xiao Er Ye? Thoughts? I don’t know Chinese : (. 

Mentioning @jockvillagersonly because they have been ridiculously nice. :)

Here we go!

Pangzi stared. The man stared back, holding Pangzi’s wilting incense in one hand. He’d been, savoring it? Maybe? Wide eyes stared back over a thin trail of smoke and, was he blushing?

“Who the FUC-”

“Shhhh!” the man lunged forward. He dropped the incense, wincing and grabbed Pangzi’s arm. “You’ll wake something up!”

“You’re something!”

“We can talk but—yes, I am?”

Pangzi got a handful of silk. Where did he get the hanfu? He jerked him close, eyes narrowed, grinning so hard his cheeks ached. “You,” he grated, “are not part of the expedition”.

Wide eyes blinked at him. “What expedition?” Pangzi cuffed him.

“You think I came in here alone? You did not come in with us.” The guy wasn’t frail, was pretty solid actually, but he had the look of a bird plucked out of a net.  

“No. Obviously?” Thoughts moved rapidly behind his eyes, and he scanned Pangzi, taking in his sweat stained shirt, abraded hands, and his unshaven face. “You came with a group then, and you came up.” He pried off Pangzi’s grip and took a step towards the dark where Pangzi had dragged the heavy door mostly into place. “At least that’s the only way you’d be in this corridor, it’s inaccessible on this level.”

Pangzi gaped. He exclaimed, “Then how the hell did you get here?” The man ignored him, squatting down to look at Pangzi’s sleeping bag. Pangzi stepped in front of it defensively.

The man continued, “They must be dead, otherwise you wouldn’t be alone, and you need help”. He nodded at Pangzi, as if they were having a discussion. They were not.

Pangzi loomed over him. “Again, how are you here?”

The man rolled back on his heels, straightened, and damn well held his hands in front of him like he was lecturing. Long sleeves slid back from thin wrists. His hair was short, and not neat at all. “I’ve been here for a long time, and I need help too.”

“You,” Pangzi sputtered, “you need help. You look, look you’re not a ghost right? You would have already tried to kill me. Right. I’m sitting down for this.” And he threw himself down on the platform of the pitiful, wedged open coffin, nearly squashing his back pack. He crossed his arms. “Well, what’s your name?”

The guy, whoever he was, smiled hopefully. “You can call me Xiao Er Ye.”

Pangzi grunted. “Wang Pangzi”.

Xiao Er Ye bowed, weirdly formal.

Stretching out his legs, which ached from walking uneven corridors for literal days, Pangzi idly rifled through his bag until he had a good grip on his gun, then he pulled out a water bottle and let it hang from his hand. “And what are you anyway?”

“I’m a god.”

The bottle thunked on the floor. “What?”

Xiao Er Ye smiled wider.

Pangzi sneered. He waved his arms. “A god. Bullshit.” Whoever lost their lunatic in that pathetic village was probably wondering what hole they fell into. Pangzi’s hole apparently.

Xiao Er Ye regarded him steadily. “It’s true. Did you wonder why I had your incense?” Pangzi scoffed,

“Becasue you’re a weirdo?”

“Because your offering allowed me to appear to you.”

“Right. And that seems like a reasonable explanation to you?”

He was ridiculous, but he was really clean. There was fat on his bones, and his nails were neat. Pangzi let go of the gun, considering. The guy clearly got in here very recently, which meant there was a way out. Could Pangzi humor the lunatic to get out of a literal death trap? Hell yes.

“Oookay,” he drawled, “So you’re a god. I can see you. What do you need my help for, your holiness?”

Immediately, Xiao Er Ye sat close beside him. “I can’t leave here because someone is here in a trap meant for me. I can’t free him because the trap is meant for me.” He paused to see if Pangzi was following. Pangzi smiled wide. Apparently reassured, Xiao Er Ye went on, “and I’m having a hard enough time keeping the trap from doing what it’s supposed to do, which is make the whole thing even more inescapable. You’re mortal, so you can free him”.

Taking a drink, Pangzi considered. So yes, Xiao Er Ye was off his rocker. He put the cap back on and asked,

“But do you know a way out of here?”

“Yes, many.”

“And you’re still here.”

Xiao Er Ye set his jaw, obstinate. “I need help.”

Pangzi tapped the bottle. So, do one nonsensical thing and finally get out? Or do nothing and lose what might be a chance. He remembered red hands, gleaming wetly.  

“Okay,” he said, and watched Xiao Er Ye light up. He was ridiculously easy to read. “Say I believe you. How does this work?”  

“I lead you to the trap, and you follow my instructions. Then we get out.”

Pangzi eyed him incredulously. “Then we get out. No real plan for that?”

Xiao Er Ye grinned, gestured at the tomb around them, and said, “That’s the easy part.”

Pangzi snorted. “Easy he says.” He made a production of standing up, and folded, “You better not screw me over, your holiness.”

“Thank you.” Pangzi paused. Xiao Er Ye’s voice was soft, earnest, “Thank you Wang Pangzi.”

Pangzi huffed a laugh. Atleast this was a harmless idiot. “Yeah, you’re welcome, let’s go get your boyfriend, or whatever, and get out of here.”

Xiao Er Ye’s voice pitched up, “my whatever?” and he kept talking.

Ignoring him, Pangzi faced the door. Damn it, he had to shift it again.

 . . .

Pangzi reconsidered this decision. He reconsidered it strongly. Ripping another lotus arrow out of his shirt he threw it at Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye dodged, and it clicked on the floor with all the others. This was trap number six. He tried to stay calm.

“And why,” he hissed, “Are you setting off every trap in this godsdamned tomb? How are there even this many left? Didn’t you come this way? Why aren’t you dead? Are you dead? Are you a fucking ghost because so help me I will hit you.”

Turns out, Xiao Er Ye was right about the corridor earlier being inaccessible from that level, but you could climb up another pit trap. Pangzi was getting very tired of squeezing up pit traps, and apparently this guy just clambered up and down them? Without getting dirty? Without seeming flustered in the least? Maybe his people put him in the hole on purpose. Was this all just enrichment? Even the spear traps? It was a fucking blessing that they seemed to be malfunctioning, or aged past effectiveness.

Xiao Er Ye looked sheepish, shrugging. “I forgot to worry about them? I’m usually not materially here when I walk around, but you need to see me and get past them so...”

Pangzi took a deep breath and counted to ten. “I need a drink”.

“Are you hurt though?” and now Xiao Er Ye was all sharp-eyed and attentive, all his focus on Pangzi, on his bruises and battered ego. Pangzi’s shoulders slumped.

“From this?” he shook his head and clapped a hand on Xiao Er Ye’s shoulder, “I’m fine. Can we just—what is THAT?”

There were hands, white, emaciated hands pressing through the stones at their feet. Black writhed up. Shrieking, Pangzi stomped, and stomped again.

Xiao Er Ye was stomping too, ranting, “Oh not again, no no I will not humor you. Do you want to be dead? Really? I told you no!”

The hands shrank back with a plaintive keen and one last lingering caress on Xiao Er Ye’s leg.

Pangzi and Xiao Er Ye stood there, breathing heavily. Their eyes met. Xiao Er Ye wore a strained smile and he looked, desperate.  

“So,” Pangzi stepped past Xiao Er Ye, careful not to step on any cracks, “Where next?” He didn’t look back, but he heard Xiao Er Ye take a shaky breath.

“Down this way. We’re almost there.”

. . .

“Almost there” was a lie. Pangzi sympathized, he did. It seemed Xiao Er Ye really believed a friend of his was down here; but the longer it took to reach, whatever it was, the more Pangzi worried he wouldn’t get the chance to talk Xiao Er Ye down, and nudge him towards showing both of them out of the tomb. He did not want to wander until he starved, or end up like his former team mates, spattered across the walls of a noisome pit.

The corridors were getting smoother, more ornate, and Pangzi swore he could feel fresh air vented in from somewhere. Xiao Er Ye was silent now, heading doggedly forward. Finally, he turned a corner, and, in the light of Pangzi’s flashlight, there were massive doors, green gold bronze with jade inset panels. They glimmered, untouched by dust. In fact, and here Pangzi swung his flashlight around, splendor wasn’t confined to the doors. There were murals faded but intricate all over the walls of the corridor.

There was no way to smuggle those doors out, but Pangzi wanted. His fingers twitched. Why had the expedition come in on a lower grade? If they’d realized the tomb was mostly vertical, that stuff like this was at the top, well, this would have been a different raid altogether. It was quiet, hushed but for the sound of Pangzi’s and Xiao Er Ye’s foot steps, the sound of their breathing, and the rustle of Xiao Er Ye’s ornate coat as he strode forward.

The doors swung open at a touch, soundlessly, and, hesitating in the corridor, Pangzi believed for the first time, that maybe Xiao Er Ye was non-human, at least a little. Was this really real? He pinched himself, which hurt. Nothing changed.

What prayers had he used, when he lit the incense? He lost track sometimes. Was he even doing any of them correctly? “Pangzi?” Xiao Er Ye’s voice echoed.

Pangzi swallowed his nerves, steeled his gut and called back, “Yeah, yeah I’m coming.” Inside was a riot of gold statues, positioned as an audience, a circle of jade set into a stone platform, intact the whole way around, and a man suspended in the air, curled defensively, dark hair falling over his shoulders. Long sleeves of richest, deepest blue, hung from his slender frame, and as Pangzi crept closer, rapt, he saw that the man’s face was ridiculously pretty. He seemed asleep. He was definitely, no doubt about it, floating.

“What.”

“I told you,” that was Xiao Er Ye, his voice grim. He was standing at the edge of the jade circle, intent on the characters carved inside it. He was holding out his hands, and for the first time, in the weird eldritch light the whole thing gave off, Pangzi could see scars on Xiao Er Ye’s palms and wrists, as if they’d but cut with a straight blade. Xiao Er ye shook, straining to reach with everything in him.

“Please, Pangzi, you can break it.” 

Pangzi felt, calm, as if he was in his home town, standing outside the Lucky Frog bar, staring into the fervid eyes of old man Wei. His voice was even,

“What happened to your hands?”

“My hands?” Xiao Er Ye drew back, glancing at his palms, “What does it matter?” he looked back at the circle, “I tried to put more of me in the circle, to get it to grab me but blood didn’t work, or hair. They just, evaporated, or fell apart on contact and nothing works. Please, break it.”

“How long have you, right—What do I do?”

Xiao Er Ye’s instructions apparently, amounted to “break it” all his easy words gone. Pangzi tried wedging the jade up, but he couldn’t get any purchase, and blunt force didn’t even dent it. He sat, panting, and chugged the last of his water. Xiao Er Ye stood by, fretting.

“I can’t, not like this.”

“What?” Xiao Er Ye hunched, looking very small.

Pangzi stood with effort, and stretched, turning to loosen the muscles of his core. “So you’re a god huh, sure it’s not that guy? He looks more, holy.”

Xiao Er Ye’s face was stone. It was unnatural. “I’m a god. He’s Xiao ge” and he said Xiao ge as if, of all things in the world, that he was most sure of.

“So you can get us out, if say, I blow up the room?”

Xiao Er Ye burst forward, breathless and all glimmering silk, “You can do that?”

Pangzi bared his teeth, “Oh hell yeah.”

. . .

Turns out it was a good thing he’d lugged all those incendiaries up so many floors. It took a while, but Xiao Er Ye had surprisingly steady hands once he had something to do with them. He talked to Xiao ge as he worked, but it wasn’t any dialect Pangzi knew, and he didn’t ask. At the last, Xiao Er Ye made Pangzi stand close, so close that he could smell incense and something like petrichor.

Xiao Er Ye met his eyes and Pangzi hit the trigger.

. . .

The world was dust. Dust and nothing. No sound or feeling, like the world fell away. It cut back in as a blade to the throat.

A literal blade. Pangzi was suddenly, viscerally aware of sun, beaming down on him, of the rumble and clatter of stone as the chamber collapsed around them, radiating outward. He ached, he was thirtsy, his stomach drew in, his breath caught, and they were out.

Xiao Er Ye was standing behind Xiao-ge, who was awake, with a predatory gaze pinned on Pangzi’s face. He held a black and gold sword against Pangzi’s throat and one arm was held out in front of Xiao Er Ye. Xiao Er Ye blinked, looking dazed.

“Uh” Pangzi tried again, throat dry, “Xiao Er Ye?”

The god shook his head, drew a deep breath, and noticed Xiao ge. “Xiao ge!”

He threw himself on him dragging him away from Pangzi. Xiao ge went willingly raising a long fingered hand to Xiao Er Ye’s arm, gazing into his face with an intensity that hurt to look at. Xiao Er Ye, reverent, cupped his face, grazing his thumbs beneath ink dark eyes. He breathed out, bright eyed, “You’re awake.”

Pangzi found somewhere else to look. All that shattered gold looked promising.

. . .

The chamber they’d broken was indeed, at the top of the tomb, and had seemingly been built atop an older structure, carved out from inside the tomb so that it was built on top of a place of death, so that it would draw Xiao Er Ye up. From where, Pangzi didn’t ask. What he knew was that there were trees, green and rustling, and sunlight warm on his face. The underbrush was thick, but they managed to find a route that wouldn’t exhaust them within an hour. Pangzi got out his kukri, and Xiao-ge put his sword to better use.

Together, they made their way through the trees, Xiao-ge going ahead, presumably to clear the way of threats, like squirrels. He’d tied back his heavy sleeves and accepted a torn bit of silk from Xiao Er Ye to pull back his hair. Pangzi watched him go, then turned to Xiao Er Ye, who practically glowed. Was he literally glowing? It was hard to tell. The god stood on his toes, soft eyed and open, watching where Xiao ge went.

Pangzi cleared his throat, and asked, “So if you’re a god, what’s he?”

Xiao Er Ye started, then settled back on his heels. “Oh! He’s a Hafuri vessesl!” Pangzi looked at him, dead eyed. “Oh, it means he is the most loyal and, potent? Of shinki, of named spirits that serve a god.”

Pangzi mulled that over. He dug out a few protein bars and made to hand one to Xiao Er Ye, who declined. “Named spirits?”

“Gods give spirits a new existence with a name. He is Xiao ge. He becomes a tattoo! It’s beautiful.”

Pangzi unwrapped his bar and replied, “Right. A tattoo.” He drew himself up, and bit the bullet, asking, “And what god are you?”

But it was Xiao-ge who answered, stealthy as a cat creeping up on them, regarding Xiao Er Ye with a warm gaze, “Qinguang Wang”.

Pangzi choked. “What?”

The God of death and misfortune ducked his head, then smirked impishly, leaning into Pangzi’s personal space. Neatly, he swung Pangzi around to face forward, and rested his with an arm over Pangzi’s shoulders. “And you’re a Priest now!”

Pangzi stopped dead. “What.” He blinked, raised a hand to his chin, and asked carefully, “Are there perks?”

The god’s laughter pealed out, obnoxiously loud. Xiao ge’s lip twitched upward. He glanced at Pangzi, and intoned, nodding gravely, “Do well.” He resumed his walk ahead of them.

Pangzi shrugged off the—his god’s arm and stomped after him, “And what is that supposed to mean? I haven’t even agreed to this yet!”

. . .

Pangzi insisted that the shrine have a full size kitchen and more than one Hello Kitty egg timer.

Fin

[ccalbert]

An Introduction

~Hello Lovelies~

Stop me if you’ve heard this before:

You’re a young(ish), starry-eyed writer whose mind is filled to the brim with stories. You treat characters as thought children and spend hours daydreaming their imaginative lives; their hopes and dreams; all the challenges they’ll face. You know once you put pen to paper, your books will fly off the shelves. You may not be the next Stephen King, but you know you can garner a small group of fans at least. Someone, somewhere, is bound to be interested. And you have so many ideas! One of them will surely be a hit, right?!

But which one? And where do you start?

Well, if you’re anything like me… You might never start at all. Sure, you may have a couple hundred notebooks full of ideas and a few bare-boned chapters written, but you haven’t quite found time to finish any works-in-progress yet. 

Or maybe you’ve gotten through half a manuscript already. But something’s… off about it. 

The dialogue’s just not flowing right. That fight scene feels clunky. This isn’t how you pictured the villain at all! She’s the main character; why is she so BORING?! HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO FIX THIS PLOT HOLE?! WHY ARE THERE MORE OF THEM??!!!

*Ahem*

Needless to say, I get it. Wanting to be a writer and actually writing are two very different things. It doesn’t matter how many ideas your clever little mind can produce. You have to be able to follow through with them if you want any form of success. 

But, I’m getting ahead of myself. This is supposed to be an introduction, after all. 

My name is C.C. Albert. At least, that’s my pen name… Or will be. When- and if- I get published. 

To be completely honest, I don’t know if it’s right to call myself a “writer” when it’s been literal ages since I’ve worked on any of my story ideas. All my WIPs are currently scattered across the net. Rotting in Google Docs without endings. Gathering dust on fanfiction sites. 

But, I still want to publish something. I think I’d make a pretty decent author. Or maybe even an editor. 

So, what’s stopping me? I could think of a few excuses, but it all boils down to one thing: 

I am a hardcore procrastinator. Which doesn’t make for a very good author, let alone a successful one. And I want to change that. 

I want to call myself a writer- an author- without saying that’s what I aspire to be. I want others to read my stories and be inspired or, at the very least, entertained. I want to make a career out of what I consider being one of my better talents. I don’t need to be a bestseller or make millions of dollars; I have no illusions about being famous. 

What I really want is to say that I did it. 

I wrote a fucking book! 

Which brings me to this blog and why I’m writing it. I’ve been toying with the idea (for over two years) of starting a blog for writers like me. Writers who may skirt the edge of being lazy, but who really just need advice on how to tackle that one fight scene or the encouragement to get through that next chapter. Or who maybe just need to see (and laugh at) someone else struggling with the same issues they’ve been dealing with. 

And so, with that in mind, I now present my blog! 

“Writing and the Art of Procrastination.”

Let’s get to work~

P.S. As the title suggests, I wouldn’t expect much in the way of regular posts. The plan is to have something put up every month, but I do not keep very well to a schedule. I will try to be consistent. I make no promises.

[iphoenixrising]

If it's not a problem I would like to see what happens when omega Tim safe words out?

I just so in love with how you wrote him and I know you've a thing with Dr Tim and safe words but I would really appreciate if you'll give me this with omega Tim

Have a great day/night

Babe asked for O!Tim safe wording out. Taking into account how much he’s been able to take so far in my fics, then it’s apparently going to be truly something for him to safe word, right?

….or is this just another excuse to have AAANNNNNGGGGGGSSSSSSSTTTTTT.

(I regret nothing, but, well, you might, babe :D :D)

**

It was just supposed to be Pack support. Just the Bats realizing they had an Omega in their ranks, an Omega who had been more on the outskirts than part of the inner circle, an Omega who had been walking a long road alone. Just the Dick and Jay trying to be good Alphas and take care of him. Just giving in to those crazy instincts.

It was never supposed to hurt. It was never supposed to break him. Not like the first time when he was essentially kicked out of the Pack, when his cape was pulled out from under him, and his place became a question mark instead of a given. (Falling from Wayne Towers because Ra’s is such a douce canoe, he’d been beaten to fuck, blood loss and a real concussion to blame when he wondered if they’d bother putting up a case with his suit, if he even mattered that much to Dick, if he ever really did…)

When he presented, when he didn’t have a hint of a Pack scent, It had taken an embarrassingly long time to feel like he could get anywhere near the city. Long after he’d sent Bruce back home, telling him everything with sparse details, why there wasn’t an R on his shoulder, why he couldn’t be Batman’s sidekick anymore. He’d left all the pain locked in his chest, keeping himself as impartial as possible to deliver the hard facts, ignoring the whimpering, cowering Omega in the depths of him crying out for someone, anyone to want him, need him, keep him.

Working his way back in hadn’t been easy. Keeping his presentation under wraps with scent blockers and suppressants hadn’t been either, but there was no way in hell he was going to let something like the fact he was an Omega be the reason they wanted him back. Fuck, no.

But it happened anyway. Slowly but surely, O called him more often about cases, wanted to know if he had any helpful intel. B dropped by the Tower, more than once, to seek him out, told him how buggy the Batcomputer must be this point, but he wouldn’t really know, Tim, because you always handled that, didn’t you? Dick tentatively showed up in one of his safe houses while he riding an undercover stint, pizza and terrible B sci-fi flicks, looked crushed when Tim closed the door on him by sheer self-preservation instinct.  Jason Todd showed up to fish him out of the middle of the Atlantic when a case of crimefighting gone hilariously awry ended up with a thwarted world-domination plot and his ass landed in the middle of, you know, the ocean and shit. Damian of all people demanded his presence in Gotham for the upcoming anniversary of Batcow’s induction into the family.

(When he’d blurted out, “why would you want me back? Aren’t you the one that wanted me gone in the first place? Well, I mean, got what you asked for, right? How about we pretend this conversation never happened.” 

He had been in no way prepared for the demon himself to come hunt him down with a vengeance. Robin seeking him out no matter where he hopped next on the fight crime, kick ass, and take names train.)

(That kid? Seriously.)

And as much as Dick had apologized after he finally made his way back to Gotham, had said no Omega in his Pack should have been alone, without a Bat safety net (reads as: mother hen), he had seemed genuinely upset Tim had presented outside of Gotham, on his own.

Worse, he hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t come back.

(Like he thought that was an option at the time.)

It wasn’t until later, after they found out he presented, and were…upset he’d been on his own for so long afterwards, that he’d laughed at Dick’s angry expression, shaking his head.

“Come back? Why? To what? I didn’t have any Pack scent by then, and I sure as fuck wasn’t welcome, so why bother? I did what I had to do. We got Bruce back, didn’t we?”

He hadn’t been prepared for how strongly Dick’s musk flared, how the Alpha went deadly serious, had stepped back and palmed some pellets on instinct when facing something potentially dangerous – like a pissed off, feral Alpha male.

It had taken visible effort for Dick to get a hold of his Alpha instincts, which had absolutely perplexed him at the time because really? They hadn’t been partners, allies, friends for almost two years by then.

“It was…I tried to….Tim –“

He’d just waved off the helpless sputtering because by then, it hadn’t really mattered.

“It all worked out in the end. Don’t think about it all too hard, Dick. I don’t.” Which had been an obvious lie, but had at least appeased the Alpha enough not to viciously scent him or use the dreaded octopus hold until he was cuddled within an inch of his life.

So coming back was…different. Unexpected.

Being the official Pack Omega came with Bats all over his everything. Bats coming out of the woodwork when he was starting to run down, when his Heat was approaching, when he’d been out of the city for too long.

(It was all for nothing in the end. Because they’re only after the Omega now, not the boy that used to wear the R…)

“Heat’s easier with an A, Timmers,” Jay had started that ball rolling. “Ya ever gotta need fer the real thing, betcha I know a few Alphas what might help ya out.”

“I can call some Alphas I trust if that becomes the case.” Had been off-handed in his mind, but it had been something else to see Jason’s expression smooth out, to catch the soft noise of leather when the Red Hood’s hands had clenched into fists.

But against his better judgement, he’d let them into his Heat safehouse. At first just to let them deliver Alfred goodies. Later because they wanted to stay, to spend his Heat together.

It was fine as long as they would just leave afterwards. It was fine as long as it stayed just instincts, just Alphas and an Omega. It was fine because they still treated him like Red Robin on the streets and left him alone when he went blackout on cases outside the city.

It was fine until it suddenly wasn’t.

“Gawd, sweetheart,” Jay moans against the nape of his neck, noses against the base, “ya feel s’ good. My sweet lil’ ‘Mega. My purty ‘Mega, lettin’ me in, givin’ it up ta yer Alpha. Gonna lemme be good ta ya, yeah? That’s right. Perfect fer me, ain’t cha?”

It’s his second day, so he’s with it enough to realize what Jason said.

“Yeah he is,” Dick’s fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “He’s such a good Omega for us, isn’t he Jay? He fits so nicely between us. Our cute O–“

“Red.” Tim croaks out from under Jay’s bigger body, the wet sounds of skin slapping fast and furious. He bucks up against Jay with real strength, his eyes already getting ridiculously hot and full.

“Red, dammit! Get the hell off me!”

He yells loud enough to make Jay flinch and jerk up abruptly from where he’d been laying over Tim’s back.

Dick’s hand pauses before untangling from his hair.

And even if the Heat is still burning, his body desperate for the knot that was just seconds ago opening him up for it, Tim pulls off Jason’s Alpha cock wetly, doing it himself while both Alphas seem frozen in their spots, not sure why he would safe word out at all. He seemed to be enjoying them!

Tim’s already clawing and scrambling off the bed, careful not to touch either of them, legs wobbly, messy ass and thighs on display, feeling open and raw and needy, but his chest too tight, his lungs seemingly unable to get enough air.

The bathroom door has a lock. Not that it was much of a deterrent if the Alphas really wanted to get to him, but there’s always the window big enough for him to fit through, too small for Dick or Jay. It would give him enough of a head start anyway.

At one point, he’d pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around himself, sitting against the bathroom door to literally block it with his body without being consciously aware of it.

He didn’t move, stayed bare ass on the cold tile floor, concentrated on getting enough air back in his lungs, biting down on his lower lip until his eyes stop spilling over, hot and full, until his chest stops stuttering with half-sobs. Until the Omega in him calms it the utter fuck down.

Soft tapping filters through when the door vibrates against his back.

Dick’s voice filters in while the inside of his head is an utter mess. “… got some pajamas for you, and-and a sandwich. Jay made coffee. Can you let me in, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I’m not your fucking Omega. I wasn’t enough to be your partner, your brother, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be your bitch either.”

“What the fuck didja just say ta ‘im?” Jay barks from outside the door.

“It’s just instincts,” he tries to snarl but his voice is hoarse, “that’s all this is. You think I don’t know that?” The laugh is scarily unhinged, “it’s not like anyone chose me, right?”

Because honestly, that hasn’t happened his whole vigilante career.

There’s silence outside the door. Stillness. The Omega writhes inside him, still needs a knot, still wants the Alphas even though Tim knows better than to think they want anything other than a warm hole, another vigilante to share the burden, an Omega’s influence in the Pack.

(He fucking gets it.)

“Apparently, we should talk.” Dick’s voice is flat, something like anger or disappointment.

“Get out,” is what Tim says instead. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. I’ll take care of myself.”

Like I’ve always done. Even back when I wore the tunic.

“Tim, we shouldn’t–“

“No,” and his own scent had changed from candy sweet to alarmingly bitter to his own nose. “You are going to get your clothes on and leave. You two don’t see me through anymore Heats. I find someone else or take care of it myself.”

“What?!” Jay sounds floored, “what the shit is this alla sudden? Ya can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m not fucking around, Jason. You leave, or I will.”

“You can’t go out smelling like Heat!”

“I dunno what the hell’s goin’ on wit’ ya but–“

He stands up on wobbly legs, moves to push the window open, knows they’ll hear the squealing because he’s not trying to be quiet about it.

“Whoa, whoa! All right, all right, fer fuck’s sake!”

“We’re getting dressed and leaving,” Dick is right up against the door. “Don’t go out the window, Tim. We’re…we’re going to go, okay?”

“Then go. Now.” He says from the window without turning around. He can’t chance his inner Omega will push him to whine at the door, to smell like open for business, take me, love me, make me yours because that is not at all where any of them are right now.

He hears them talking, their voices getting more muted as they go back to the bedroom to apparently do as he asked.

Tim climbs out of the tub, window still up, and turns on the shower without getting in, just using the noise as a deterrent.

“Don’t like it, Dickie,” he vaguely catches as the Alphas pass by the door again. “We try ta take care a’ ‘im and that’s what the fuck he says?”

“He safe worded, Jay. What does that mean to you?”

And Tim’s throat gets tight when he thinks about the implications Dick is suggesting.

“Dunno. How ‘bout ya gimme yer theories, Detective.”

“Later. I want to make sure there’s water and Alfred meals left in the feezer.”

“Fine, them let ‘im take care of his own ass. I ain’t never took advantage of a ‘Mega in my fucking life.”

Tim doesn’t leave the bathroom until he hears the front door slam closed. He darts out long enough to reconfigure the security system, makes sure no Bats are getting in without a hell of a shock.

The rest of his Heat is utterly fucking miserable, natch.

He feels wrung out and hurt by the time it’s done and he’s ready to put on the suit again.

He doesn’t put in the Batcomm, for the first time in months, and it goes back in a drawer before he takes off out the window.

[lavenderslemonade]

Playing Animal Crossing While in Quarantine HC

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Pure fluff

Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, Tamaki and Aizawa: Playing Animal Crossing With Their S/O While in Quarantine

I’ve been obsessed with animal crossing these past few days! If you want to visit my island some time or just chill, DM me and I’ll send you my switch friend code!

Also, if there’s another My Hero Academia peep you want me to do that isn’t on this list, leave me a message in my inbox and I’ll do them next! Also, please feel free to leave a comment!

Midoriya

- The two of you had the game pre-ordered and once you got it the two of you became hooked. You refuse to let Midoriya onto your island till you have everything set up how you want. However, Midoriya lets you visit his island frequently. He has a little park area on his island, a little picnic area where the two of you can have little dates since he can’t take you out on real ones.

- He won’t let you in his house. You don’t know why, but he won’t. Before you can get near it you see where he’s dug holes or blocked the entrance off with large items so you can’t get through. “Midoriya, I wanna see your house.” You state one day over the phone as you keep hitting the large fish tank he’s put in front of the door with your net.

- You finally get in one day when he accidentally takes the fish tank away when he hit the wrong button, and you just bolt inside. You hear him freaking out on the other end of the phone begging you to please not look at his house. However, it’s too late. It’s...actually not that bad. He has normal rooms much to your surprise.

- Midoriya starts chasing you around his house as you scope out what he’s done with the place. Bathroom, Kitchen, Bedroom, Living room, it’s all pretty normal. Then you get to the basement. You knew it was too good to be true. His basement is nothing but All Might. Midoriyas avatar is behind you sweating and freaking out. However, you reassure him that it’s okay, you’ve seen worse. No really, you went to Minetas island to be nice, and like I said, you’ve seen worse on that island.

- If there’s something in the Nook shop that he thinks you’d like he’ll buy it for you and surprise you with it the next time you come over. If there’s a fossil you can’t find, or one or two bugs you need for Blathers then he’ll try his hardest to find them on different islands and give them to you. If your anniversary or birthday was coming up and couldn’t spend it together during quarantine, he’ll try to come up with a surprise for you.

- You leave your switch for a few minutes to open a few gifts that your relatives had sent you through the mail, and get a piece of cake that your parent(s) got for you. You keep your switch on so Midoriya can run around your island and do as he pleases. While you’re away he begins planting flowers all around your house that he’s collected. Has a little picnic set and places it in the middle of the flowers. Luckily the flowers start to attract butterflys and different insects.

- When you come back your heart is warm from the display, and the two of you spend several hours just talking and doing little things together like collecting the bugs the flowers brought in or fishing.

Bakugou

- He has a switch, but he didn’t buy the game when it first came out. Why would he? It was too cute looking for his taste and he remembers some of the girls playing that stupid background music to help them concentrate while they studied back at UA. It drove him up a damn wall then, so why would he put himself through that torture now?

- It wasn’t till he became annoyed with you that he decided to get the game. You were one of the people that had the game pre-ordered and ever since you got it, plus went under quarantine, you’ve hardly paid Bakugou a lick of attention. He was on the phone with you trying to have a conversation, but whenever it was your turn to talk or answer a question your line was just dead. He’d call out your name snapping you out of your trance, and apologize to him due to you trying to catch a butterfly.

- It was okay the first few times it happened, but then it became annoying. How your line would be quiet then randomly “If I can’t one more fucking sea bass!” blares from your end causing Bakugou to nearly drop his phone in surprise. “Are you still playing that stupid fucking game!” He’d growl into his phone. Goes onto Amazon once the two of you get off the phone and order the game. He won’t pick up whenever you try to call him, which honestly makes you feel pretty guilty.

- However, your guilt flies out the door when you see the banner come across your screen stating a visitor was arriving. You rush to the docks to see who it is and you’re surprised to see a mini Bakugou avatar walk out of the little airport. Quickly, you grab your phone and call him. You had hit the joy emote as you waited for him to pick up, and as soon as he did you couldn’t help but squeal in excitement. “I can’t believe you got the game!” You’d state excitedly as you watch your screen.

- Then an ax appeared in his hand, making the color drain from your face. “Please don’t...” You whimper. Honestly you expected him to chop down all your tree’s, however he simply chased you for about five minutes. Once he’s cooled down he listens to you gush about all the little dates the two of you can go on, giving him a tour of your island, and even showing off the big fish you’ve caught. He’s a little irked because he’s just started the game and hasn’t caught fish as big as yours yet.

- He complains about his hate for Tom Nook. You watched as he tries to hit Toms tent with an ax to no luck. He goes around your island and shakes all the fruit out of your trees much to your displeasure though he drops his own fruit from his island in front of you stating he wants you to plant them.

- Bakugou has a shirt that looks like his hero outfit that he wears most of the time. If he’s not wearing that shirt then he has a regular black shirt with a skull on it. The Bakusquad usually visits each others island, though they don’t visit Denki’s as much since it’s about just as bad as Minetas. It’s not perverted like Minetas, but it’s not really put together well and he wears the dress that looks like it’s a bikini...

- Bakugou is known to uproot Mina’s flowers when she’s not looking to give to you later, and easily gets irritated if one of the bakusquad catches a fish he was trying to get.

- He tried to name his island Hell, but that’s not allowed. So he followed Jacksepticeyes example and named it Hel

- He has a large bed in his house so that whenever you come over you can crawl in with him and pretend that the two of you are cuddling. He has Moose on his island AND HE WANTS HIM GONE!

Todoroki

- He didn’t pre-order the game before it came out, in fact he didn’t even own a switch. He’s never really been that interested in video games, and has mostly been spending his free time reading and spending time with his siblings. You keep sending him images of fish you’ve caught, the small garden you’ve set up beside your house, and when you spotted a Wisp across the water. He could tell you were having a lot of fun, and was surprised to find out that Midoriya and the rest of Class 1-A was playing the game.

- Thus, he ordered a switch and the game so he could play with everyone. He sends a picture of his avatar once he’s gotten everything set up. Though, you’re not surprised that his character has white hair instead of red. You call him and answer any questions he has, helping him learn the ropes of the game. once he’s got a good bit of things done, and Timmy and Tommys shop has been set up, you allow him to visit your island. However, he won’t let you visit his yet.

- The two of you mostly goof around collecting bugs and fish. When the sun sets you have a bench near the edge of the water that the two of you sit on together. Todoroki starts a garden on your island just for you. Yeah, you have one that you started, but he wanted to start one where it’s just flowers he’s brought you. If he’s visiting a fellow classmates island and sees a flower he thinks you’d like or would look good in the garden, he’ll take a few thousand bells and drop it at the island owners feet before typing “I want the flower.”

- They’re not complaining because they got a dept to pay. Will go straight to your island and plant the flower.

- He has Marshal AND Raymond on his island, and honestly you feel a bit jealous. He’s converted pictures of you and the two of you together from his phone to the nintendo app so he can hang up pictures of y’all in his house. His house is honestly pretty simple, just like his dorm room. He even has a bamboo noodle slide beside his house. Actually a good chunk of his island has bamboo on it now, which doesn’t surprise you.

- The two of you actually dress up your characters to go on mini dates together. It grosses Bakugou out. “Why the fuck are y’all dressed like you’re about to go someplace fancy?!” Bakugou would type out while hitting Todoroki with a net much to his annoyance. When he’s bored Todoroki would make little outfits for you and send you the QR code. You mostly wear only what Todoroki makes now.

- He insist’s on helping you pay off your debt to Tom Nook, but you won’t let him.

Kirishima

- Like Midoriya he and you both pre-ordered the game. Surprisingly he’s played the past Animal Crossings as well. Before quarantine the two of you would actually listen to soothing animal crossing music when you study or were taking a nap. Your island is more developed than his since he doesn’t want to do the time jump cheat.

- The first room he has added onto his house is turned into a gym. He gets along so well with Tank, and usually can see his character running with Tank. Sucks at designing clothes so you designed him a Red Riot costume and emailed him the QR code. He lets you design different outfits for him and will put on little fashion shows for you. The two of you usually visit Sero and Minas island together, and sometimes Bakugou when he’s on (which is rare), and Denki’s.

- Everyone clicked the surprise emote when Denki appeared in the bikini dress. The two of you will go on fishing dates together, and if he catches a cute insect or a hard to catch fish, he’ll give it to you. One of the only things he’ll try is trying to grow a money tree, which surprisingly works.

- You logged on one day for one of your dates and he stated he had a gift for you. He’d hop off the bench y’all were sitting on and give you a huge stuffed bear from the Nook store. After that he’d take you to the town square where some of his villagers were singing Bubblegum KK.

- Has a large bed so the two of you can ‘snuggle’. His house is pretty ordinary, he keeps all his workout stuff in the back room. He’s the type that uses half his island to store the fish he’s collected to he an turn them in all at once. He’ll spend two-three days collecting fish nonstop, and then selling them to Timmy and Tommy. He see’s it as just a bit of revenge for the insane dept Tom Nook has put everyone in.

- He surprisingly pays close attention to the decor of your home. If there’s something he thinks you’ll like, he’ll build it and then change it’s color so it can fit with your homes aesthetic. Both of you download the nintendo switch app and convert photos of yourselves to put in your homes. He wants to go visit Tamaki, but you try to convince him not to since you know he’ll probably cause the older boy to have an anxiety attack with how hyper he is on the game.

- The two of you decided to be nice and visit Mineta’s island a.k.a “Hentai Island”. As soon at the two of you read the title you knew you were in trouble. His avatar frequently wears a shirt that has abs on it, and somehow it’s more disturbing than Denki’s Bikini dress. He tries to flirt with you in the game “Do I look manly enough for you now (y/n)?” you can basically hear him salivating from the other side of the screen.

- After that you and Kirishima vow never to go back. He’s not allowed on either of your islands either. Kirishima allowed him over once and he just kept staring at one of the pixel images of you Kirishima has on his wall. Luckily, while he was over Kirishima accidentally shook some wasps from a tree, and while he was running away they attacked Mineta.

Tamaki

- Both of you were too busy to pre-order the game, but Fatgum knew how much both you and Tamaki enjoyed Animal Crossing. He had actually caught the two of you playing on your break on your 3DS’s. He knew that some much was going on in your lives due to it being your final school year, plus the ordeal with saving Eri. Thus, he pre-ordered two of the games as a surprise for the two of you.

- However, due to not knowing when you’d get quarantined, once the games arrived he personally mailed them out to the both of you along with a little letter. When the two of you got your copies, you were surprised and ecstatic. Both of you sent a thank you text to Fatgum and began playing right away. Both of you spent a few days to yourselves, wanting to get your island organized and to surprise each other. You tried catching all the butterflies you could to give to Blathers and make the museum’s butterfly garden as nice as it could be!

- Neither you or Tamaki time jump since you want to experience the full calming effect of Animal Crossing. Tamaki honestly feels a bit intimidated by  Bam, but he loves Fuchsia. When the two of you finally visit he each other, you insist on going to his island first. He has flowers all around Fuchsia’s home and you could see a few buds sprouting around the new homes that were being built, his way of welcoming his new villagers.

- He’s made a large garden for you at the top of his island, where none of the villagers can really disturb the two of you. Because there’s nothing more awkward than Tamaki spending time with his S/O in a romantic setting and then trying to take them to the secret spot he set up just for Dom to be sitting on the bench meant for the two of you. He doesn’t want to be mean to the villager, however, watches from the side as you pull out your net and start thwacking Dom with it till he moves.

- Tamaki watched Dom leave, before joining you on the bench, and deciding to send the sheep some flowers as an apology for making him move. But like, it was a mini date for the two of you and he really wanted to watch the meteor shower with you from that said spot. And the end of the night you give him the outdoor picnic set you needed cherry blossom petals to make.

- On your island you tried your best to collect as many butterflies as you could along with a few other insects and koi for aesthetics to surprise Tamaki with. He’s honestly shocked with home many butterflies you had caught. With the time frame of some of them it means you’ve probably been up early in the morning to late at night trying to catch specific ones. Blathers probably has nightmares now about butterflies.

- Both of you aren’t really big fans of Tom Nook, but Tamaki loves Isabelle, Timmy and Tommy. Whenever Mirio and Nejire visit, it’s chaotic. The two of you will be chilling in the town square watching Marina sing into the mic that Tamaki set up for her, meanwhile Mirio and Nejire are chasing each other with nets and beating each other over the head. Mirio accidentally plucked one of Tamaki’s flower hybrids and Tamaki quickly clicked the distressed emote.

- Tamaki takes very good care of his plant life, literally going around and watering them everyday. So you were able to replicate the hybrid and planted it in the spot where Mirio had accidentally plucked the other one.

Aizawa

- Due to your busy schedules, Aizawa has a switch lite that he plays on when he’s taking breaks at school or when he’s just resting at home. Meanwhile you have a full on switch. Both of you pre-ordered the game and play it side by side at home. Aizawa is pretty resourceful with his materials, keeping things in his storage as to not waste room and going out to collect more stuff.

- His first two villagers were Rudy and Pashmina. You watched as his eye lit up at Rudy, knowing your boyfriend was crazy for cats. He tries to follow things step by step, collecting items to sell and pay off Tom Nook and steadily becoming frustrated with the more dept the damn raccoon put him in. Meanwhile, you’re using the time jump cheat to get things done quicker and make your island look like legit paradise.

- You’ve went to his island to find him catching fish and trying to give it to Rudy. He doesn’t really use emotes. A good bit of the time you see that he’s online, thus when you go to visit his island you’re surprised to see he’s not greeting you at the docks. You go to his house and you’re not surprised to find his avatar asleep on the bed. You go to the living room to see your boyfriend passed out on the couch, his switch resting against his chest as he snoozes away.

- You frequently bop him in the head with your net when you want attention, because he’s usually focused on completing tasks for Tom Nook and selling items to Timmy and Tommy. You finally stop when he pulls out an ax and just stares at you. You peek up from your switch in your chair in the living room and just see Aizawa glaring at you from the couch. “...I love you.” You’d state with the most innocent look you can muster.

- Barold moves onto Aizawa’s island and AIZAWA WANTS HIM GONE. You’d noticed online how the character had been getting a fair amount of disapproval, but it couldn’t be that bad. Well, Aizawa led you to Barolds house and you were amazed to see the surveillance stuff he has up, and you agree with Aizawa. Boi gotta go.  

- You decide to mess with him one day so you send all his students his switch friendship code, and Momo helps you design the schools uniform for the students. Some even make their hero costumes. When he gets on one evening he’s horrified to see all his students sitting in classroom chairs in the center of his island. Some of the villagers are passing by trying to talk to them, and you’re chilling on a bench. You walk over to your boyfriend and pull out a party popper and spray confetti over him yelling “Surprise! They wouldn’t pay attention on Zoom, so I thought they’d pay attention on here!”

- He just stares you down from his side of the bed. You refuse to look up from your switch to meet his irritated gaze.

- You’re not allowed on his island for a week.

[fallingappleshurt]

Bouncing Through The Years

Helllloooooo, this fic is set in @antarctic-bay s fd au! Please keep in mind what I write might not be canon! (Sorry for the tag)

Skeppy and Techno friendship fic!! :DD

There are no real set ages in this fic, it’s just Skeppy and Techno from a young age bonding over Skeppys trampoline and being buddies!

Swearing but you probably already knew that

Hope you enjoy! (:

Techno had just finished the dishes when someone started pounding on their front door, he would have ignored it but he heard;

“Techno! Techno! Open the door!”

Techno dried off his hands and opened the door, Skeppy standing there panting, a hand on his chest.

“Techno- I got- I got a trampoline!” He wheezed.

“Really?”

“Yes! Come on, I wanna show you!” Skeppy grabbed his arm, Techno shook him off.

“Okay hang on,” Techno started pulling on his shoes while Skeppy bounced in the doorway.

“I’m going to Skeppy’s!” He yelled.

“Don’t care!” Tommy yelled back.

“Tell Wilbur, asshole!” He turned and followed Skeppy out of their apartment building and down the street while Skeppy babbled about how he got it.

“My neighbor had it for a few years so we got it second hand.” He explained.

“And it’s a birthday gift?”

“Yeah! An early one so I can still use it before it gets cold.”

They went around the side of Skeppy’s house and tugged the huge white plastic gate open and Techno saw the trampoline. It was huge with a sagging net and ripped foam around the edges but other than that it looked brand new.

They pulled off their shoes and climbed through the opening in the net, Skeppy zipped it back up, and they started bouncing.

“Wait wait wait, I saw this on TV- I can do a flip, back up.” Skeppy nudged Techno away.

“Oh here we go-”

“Shut up and let me do this!” Skeppy shuffled from foot to foot, Techno snorted.

“Are you trying to rev up?”

“No! I’m just hyping myself up!” Skeppy took a deep breath then launched himself forwards, tucking his head close to his chest with an outstretched arm, and actually managed to do a flip.

And also punch a hole in the net.

He had flipped with his arm out and was too close to the edge. Skeppy pulled his arm out and shrieked while Techno cackled.

“Well, you did a flip.” Techno said, biting his tongue through a grin.

“Shut up!” Techno laughed harder.

“Okay, okay it’s fine, this is fine. I can patch that up later- probably.”

“Good job Skeppy.”

“You’re such a jerk!” Skeppy snapped back with no heat, he perked up a minute later. “I know a game we can play!”

“What is it?”

“It’s called popcorn, one person sits in the middle and curls up and the other people bounce around them and just to get the person in the middle to lose their grip and- like open their arms! Like a popcorn kernel!”

Techno nodded, “Sounds interesting enough, who’s going first?”

“I’ll go first,” Skeppy sat down in the middle of the trampoline and crossed his legs then wrapped his arms around them. “Now you jump around me.”

Techno started jumping, even acting like he was going to land on Skeppy a few times just to sike him out, but couldn’t get him to pop.

“You’re bad at this,” Skeppy commented as he flopped onto his side, arms still wrapped tightly around his knees.

“Shut up,” Techno jumped close to his head, Skeppy shrieked.

Techno was about to give up when the back gate cracked open.

“Techno!” Wilbur poked his head through the gate, “Phil says it’s time- what the fuck? Since when did Skeppy have a trampoline?”

“Trampoline?” Wilbur yelped in protest as Tommy squeezed past him to get a better look.

“Perfect timing- come help me pop this bitch.” Techno walked over and unzipped the opening. Tommy didn’t question it and ran over, pulling off his shoes, grabbing Techno’s outstretched hand and was hauled up.

“Tommy Techno wait, Phil sent us to come get you.” Wilbur pointed out, walking over and resting his hands on the metal rim.

“Just this one round?” Tommy asked, “Please Wil?”

Wilbur bit his lip then sighed, “Okay fine, one round.” He took off his shoes and climbed up. “How do we play?”

Techno explained the rules and they started bouncing again this time with much more success, bouncing Skeppy higher and higher until he lost this grip and flopped on the rubber.

“Can I go next?” Tommy asked, already sitting down in the middle.

“We really should be going,” Wilbur trailed off and looked between his siblings. Tommy stared up at him and Techno smiled weakly, in hopes to persuade him, “One more?”

Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek then finally nodded, “One more.” Tommy cheered and they started up again.

One more turned into several more, each person getting a turn to be the kernel. After they got bored of that they started on trying to outdo each other with tricks.

Skeppy did another front flip and managed not to punch a hole in the net and Tommy also tried to but was stopped by Wilbur who ‘didn’t want to see Tommy break his neck’. Techno did help hold up his legs while Tommy tried to do a handstand.

“I bet I could do a backflip,” Skeppy said, Techno rolled his eyes.

“If you managed too you’d probably punch another hole in the net.”

“Shut up that was one time-”

“Like an hour ago!”

“Shut up!” Skeppy shoved his shoulder playfully.

“I’d like to see Skeppy try to do it.” Wilbur said, resting his chin in his palm. Techno laughed, trying to ignore the waxy feeling the trampoline left on his skin.

“Someone believe in me!” Skeppy said, standing up. He kept trying to figure out how he would do it. After multiple attempts of twisting around and bouncing around Tommy groaned.

“Do it already!”

“I was just about to but you messed up my concentration!”

“Yeah, ‘concentration’.” Techno air quoted.

“You’re a jerk!” Skeppy shot back while Techno laughed.

“What the hell is taking you guys so long?” Techno turned and saw Phil standing at the gate, looking annoyed.

“Uh- we got distracted,” Techno offered weakly, “We were trying to watch Skeppy do a backflip but he keeps chickening out.”

“Hey!”

“Uhuh,” Phil nodded, looking exasperated.

“Phil you should do one, you’ve talked about it before.” Wilbur said.

“I can but-” He started only to be interrupted.

“I bet you can’t!” Tommy said, pushing his face against the net.

“I bet he can,” Wilbur shot back.

“He can’t, he's too old!”

“Alright that’s it,” Phil climbed onto the trampoline, “I’m gonna prove you little shits wrong.” He pushed Tommy’s head, “Then we are going home.”

Techno backed up to the edge along with everyone else and watched as Phil jumped up, arms outstretched, then pulled his knees to his chest then landed the flip perfectly.

Tommy gasped while Wilbur clapped, elbowing Tommy.

“I told you he could do it!”

“That was so cool- can you teach me how to do that?” Skeppy asked, leaning forwards on his knees, Tommy jumped up.

“Teach me too!”

“Later, now let's get going, you guys were supposed to be back like an hour ago.”

Techno got off the trampoline and pulled on his shoes, waving bye to Skeppy.

Techno had been hanging out at Skeppy’s house, laying on the basement floor watching random youtube videos with him because it was too damn hot to do anything else.

“I don’t know how those guys do it.” Skeppy commented, pressing his face into the floor.

“It’s ‘cause of the Environmental Johnson Equation.” Techno said simply, Skeppy nodded.

“Which is based off of the Equilibrium Maintenance Feature.”

“Exactly!”

The sun was setting when Skeppy dragged Techno outside since fiery light was no longer trying to melt the Earth. They bounced on his trampoline for a while, taking breaks to look at sunset as it shifted through dripping vibrant orange to soft pink and blue and an inky purple.

Skeppy laid down and Techno laid next to him. The air was humid but dry and there were more stars out then Techno had seen in a long time.

He pointed out different constellations and planets to Skeppy until Phil texted him to come home.

“I’m going to Skeppy’s!” Techno yelled, tying his shoe.

“Take Tommy with you!” Phil called back, Techno’s head snapped up.

“What? No!”

“Yes! I’m going to work soon and Wilbur is out!”

“Can’t he just stay home alone?”

“Not after last time!”

Techno groaned, dragging his hands down his face, “Tommy! Get your shoes!”

They were headed towards Skeppy’s house, kicking a rock between each other, when they were intercepted by Dream.

“Oh hey Techno, I was just coming to see if you wanted to hang out.”

“Big man Dream!” Tommy yelled, Techno slapped a hand on Tommy’s face and pushed him back.

“I gotta watch my little brother and I’m heading to Skeppy’s,” He explained.

“Oh,” Dream paused, “Mind if I come with?”

Techno shrugged, “I don’t mind, you can ask Skeppy when we get there.”

Tommy bugged Dream the rest of the way there.

“Why is your name Dream?”

“Uh-”

“Why are the tips of your hair green?”

“Well I di-”

“Why are you wearing a hoodie? Do you not have elbows?”

“Oh my god, Tommy, leave the poor guy alone,” Techno said as they reached Skeppy’s house. Techno pushed open the front door and took his shoes off.

“Hey Skeppy, I have two nerds with me.”

Skeppy was laying on the couch, “Great, who is it?”

“Tommy and Dream.”

“Oh that should be interesting.”

They argued about what to play before settling on Mario Kart. Techno took every opportunity to attack Skeppy which distracted both of them enough to the point where they were both lagging behind so Dream and Tommy were constantly neck and neck to finish the race. Dream’s whooping cheer drowned out Tommy’s playful yells as he fell back onto the couch dramatically.

“Skeppy can we get on your trampoline?” Tommy asked, rolling over, cheek against the cushion.

“You just wanna do something else cause I beat you!” Dream teased.

“No! I’m just bored with Mario Kart!”

“I mean, we can but you have to be careful because the net is gone.” Skeppy said, standing up. He didn’t bother to put his shoes on as he walked towards the backdoor.

“What do you mean the net is gone? Did you punch too many holes in it?” Techno asked.

“Shut up shut up,” Skeppy bumped Techno, “The whole net was shredded and it was easier to just take it off.”

“Yeah, sure.” Techno teased, bumping Skeppy back.

They went outside and got on the trampoline, Dream grabbed onto one of the poles and started to climb on it, wrapping his legs around.

“Dream this is pretty old, I don’t think you should climb on that,” Techno pointed out.

“It’s fine,” Dream twisted around on the pole, “probably.” He continued to twist around, pulling off his hoodie and throwing it aside. Tommy gasped loudly.

“Oh my god Dream is stripping?”

Techno snorted and Skeppy burst out laughing. Dream wheezed, he would’ve fell off the trampoline if Techno didn’t grab him.

“Tommy- Tommy- you can’t just- you can’t just yell that,” Techno covered his eyes with his hands, “Where did you even learn that?”

Skeppy ignored them, “Dream is this your new career path?”

Dream twirled around again, “Yes, this is my new goal in life!”

“I wanna be there when you tell the career counselor!” Techno butted in.

Techno was laying on the couch reading when his phone started to buzz non stop. When he checked it he found multiple texts from Skeppy.

“HELPPPPPPP”

“HOW DO U BAKE?!??!”

“TECHNNNOOOOOOO”

“PLEASE THERE IS FLOUR EVERYWHERE”

“DUDE”

“ANSWER ME PLEASE I NEED HELP”

Techno sighed and texted back “What?”

“U KNOW HOW TO BAKE RIGHT?? I NEED UR HELP!!!”

Techno texted back, “Alright” and after telling Phil where he was going he headed towards Skeppy’s.

What he didn’t realize was that he was completely unprepared to see Skeppy standing in the middle of his kitchen with batter all over his shirt and oven, broken egg shells littering the floor along with the aforementioned flour.

He stood there, trying to take everything in. “What the fuck?”

Skeppy looked at him sheepishly, “I don’t know what I’m doing, I keep spilling and dropping everything!”

Techno sighed, taking off his glasses, “That’s it, I’m not wearing my glasses anymore, I’ve seen enough.”

“Techno!”

“Alright alright,” He put his glasses back on, “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to make a cake for my sister's birthday and it’s not going too well,” He trailed off, Techno nodded.

“I see. Show me the recipe.”

Skeppy texted him the recipe, it looked pretty easy, just a two layer lemon cake. Techno rolled up his sleeves and preheated the oven then turned to the mess of a kitchen, sighing.

“You’ve lost cooking rights.”

Skeppy changed and they both started to clean up the kitchen, sweeping up flour and scrubbing down counters.

“How the hell did you get flour on top of the fridge?”

“I don’t know!”

After they finished cleaning up they started on the cake.

“Why do you have brown sugar out? We don’t need it.”

“We don’t?”

“Oh my god you’re so bad,”

Skeppy measured out most of the ingredients while Techno mixed them together. They divided the mix and put in different pans then put it in the oven.

“Okay so for the frosting we need a lot of butter,” Techno said, scrolling through the recipe.

“How much butter?” Skeppy asked, opening the fridge.

“Like three sticks.”

They creamed the butter together with sugar and milk while waiting for the cakes to bake.

Once Skeppy pulled them out and tested to make sure they were cooked all the way through they went set them out to cool then watched TV while they waited.

Frosting the cake was a whole new idea.

The frosting was good but kept ripping at the cake even though it was cool. They combated this by dumping the frosting in big globs on the cake, this had the side effect of getting it all over their hands.

“Oh Technoooo,” Techno looked over to see Skeppy holding a glob of frosting, a familiar glint in his eyes.

“Is this really a fight you wanna start?”

“Nope nope nope nevermind.”

They soon finished and examined their work.

“It’s not the prettiest cake but as long as it tastes good,” Techno shrugged, wiping frosting from his hands.

“Yeah, thanks for helping me out with it.”

“Of course nerd.”

Skeppy rocked back and forth on his feet.

“Do you wanna go out on the trampoline?”

“Eh, why not.”

So they went out and laid on the trampoline, talking about anything and everything. Techno talked about how he didn’t want to go back to school, how everything stressed him out. Skeppy talked about how he felt like the expectations were going to crush him.

They were in the middle of their conversation when a loud crackle pierced the air. Both boys jumped, looking around Techno spotted a gold streak against the deep blue sky then an explosion of orange and yellow.

“What the-”

“What the hell is wrong with my neighbor? It isn’t even July yet!” Skeppy squinted through the trees and over the fence.

“They’re just trying to be festive!”

“Yeah- ‘festive’!”

Techno was two seconds away from ripping his hair out, he was going to lose his mind. Every teacher had decided to dump extra work on him and by third period he already had at least 2 hours worth of homework. Everything was too loud and the crowds and hallways were smearing together like paint.

He had a nervous twitch in his hand again and every noise grated against his skull. He was just trying to make it through the day and almost had when he noticed it was raining. He'd have to walk home by himself since Wilbur was taking the car to work and Tommy had practice.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the rain he just didn’t like the rain while he was carrying all of his school supplies.

“Hey Techno,” He heard Skeppy bounce up behind him, “Wanna hang out after school today?”

“Can’t, I have too much work.”

“Do you wanna come over and work on it together?”

Techno sighed, “Sure, why not?” He let himself get dragged over to Skeppy’s house, hoping they’d actually be able to get some work done. He climbed into the front seat Skeppy’s rickety old car and watched the raindrops slide down the window.

They made it to Skeppy’s house and sat in his basement, softly playing music in the background while they worked on history questions. They divided the work and actually managed to do it faster, giving each other answers and working together before splitting off to different assignments.

After a while Skeppy poked him with his pencil, “Do you wanna go on the trampoline?”

“Isn’t it still raining?” Techno didn’t look up from his math sheet.

“Probably, but that’s what’ll make it fun!”

“Can’t, still gotta finish-”

“Shut up, we have been working for like hours, just take a little break, calm down, and have fun in the rain!” Skeppy grabbed his hand before Techno could protest “The worksheets will still be there when we get back,” Then he dragged him up the stairs.

The rain was chilly, not cold but enough to wake Techno up. They left their shoes in the kitchen then went out and on the trampoline, which looked to be skin and bones, the foam ring and net being completely gone and the metal springs rusting.

Jumping in the rain was exhilarating, the rain soaked his hair and clothes and splattered against his glasses. Skeppy would push him and Techno would grab him and drag them both down, landing on the wet, waxy mat.

His chest felt looser, his body felt cold but his heart was alive and pounding. They had started trying to jump in sync, to see if it would bounce them higher.

“You know, even though I don’t use this as much as I used too, I’m glad I still have it.” Skeppy said, Techno nodded.

“Yeah this is pretty nice especially since it hasn’t broken yet.” Techno agreed.

“Yeah it-” Skeppy was cut off when the mat ripped under his feet and both he and Techno fell through. Techno slid on the dampened ground and landed on his back.

Techno looked up at the sky through the tear, Skeppy’s shouts seemed muffled as he watched the rain fall and dot the earth. Then he started chuckling which evolved into full laughter as he laid under a broken trampoline in the rain with his best friend.

“What are you laughing at?” Skeppy asked, sitting up, grinning faintly.

“I- it’s just that-” Techno broke off laughing, he couldn’t explain why because it really wasn’t that funny, it was just the fact that they were talking about how much they liked the trampoline and how long it held out only for it to break.

Skeppy laughed along with him, shaking his head, shifting to lay next to him.

They stayed there, looking up and watching the rain fall.

[rawstfish]

Mall of Verdanks Chapter 2

Warning: none, unless you count long as one

Gaz glared at Soap.

“Any actual questions, FNG?” He said through gritted teeth.

“That was an actual question.” It was like Soap was challenging him, but it would be the lamest challenge anyone could witness.

“Sure. Anyways-”

“Gaz, I need to see you in my office.” A deep british voice interpreted them. Both men whipped their heads around. Soap could feel his face heating up at the mere sight of his boss. As quickly as he turned his head, he lowered it.

Fucking hell I forgot he was here. Dumbass why would he not be here? He’s the fucking owner of the store, and now look at how your acting. He hired a fucking employee not some blushing teenage girl. He still hung his head low, his thoughts broken by Gaz’s voice.

“I’m training the FNG right now sir.” Soap widens his eyes at his response. How big are these dudes balls to talk to the boss like that? There’s no way his boss isn’t about to take his fucking head off.

“Office now.” The bearded man left after that. Soap could have Gaz mumble under his breath, he could barely make out the words “horny bastard”.

“Excuse me, just stay next to Roach.” Gaz unclipped his walkie talkie from his slightly baggy pants.

“Golem, tell Alex to come over to the cash register in the flower department.” With that Gaz left without any more words. Soap finally lifted his head, looking over towards Roach. Actually looking at his face, you could see his bloodshot and watery eyes. His face the most relax thing Soap has ever seen.

Is this dude fucking high right now? How did he even check that person out? Soap waved his hand in front of his face. Roach had no reaction, he wasn’t even blinking.

“Hey.” Why did Soap think that would work?

“Hey!” He persisted.

“Don’t fucking yell at him!” A force deep voice snapped. Soap Jumped, immediately turning around to face the voice. He was met with a short man, wearing a skull mask. He also had dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

“He just high off his balls right now, now leave him alone.” The new short man continued to snap.

“Why the fuck is he high while working in the first place? And where did you come from?” If Soap was to be honest, he was scared of this little man.

“Because he can, and I just so happened to walk into you yelling at my friend.” His sunglasses- covered eyes found Soap’s tag.

“Oh you're the FNG. A little tip for you then, don’t fucking yell at Roach or me.” Soap could feel his intense glare burning a hole right through him. Even walking away into the back, the man held his glare. Soap felt like he would never escape his glare.

What the fuck is wrong with that dude? Why is he wearing a skull mask? And why am I feeling so intimidated by him? Come on Soap, he’s basically a fucking twink. You could take him easily any day. Once again his first day is going down the shit drain. His ears were filled with heavy footsteps and dragged boots. He broke away from his thoughts being met with a much taller man this time.

“Are you gonna yell at me too?” He questioned the stranger.

“You met Ghost didn’t you?” An American voice questioned back.

“That’s his fucking name?” Soap knew he must look so dumbfounded

“Well his real name is Simon, but he persists that everyone calls him Ghost. Anyway, don't mind him, he’s just short-tempered.” Both of the men snickered at that. Ghost was short-tempered indeed.

“Ahem, You're the FNG right?” There goes Soap’s one second good mood.

“Yeah.” Just when soap thought he would like this guy.

“What’s with the sour look? If it’s the nickname, don’t get caught up about it. We were all the FNG once.” This man tried to reassure, but Soap still wore the sour look.

“Um, do you know why Gaz asked for me, I don’t see him over here.” Great now Soap made this man radiate awkwardness.

“Price called him to the back while he was training me.” The American giggled and shook his head.

“You’ll be stuck with me for a bit then. What do you know so far?” Soap was thankful that the overwhelming awkwardness was starting to leave the man. He would have beaten himself up if he made this dude hate him.

Soap gave him a recap of what Roach had visually teached him.

“Perfect, the next customer that comes over is yours then.” Somehow every person in the mall has perfect timing, because an old lady with packets of flower seeds slowly came up.

----

What a fucking first day. I would have never guessed a plant store, would be so fucking exhausting. No scratch that, I never have guessed assholes run plant stores. Soap clocked out, ready to finally go home. However, he was stopped by none other than Price.

“Before you leave, I need you to get a cake for me.” His gruff voice broke the silence, his blue eyes piercing Soap's own blue eyes.

Why did I need to get a cake right before I leave? Can’t he just get it? He desperately needed to lay on his bed, filled with the stray cats he brought in.

“Okay.” Soap reluctantly agreed.

“It’s from the bakery across from us, and it's under the name Price. I already paid for it.” With that, Price took his leave. Soap stood questioning that if Price hadn’t paid already, would he have made Soap pay for it?

----

Soap was face to face with bright, blue, neon lights. The word “Spetsnaz” being written out. He pushed the glass door open, a bell following his movements. He thought the fluorescent lights in the shop were bright, but this place is proving him wrong. The color white over took his eyes with the help of some blue. Little white, metal chairs were paired with the same styled tables.

There was a skinny man at the front counter, playing on his phone. A broad man wearing a completely black mask stood behind him, chatting with a man who was small in every way and a net hanging over his face.

“Ahem, I’m here for a cake. It’s under the name Price.” Soap nervously said, the two masked men immediately stopped talking and looked up. Their cold eyes staring Soap down. He wasn’t going to move an inch from his spot at the door.

“Oh, you must be the FNG!” The man working the front excitedly stated.

Does everyone in the fucking mall know that term? Soap’s nervousness was instantly placed back with the irritation he’s worn all day.

“Let me go get that for you.” The skinny man left, his big head the last thing Soap saw of him. Great, now he was left with the scariest man he has ever seen. He held his head down, too afraid to even accidentally make eye contact.

“How was your first day? They tear you up already? You look like the type to plead and beg for mercy at the littlest amount of pain.” A thick austria accent said, but he couldn’t tell which man it came from. Whoever it was, made a sharp shiver run down Soap’s spine.

“You're not going to answer him? Trying to play the rule of the strong, silent type?” This time a heavy, raspy russian accent was directed at him. Soap has never wanted to leave a place so fucking fast. He felt like he had to reply now, who knows what would happen if he didn’t.

Before he could get any words out of his mouth, the skinny man had returned.

“Don’t mind these two, they’re all bark and no bite. Well, except for Krueger.” He could probably sense Soap’s fear. Hell anyone could have honestly.

“Excuse me? When have I ever been “all bark and no bite”, Rodion?” The broad, russian man spoke. At least Soap knows whose voice is whose now.

“To me.” The Rodion guy did a little pose and blinked his eyelashes in response.

“I hit you at least once a day.” The bigger man deadpanned.

“But I know it's out of love and not hate.”

“Yet you still cry about it.” You could feel the smirk on his face.

“Nikto!” Rodion cried, going to kick him but missing completely. The two masked men laughed at him.

How can that tiny guy be so fearless around these two. Now I’m fucking scared of him too. This mall has some seriously fucked up people. Soap quickly walked up to the counter.

“Can I have the cake now?” Soap finally dared to utter words.

“Oh yes, I’m so sorry.” Rodion put the cake down and turned back the mask men. Soap has never grabbed a cake so fast in his life. The sounds of the three dudes followed him until the door.

----

“Price, I have the cake. I’m sorry if I took too long.” Soap was beyond glad to be back in the back rooms. The color gray was never so soothing.

“I’m in here.” Price's voice came from the breakroom.

Upon entering, Soap was attacked by playful colors of tiny confetti. If he didn’t have a tight grip on the cake, he would have for sure dropped it.

“Happy first day, Fucking New Guy.” Soap’s eye twitched at that. The break room was filled with, what Soap could assume, every employee in the store.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Criticize is very much welcome :)

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Tightrope Fanfic

Title: Tightrope

Summary:  Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since. 

Pairings: platonic prinixety

Word-Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Crying, Anger, Panic, Discussion of POF, Hurt/Comfort

This is a companion fic to Safety Net, but you don’t have to read that one to understand the context of this one <3

-

Virgil feels lost. It’s not a foreign feeling, especially when one is the embodiment of Anxiety. But it feels like one as he stares down at a sniffling Roman in his arms. He doesn’t know what has happened. One moment, the others are having their spat about the wedding. The next, Roman barges into his room mid-breakdown and hasn’t left since.

He keeps expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. That perhaps this is some delayed April’s Fool joke. A ploy by Remus or one of the Others to fuck with him. His mind crafts a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations for why this can’t be reality.

Because Virgil doesn’t know how to handle a Roman who fell from a great height and shattered completely. What if he cannot put the pieces back together again? What if he messes up and makes things worse? What if he’s the one to cause this in the first place?

No, he refuses to go down that spiraling thought pattern. Because if he unravels now, then he’ll be completely useless to Roman. He compartmentalizes the fear, stuffing it away to haunt him at a later date.

Roman’s cries have died down to a few hiccuping gasps of air. The ever-poised, ever-presentable Prince of Passion is anything but. He lays in Virgil’s arms, as limp and lifeless as a doll. His white princely jacket wrinkly and half-undone, red sash hanging loosely. Virgil cannot see his eyes from underneath his rumpled, messy hair but he’s willing to bet they’re bloodshot. Virgil bits his lips as he notes the dark ichor running down Roman’s cheeks like smeared mascara. 

Roman has been in his room for far too long. Especially for someone who was already in a fragile emotional state upon showing up. Virgil shouldn’t have allowed him to stay. But he couldn’t find in himself to deny Roman, not when he’d looked at Virgil with a helpless terror in his eyes. So he had chosen instead to hold onto a sobbing Roman while trying to figure out what the hell happened. 

The clock in his room is hardly reliable, but he’s certain at least an hour has passed and he’s still nowhere closer than he’d been at the start. Which is that it involves the stupid wedding, Patton and Deceit. The latter of which, apparently told them his actual name. He won’t know more unless Roman divulges more. And in the swirling storm of hysteria that is his room, the chances of that happening is slim.

Before he can let doubt rake its claws into him, he pulls Roman closer to his chest and syncs out. Roman realizes a moment too late what’s happening. He lets out a startled gasp, tries pushing away, but it’s too late. With a loud crackle, they appear in the gloomy fog of a dead forest.

Roman looks around, eyebrows bunched up together. If this was any other situation, Virgil might’ve smirked.

“It’s the imagination,” Virgil says, answering the question behind Roman’s bewildered gaze, “Or at least my little pocket of it. No one will find us here.”

Well maybe except Remus, the one responsible for its creation. Virgil is hoping that today will not be the day he decides to return here for the first time in years.

Roman opens his mouth to speak, yet hesitates halfway through. He turns his head away from Virgil, shrugging. Virgil’s cold dead heart plummets at this. Roman isn’t supposed to be this defeated. He’s supposed to be stubborn, obstinate, argumentative. Virgil knows how to handle that. He knows how to bait Roman into banter, to get him to admit the root of his problems. But this? He doesn’t know how to deal with a Roman this apathetic. And that scares him.

Virgil should apologize, he thinks. After everything that happened, he hunkered down in his room. He stayed away thinking his presence would only be detrimental than beneficial. He was Anxiety after all, flight or fight. In this case, he chose flight. But obviously, like everything else in his existence, that’d been the wrong choice yet again.

He inhales deeply, his breath hitching at the last moment, the words refusing to come out. They remain stuck in clumps inside his throat, refusing to solidify into verbal spoken words. The ghostly howl of the wind is the only sound between the two.

Then Roman laughs. It sounds more like a cat hacking up a hairball than his usual melodious chuckles. It’s loud, harsh and absolutely dripping with pain. Halfway through he ends up in a coughing fit. Virgil watches, unsure how to respond.

“You were right.” Roman croaks at last, sagging heavily against a tree.

Those words aren't what Virgil likes to hear. It’s never good when he, Anxiety, is right.  He’d much prefer to be proven wrong. Even if that meant Roman lording it over his head for weeks on end. It’s annoying as hell and he never thought he’d miss that until now.

Virgil swallows, pushing the sudden ache in his chest aside. He doesn’t need confirmation to know what he was right about.

 Still, his heart thudding heavily in his chest, he asks anyways, “About Janus?”

Roman nods, grimacing. 

“Ro, what happened?” Virgil asks, unable to hold that question within himself any longer.

The fanciful side doesn’t respond at first. His hand traces the grooves of the bark on the tree he’s leaned against. His lips twist and contort, as if fighting to find the words to say. Virgil isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Roman ever at a loss for words until now.

“I thought it was a villainous trick at first. Just another ploy to get us to trust him. I made fun of it, even. It wasn’t until the way you reacted when I mentioned it to you that I thought otherwise,” Roman says, breaking in mid-conscious thought. Something that is very Roman-like, forgetting other people can’t read his mind. There must be something in Virgil’s face because he clarifies, “Deceit’s name I mean.”

“I mean, I don’t blame you,” Virgil says slowly, toying with his hoodie strings, “He never told any of the Others.”

“But he told you?”

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to stare at the ground. The ache in his chest returns, except it’s different. It’s like a fire-pit at a summer camp-out. It’s warm and comfortable to linger next to, but stay too long and you’ll be sweltering in the unbearable suffocating heat. The same goes for thinking about the past. That’s why he hates getting nostalgic. It’s hard to reminisce about the good times without remembering why they ended.

The old him that hasn’t been extinguished yet, the one that called himself Janus’ friend, is indignant that Roman apparently made fun of Janus’ name. However the newer him that calls himself Virgil and wears the purple hoodie, isn’t. Good, he thinks, he deserves it. And he isn’t too ashamed of feeling that way. Not after the raging forest fire that burnt down their friendship in the first place.

“Yeah.” Virgil breaths out with stifled lungs. He can feel Roman’s eyes burning a hole in his head. He thinks he’d find an unspoken question in them if he looks up. He doesn’t elaborate. He isn’t in the mood for scorching his tongue on the ashes of a cremated friendship. Especially when it’d shift the focus onto him and not Roman. Something he’s certain Roman wants despite it being so rare for him to flinch away from the spotlight. 

For all their vast, stark differences, they aren’t really that different when it comes down to several things, one being that neither of them like showing weakness. They are also incredibly stubborn. It just so happens Virgil has the stronger resolve at this moment.

“I trusted him,” Roman says, continuing where he’d left off, “I trusted him, I thought he’d knew best and I just wanted--” 

A huff cuts off Roman’s words as he flings his arms towards the sky. He paces in front of Virgil, muttering bits and pieces too quick for him to understand. Perhaps he does need to share a little. Just to help Roman know and understand he isn’t alone. 

“Listen, I get it,” Virgil says, “I also trusted Janus once too--”

“No, it wasn’t Janus--well, yes, but--” Roman yanks at his hair, “I meant Patton!”

Patton? Virgil feels as if he'd been riding on the flying magic rug from Aladdin. Only the magic rug has been ripped from underneath him and now he’s freefalling into a waterfall full of sharp pointy rocks at the bottom.

He’d thought he knew where this conversation was heading except now he’s lost more than ever before. He needs a minute to breathe, to process what’s happening. Roman doesn’t give him that. He pushes on, shaking his head like a riled-up mistreated stallion from a horse girl movie.

“I wanted to do what was right for Thomas and--and Patton has always known what’s right, right?”

He gazes desperately at Virgil, searching for reassurance, for affirmation. Virgil’s heart sinks. He can't honestly give that to Roman, though he'd love to give Roman whatever his heart desires to stop his pain. 

Patton tries his best, he really does. But even he is wrong sometimes. He has made mistakes, ones that have hurt Virgil himself both past and present. And although Virgil has forgiven him, it doesn’t change the fact that even their softest puffball isn’t always right.

He can tell Roman realizes that by the way his scowl grows bigger.

“Am I too dimwitted?” Roman growls, “Was I the only one foolish enough to believe that? Just like believing that I could truly be--be--” 

He lets out a tormented scream, slumping down against a tree. Head bowed, knees drawn close, arms pulled tightly around himself. Virgil stands a few feet away, still so far from understanding as he was when Roman first appeared in his room. Only that apparently he needed to kick both Janus’ and Patton’s collective asses.

Virgil withholds a sigh as he crouches down next to Roman. 

A gloomy fog hardly provides the best lighting. It’s better than the dark murkiness of his room, however, and it’s here that he notices something. A blueish-purple splotch of something. Just barely poking out of Roman’s collar. It’s then, Virgil remembers that a metaphoric “bruised ego” is anything but metaphoric for one metaphysical entity such as Roman, Creativity and Ego in one.

“Princey,” Virgil says, his voice unusually level, “did you get hurt by what happened earlier?”

Roman doesn’t answer his question. Not directly at least. “Lee and Mary Lee hardly spoke to Thomas at the wedding, did you know that?”

“Yeah,” Virgil bites his lips, “I knew that.”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course Virgil knows--he’s a part of Thomas. He’d been with Thomas during the wedding. The leg bouncing up and down in an anxious jitter. Directing the eyes away from the merriment of the wedding and towards that pointless moronic mobile game. The clenching feeling in Thomas’ throat during the brief interaction with Lee and Mary Lee. He hadn’t even been able to say hello because of Virgil.

He’d tried so hard to hold back, to not torment Thomas with his decision anymore than his host had already endured. It didn’t really matter in the end. As Thomas finally slipped away from the wedding, so had Virgil slipped into his room. He ignored the muffled noises of the debate erupting outside the mindscape. Why show his face when Thomas already knew what his input would be? Or knowing what he’d once been, for that matter? Or at least, that had been his justifications at the time.

“Which hardly seems fair! After what I--Thomas sacrificed to be there for them. B-but it’d been the right decision, right?” Roman laughs, shaking his head. He doesn’t wait for an answer as he pushes on, “Was it too selfish to expect more? To think that making the right decision would result in an award?”

Virgil stays silent. Morality isn’t his forte; sure as Anxiety he often cautioned Thomas to follow societal rules. It’s often easier to go with the current rather than fight against it. So he’s hardly the most reliable source of it. 

And as for his role, both the wedding and the call-back offered the same amount of dread. After all, he’s Anxiety. It’s literally his job to nitpick and point out every single thing a situation could go wrong, no matter how improbable or absurd. Unlike Roman, he’d be lying if he said he was surprised by the outcome of the wedding. It’s not far off from what he had predicted.

On the flipside, he could offer a million ways of how the audition could’ve ended poorly. A tear in Thomas’ pants mid-audition. Thomas blanking out on a crucial line. A meteor falling from the atmosphere and effectively crushing Thomas to death. Okay, that last one is highly improbable but it could still happen! You never know!

Regardless, he doubted any of that is what Roman needed to hear.

“I trusted him. He’d said it’d been the right decision when I made it. And I believed him.” Roman scoffs.

Virgil frowns, cautiously sitting a few feet away from Roman. He chooses not to look him in the eye, treating him as if he’s an easily-startled wild creature.

“Y’know, he and I are going through a bit of a rough patch. He’s trying his best, I know he is. But take it from me--sometimes someone’s best isn’t always good enough. And I think it’s okay if it...takes time for you to forgive Patton.”

“No!”

“No?”

“I mean,” Roman lets out a frustrated scream, “I don’t know! Before, there was a script, a stage, parts to play. Ones I had intimately memorized! But it’s as if it’s before the curtain rises before the opening show and the director has thrown out the script completely. He expects me after years of practice to perform something I’ve never seen--that even he has no concept of what it looks like and h-how is any actor expected to perform in such conditions?” 

A light-bulb finally goes off in Virgil’s head.

“You’re...angry at Thomas, aren’t you?”

Roman flinches as he’d been struck, throwing his body backwards harshly against the tree. He looks hardly affected by it as he scrambles quickly to his feet.

“Wh-what? No! That’s absurd!” Roman protests, “I’m not angry at Thomas--”

“But you are,” Virgil interrupts, rising to his feet, “You’re angry at both Patton and Janus, yeah, but they’re just targets to throw your misplaced anger at. Because you don’t want to admit it’s actually Thomas--”

“Yes, because you’re wrong, Mary Mary Q-quite Misconstrued!” Roman puffs up his chest, trying to keep his head high, “I--I’d never, I can’t hate Thomas--”

“Whoa, I didn’t say you hated him,” Virgil says, gently tugging Roman’s hands into his own, “there’s a difference between being mad at someone for something, and hating them.”

Roman looks at him with almost a wild gaze to his eyes, so close to almost hyperventilating. Virgil can almost see the invisible cracks in Roman’s skin, his multitude of facades peeling away before Virgil’s eyes. He looks at Roman and sees himself. 

“I used to think they were the same thing,” Virgil begins, “But they’re not. Hate is when you abhor ill will towards someone, when you wish them dead or worse. Anger...anger is just a form of fear. And it’s okay to feel and experience that anger, you don’t have to repress it.”

“I’m not scared of Thomas,” Roman scoffs, his gaze drawn to the forest floor rather than Virgil.

“But you are afraid that if Thomas can accept Janus and possibly Remus, then he could just as easily change his mind regarding you, right?” Virgil questions, “You’re afraid because all you've ever done has been in Thomas’ best interest and suddenly now you’re being told all it’s done is hurt him. You’re afraid but you don’t want to admit it, so you turn to anger instead because that’s better than being scared, right?”

“I’m not…” Roman trails off, clenching his jaw. Virgil is fully expecting to get punched by the way his body tenses up. Roman does lunge towards him just then, arms flailing out. Virgil doesn’t even have a chance to raise his arms up in defense before he gets an armful of blubbering prince once more.

“I’m supposed to be Thomas’ hero, he told me I was, but what if I’m not? W-what if I never was? And--and I have to be good, Virgil, I can’t be evil--”

Roman lets it all go then. It’s a tidal wave of anxiety and fears, of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Almost any other person would become overwhelmed by how much perturbation Roman’s kept hidden all these years. But Virgil is Anxiety, his realm is terror and trepidation. He’s experienced every fear-induced thought and more under the sun. He understands it better than perhaps anyone else ever could.

He knows Roman will most likely clam up after today. That later on, they’ll need to address these things in detail and take care of the bruises mottling his skin. Roman will need encouragement to rebuild his confidence and to turn away from self-destructive habits. Both of which are things that Virgil struggles with all too well. He knows it to feel as impossible as walking across a tightrope blindfolded. Right now, however, all Roman needs is for someone to listen.

And so listen Virgil does.

[swaps55]

POV Case Study – Have Some Writing Meta

Point of View (POV) is an integral piece of the storytelling puzzle for Opus, my main body of fic, so I thought I’d do a meta post that walks through how I use it as a narrative tool. The intention is not to tell anyone how they should or shouldn’t use POV, but rather to demonstrate one way I used it very deliberately to create narrative tension, weave in characterization, and develop an overarching theme.    

Your POV character is an enormous tool in your writing toolbox, whether you are using a single POV or multiple. How you use it depends on a lot of things: what person you’re writing in (first, second, third), the type POV you’re going with (omniscient, meaning the POV narrator can see into everyone’s heads, or limited, meaning you only have access into the head of a specific POV character).

My preferred writing style is 3rd person “in-your-face” limited POV, that puts the reader so solidly in the POV character’s head it’s almost like 1st person in a 3rd person trench coat. That coupled with present tense gives me some extra intensity that I love taking advantage of in emotional or climactic scenes. Again, this isn’t to state a right or a wrong way to use tense or POV – there are lots of great ways to use these tools – but for the purpose of this exercise, this is my chosen loadout.

I made the conscious decision early in Sonata that I did not want to use Sam Shepard’s POV, ever. Every story in his series would be told through the eyes of the people around him. Why? Because one of the key character traits of Sam is that he makes himself whatever someone needs him to be. He sees himself as a tool, so to be a useful tool, he has to have the right shape for the job. This raises the question: who is Sam, when he is free to just be himself? I’m not sure even Sam knows the answer to that question, so to reinforce it through storytelling, I never wanted to reader to see what goes on in his head. Everything you learn about Sam comes through the perceptions of others, and to show the reader how differently he is perceived by others, I write with multiple POVs rather than just Kaidan’s.

Below the cut, I’m going to walk you through a specific example where POV was an essential part of crafting the story I wanted to tell. The chapter in question comes from Fugue, a story I’m writing that explores the aftermath of Alchera. You don’t need to have read Fugue to follow the logic, but if you care to read the chapter, it functions well on its own separate from the rest of the story.

Fugue – This Hole You Left.

This was a very complicated chapter that lived and died by POV choices, and it was extremely difficult to put together. The approach I took was a gamble that (thankfully) worked after much fretting, gnashing of teeth, and help from @pigeontheoneandonly.

This Hole You Left takes place after Sam dies over Alchera. I wanted to paint a ‘kaleidoscope’ of grief, and explore how Sam’s death impacted the people around him in very different ways. Therefore, I needed a plethora of POVs to work with, each one giving me something different. The goals were this:

Find differing POVs that would offer demonstrably different perceptions of Sam and/or illustrate different stages of grief and shock.        

Allow each of those POVs to mold to that character’s specific goals and motivations. i.e., I did not want the grief of other characters to be tied to the romantic relationship that had been lost – because that’s not the lens those characters would look through.

Each POV had to move the chronology along in a way that made sense and felt natural.

Kaidan’s POV was off limits. In the absence of Sam’s physical presence, I wanted to treat Kaidan like Sam – the character people could see, but not explore the headspace of. Everything the reader learns about Kaidan in the immediate aftermath of Alchera comes from other people.

That last piece was important. Arguably, Kaidan’s POV was the most valuable one of all, but I was going to have lots of time to explore it in meaningful ways elsewhere. I thought it might be more powerful to express his grief through the eyes of others, and use him as a central theme to weave in and out of the chapter. More about that later.

This constituted one hell of a puzzle to put together, especially when it came to the chronology. For instance, an early mistake I made was putting the most powerful POV (Anderson) too early in the sequence, which diminished what came after it. Moving that POV around meant re-framing other POVs to keep the chronology moving forward (for example, Garrus’ POV initially came after Anderson’s, by moving it before his, I had to change the context so that Anderson’s POV wasn’t a step backwards in time).

Each POV scene was also intended to essentially be its own self-contained short, creating a microcosm of grief, that when put together, would create a much larger and significant whole.

I could write forever about all the trial and error that went into finding the right formula, but it’s probably more valuable to look at where I wound up, and why:

1st POV: Lora Alenko (Kaidan’s mother)

Why: She gave me a window to set the clock in motion and make the loss of the Normandy feel real, because she had the advantage of having no idea anything was wrong. Plus, her perspective felt like a unique one I hadn’t seen in fic when it came to Alchera. I’d set her character up in Sonata, so readers of that fic would be familiar with her and understand what that phone call meant to her in a more meaningful way.

How I used it: I put her in the middle of a mundane, normal, event – lunch with a friend – and then shattered that normalcy with a phone call telling her the ship her son was on had been destroyed. That shift from normal to a state of dread gave me the tension I wanted to use for the rest of the chapter.

Excerpt:

But before she can answer, her omnitool flashes. She frowns and looks down at her arm. It’s a message from Marc. SOS. Call now.

A chill runs down her spine. SOS isn’t something Marc throws around lightly. She’d gotten an SOS from him when he’d found Apollo, the warmblood she’d ridden for years, with a leg stuck through the paddock fence, and the day they’d learned about Vyrnnus.

Kaidan.

“Melia,” she murmurs. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

2nd POV: Admiral Hackett  

Why: Hackett gave me the chance to explore Shepard through the eyes of the Alliance. To them, and to Hackett, he’s a weapon rather than a person. He also gave me a chance to weave in a sense of anger, one of the stages of grief.

How I used it: This POV came about late in the revision process, but I’m thrilled it did, because I was missing that cold, calculated look at Shepard’s importance. Shepard dying fucks up Hackett’s plans and political machinations, and his immediate response is not to mourn someone who died, but to move on to plan B. This also gave me a shot to work in Shepard’s mother. By seeing her in Hackett’s POV, I could reinforce the ongoing theme that Captain Shepard sees her son as a legacy, rather than a person.

Excerpt:

There isn’t a list of people who can replace Shepard. Time to make one. Hackett exhales, gaze falling to the datapad on his desk, Shepard, Sam still displayed at the top of the casualty list.

He picks it up and hurls it at the wall. It cracks, screen flickering to black as it clatters to the floor.

What a goddamned waste.

3rd POV: Joker

Why: Joker was an easy one. I’d set up some rather terrible foreshadowing in Sonata with a scene in which he makes the comment “I’d go down with that ship,” and Sam replies, grinning, “Not while I’m around.” I wanted to spike the ball over the net in Fugue, so parking in Joker’s POV in the immediate aftermath was a no-brainer.

How I used it: Through Joker I could explore guilt and shock, so I went back to that memory from Sonata and used repetition to make Joker feel stuck in that moment. It was also my first chance to weave Kaidan in to reinforce the notion of guilt and lay some neat groundwork for narrative tension that would come to a head later.

Excerpt:

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

He should have abandoned ship. The escape pod was right there. He could have given up the Normandy at any time. All he had to do was step over the bodies of Pressly. Chase. All he had to do was leave them all behind.

Instead he’d stayed, and Shepard had made good on his word.

I’d go down with that ship.

Not while I’m around.

4th POV: Dr. Chakwas

Why: Through her, I could look at the adrenaline and denial that comes with managing trauma. To her, Shepard was a patient. Because she is overwhelmed with patients in the form of the Normandy’s wounded, she cannot stop to think about the one she cannot help: she has a job to do, and she has to do it. There will be time to grieve later.

How I used it: Again, I used Kaidan to emphasize her role as a caretaker. Kaidan, who is in command of the survivors, has a moment of weakness that she cannot afford to have, and he can only afford to have in front of her, because she overrides his authority in a medical emergency. Because we are in her POV, we see her outwardly refuse to crack, when internally she’s hanging by a thread. It made for a nice contrast.  

Excerpt:

“There was no transponder signal,” she tells him, saying out loud everything she’s been repeating to herself. “We were in hostile territory, with over twenty injured crew. He was gone, Kaidan.”

His fingers curl, eyes still trained on the window.

She puts a hand to her forehead. Between Virmire, triage on the Citadel and this it’s too much. Before today she’s never felt old. Tears sting the corner of her eyes and she swears under her breath. Not here. Not today. Tears are something for tomorrow. Right now, she has a job to do.

5th POV: Garrus

Why: Garrus was a member of the crew who wasn’t on the ship, which is a completely unique perspective. But the question that took me forever to answer, was, how does he react to Sam’s death? What was Shepard to Garrus? I hadn’t written about them during ME1 yet, he was not part of Sonata, and ME1 Garrus is always a little tricky for me. I knew there was something important to gain from his POV, but I couldn’t figure out what it was to the point of tearing my hair out. Eventually, I settled on Garrus seeing Shepard as a mentor he couldn’t live up to, and made his POV about failure and regret.  

How I used it: Shepard was everything Garrus aspired to be, but could never quite achieve. He left the Normandy because Shepard made him feel like he could make a difference, only he didn’t. And then, his friends needed him, and he wasn’t there, and now Shepard is dead. I wove a lot of doubt, regret and self-deprecation into his POV to drive that home.

Excerpt:

Dammit, why hadn’t he stayed on that ship?

He grabs another report from the top of the pile on his desk, which is getting tall enough to sway in the breeze.

This is why. Because Saren had obliterated the Citadel, and Shepard, damn him, had made him believe he could make a difference. He thought he could make it here. Crazy thing, having to fill out a form every time you find a corpse. He’s got three more to add to the list after today.

6th POV: Anderson

Why: Anderson was both a father figure and commanding officer to Sam. Because he’s known him for most of his life, he has a perspective no other POV character has. To him, Sam was more like a son he’d been tasked to protect, and in the end failed to protect him. He and Kaidan are the only people who know Shepard well enough to mourn Sam, and not just Commander Shepard. Anderson would really let me start to explore grief.

How I used it: This was my heavy hitter. Through Anderson’s POV, I could trace Sam the person as he grew into Commander Shepard, and explore the echoes of the kid that still lived in the adult. I was also able to use Kaidan in a really fascinating way. In Opus, Kaidan and Sam served together for four years before the Normandy. Therefore, Anderson is pretty familiar with him, but doesn’t know him the way he does Sam. He keeps looking at Kaidan expecting Sam. In a sense, trying to plug a puzzle piece into the wrong hole. It was a neat way to show Anderson’s grief.

Additionally, this was a great opportunity to demonstrate Kaidan’s sense of loss without being in his head. Anderson does not know there was a relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but the reader does. Thus, I could have my cake and eat it, too: The POV character wasn’t examining the relationship that had been lost between Sam and Kaidan because he didn’t know it existed, but the reader got to.  

Excerpt:

He exhales through his nostrils. “The Normandy was attacked by an unknown vessel. Whoever they were, Joker says they came out of nowhere. Shepard got him into the escape pod, but the ship lost gravity. He…well.”

Alenko stares straight ahead, silent. Anderson looks for a tell, but he only knows Shepard’s.

Alenko isn’t Shepard.

7th POV: Tali

Why: Tali presented a similar problem to me that Garrus did. What was Shepard specifically to her, and what did his loss mean to her? As my closing POV, not only did she need to hit a home run, but she also needed to close out the chapter in a way that tied all the other POVs together and examined Shepard’s death through a much wider lens, without feeling like I was pulling the camera back from her POV to get there. That’s a lot to ask. Lucky for me, Tali never lets me down.

The answer I came to also called back to Sonata, in which exploring what home meant to each of the characters was an important theme. So I went back to this idea for Tali, as she and Sam had a very important thing in common that set them apart from everyone else: they were both born in space, and did not have the traditional fixed point of home that everyone around them had. Home was different to them than it was to everyone else.

How I used it: Tali was the only one left who understood how truly unique and special the home she’d found on the Normandy was. Therefore, when the crew starts to fragment and fall apart around her, she is forced to mourn the loss not only of Shepard, who gave her that home, but the home itself. I was able to use that grief to circle back to how much Shepard changed the people around him, and how deeply his loss will be felt in ways people haven’t even realized yet.

That conclusion was the magic final puzzle piece that made the whole thing work, and it was literally the last idea to take shape.

Excerpt:

Aliens don’t carry their ship names with them the way quarians do. Perhaps when you’re born with dirt under your feet you don’t need to. For them, home isn’t a vessel among the stars – it’s a fixed place in the universe, a way back no matter how far from it you venture.

But Shepard had been different. Like the quarians, he had no fixed point. Home was what – or who – he carried with him. He’d understood the power of a ship name, even if he hadn’t used one out loud. People who served with Shepard felt like they belonged, in ways they couldn’t anywhere else, because he said to hell with that fixed point in the galaxy and brought home to anyone who needed it. For Shepard, there wasn’t a way back. Just a way forward.

Shepard changed people.

They’ve lost so much more than a ship.

The primary objective of Opus is to examine the relationship between Sam and Kaidan, but to really understand the magnitude of Sam’s death, it was critical to explore it outside the confines of that relationship. Part of the struggle Sam and Kaidan have is that Sam doesn’t truly belong to himself or to Kaidan – he belongs to everyone else. That means his death doesn’t belong to either him or Kaidan. It’s shared with all the people he touched and shaped.

That’s what made this carousel of POVs a challenge I really wanted to make work. It required an absurd amount of juggling, but the diversity and uniqueness of each made Shepard’s loss feel real and devastating. But not only did each of those POVs tell us something about Sam, they provided some meaningful character development for the POV character. How they react to Sam’s death and what it means to them tells us a lot about that character, which in turn lends the entire story more depth.  

If you read this far, I’m pretty sure you deserve a cookie. 

I don’t know if any of that is helpful or meaningful other than to show an example of how POVs can be a really awesome tool to tell a story. There can be a lot of depths and layers to why you use a particular character to tell a story through, and those choices can greatly impact the story you end up telling.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 15 and/or 21 for ot4?

Here you go! I went with 15: I step out of the bathroom and right into the middle of a bar fight and you punch me accidentally so I punch back on instinct. There's no sex scene, but quite a bit of talk about sex.

Duck’s taken a few hits in his life. He’s not expecting one when he steps from the bathroom of Tarkensian’s General Store and Lunch Counter, but that’s what he gets, sharp and hard in the eye.

“Fuck” He yelps, swinging his fist out to keep whoever the fuck is pissed at him from doing it again. He misses, catching sight of a tall government suit as his momentum spins him into the wall.

At the gunshots, he drops to the floor.

“Goddamn it.” His attacker sprints towards the front of the store. Another shot, squealing tires, banging doors. By the time he’s made a cautious journey to the cash register to make sure Leo is okay, the man who punched him is arguing with another suit in front of a Dusenberg with bullet holes in the right front tire.

“I told you to never discharge your weapon unless absolutely necessary.” All six feet of mr quick fists is staring down at his partner.

“They were getting away!”

“Necessary means life or death, Agent Roberts; if we tracked them once, we can track them again, and stopping them today is not worth the life of the civilians in that store. Or anywhere else.”

“Who gives a damn if some hill-billys take a hit, this is government business-”

“That’s enough.” The taller man’s voice sharpens, “Protecting the people down here is why we’re doing this in the first place. If you can’t get that through your skull, you’re asking for a one way ticket back to the tiny police force they pulled you from.”

The shorter man rips his badge from his pocket, bouncing it off the other’s chest, “Save yourself the fucking trouble, I fucking quit.” With that he stomps down the dusty road towards the only hotel in town.

Duck and Leo, who’ve been watching the exchange like it’s a picture show, pivot to setting knocked cans and scattered boxes right as the remaining agent steps through the door. He stands, waiting for them to look his way and clearing his throat to speed them along.

“I, um, I apologize, Mr. Tarkesian. I only meant to question those two men in a friendly way, but the moment they saw my badge one threw a haymaker. Which leads me to assume they are bootleggers, a conclusion I was deferring until I could speak to them. That’s neither here nor there. Are you alright? Are your customers?”

“All in one piece, sir. Your partner ended a sack of flour, but nothin’ else.” Leo tilts his head at the pile of white dust, “though you gave Duck here a hell of a shiner.”

“Oh my lord.” The man puts a hand over his mouth when he sees Duck’s face, “I’m sorry. You stepped out of the washroom right when I tried to stop the younger brother.”

“S’okay. Not, uh, not the worst thing to ever happen to me at dinner time.” Duck would rather not get involved in whatever the hell is going on here.

“No, it’s not.” The man runs a hand over his slick-backed black hair, “will you let me buy you dinner as an apology? Or at least some ice for your eye?” The chagrin is unusual from a government man in this part of the country, and Duck can think of worse evenings than letting a handsome face pay for his meal.

“You buy me dinner” he tilts his head at the lunch counter, “I won’t be sore about bein’ sore.”

The man smiles, “That seems fair. Mr. Tarkesian, if you’re able to write up a bill for the damaged goods I’ll...well, I’ll do my best to get you paid back for it. Have someone drop it off at Amnesty Lodge for Agent Stern.”

“Will do.” Leo nods, then adds, “Duck, ask Pigeon for some ice on the house for that eye.”

Once their orders are in and Duck’s eye is chilling, the agent sets a thoughtful hand on his hat where it’s resting on the counter.

“I really am sorry.”

“Not the first time someone’s slugged me. Definitely the hardest, though. So, uh, guess that’s somethin.”

“If it’s any consolation, my hand sympathizes with your eye.” He holds up his right hand, bruises blooming on the knuckles. Duck holds out the ice but the agent shakes his head, “it’s my own fault for not opting for a more efficient way of apprehending those men.”

“Take it you’re here tryin to bust some moonshiners?”

“Yes. As you might imagine, it hasn’t led to the best reception.” He tilts his head towards the quartet of men scowling at them from down the counter.

“Doubt your partner helped with that any.”

“You don’t know the half of it. One of those men who wants the respect for his badge but doesn’t give a damn about earning it.” He sighs as Pigeon sets their sandwiches in front of them, “Nevermind. I shouldn’t complain about a fellow agent. Um. What do you do here in Kepler?”

“Arborist for every town in the county. The bigwigs at city hall realized any money they saved lettin me go when things got bad wouldn’t make up for what would happen if trees took out houses or the brush got too high and made it easy for the whole damn town square to burn to the ground.”

“Sounds like they’re lucky to have you.”

“Yep.”

They eat in silence, evening sun searing their backs through the windows.

“I’m, um, well I was going to say I’m usually better at conversation than this. But it’s been so long since I did any talking that wasn’t part of an investigation or government business I’ve forgotten how to be charming. Or even interesting.”

“Buyin a fella dinner is pretty charming.”

“No, it’s just the decent thing to do.”

“Take the compliment city boy.”

The agent raises an eyebrow and Duck prepares to be hit again for disrespect. Then Stern laughs, soft and tired, before sending a Clark Gable caliber smile his way, “It’s nice to be talked to like a person instead of a suit.”

Duck shifts on the stool to more easily enjoy the way blue eyes glint when he says, “Even easier if you told me your name.”

------------------------------------------------------

“Well, Joe, this is me.” Duck gestures to the house that’s been in the Newton family since it was built. He’s the last one left in town, so the faded paint and sturdy foundation are all his.

The agent regards the house with the same cool curiosity he’s applied to everything else they’ve encountered tonight. It’s only when his gaze lands on Duck that it takes on a new dimension, friendly and almost innocent in it’s hope.

“You, uh, feel like joinin’ me for some coffee? Wouldn’t wanna interfere with government business by keepin you.” He teases.

Joe is already joining him on the porch, “Roberts probably reported on our earlier altercation. I’ll have better luck keeping Agent Hayes from shouting my ear off if I give him until tomorrow to cool off.”

Duck gets the lights on as Joe hangs his hat and jacket by the door. He opens the cabinet, searching for clean glasses and mugs, spotting the bottle of bourbon that was there long before prohibition started right when the taller man steps behind him.

“Uh, any chance I can convince you that’s a bottle of vinegar or somethin’?”

“No. It doesn’t matter, though.” Since Duck’s hands are full, Joe closes the cabinet, “I don’t give a damn if people drink. I don’t care if someone wants to brew up moonshine in their yard or run a bar. What I care about is how this whole mess has made it easier for mobs to flourish, for normal people to get caught in the crossfire of a corrupt police force and ruthless criminals.” The sofa creaks as he sits down, “I’m not in Kepler because I think it’s some cesspool; I’m here because I know a major bootlegging ring has a leg here, and that the people who benefit from it won’t be the people who get arrested in my investigation casts to small a net.”

Duck keeps his mouth shut; he could tell Joe just how much Kepler’s changed since a certain family got their hands on it. But he’s not sure what else he’d reveal without even meaning to.

Even exhausted, Joe manages to look handsome when he adds, “All that’s to say, I wouldn’t mind a drop of that bottle in my coffee.”

The longer he sits on the couch with his coffee cup, the more relaxed Joe turns. He also doesn’t move when Duck scoots closer, and soon their legs and hands keep bumping each other.

“Do you know Amnesty Lodge?”

“Yep. Few of my friends work there, it’s full of good folks.”

“I agree. I, um, the only other person in town who’ll talk to me like I’m a human works there. Barclay’s one of the few people who doesn’t seem scared of me. Or, he did at the beginning. Now, well, some days I’m almost convinced he’s happy to see me.” A secretive blush dusts his cheeks, “I’m sorry, I get rambly after ten p.m. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about him.”

Duck happens to be privy to what a man in love with Barclay Cobb looks like. So he keeps some gentleness in his tone when he teases, “City boy likes his men a little country?”

“Barclay is from San Francisco.” Joe looks up from his nails, bringing them almost nose to nose.

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Maybe this will.” Joe drops backwards onto the cushions, taking Duck with him courtesy of a kiss and not letting him up until dawn.

-------------------------------------------------

Practically everyone in Kepler has a job on the side, some legal and others not. Duck considers himself lucky that his is all pleasure with a chaser of business.

He let’s himself into what could generously be called a shack, the ragged exterior giving way to walls of beautiful drawings and a floor that’s more paper than wood. Seated in the far corner at a three-legged desk is a tall, skinny man with pale hair and red spectacles. Kepler’s Van Gogh of Vice, Indrid Cold.

At Duck’s footsteps he turns, angular cheeks and sharp nose a bit sunburnt but smile putting that star (and any other) to shame.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite model.” He stands, undershirt and denim pants hanging off him as he gathers Duck into a kiss. Then he pulls back, concerned, “goodness, what happened to your eye?”

“Hey, sugar.” Duck kisses his chin, “Got caught up in some trouble at Leo’s. Nothin to worry about. What am I today?”

“A brush salesman. Go put on that jacket, the rest of your clothing will do just fine.”

It’s the same routine every time; Indrid sketches Duck in some poor replica of a costume (a policeman, a boxer, a salesman), then instructs him to strip down to some level of undress. If it’s a weekend, Indrid will ask if he can sketch Duck for more complex drawings, some nude and some not, rather than the Tijuana Bibles that help line his threadbare pockets.

He always pays Duck for his time, even though Duck points out that, as his boyfriend, he can see him naked and hard any time for free.

They talk about birds and work, about going to the city sometime soon for a real night out, until Indrid instructs him to remove his shirt.

“My, my, what did you get up to last night?” Indrid traces a finger around the hickey on Duck’s lower belly.

Duck tells him, letting Indrid scoldingly nibble his collarbone as punishment for not inviting him to join.

“I’ve given Agent Stern a wide berth, so it is reassuring to know he’s a decent sort. Though someone really ought to inform him that Barclay shares his feelings.”

“Yeah. Barclay.” Duck chuckles, “they’re two grown men, if they can’t figure out they wanna fuck, I ain’t gonna hold their hands and drag ‘em into bed. Uh, wait, fuck-”

“I got both your intended meaning and the double one. Now kindly remove your trousers and lay on the bed.”

“Any specific pose?”

“Whichever one allows me to be in you the quickest.”

“You’re the boss, sugar.”

-----------------------------------------------------

“He did what?” Barclay thunks the last crate into the back of Indrid’s car.

“Dearest, I know you’re attached to Joseph, but Duck did nothing wrong by sleeping with him-”

“That’s not what I meant.” The cook sets the bags atop the clinking crates, “Duck can’t lie. Him fucking around with Joseph could end really badly.”

“Duck doesn’t know about this” Indrid closes the car, fidgets with the key.

“Yeah, which means he doesn’t know what things to hide. Joseph is smart, Duck could say something totally innocent and give him a clue.”

Indrid rubs his forehead, “We can discuss it further when I get back from this run.”

Barclay mumbles, “okay.” Then Indrid is being lovingly crushed in a hug as his boyfriend speaks into his shoulder, “Sorry I snapped. I get so fucking nervous when you do this.”

“That makes two of us. But I didn’t come by my nickname for nothing. I slip by as quietly as a moth in the dark.”

“But what if the cops lay a trap? Or some other family wants in on Leeshon’s territory and decides to hijack you? Or-”

“Leave the what-ifs to me, dearest. I’ll be back in two days. I promise.”

When Indrid is no more than a shadow on the backroad, Barclay trudges back to the Lodge. He hates this, hates the men who put him in this position, hates the feds who sniff around like dogs waiting to bite, hates how one of the two men who can stop his heart with his smile is also one who could throw him in jail.

The instant he sees Joseph in his usual corner seat, that all evaporates. He knows the agent originally used the Lodge restaurant as a place to eavesdrop. When he’s here these days, it’s solely for Barclay’s cooking and attention. Barclay will give him as much of both as he desires, feed him full of it in hopes of delaying the inevitable. So when the chairs are up and it’s only Joseph leaning on the counter asking if Barclay will join him for a slice of pie, the cook sits on the stool beside him, leaning in as close as he dares, and tries not to think of the future.

---------------------------------------------------

“Mr. Cold?”

“I’m on the back porch.” Indrid calls, cleaning up his paints as Joseph rounds the house, his pristine shirt, shoes, and hair making Indrid feel a rare bust of self-consciousness at his dishevelment. He stands, brushing off his pants, “how can I assist you?”

“By letting me take a look inside your home. I’ve heard rumors that you deal in items that are only bought in back rooms and I need to see if they’re true. I don’t have a warrant, and I’ll get one if I have to, but then I’ll have to bring other kinds of law enforcement with me who might, um, might....look, you’re important to Duck; I don’t want this to escalate any more than it has to.”

Indrid grins, waving him inside, “Say no more. I do believe there’s been a misunderstanding. Your mind, on account of your profession, went straight to bootlegging. I deal in something a bit different” He flips open a briefcase and gets the pleasure of watching Joseph Sten blush.

“It’s not the kind of art I’d sell if I had my choice, but I have a talent for rendering all manner of lewd acts on paper. Owners of bowling alleys and hunting clubs pay decently enough for them.”

“I, um, I see.” Joseph picks up one booklet, flipping through it, “I must admit these are more realistic than the ones I've encountered in the past.”

“I use models whenever possible in both these and my other work” he gestures to the non-explicit paintings on the wall, “in fact, you know two of my preferred muses.”

“Duck” Joseph’s thumb runs tenderly over the illustration.

“Indeed. And this one…” he holds up a second book, “is based on Barclay.”

“Good lord.”

“That’s the general consensus on that part of his body.” Indrid places both booklets safely in their spots, “does that satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes.” Joseph runs a hand over his hair, “very much. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Cold.”

“Of course. And by all means, call me Indrid. Should you ever be interested in modeling...” he let's Stern feel the full force of his appreciative gaze, "do let me know."

The agent leaves in more of a hurry than he arrived. Indrid closes the door, slumps against and says to the dust specks, “that was too close.”

He reiterates this point to Barclay in the evening, who agrees with him that, as much as Joseph means to him and Duck, when Indrid returns from this run they’ll talk with Mama about how to get the agent out of the Lodge and, ideally, the town. They finish their conversation right as three members of the Leeshon family arrive, electing to travel north along with their goods for some “official business.” Apparently, word of the The Moth as a skilled driver is spreading, the implications of which are keeping Indrid up at night.

He stoops and smiles for the men with menacing shapes under their coats, blows a final kiss to Barclay, and speeds off into the night.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is everything alright?” Joseph hovers over Duck’s shoulder, his eyes locked onto Barclay.

“‘Drid does these trips to sell his stuff, and he ain’t back yet. Ain’t called either of us, which is mighty strange. Usually he lets us know when he’s headin home.”

“And I tried the motel where he usually stays on his last night back down. They haven’t seen him.” Barclay wipes the same spot of table for the fiftieth time, “Duck’s truck is busted and Mama’s got the one we use for Lodge business, so we can’t go look for him ourselves.”

“We could take my car.” Joseph offers without hesitation, “if you know his usual route, we can at least rule out a wreck.”

Barclay shudders; he doesn’t want to think about Indrid, caged and lifeless in twisted metal. He wants to think about it so little that he does the most foolish thing possible; he decides to give a federal agent a guided tour of their bootlegging route.

Soon, they’re creeping along the winding backroad, Barclay navigating from the front seat while Duck bounces his leg in the back. The longer they drive, the more somber the expression from the man beside him.

“Indrid’s the Moth, isn’t he?” Joseph murmurs.

“Hate to say it Joe, but you’re so outta bounds you ain’t even in...the...game” he catches Barclay’s eyes in the mirror, “oh you gotta be fuckin kiddin me.”

“Wish I was” Barclay locks his hands in his lap, “Started about six months ago. Leeshon and his mob decided Kepler was a good spot to stage some of their smuggling. They went to the lodge first; Mama told ‘em hell no, told ‘em to get gone, and they threatened to shoot her then and there to burn the whole place and everyone in it. I stepped in, offered to do it. I was so fucking bad at the driving I almost got caught. Indrid offered to help to keep me safe and keep them from going after the Lodge.” He glances at Joseph, “we’re just trying to protect our family.”

“I don’t doubt it. But you haven’t exactly put me in an easy position. I had a hunch after I was in Indrid’s house; the faint smell of alcohol on certain bags, the regular trips along the exact same route. I just...I was hoping I was wrong.”

“You know damn well ‘Drid ain’t a threat to anyone.”

“He’s aiding the mob”

“To protect us--ohfuck” Barclay’s door is open before Joseph even stops the car. At the crossroads before them are two cars, each riddled with bullet holes. The one on the right, back half full of shattered bottles, is Indrid’s.

“No!” Barclay dodges the other bodies, Duck right behind him, and wrenches the driver-side door open. There’s bullets in the seat, but no body.

“Rival family, I can tell by the rings. They must have ambushed them.” Joseph stares down at one of the bodies by the second car.

“We gotta find him, he might still be, there-” Duck grabs Barclay’s arm, pointing towards the brush, “someone dragged themself that way.”

Duck leads the scramble through the foliage, following signs Barclay can’t see until they reach scuffed shoes on long legs.

“‘Drid, fuck, fuck, c’mon sugar talk to me.” Duck is on his knees, guiding the unconscious man into his arms.

“He’s breathing.” Barclay runs his hands over Indrid’s body, looking for broken bones. Finds one on his left leg, making his boyfriend groan in pain.

“You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get you home.” There’s a clanking noise from the direction they came, “I like Joe an awful lot, but if we gotta steal his car I will.”

Indrid manages to smile with dry lips, “I tried so hard to get back. Hard to crawl on a broken leg after playing dead for as long as it took everyone who’d been shot to finish dying. I just...can we...I want to go home.”

“You clear a path, I’ll carry him.” Barclay scoops Indrid up, follows Duck back towards the car as he snaps and pushes at brush.

“Thank the lord.” Joseph opens the back door of the car, “here, he can lay down. We’ll take him to the doctor right away.”

Duck stays in the back, Indrid’s head in his lap, petting his hair and whispering to him as Joseph turns the car towards town.

“You realize I have to report the shoot out.”

Barclay never takes his eyes off Indrid, “Do what you have to. Just don’t expect a warm welcome back.”

----------------------------------------------------

“....no, Agent Hayes, there were no survivors of the shoot-out.”

“Any records on the cars?”

“Only one. The other didn’t have plates.” Joseph keeps his breathing even as his boss mulls over his report.

“Alright. I won’t send a second man down, but if this escalates I expect you to alert me at once.”

“Understood, sir.” He hangs up, relieved, and steps into the hall of the Lodge. There’s not much spring in his step, since he doesn’t dare show his face in the restaurant.

Then there’s a lot of spring as he’s yanked through a door. Before he can raise a fist, calloused hands cup his cheeks and a beard prickles his skin as Barclay pins him to the wall in a kiss.

“Did, did you hear the callmmpph” He holds tight to Barclays shoulders as the cook manhandles him towards bed.

“Yep, had Aubrey eavesdrop on you.” Duck grins from his spot on Indrid’s comfy sickbed, “you gonna tell us why you covered our asses?”

“Barclay may have to release him for that.” Indrid pats the space next to Duck and the cook let’s Joseph drop into it.

“Arresting Indrid would have put the whole Lodge in danger and done nothing to stop the mobs vying for power on this bootlegging route. It’s the better call to let people think you’re dead for a time and see if I can catch Leeshon as he’s sniffing around for a new driver. And, um, I, I couldn’t hurt you. Any of you. You’ve made me happier than I’ve been in years and I, I just want to help you protect the town.”

“Aww, knew you were soft deep-down, city boy.” Duck kisses his cheek.

“I never did get to thank you for your role in saving my life. Come here.” Indrid crooks his finger and Joseph leans in, expecting a kiss on the cheek. He gets one full on the lips, Indrid humming when he brushes their tongues together. He purrs when they part, “after all, if you’re staying in town, I intend to join my boyfriends in their admiration of you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Wonderful. Iin that case, perhaps you’ll model for me.”

“Only if you buy me dinner.”

“Hey, I had to get punched to get dinner.” Duck teases.

“Let me go get it started.” Barclay winks, “don’t get into too much trouble until I get back.”