#having gasoline in a glass one foot away from a flame is a really good idea michael. your brain damage is showing

[cozylittleartblog]

JUST GUYS BEIN' DOODS

redraw of the meme under the cut

original by @knightmarebug

[writing-in-april]

Spooks

Raymond Wadsworth X Female Reader

Summary: Raymond starts sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong at the next haunting he’s investigating.

A/N: Hey heyyy- here’s my second fic for my 30 fics in 30 days for April 2021!!! I had this spur of the moment idea in the middle of the night and ended up writing a pretty long fic for it (at least long for me lol) I had a lot of fun writing it and really liked the idea- I hope you all enjoy it too! Drop something in my ask box here if you’d like!! I’m always looking for feedback and my requests are open as well! Thanks for reading!!!

Warnings: 18+, Ghosts & poltergeists, Smut, Sub Raymond, Unprotected sex, Sex in a car, Slight cum play

Main Masterlist Word count: 3.2k

Your job description wasn’t an easy one to describe, you could say Mulder and Scully would be the most accurate equivalent. Though as with all tv shows it was portrayed with a set of rose tinted glasses, giving a filter to any realities you faced on the job.

You and your department preferred to call yourselves spooks, truthfully only because the pun was funny. In reality your 8 person department were called agents just like the rest of the FBI, you guys were just more secretive than the others.

Most of the time you ended up getting handed the short straw when getting new cases as you were still the newest on the team, despite being there for several years already. Unlike most professionals in law enforcement you did not have a partner, it only slowed you down. Every place that you were scheduled to decontaminate was an in and out procedure streamlined for effectiveness, adding another body to be hyper vigilant about was a hassle. You operated alone.

Any type of paranormal phenomena that you could think of was thrown in front of you. In your opinion the cases you had the most fun on were the ones that dealt with aliens, though some ghosts could be fun on occasion. The most recent case I had to deal with was a nasty poltergeist, the worst type of ghost. They always wreaked the most havoc on whatever house or place they occupied.

The family in this house had moved out a while ago, the request to decontaminate the home had been sitting on one of your supervisors for a while. It was an old house, built around the late 1800s. Old enough that it had a bunch of unnecessary rooms, like the parlor room that you found yourself trapped in.

And, you weren’t on your own either. Trapped with you was a man with fluffy brown hair flying in any direction, his eyes a darker shade of brown that were filled with fear- yet also curiosity. He was wearing a blue romper, it looked good on him, from what you had seen while you were frantic. But, you highly doubted that it would be effective clothes for a paranormal investigation, maybe he had just stumbled across this place out of curiosity. Either that or he was the type of an inexperienced investigator who had probably had one encounter with a ghost. It did not change that he was cute though.

“I’m a paranormal investigator- uhh technically a supernatural detective! My name’s Raymond! Who are you?!” He sputtered out, ranting probably to try to push aside his fear. You were standing side by side holding the double doors of the entrance to the parlor room, pushing them down to prevent the poltergeist from ramming it down and attacking us.

“Not important!” You snapped back at him, throwing a glare at him. Even if it wasn’t such a tense situation, you weren’t supposed to give away your identity or your job description to just anyone.

With another gasping breath he asked another question, even though you hadn’t answered his first inquiry, “I came with a girl, her name’s Becca- did you see her?”

This one you would bother to answer as he was quite obviously worried about the well being of his companion, “I may have seen her speed away in a red car after she was thrown out of the house. Was that your car she took?”

Not that you really cared all that much, but if he had been stripped of his transportation by his partner you’d have to take him in your own car. Not that you really wanted to, you still would have to help him even though he was seriously hindering your decontamination. “No, I came in my own car.” He answered which made you breathe a sigh of relief, you wouldn’t have to deal with another issue after you escaped, “I don’t blame her honestly, if I could leave I would.”

You were about to answer when your pressure on the doors wasn’t enough, making you both stumble forward. When you stumbled forward your keys, along with your badge, fell out of your pocket. Your badge flipped open front and center to reveal your name, plus the exact agency you worked for in a bold logo.

“You’re an FBI agent?!” You could not confirm or deny what he had asked, you were firmly focused on scrambling to get your things and avoid the ghost that was now throwing furniture at the two of you.

When Raymond finally took notice of the being that was pelting heavy objects around you, a ghostly shape in the form of a woman with a tortured look on her face, he screamed bloody murder. It was not unlike that of a scooby doo cartoon, him obviously resembling Shaggy almost perfectly. If only he had a dog to jump into his arms before he comically zoomed away while remarking “zoinks!”

His frazzled response to the ghosts giving a rather mediocre jump scare made you wonder whether he had the credentials to back up his job title as a paranormal investigator- or as he called it a supernatural detective. You racked your brain to try and recall anytime you had seen a Raymond or a Becca on the long lists of people that were being monitored for potential involvement, coming up with nothing. Well, maybe they were new, as his reaction seemed to indicate.

Your own reaction was stoic as usual, your nerves no longer jumped and your heart no longer quickened to the visage of a ghost trying to spook you. It was in no doubt for some arcane reason probably linked to revenge towards people that no longer existed. One would normally say don’t assume anything about people, that it might offend them to assume, but dead people in your view also had dead opinions- plus relying on precedent was usually a good option when a ghost might be trying to kill you. Despite the absence of fear from you there would be no call out of “Let’s split up gang!” either. It was you mostly not wanting to explain to your employer how you lost a citizen in the middle of this place and- besides that you couldn’t deny that you didn’t want him to die no matter how much undeniable extra trouble he was causing.

“Let’s go.” Your voice was firm, no discernible room for argument or questions.

Raymond somehow found a way to wriggle in to asking yet another question, “Where are we going?”

You yanked his hand out of the room that you think might’ve been a parlor room back in it’s day. You shouldn’t have bothered to answer as it would breed more questions from him, you already gave away too much about who you are and what you do. Any extra questions you answer from him was just creating a bigger breach in your security. Yet you found yourself justifying an answer, his eyes that were probably pulled into an adorable curious look laced with fear bored into the back of your skull as you dragged him out of the room and to the nearest exit. It was only a harmless question, it didn’t even have a satisfying answer, “Anywhere but here!”

Weaving my way through the house that was better characterized as a maze was hard to navigate through. At every turn some sort of iteration of the poltergeist tried to capture us, to pull us into death with it.

The two of us did eventually find the front door, only to find that we could not pull it open, the handle was stuck.

“Step back!” You shouted at Raymond to get him to move out of the way while you prepared to kick the door down. He skittered over to be right behind you, looking over his shoulder in paranoia. You used your right foot to kick the door, using all the leg strength you could muster. After three kicks, the door burst open, letting you both free.

Scurrying quickly to your government given work vehicle, looking back for a second to make sure that Raymond was following you. You couldn’t let a civilian die here, no matter how much of a nuisance he was, and he was cute of course.

Pulling out the last resort from the trunk of your car, gasoline, you then shoved a container of it to your unexpected companion.

“Cover as much of the house as you can!” He made no argument with your plan, running right behind you back up to the house to cover it all in gasoline. Once you had both covered it as much as possible you made sure Raymond was standing back before you lit your lighter and chucked it into the wood wet with the accelerant.

As soon as you could confirm with your eyes that the house had sparked with fire, you grabbed Raymond’s arm again to drag him to your car, not even caring about the one he had come here in. You basically threw yourself into the driver's seat, starting to drive away immediately after Raymond had sat down, before he had even shut the side door.

Adrenaline was coursing through your veins, causing your heart to pound hard enough that it felt like it could burst out of your chest. It was not unusual in your field of work, to feel death brush right by you.

“My car?!” Raymond screamed, his body turned so he was looking out of your back window.

“Sorry no time to go back! The U.S government will reimburse you for that- maybe…” You said quickly, while trying to step harder down on the gas pedal to speed away.

The house behind you was burning so bright from you could hear the crackling from the house turning to ash. You imagined that the flames and smoke were big enough to be seen for miles, considering how much accelerant you poured on it. So much for being subtle, your boss was definitely going to chew you out for that.

When you had gained a sufficient enough distance away from the flames you pulled off into a parking lot adjacent to a park. Pulling into the parking space fast you then hit the brakes hard, jostling you two a bit.

Taking a deep breath you slumped forward to rest your head on your steering wheel, just for a moment of relaxation.

“You know burning it down won’t necessarily get rid of it.” You only grunted in response to his matter of fact statement. Your lack of response seemed to make him even more anxious, tapping his fingers on any surface that was around him to preoccupy his mind while you took your breather. He tried to fill the silence that was making him uncomfortable, “So what do you actually do?”

You sighed deeply against the steering wheel one last time, then leaning off of it to sit back in the seat. You decided that you might as well give him a small morsel of information that may satiate his curiosity, “That’s highly classified, but you could probably figure it out.”

His insistence to bring up what your job is was making your insides twist with anxiety. You were already dreading what would happen when you got back to the office. It would be a lot of paperwork to explain everything that happened, plus you’d have to submit an application on behalf of Raymond to get his car reimbursed.

The adrenaline that had spiked in your veins born out of fear was still present. It was overwhelming, and you felt the need to use it for something different than wallowing in your fear.

You redirected your gaze to fixate on Raymond, who could surely help you redirect your adrenaline. He was an attractive man, who’s personality did help make him even more desirable. Even though he was a pain in your ass, he was a cute and funny one.

His own eyes were fixated on yours as well, with a different look than what you had seen earlier. His eyes were deepened with lust, not fear, though there was still an ounce of curiosity in them- probably still wondering who exactly I was.

Grabbing the hairs at the back of his neck you then pulled him forward to crush your lips onto his. He reciprocated immediately, though did not try to challenge your dominance over the kiss. He let you slip your tongue into his mouth, exploring him with diligence.

You wanted him closer to you, feeling every inch of him. So you swung your legs over his lap as best you could with the space you had to straddle him. When you did so you barely let his lips come off your own, too greedy to let them separate from yours.

A thought however was nagging you in the back of your head as you continued to melt yourself into the kiss, he had mentioned a companion that he had been worried about earlier. You did not want to step on any toes, nor endorse any type of cheating. You separated your lips from his own, even though you wanted nothing more than to envelop him in another kiss.

“This ok with you?” Your words were said right into his lips, mingling your breath with his, “You’re not with that Becca girl are you?”

“Not anymore- and yes I’m totally ok with this.” He confirmed before surging up to meet his lips with your own again. You wasted no time in starting to grind your hips onto his cock that was swiftly growing underneath his shorts. Just from grinding you could feel how large he was, even through a couple of layers.

He moved his hands to the button of your pants when you moved your lips to start nipping and sucking on his neck and jaw. You tried to kick off the articles of clothing on your lower half, panties included, without removing your lips from him. Unfortunately you had to do so because of the amount of space. You cursed under your breath, wishing that the government had paid to give you a larger vehicle.

You were already slick with arousal, also aided by sticking your fingers into his mouth to get them sufficiently wet. He bobbed his head up and down on them eagerly until you were satisfied. Removing them from his mouth you ran them up and down along your slit, getting you even more wet.

You guided his length to your entrance, not sinking down immediately. You undulated your hips so his length was coated with your arousal as well. When he bucked his hips in impatience you just pushed them down back into the seat. Then you leaned down to whisper into the shell of his ear to be patient- he’d get what he wanted.

“Fuck me.” Was all Raymond could muster up to whimper when you sunk down onto his cock, his head falling back to hit the headrest. You wasted no time in starting a fast pace, bouncing up and down on him with vigor. Raymond grabbed onto your hips when he couldn’t find anything else to hold onto, digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

His large cock bumped up against your cervix in the most pleasurable way possible as you swivel your hips over him. Your own head tilted back, your mouth opened wide to let out a loud moan when his cock hit a particularly pleasurable spot inside you. You also felt the need to hold onto something as your release began to build inside you, getting ready to snap. So you grabbed onto the best thing you could find, running your hands through his hair and pulling on his strands.

One of his hands then moved to toy with your clit,his movements were a bit fumbled, but it swiftly made your orgasm start to crest. You were almost disappointed about how quickly this was going to be over, you however couldn’t deny that it felt amazing even with the frantic pace. In the back of your mind you couldn’t help but imagine all the other things you could do to Raymond if you were given the chance.

You fell apart above him, your eyes rolling back into your head. The adrenaline still coursed through your veins, and it felt good to have it redirected to a pleasurable experience instead of fear. You kept yourself impaled on his cock for a bit after your orgasm had finished, relishing at the feeling of him inside you.

Slipping out of him was a little bit awkward because of how cramped the space was. Once his cock slipped out of you, both of you groaning at the loss of him inside of you, you wrapped your hand around his length. You started to pump him slowly in your hands, taking your time compared to earlier. Your adrenaline had abated a bit and now you wanted to see how long you could drag this out, in case you never got the chance to again.

However, It still didn’t take much movement from your hands for him to get close, he was already close to the edge from being inside you. His hips bucked up into your hands a bit before he begged, “C-can you put- your hands- around my throat?”

“Should’ve known you’d be into that.” You snarked back a bit in response to his plea. Your tone had no sympathy for him, making him obviously think that you weren’t going to oblige him by the look in his eyes. That look of pure desperation in his eyes, with his kiss swollen lips, and his curls disheveled made you buckle. He groaned loudly when you put your free hand around his neck. You only applied a small amount of pressure, but that was all Raymond needed for him to cum all over your hand.

Once you had helped him ride out his own orgasm you removed your hand from his neck and his cock. You did need to clean up the hand that was covered in his thick ropes of cum, so you brought it up to your mouth to lick it clean.

“Fuck me…” Echoing his previous words, this time with an even bigger whimper. After you had cleaned yourself and him up enough to be decent you flung yourself back to sit in the driver’s seat again.

Raymond was silent for a minute, which seemed odd if you were going off of what little experience you had with him so far. Though maybe he was still going through his post orgasm relaxation just as you were. He then broke the silence, by asking the same question again, even though you had wanted to answer it just about 30 minutes ago. You’d bet money on the reason that he kept asking, being that each time that you answered you gave him a small hint, “Will you tell me now what you actually do?”

“Maybe- if you get to know me better.” You turned the key to start the engine again then asking with another hint as to what your job was, “Consider this your lucky day, you’ve got a spook as your chauffeur. Now, where next Raymond?”

—-

Tag lists (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @takeyourleap-of-faith

All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing)

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Show Level Violence, Drinking, Swearing

Chapter 7.

It's an odd sensation to have your best friend's hands all over you. It's difficult to get anything done during your morning routine with Dean constantly behind you. 

"De." You murmur as his lips trail over your jawline. His hands squeeze tighter at your sides as he presses his chest to your back while you fix your hair in the mirror of the bathroom.

"Hmm?" He hums quizzically as he presses you closer to his body.

You can smell faint notes of cologne and whisky from his attire and it brings you a sense of calm as you turn to him.

"We have to go gank this ghost." You tell him.

You can hear Sam's feet shuffling impatiently outside of the bathroom as you look up at Dean's handsome face.

His eyes are lighter than usual today, the pretty moss colored flecks in his irises seem to pull you in as he smirks.

"I know we do. I just...I've never had my hands on you like this before. I've never been so close to you. It feels good." He whispers as his hand cups your cheek.

The rough skin of his hand makes your eyes flutter shut and you wish you could just take this day to be with him. Just to talk or to spend time with him but work comes first.

"It does feel good." You agree and his head bows down so his lips can meet yours.

Your lips move together, the kiss passionate and something close to longing as he runs his hands below your t-shirt. 

"Fuck." He whispers against your lips. 

Sam's hand slams on the bathroom door and you're both ripped out of your lustful gaze within seconds.

"Are you guys done fucking?" Sam asks loudly and you snort shoving his older brother away.

Rolling his eyes, Dean fixes his flannel shirt before opening the door.

"Relax Sammy. Not everything is about fucking." Dean says as he hoists the bag of guns onto his shoulder.

Sam stops moving, his head slowly lifts to look at his brother before it tilts.

"E-Excuse me? Not everything is about fucking?" Not a sentence you think would come out of Dean Winchester's mouth.

"You heard me. Candy girl, let's get a move on. I got ghosts to kill!" Dean calls to you and you emerge from the bathroom as you fix your shirt.

He stares at you for a second, the corner of his mouth flickers upwards before he gives a gentle chuckle.

"I want this bastard flamed and burned within the next hour." Dean says to Sammy as he heads for the door.

"Why such a rush?" Sam asks as he scrambles to grab his coffee and follow his brother.

"Because," Dean turns to him from the doorway before meeting your eyes, "He attacked my woman."

The ride in the car to the home of the nefarious ghost was silent. Which you were perfectly fine with. It gave you time to glance at your now boyfriend that you've been in love with since you were just a teenager.

It's so odd. He's pushed you away for so long and you know you have so much that needs to get said between the both of you but you wonder if Dean would be willing to talk about it.

He's so closed off from the world most times that you find yourself thinking that it would be hard for him to open up and tell you any semblance of the truth.

He's kept so much away from you for years. 

You can tell he's in a happy mood by the way his fingers drum against the steering wheel as he listens to his cassette tape. 

The autumn sun hangs high above the car, every so often peppering Dean's face in it's rays. The sun does a glorious job highlighting all of his handsome features. His nose is so perfectly straight, his lips so perfectly shaped and even from the right side of the back seat you begin to count the freckles you can see as always. 

The small smile lines around the corners of his eyes just add to his handsomeness. He looks at your through the rear view mirror and his eyes linger as he stops at a red light. You seemingly become mesmerized by the deep green of his irises likening them to the forest before he sends a wink your way that has your gut fluttering and twitching like a mad man.

"So are you guys dating now?" Sam asks as he rolls down his window.

Dean clears his throat as he focuses on the tar lined road before him. 

You don't want to reply, you want him to. 

Sam looks at you through his mirror and you roll your eyes as he begins to give a devilish smirk.

"Yeah. We are." Dean mumbles and if you weren't in the confines of the car, you probably wouldn't have been able to hear his gentle voice.

"Good. About time." Sam says before sticking his tongue out at you.

"Bitch." Dean says with a chuckle only to hear the natural reply.

"Jerk." Your younger best friend says with a laugh.

With a giggle, you arrive in front of the haunted office of Morley Rosmund.

"Are you okay to go in?" Dean asks as he shuts off the car.

You can't help the chill that runs through your spine as you stare at the decrepit building.

"Yeah. I'll be alright." You reply, mustering up all of your strength.

Last night was a little more frightening than you guess you noticed. He was one angry son of a bitch and you just weren't ready for the sheer amount of anger he was radiating.

He ripped your dress clean off and was stronger than you could have imagined. 

"Just stay with me. Okay?" Dean asks as he opens up his door.

Nodding to him, you open up your door as well before taking in a deep breath. 

Sam wraps his arm around you as you round the back of the car.

"We got your back. You know that." He says in your ear as Dean begins to pull out shotguns.

"I still haven't kicked your ass for leaving me on my own yesterday. Don't tempt me." You tease as you take the sawed off shotgun from your boyfriend's hand and begin to load salt rounds into it.

Sam chuckles as he grabs his own and your eyes drift over to the building once more before swallowing thickly.

Dean swings the door open first. He casually glances behind him to make sure you're okay before stepping over the strewn, decomposing bodies that lay on the floor much like last night. With a grimace, you pick your shirt up to cover your nose before scowling at the dead women on the floor.

"This son of a bitch is disgusting." You hear Dean grunt angrily before he kicks open the office door with his foot.

"I wish we could just burn the building down. Make sure he's outta here for good." Sam mutters as he puts his large hand to the small of your back goading you into the office before him.

You spot your ripped dress on the floor from last night as you step into the office and you shiver at the sight.

Dean notices within a fraction of a second and he's by your side as he kicks the fabric out of sight. 

"Come on, Candy girl." He whispers before pressing his soft lips to your temple and stepping out of the way to explore the shambled office.

Anything of any importance was being piled up in the middle of the room. Anything that was old and leathery. Anything that had a dull shine like a pocket watch Sam found in one of the top drawers of the desk you were forced to sit on last night. Even scraps of different cloth were all in the center of the office.

"What about pictures?" Sam asks as he leans in to look at an old painting.

"What, you think this dead pervert had a hard on for the arts?" Dean asks as he drops a leather briefcase onto the ground beside the pile.

"I don't know. Maybe. Just want to make sure we get everything." Sam mumbles as he continues to search.

"Yeah. I bet he really loved the ducks in a pond painting." Dean says before smashing the glass of the picture frame open.

Your eyes catch something sparkle beneath the woman that lays limp on the desk. It was a whirlwind last night but you managed to remember some things of Morley Rosmund's attire. Like the jewelled beetle that was on the lapel of his trench coat that is now situated beneath the woman's body.

"De. Help me grab this." You instruct him as you point to the pin below the dead woman.

"Oh God." He grumbles as he uses the barrel of his salt gun to lift her up just long enough for you to grab it.

You throw the pin into the pile on the floor before grabbing a hat off of the rack by the door that you remember the ghost was wearing.

Ghosts can be in multiple items and it's better to just get them all to be safe.

Suddenly as your boyfriend pulls open the safe in the corner of the office, your begin to see your breath in the small confines of the room.

"He's coming!" You say quickly as you pull back the hammer of your gun.

Dean holds up what looks to be a deed for the office before throwing it into the pile. 

"Y/N!" Sam yells and you whip around just long enough to see Morley Rosmund behind you.

He gives a gentle smile before you're being thrown over the desk.

You groan loudly as you fall onto your back, your body shivering with dull pain as you lay your head back to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean curses as he throws gasoline over the contents on the floor.

"You little trollope." The ghost sneers as he wraps his hand around your throat.

You cough loudly, sputtering and whining as you claw at his hand. He picks up off of the floor slowly and you shakily lift your gun before shooting the rock salt into him, earning wisps of his body left behind.

Landing back down on the floor, you cough once more as Sam strikes the matchbook on fire and tosses it into the pile.

As the objects begin to catch fire, your body is thrown back to the wall as Morley reappears screaming furiously with red hot anger.

"Y/N!" Dean yells as he rushes towards you.

With a sharp yelp, you press your head back to the wall before the ghost's body begins to catch fire. 

Being swept up into Dean's arms, you're instantly checked on. His hands press to your face, checking to make sure the ghost didn't inflict too much damage before he disappeared into thin air.

"You okay?" He asks gruffly as you gingerly press your fingers to your throat.

Your eyes flicker over to the burning pile of personal possessions before you nod.

"Yeah. I'm good." You whisper before standing up straight and fixing your jacket.

"That's my girl." He mumbles as he presses his lips to your forehead.

"I need a drink and food. Pronto." You say as Sam grabs the duffel bag full of guns and paraphernalia. 

"A drink? It's like three o'clock?" Sam says as you step over bodies towards the front door.

"A woman after my own heart." Dean calls back to him and you giggle as he opens the door for you.

Knowing the job is done brings a huge weight off of your shoulders. It's not often you can appreciate everything around you when so many monsters and evil live in this world. But now, as you sit with your two favorite boys in this run down bar, the world feels lighter somehow. If only for a few hours, you're okay with that.

Dean has been so tried and true throughout the years and now finally you can call him yours. 

Sam has always been your home. He's always seen to reason and has been a comfort in your hard times. You can always count on him to listen.

So when the food comes and you all dig in, there's something so peaceful with listening to the both laugh as Dean plants his hand on your knee. 

You can take a few hours of comfort and calm before you're thrust back into the monster wielding world.

"Gotta hit the head." Dean says.

He plants a kiss to your hairline before he's up and walking towards the bathroom door.

"It's cute y'know. I'm really happy for you guys. Finally." Sam says before finishing off his beer.

You give him a gentle smile as he lifts his beer bottle.

"I'll go get us another round." He says, scraping his chair back loudly.

You pick at your food in the meantime while being alone. You're achy and albeit a bit sore from the attack but you'll heal in no time.

You can't wait to get back to the bunker and just relax for a few days. Wash your car, read up on things in the vast library.

"Hey there." The foreign voice draws you out of your calm daze. Looking up at the owner of the voice, you tilt your head at his handsome features.

"Noticed you with those two Backstreet Boy wannabes." The man says, taking Dean's seat.

You snort gently before shifting your chair away from him as he smirks. 

"Those wannabes are my best friend and boyfriend." You say as you pick up your beer.

It feels weird to call Dean your boyfriend. A good weird. Like it was always meant to be.

"Wanna see what a real man can do?" The absolute gall of this lanky man is impressive.

You give a gentle laugh as you roll your eyes. 

"Nah. I'm good. Thanks." Your voice is short with him and it seems to ruffle his feathers a bit too quickly.

"Come on, baby. I can show you what a real man's cock looks like." You blanch at his words and try to push your chair back uncomfortably as he catches you by your calf with his hand.

"I said no. Jesus. Fuck off." You bark at him.

His grip gets tighter and you sigh loudly before hearing a loud gruff voice that quakes your chest.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" Dean yells from across the bar.

Flinching, you give a quick smile to the man as your boyfriend approaches. 

He is so dead meat.

Destiny Is Heaven Sent Taglist: @roonyxx​, @deans-baby-momma​, @supernatural-love14​, @winchest09​, @flamencodiva, @indecisive20something, @that-one-gay-girl​

Forever Dean Tags: @akshi8278​

Forever Tags: @mariaenchanted​

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What if (Construction worker/ high school sweetheart AU)

Summary: Life leads Y/N and Grayson in different directions after high school and they meet years later, rehashing the past. But life has its own plans for old lovers who just wanted one another.

Warnings: angst, fluff, death

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N - This was in my drafts for a long time, so if you guys like it and want more, let me know.

*           ***               *              ***               *

Two hearts, one valve, pumpin' the blood, we were the flood, we were the body. Two lives, one life, stickin' it out, lettin' you down and makin' it right.

Seasons, they will change, life will make you grow, dreams will make you cry because everything is temporary, everything will slide, our love will never die.

I know that birds fly in different directions, but I hope to see you again.

Sunsets, sunrises, livin' the dream, watchin' the leaves, changin' the seasons. Some nights I think of you, relivin' the past, wishing it'd last, wishing and dreaming.

Imagine Dragons - Birds

*           ***               *              ***               *

There are few big moments that make a person. Moments that bear the weight of a thousand suns that claim pieces of your soul. Some are love, a goodbye or a tragedy. For me, it was all three, all at the same time.

I left New Jersey six years ago soon after a tragedy claimed the lives of both my parents. I was only seventeen at the time, still a stupid teenager with a conviction everything my parents say is useless and only there as punishment. We were on our way home from my grandparents, arguing about a party I wanted to attend when a car swerved into our lane and dad had no chance of avoiding it.

I remember every detail of the crash, every single moment in slow motion, including the moment I realized I would be an orphan before darkness took me too.

After that, my life changed irrevocably. The only comfort I had was my high school sweetheart, Grayson Dolan and his big bear hugs I melted into.

We meet very few people who can shake up your world and still keep you steady. Grayson Dolan was all that and more. My heart always felt comfortable and safe in his hands. I believe we all encounter three different loves in our lives – your soulmate, the love of your life and eventually the one you settle for. Some people get to meet only one, some two, while others meet all three.

I don’t know which one of these is Grayson, after all, our story had an abrupt ending.

The funeral came and went. My grandparents moved to our house to take care of me, but I felt suffocated. Every inch of that house represented them and it haunted me. Survival guilt ruined me. The guilt was like gasoline in my guts. My insides died slowly in the toxicity, needing no more than a spark to set it ablaze. The fire burnt me out so badly there was nothing left but a shell, an outline of a person. Staying in New Jersey would have killed me, I just knew it.

The moment I turned eighteen, I set off to a new beginning.

I begged him to come with me. He begged me to stay. Things were said and that night I had to say goodbye to the only person that anchored me.

Alas, I said goodbye to Grayson Dolan too.

So here I am, six years later in the big city with my very own company. I never self-medicated with alcohol or drugs, rather worked harder to reach my goals. More work you put in, less time you have to think about what hurts you.

And this distance hurt me. Leaving Grayson destroyed me.

I never stopped thinking about what I left behind, about what could have been. But I learned to live with my choices. I had to.

Some people are meant to leave a mark in your life, but they don’t have to stay. No one ever does. People always leave, some willingly and some are forced to, but the end result is the same – you can only ever count on yourself.

"Your meeting at 2 is pushed back. Now you have the time to meet with the construction team that's gonna stand in for Fred." Lily, my assistant informed and I nod, sipping on my tea before rushing out the door. My company deals with architecture, building and interior designing and my usual construction crew bailed in the last minute, forcing me to look for another.

"You also have to meet the new architect. It took me two weeks to find him and we will not cancel!" Lily ordered, making me giggle. “I mean it. He comes highly recommended and his work so far matches your vision so perfectly.”

"I'll do it. Just point me in the right direction." Hands raised in mock surrender, I follow her index finger to the conference room and I nearly gasp at the beautiful man waiting inside.

With my head held high and back straight, I walk into the room, ready to meet this exquisite specimen.

"Sorry for the wait." I start with an apology, immediately offering a hand to shake which he gladly accepts.

"I'm Y/N Y/L/N, the owner and acting CEO of this company." I finish the introduction, noticing the man's smile growing which only accentuates his naturally handsome features.

"Pleasure is all mine." Bowing his head, angling my hand up ever so slightly, he presses his lips to the back of it like a proper gentleman. It’s almost impossible not to swoon over the gesture or the British accent I noted immediately when he spoke.

"Although, I must say I'm disappointed you do not remember me." He feigns hurt, letting my hand go slowly, reluctantly.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, wetting my lips and take a second look at the man. “Pardon?”

His dark blonde hair is perfectly curly, long enough for them to form but not to fall to his forehead as it would make it seem unkempt. His large, deep-set blue eyes bore into mine almost as if he’s looking for something he cared for dearly but lost along the way. A spark hiding behind his heavy look reminds me of a flame I once lost myself. The color is different, but the emotion remains the same.

His lips are set in a confident smirk, aware of my hungry, shameless gaze. His lips are rosy instead of pink, small instead of plush. His cheekbones are set high and defined, just as is his sharp jawline that could cut glass like a diamond.

He's tall. Much taller than I am. The broad shoulders give enough definition to his muscles so one can easily conclude he works out, but doesn't kill himself in the gym.

He is the epitome of beauty. Perfection. I can't deny that.

"I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met." I apologize again, wanting to keep this man around. For business purposes.

"It's Troy Lahey. We met when I was just an assistant. I suppose I didn't leave a lasting impression." Quirking an eyebrow, Troy brushes the awkwardness away as he helps me take my seat like a gentleman would.

Grayson used to do that for me as well. Opening the door, taking out the chair, even carrying my bag no matter how pink or flowery it is. A rare quality in men these days. Even after all these years, I compare everyone to Grayson. It’s involuntary, almost like a compulsive need.

"I'll make sure I remember you now." I muss, steering the conversation business wise. It didn't take long for us to reach an agreement as he is an agreeable man, very open minded and open to adventure.

"Have you ever hear about Rosie's?" He stops to ask just as I stand to take my leave. I turn around with lips part, possibly some worry passing my features. No matter how hard I’ve worked on my poker face, I still can’t hide my surprise. I can’t remember the last time a man as attractive like him paid any attention to me. More likely, I can’t remember the last time I paid any attention to a man, any man.

"Please don't tell me they're closing. It's my favorite restaurant." I frown, seeing his face light up as he stands as well.

"Nothing like that. I was just wondering if I could buy you dinner this Friday. Or any day you please?" He proposes and I nearly choke on my saliva. He's handsome. He's intelligent. He's everything I searched for and everything I avoided to find.

My heart is still bleeding. My heart still needs time. Six years isn't enough. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.

"Since we've just agreed to work together on a project, I cannot in good conscience agree to that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to." I say politely, noting his smile grow as if he took my rejection as a challenge and although I'm sure it bruised his ego, he won't just stop. He knows I like him and he seems like a man who fights for what he wants.

"I'm a determined man and I think you know that."

"Arrogant." I challenge, fueling the fire.

"Mhmm...I'd say confident." His charming accent can stop a women's heart and while I'd usually find the persistence annoying, he doesn't annoy me. If anything, he amuses me.

But I walk out the door regardless, waving over my shoulder.

Rushing halfway across town, I manage to get to my second meeting just in time. Still in a frenzy, I walk into the meeting only to find someone I never thought I'd see again.

Dropping my files, I feel my legs wobble as I stumble forward and lose footing.

Strong arms wrap around me, catching me in the nick of time and I open my eyes to find myself in a warm embrace of my first love.

"Grayson?" I breathe out his name, my hand instinctively cupping his cheek like I did all those years ago.

"It's really you." He says slowly, his eyes taking me in like I'm a mirage. His earthly hues glaze over with tears as I swallow my own.

Six years of distance between us. Six years of silence, of thinking what he must be doing and how he’s doing. Six years of picking up the phone to call him just to hear his voice. Six years and now he's here with me, holding me tightly like his life depends on it.

"Hi." I smile, feeling him slowly steady my body, but on the inside I'm fireworks and tsunamis, hurricanes catching on fire.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, not meaning to be rude, just curious. Leaning back on the desk as his hold relents, I interlock my fingers to stop my hands from shaking.

Grayson rubs the back of his neck nervously as he always did, shyly looking to his feet first before allowing himself to truly look at me.

He's scanning my body, looking for something that remained the same, something to cling to. I find myself doing the same.

His hair is no longer floppy nor falling in his eyes, making it seem darker, cropped almost. His eyebrows are a little less bushy and I can't help but wonder if he has someone plucking the extra hair like I used to do whenever I managed to overpower him long enough or bribe him with a tasty treat...or myself. His lips are the same plushy pink, perfectly smooth and kissable.

Instead of smooth skin, he bears a stubble, adding age onto his once young looks. His eyes remain the same, the understanding, and kind, gentle soul shining through and he still has the wing shaped earring I bought him. It was a gift for our first month anniversary where I promised I'd be his angel, one to keep him safe as long as the earring remains in its place.

Holding my breath at that realization, I swallow thickly, allowing the need for tears to wither away.

He's grown wider, there are more muscles and definitely more tattoos. I wonder if he had our matching tattoo removed.

“It’s going to be fine.” Grayson speaks slowly, his hands clutching mine as a grin replaces his smirk. “I’ll hold your hand and everything.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I raise an eyebrow. “My parents will kill me. This isn’t even legal, Gray.” Biting my lower lip, I cast my gaze down to his thigh and the unmistakable ink etched into his skin.

“I won’t force you, but I really think it would be cute, ya know? Couple goals and all that? Imagine telling this story to our kids!” The excitement in his eyes is overpowering, entirely enchanting and I’m not sure if he’s even aware of the effect he has on people. His smile, his happiness is positively infectious. He’s incredibly charismatic and charming, turning heads without even trying.

Sighing, I nod. “As long as I get a kiss every time it hurts.”

Pecking my lips, Grayson nods too. “You have yourself a deal, my angel.”

I look at him and still see my Grayson, just a little bigger and stronger, teensy bit older but incredibly beautiful.

Does he still see me as me? Have I changed? Does he find me attractive now? Did I ever even cross his mind?

"I, uh...I was just supposed to deliver some papers. I didn't know I was delivering them to you." He puts his hands on his hips, licking his lips. His gaze wanders, scared to make eye contact.

"Construction crew?" I inquire, unsure what to do when all I want is for him to hold me like we're teenagers again and tell me all he's done or seen since we parted.

"Yeah. Ethan and I started our own little business. This was actually his idea." Grayson frowns, suspecting Ethan had organized this meeting behind his back, but I don't think so. I would have known, would I not?

"It’s really good to see you." He focuses on me once more and my heart jumps. "I missed you." He adds and I know it's over for me. All my what ifs are standing before me, incorporated into one man I had never stopped loving and no matter how hard I fight it, I want to be around him longer.

"And I you. Is it possible for you to stay? Have dinner with me while you're here?" I offer courageously, terrified he might say no.

"I'd love that!" He claps his hands together, a wide smile taking over his face and I see his eyes light up.

Smiling too, I let my heart guide me for the night. If nothing else, I should at the very least have the courage to spend a few more hours with him. After all this time, it will either offer us a second chance or give me closure.

“I have a car waiting for me, it can take us to Rosie’s.” Without thinking, I take his hand only to pause, questioning if it’s alright.

In my moment of doubt, Grayson interlocks our fingers and I let out a relieved sigh. “Rosie’s? Is it your favorite restaurant?”

Giggling, I nod. “Yeah. I always have my faves, but you knew that already.”

Once outside, Grayson steps before me, releasing my hand and just as I’m about to protest, I find he did it so he’d open the car door for me. Fighting the urge to smile, I pray my cheeks aren’t blushing at the gesture, but my eyes are flooded with emotions regardless.

“Are you okay?” Grayson’s hand rests on my hip and I hold my breath, nodding vehemently.

“Yeah, the wind is cold.” I point at my eyes, forcing a smile. “Cold winds are ruthless to my eyes.” Sniffling, I sit inside and send Lily a quick text to get me a seat at Rosie’s. Leaving my phone aside, I tuck my shaky hands under my thighs.

“It’s been so long since I came to New York. I didn’t even know you’re here now.” Grayson moves a little closer, his hand nearly brushing my thigh and I couldn’t help but glance at it every so often.

“I moved back last year. Los Angeles was beautiful and I loved the climate, but New York…It’s the closest to home.” Licking my lips, I shrug. “I guess I needed a change of scenery.”

“Miss, Lily wanted you to know Rosie’s closed for the day, but she made a reservation down in that new restaurant she mentioned. She said you’d know which.” The driver explains and I nod, grateful for the interruption. The last thing I need now is to overwhelm Grayson with all the reasons why I wanted to be in New York.

“That’s fine. Take us there.” Glancing at Grayson, I swallow thickly. His eyes never left me. Though I could sense he wanted to ask me something more, something that would likely bring up the past, Grayson remains quiet for the next few minutes. Luckily the restaurant isn’t far.

“Wait up.” Grayson runs out, circling the car before opening the door, offering his hand.

Reluctant, I look up only to meet his gaze. He’s uneasy, just as I am. So, I place my hand in his and let him help me out.

Sitting, ordering, it all happened so quickly, clouded with awkward silence neither of us could break. But he does. After all, he was always the outgoing one, speaking his mind with no restrain.

“Why didn’t you come back?” The uncertainty in his voice grips me as does my guilt, my heart sinking. “I always thought you’d come back after you finished college and I…I really thought you’d come back to me.”

Rubbing my forehead, I break eye contact. He’s pulling on my heartstrings, each of them breaking as he insists on answers I can’t be sure of.

“I can’t go home. I can’t be there. I don’t feel sane in New Jersey. It’s too much.” I sigh, hating the tears rimming my eyes. “I always thought you’d come after me”, I chuckle with a slight shake of my head. “Every day, for years, I expected you to show up on my doorstep and tell me you never meant to let me go.”

“I’m here now.” Reaching out, Grayson places his hand upon mine and I tense up. I don’t know why.

“But you’ll be gone by tomorrow. You said you’d never leave New Jersey. You said that and I hoped you’d change your mind, but you didn’t.” Cocking my head to the right, I glance at his quivering bottom lip. “Did you?”

“No.” Grayson draws a deep breath before leaning back, taking his hand with him. “I didn’t. I didn’t even know you’d want me to after that night.”

“I can’t breathe here! Everywhere I look, I see them! How can you not understand that?!” My voice is raw from all the shouting, the argument seemingly never-ending.

“Why can’t you stay for me? Am I not important enough? You know my family is here! My twin, my mother and father! My whole damn family, it’s not my fault”, I interject, stopping his thought.

“That I don’t have a family anymore? Is that it? You’re really going that route?” I croak, shaking my head. Running my hands through my hair, I turn away from him.

“You know that’s now what I meant.” Grayson sighs loudly, annoyed. “You’re making me out to be a monster because you need a reason to leave and not look back, but I’m not going to make it easy on you. I won’t.” He steps closer, his presence undeniable. “I will not be a punching bag for you. I love you. I want to marry you some day. I want to have kids with you. But I don’t want to leave my life here. I don’t want to follow you across the country just for you to look at me the way you just did.” Exhaling, his hand rests on my shoulder and I step away, needing my space.

“I’m not pushing you away.” I turn back, wrapping my arms around me. I feel cold, not on the outside but the inside of my body. I’m freezing and I’m burning, just the air here is toxic and I can’t live here. I can’t spend my whole life constantly being reminded of the worst thing that ever happened to me. If I stay, I’ll be trapped in misery.

“It sure as hell feels like it.” Grayson spat and I understand. I understand he doesn’t know how to handle this, because we never had to deal with this before. It’s new and strange and scary and it changed me in ways we can’t still fully smooth over.

“I’m not pushing you away, I’m holding on for dear life!” I choke up, shaking my head as I struggle to inhale. The pressure in my chest is crushing my heart and lungs and I can’t breathe, I can’t think. It’s too much. “I’m asking you to come with me. I’m begging you to, but you won’t.” Wiping my tears I step away from him once again as I notice him reach for me. “You’re giving up on us. You. Not me.”

I walked away that night, left New Jersey the next day as planned.

“Of course I wanted you.” A small smile appears on my lips as I notice his eyes are swimming in unshed tears as well. “I’ve always wanted you.” I add, letting out a heavy sigh. “But I couldn’t stay there. It would have killed me.”

“I could have helped you. I could have been there for you.” Grayson insists, his tone sharp and yet it’s laced with regret.

Does he wish he went with me?

“No one could have helped me back then. The only cure was to leave and I did it to protect my sanity.”

“I could have tried.” Slamming his fist on the table, Grayson stood abruptly, walking toward the exit.

Putting a hundred on the table, I rush after him, my purse in hand. “Wait!” I shout after him, catching him on the street as he tried to hail a cab. “Grayson.” I breathe out, taking his hand in mine.

“Go back to your perfect life, Y/N.” He remarks, hurt written in every line of his tearstained face. He’s crying. Is that why he left?

“It’s not perfect,” I croak. “Not nearly as perfect as it could have been.”  

Cupping my left cheek, Grayson’s thumb runs from the corner of my lips to my cheek and back, drawing a gentle smile on my behalf. Leaning down, his forehead rests upon mine, his nose brushing against the tip of mine. His warm breath is tickling my skin, my lips parting and eyes closing in anticipation of his.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” He whispers and I open my eyes. His brown hues are closed, his lips are quivering. Tears are still running down his cheeks.

Letting go of his hand, I cup his face too, breathing heavily. “So kiss me.”

He licks his lips, hesitantly brushing my cold ones. We have feelings that are not visible, we do things to prevent ourselves from being miserable. Being honest is all we have left. Our need to have a taste of the comfort the other one offers is undeniable.

Grayson is the first to end the wait. He kissed me and the world fell away. It’s slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rests below my ear, his thumb caressing my left cheek as our breaths mingle. Running my fingers down his back, I pull him closer until there is no space left between us and I could feel the beating of his heart against my chest.

It’s perfect. It’s mind-blowing and sensual, forming worlds where we weren’t torn apart six years ago, where we could have made it. There’s no tears in those worlds, no aching desire and longing for one last look.

I never want it to end. But it does. It has to. Everything ends eventually. For us, the end began with a phone ringing.

“Fuck.” He grunts under his breath, looking at me with newfound uncertainty as he picks up his phone, taking a few steps away for privacy.

Wordless, I stand to the side, breathless even now. All I thought I lost before is right before me and it feels like a dream. I’ve been in pieces and with a single kiss, Grayson made me feel whole.

“I, uh, I’m so sorry.” Grayson mumbles, typing something on his phone. “I really have to go. It was really great seeing you again.” He manages a smile as he hails a cab, successfully so.

“Oh.” It’s all I can say, feeling dejected by the sudden change in atmosphere. A part of me expected for him to come home with me, for us to take tomorrow off and stay in bed, talking and making love. I wanted more time. Is it wrong I hoped we’d get back together too?

“I’ll tell Ethan you said hi.” He adds before pecking my cheek. In a moment, he was gone once more.

I couldn’t sleep that night. The moments we spent together kept replaying in my head over and over again and I tried to figure out where I went wrong. Did I do something to make him leave?

Dragging myself out of bed, I arrive at work looking like a hot mess.

“You look like a hot mess.” Lily reminds me and I groan, ignoring her as I enter my office.

“Oh, good morning.” Troy’s chipper tone makes me flinch and I stop, wide-eyed as I realize he’s standing in my office, a cup of coffee in hand and a dazzling smile to go with it.

“I didn’t realize we have a meeting.” I admit, looking around to make sure I didn’t walk into someone else’s office.

“We don’t, but I like to be proactive. I’ve made the initial sketches and left them on your desk.” With a smile as bright as the sun, he passes by me only to stop right next to me. “You look beautiful.”

Glancing his way, all I catch is his back as he leaves me alone in the room. Just me, the coffee he bought me, a stack of papers and…a bouquet?

Wild flowers bring some color to my rather old-fashioned office, breathing some life into the room. I smile, stepping closer only to find a single rose in the center of the bouquet as well as a note. It’s typed, not handwritten and there’s no signature.

“Lily?” I call out for her while opening the note with a hint of a smile adorning my lips.

She appreciated the beauty of a rose, the symbolism. But she never liked roses. No. Her love was always reserved for lilacs, violets and other wild flowers that painted the very essence of her soul.

“Yes?” Lily enters and I turn to her with a wide smile.

“Who sent this?” Was it Grayson? Did he want to tell me something? The words are so beautiful, and just right. I’ve never liked to receive roses, but wild flowers made my heart go crazy. Who else could know this but him?

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them delivered.” Lily frowns, stepping closer. “Must have been delivered when I was in the bathroom or something.” She shrugs, still a little troubled.

“Oh.” I furrow my eyebrows, biting my lower lip.

“Why, what does the note say?” Lily narrows her eyes as I smile. “What’s that smile for?”

“Lily, book me a ticked.” I decide right then and there. My what if’s will no longer dictate my future. Whether these came from Grayson or not, I have to see him again. “I’m going home.”

*           ***               *              ***               *

A/N - If you’ve made it this far, let me know if you like it and want more. It’s an old draft I polished a little which is why it’s written in the reader’s POV, something I haven’t done in quite some time.

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

The Angel Among Us (Cordelia X reader) Part 4

I went back and edited/rewrote the previous chapters. I also accidently posted this with an old chapters warning so sorry.

Warnings: N/A 

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5(will be added when done)

Attending a witch burning was not high on your bucket list of experiences to have before you die. You weren’t forced to attend, no one but the council was but you chose to be there if not for you than for Cordelia. She’d most likely be upset about crime happening under were watchful eye. The warlocks’ goings weren’t the highest priority for the supreme, they had the chancellor for that. How was she supposed to know that the man was corrupt enough to kill his own for a taste of power. You hadn’t spoken to Cordelia since last night, she had to stop your brother warlocks then in the morning (with Coco’s help) hunt down the woman who killed John.

 You would have thought she would have made some time to scold you for your selfish thinking, drinking late in the evening with classes the following day. She only had the initial complaint then left you to your own accord. It was different. You still needed time to think about how you felt.

 Cordelia’s whole ‘gang’ attended including Coco who had come from helping the witches and Mallory who you assumed was there because of Coco. The two had been pals from the moment Mallory was asked to show Coco around the school. You were surprised the two so quickly worked a spot onto the close friends list of the Supreme. A list you barely made the cut for nowadays. Not to say you did not get along with Delia, she was your girlfriend after all, if you weren’t getting along then something was going terribly wrong. Things hadn’t been the same as they were years ago, her job weighing down on her and tearing her away from you. You’ve never really been the initiator of affection which allowed the tear in your friendship. The two of you rarely having time alone since she’s been having to go away for council meetings. If Myrtle and Zoe weren’t going with her, you’d assume she was cheating.

 You still loved her, although it was different to the fantasy you’d dreamt up from years of anticipation. Maybe it was high expectations? Whatever it was if you didn’t work on it soon there might not be an ‘us’ but two single entities with tension among them.

 You stood on Cordelia’s left, diagonally behind her. Your parasol shielded you from the blazing sun. Your girlfriend spoke to the men, calling them out on their crimes for the attendees to ear. Her voice blurred together in your ears, instead checking out your girlfriend. When was the last time you touched her? Seen her body unclothed? Was she as needy as you or did her hand to a better job these days? You found Cordelia sexy in a sick sort of way as she spoke about the murder of your brother warlock.

 The woman, Miriam Mead, kept staring directly at you as your girlfriend explained how she didn’t plan on breaking with tradition. Subconsciously, you took a step forward, focusing all your power into figuring out why her gaze was fixated on you. She was dowsed in gasoline, she turned away at last giving you some relief. As the flames engulfed her, she indulged in it. Prayed for her God, praised him. Claimed that the work of her Lord work will proceed and that the witches were powerless to stop him.

 A vision of the horned beast you saw in your nightmarish dream flashed before your eyes blinding you temporarily. You lost your balance, stumbling backwards and dropping your parasol in the process. You rested your eyes, your body suspended thanks to the help of two women holding you upright. 

 “She hangs among the ones of light, tell her who you are, and the worlds fate will be sealed.” A male’s voice echoed in your mind.

 “Brother?” you uttered out.

 Why did that face show up now? You reached out, getting a better grip in order to stand up correctly. Your fingertips grazed over Zoe’s hands as you supported yourself upright. Your head pointed to the ground, your mind in a haze not aware of the people surrounding. The woman refused to let go until they got a response from you. You latched on to Zoe’s hands, a name popping into your mind. Who’s Michael Langdon?

 “Y/N?”

 The group was hiding something. Someone.

 “Y/N!”

 The flaming bodies burned on filling the air with the stench of cooked flesh. It didn’t smell as good as cooked bacon. A face blocked your view of the stakes, blonde locks attached to that head. More faces popped into view but the first being the most prominent. You removed yourself from the holds of Zoe and Coco. “Sorry, I lost my footing.” You avoided all their eye-contact. “I’m fine.” Cordelia looked at you still worried. “I’m fine,” you mouthed. You didn’t believe the words yourself. 

 “Are we ready to go, this place is really dampening my spirits?” Coco asked. 

 “I wouldn’t mind going,” you said rubbing your arm over the sleeves of your thick coat. This is why Cordelia didn't want you there, she didn’t want you to have to see all this. “Hey, Coco. Can I talk to you for a moment?” You caught up with Coco. “Did that woman creep you out?”

 “Totally.”

 “I felt like she kept staring at me,” you shivered. “I can officially say, I don’t like witch burnings.” Coco agreed with you on that one. 

 On the car ride back to the academy, John Henry Moore spoke about how he was going to have to track down his car, since the gas station had no idea were the car had been taken and no care dealership the vincity had gotten an ownerless car that night. It gave you an idea to cover your behind slightly. All you had to do was get an unsuspecting Coco to lend you a hand. You shuffled through the medicine cabinet looking for your medicine when you heard a student enter the room. You groaned, it had to be somewhere. Where did you put it? Those were meant to last a month and you lost it already. You hadn’t taken them in weeks, having your time slip away from you. Maybe you should have told Cordelia that you took them sooner, maybe she could help remind you. No- that’s silly, you could do it yourself. You were out of your old ones, so you couldn’t even take a lower dosage. You swore, slamming the cabinet door. You turned around and ran your fingers through your hair not wanting to know what will happen in you don’t take them.

 “Are you alright Y/N?” Coco asked.

 “Yeah, sorry about that. I can’t find my medication.”

 “Would you like some help?”

 “No, it’s fine,” you sighed. “Wait- you can find things. I was thinking about that incident with John. I heard he was found at the gas station; wouldn’t he have a car?” You leaned against the bench, near your student as she poured herself a glass of water. Your body was relaxed. You were on the prowl, you had a mission

  On the way back from the witch burning, Coco had been talking to Mallory when the man spoke to the others about his car. You were in the limo sat beside your girlfriend. Her hand on your thigh rubbing circles into your skin-tight jeans. She kept close since your incident at the witch-burning site. You were slouched, leaning into her body and resting your head onto her shoulder.

 “What did you do before you were a teacher?” the man asked. You didn’t realise it at first but he was speaking to you.

 “Uh~” Nothing, you didn’t do anything except lounge about in your apartment on the other side of the country- oh and there was that short time when you researched the wonderous magical world. “Nothing interesting, I did a pilgrimage of sorts. Why?”

 “You looked familiar. I thought I might have saw you somewhere.”

 “I guess I have one of those faces.”

 “Yeah, he would.” Coco snapped you out of your thoughts of earlier that day.

 “Do you think it would be nice if we found it for him? You know, for helping us out.” You said trying to persuade her to help you. You wanted to clear your conscience. “I’ll need your help finding it.”

 You knew exactly where the car was, that wasn’t your problem. You needed to be able to explain away why your DNA was in it. If Coco found it and you drove it back, the DNA on the car would make sense. All you had to do was hope the man didn’t have divination. 

 Once she helped you find the car, the two of you got it cleaned up for the man and ended up having a day trip to drop off the keys to the man who was now at the boys school. He thanked you both for the surprise. The both of you ended up having dinner at the school as a gift for your kind doings.

 “I’m surprise I didn’t get a call from Cordelia informing me you were coming.”

 “She must have been busy,” you lied, taking a sip of the wine you were having with your dinner. Apparently, Cordelia was trying to hunt the vehicle down for him as an apology for him getting in the crossfire of this whole ordeal, but you beat her to the chase. You made it out that she knew about your trip, even Coco thought she you told her.

 Was it wrong to use Coco’s power to cover your arse? Probably but if she didn’t know that she was helping you not get in trouble, was there any harm to it? The trip back was long. You called for a limo to drive you back home.

 “Did you think when you first joined, you’d be able to do this?” You asked Coco.

 “Honestly no.”

 “You’ve come so far. You should be proud of yourself. I sure am.”

 Meanwhile, Cordelia’s mind drifted back to the events of that day, thankful for Coco and Zoe’s quick reflexes. It was now nightfall, she found herself cocooned in one of your thick blankets. She had taken the day off work to focus on the pressing matter. Now complete she could dedicate her night to her love, that being said, you were nowhere to be found.

 You claimed you lost your footing but when in all the time she had known you had never stumbled in those ridiculous shoes you insisted on wearing. She used to tease you for the fact that you managed to have the landing abilities of a cat, always landing on your feet.

 The one word you muttered before they could gain your attention was ‘brother’, spoken as though you were questioning it. You’d never mentioned a brother unless you meant a brother warlock but still- the witches rarely used those terms- it made them seem like a religious order and it was already hard enough as it is to convey that you weren’t a cult. The words were more personal, she had experienced a similar state as you what you’d gone through when she had her visions, but you don’t get visions. At least you hadn’t before.

 You’ve spoke of your family few times, to the point she believed you had never had one. You mentioned on occasion your mother had sent you a letter detailing your family’s history and connection to this coven and the Salem witches. Besides that, you couldn’t even give out her name. No love or admiration towards your parent nor resentment, it was as if they never existed at all. But that idea would be preposterous, how could she not exist if you were here with them?

 So, who was your ‘brother’?

 Cordelia had gone back to the site after the burning as she knew the young warlock would discover what happened to his parental figure, Merriam Mead. “It’s over. We know who you are. Your allies are all dead. You’ve failed,” she said to the boy. He glared daggers at her. He stayed back, recovering from the vision of the Satanists death. He pointed out that he had already proven his strength of defying death to which the Supreme had already taken into consideration and countermeasure any attempts he could well in advance. “You can certainly go to hell, but you won’t find her there.” She casted a spell to act as a veil over who soul. He could go to hell, but no one would find it, not even his father. Only Cordelia could undo the spell and she had no intention of doing so. “You’ll never see her again.” Michael’s knees collapse in on themselves. The mand lands on his hands sobbing at the permanent loss of the woman who helped him. “Your alone.”

 “I’m never alone. I have my father.”

 “Where is he now? Why did he let this happen? You don’t have to follow his path your father laid out for you. You can write your destiny. You can still turn away. There’s humanity in you. I see it. If you come with me… maybe, we can find it.” Cordelia offered out her had to the son of Satan. “Together.” Michael takes her and allowing the blonde to help him up. Before he yanked her close and threatens her.

 “Somehow- someway, I am going to bring her back and then I am going to kill every last one of you.” Michael let the woman go and began to walk off. “And for one second don’t you dare think I’m alone. I’ve got family in all places.”

 “Ghosts aren’t going to help you-”

 “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

 Angel. An angel on earth. A fallen angel? Living among her coven. Oh god, what if they worked for Michael. There is no guarantee that they are working for him, but they couldn’t risk it. Any possibility of the girl siding with boy is too high. Who then? Anyone could be a possibility. Cordelia’s mind thought of everyone, pulling points for and against them. It was something she might have to bring to the others attention, they might have a better clue.

 Back to the burning, you had just lost your footing, that’s it, no need to over think it, Cordelia convinced herself. It doesn’t explain how you haven't aged a day since she’s known you, but she’d age several. At first, she didn't believe it was you, putting it down to being a sibling of yours or a close cousin, but your words were all too much like yours and your eyes- the unnatural eyes she grew to love bore back at her in the same way they did all those years ago. A touch of your skin and she could read you like a book, all the trauma you had been through, being hunted all these years only finding safety months before returning. You never mentioned it, acted like it never happened. It appeared that way a lot, the information she read off you seemed like a fantasy book instead of a biography from the nonfiction section of a library. She guessed that you didn’t wish to share those parts of your life with her, answering vaguely about how boring your life was until you came here, but from the little she saw, you lived the dream, the only thing you didn’t have was the girl.

 Cordelia found your frozen state disconcerting to say the least but didn’t wish to bring it up as it didn’t bother you. You, barely looking 18 while her, in a few years nearing her fifties. You were older than her, but no one believed that she doubted her friends, Zoe and the rest thought she was being truthful if it weren’t for yours and Myrtle’s conformation. 

 She invited you back into her life and the rest was history. 

 You brushed it off every time someone was shocked that you two went to school together. Some joked that you were a vampire, always being locked up in your room, staying up til the late hours and barely eating with the others. The students got used to it, but Cordelia didn't. It always stuck with her at the back of her head.

 The woman decided to go down to make a cup of tea, her walm of her bed not feeling the same as when you were there with her. She noticed the back door open. She headed to close it when she noticed you sitting outside.

 “Love?” You spun around at the sound of her voice. You smiled sweetly as you wrapped the black dressing gown you wore tighter around your frame. “What are you doing out here?”

 “Admiring the night sky,” you said, laying out your hand inviting her to join you. She took it, carefully allowing you to help her sit down. “I always loved a starry night.”

 “I recall.”

 “Once, I camped out just to see the northern lights and I’ve never missed a meteor shower.”

 “You’ve had an amazing life.”

 “Yeah~ Would have been better if you were there.”

 “We all make mistakes.”

 You laid down to get a better view of the sky, laying you head on your bent arm. She eased herself down, laying her head on your chest.

 Cordelia had been away from you for awhile now, you both noticed. You’d become more drawn into your studies to which Cordelia had no idea what you were investigating. She would stop you immediately if she found out. With each day you were growing more paranoid- just another reason you stayed alone. She hadn’t caught on to your smoking habits which had only increased since she took away the first box from you. You had a fresh packet hidden away, covered by the fabric of your stolen nightgown.

 Your body was tense under Cordelia. She kept silent hoping that you’d bring up your concerns without her having to dig them out. The blonde picked up the scent of smoke in the air, she assumed one of the girls came out to smoke before she joined you.

 She understood why you liked the nights sky, the stars twinkled so bright form the spot you both laid. The stars were long dead and yet they live on as their lights can be seen for millennia.

 "Delia?"

 "Hmm?"

 "Do you think I'm broken?"

 "What? Of course not honey." She sat up and turned around to face you. You didn’t bother to look her way. "Why would you ask that?"

 "Something's wrong with me.” You turned and buried yourself into her side not wanting her to see your face. “Why aren’t I normal?"

 "None of us are normal sweathear-"

 "I'm forty-five and I still get age checked every time I get a drink."

 "Honey-" She pulled you away from her. "Is this really bothering you?"

 "Obviously."

 "You've never shown concern before-"

 "People keep calling me a gold digger. Saying bad things about you and me-"

 "Who's saying that?"

 "A couple of the girls, the public-"

 "You don't have to deal with whatever anyone outside has to think, they don't know what we have, as for the girls I can deal with them."

 "For a second it almost sounded like I wasn't your senior but what they see." You sighed. "I'm stressing too much."

 “Is that all you're concerned about?”

 “Hmm?”

 “You’ve never brought it up before,” Cordelia said. “You’re not deflecting your feelings, are you?”

 “Of course not.” Of course, you were. If you worry about yourself, she won’t pick up your worried about her.

 You convinced the doctor to schedule you a bunch of tests at the local hospital.  You came in with the opposite problems most women your age did. Most people would love to be in the same situation as you. “I don't want to look young while my girlfriend grows old. Please, help a sister out.” She didn't know what answer you hoped to find but she wished you did. She knew you weren’t lying, she had been your doctor for years since you had been at the academy. 

 You didn’t tell Cordelia until she caught you packing to leave.

 “You're doing what?”

 You didn’t respond, too busy backing your belongings for the overnight stay. When she didn’t gain your attention, she used her magic to flick your duffle bag across the room. You growled in, clenching your fists to stop you from snapping at the supreme. You had no chance; she was the most powerful witch in the coven. 

 “I need to find out what's wrong with me.”

 You turned to go and pick up your bag when you can’t move anymore. CORDELIA! Hands meet your upper arms and your frozen limbs thawed out as she eases you against a wall, to contain you. 

 “Honey, you’re fine. Nothing's wrong.” 

 “Everything is wrong Cordelia. I shouldn't be like this.”

 “It’s not the best time to do this baby-”

 “If not now Delia, when?”

 “The school isn’t safe at the moment, if you leave the grounds, I can’t protect you.”

 “The threat is gone; you stopped the warlocks-”

 “It’s not the warlocks I’m worried about,” You waited for her to clarify. “It’s one.”

 “Is that why you went to that school in the first place?” You asked. “Why didn’t you tell me if there was a threat? I could have done something-”

 “And put yourself in danger? I couldn’t have that.” What could you have done? You weren’t like the rest of the staff; the craft wasn’t your strong suit. Cordelia was doing what she thought was best for you.

 “Did you mention me at school?”

 “No.”

 “Then this Michael Langdon won’t know of me.”

 “I never mentioned his name. How did you know that?”

 “I-I’m more perceptive than you think,” You stuttered. “I figured it out through Divination or some crap like that. It’s beside the point. I’m still going, and you aren’t going to stop me.” You grabbed your bag and headed out of your shared bedroom.

 “I’m going with you,” she said. “I’ll get the others to keep an eye on the girls.”

 “You don’t have to-”

 “I haven’t spent enough time with you as of late. It’s blatantly clear now, I didn’t even know you could- I want to make it up to you. I want to be there for you.”

 Laying in hospital bed after some of your tests, you heard the hospital door’s room open. Cordelia only exited the room, so you thought it was one of the nurses. You were shocked to see a young man dressed in black. You sensed the power radiating off him, you had a feeling who this man was.

 “Who are you?”

 “Michael Langdon.” That was the name of the kid that was giving Cordelia trouble. “You have no need to fear me Y/N, I come here as a friend.”

 “I am no friend of yours.” You sat yourself up in your hospital bed.

 “Well, not of mine but my fathers.”

 “I don’t understand.” His father, who was his father? You weren’t friends with many men or anyone for that matter outsides of the academy. “Your father?” He walked over and took residence in the spot that Cordelia was in moments prior. Speaking of which, she should be back soon. 

 “My father led me to you, indirectly of course but you would know that being acquaintances with him. Smart move tricking the witch into falling for you, with her wrapped around your finger you will make this whole thing easier.”

 “I’m sorry Michael but I don’t know what your own about. Your father? Me being acquaintances with him. I think you got the wrong gal.”

 “But you’re Y/N M/N L/N or at least that’s the name you go by on Earth.”

 “That’s my name, but there’s nothing more to me.”

 “Tell me what you know about yourself.”

 “I don’t think that’s wise-”

 “Where were you born?” Uh~ You didn’t know. “Who are your parents?”

 “How am I meant to know? I’m an orphan.” But you had a letter from your mother sending you to the school, so how can you be an orphan?

 “You never wondered who are? It could explain your mysterious age-defying.”

 “How do you know about that?”

 “I heard the doctor’s talking.”

 “They think I’m looney, don’t they?”

 “Incredibly.” You laughed. “But I don’t.”

 “You need to go, my girlfriend will be back soon.”

 “Protecting me, are you?”

 “I’m saving myself the trouble of explaining why you’re here.”

 “I’ll see you seen Y/N.”

 “Yeah, yeah.” He said. “I’ll see you soon. Maybe you’ll have some more sense knocked into you.” The man walked out of the room. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

 It wasn’t long before Cordelia came back into the room placing down some snacks she snuck in for you. You thanked her, taking the fruit juice and taking a long sip. You looked over to her, when she noticed she gave you a quick smile before taking her seat.

 “Are you going to fill me in on what’s been happening?” Cordelia went to brush it off, say nothing’s happened when you interjected, “You're telling me all of a sudden the warlocks decided to conspire against their own? That there wasn’t a threat to our students until this morning? At least explain to me the marking, how? Who gave you that? Was it Michael?”

 “Wow~ calm down Y/N.”

 “Well?”

 “I was aware about the warlocks but not that they were against us, until Bubbles and Myrtle went to find out. That was long after John died. It wasn’t a threat to the girls, so we took care of it.”

 That explained why Myrtle’s friend had been hanging around the school. She was a nice woman but you never understood her presence on school grounds.

 “We? Who else knew?”

 “Our main circle-”

 “Your main circle,” you corrected. 

 You talked to them as much as you talked to most of the girls. You got along with them, but you wouldn’t classify them as your close circle, they tended to leave you out as of late due to you not knowing all this. You spoke to the teachers in the morning before classes and to make sure you aren’t reteaching the girls spells. The others were more random when you interacted with them, not having much free time due to the increased amount of work from the other staff going on council meetings. You spoke to Coco the most as she was a student in your classes. You spent any free time you had sitting outside and smoking, a habit that Cordelia being to busy to release you did. You learned how to not reek of smoke, managing to control the air around you so the students don’t have to breath it in. Mints and brushing your teeth covered the smell on your breath for the most part.

 Cordelia never thought that you might have been pushing you away when she hadn’t told you what’s been happening. You tended to be too busy with work whenever they had any sort of meeting about these that you had been invited to, such as the dinner to celebrate Mallory being the next supreme. So busy that she didn’t even offer it- or tell you.

 “Good to see I’m not a part of that-”

 “No. Of course you are sweetheart, I- I was-” Too scared.

 “What about that Michael Langdon? What’s his deal?”

 “The warlocks thought him to be the next supreme.”

 “The alpha. But you don’t believe that right, you’d have to be fading if that were the case.”

 “I think it’s Mallory.”

 “Wait? You think? Mallory? You're not saying-”

 “I’m fading Y/N/N.” You shook your head, denying the information. You muttered out no, repeating it, praying that it would someone reverse what she said. She’s joking, she had to be. “I’m weak. I can feel my power slipping away. That’s why I have the markings-”

 “Those aren’t from you fading Delia. There from prolonged exposure to a heavenly creature. I found it in one of my books while you were out. It might be from Michael, right?”

 “Wouldn’t all the warlocks have it as well? Or Zoe and Myrtle? They’ve been around the boy as much as I have. I’m not cancelling it out Y/N, but it’s not likely, unless it’s affecting me quicker because I am weaker-”

 “Stop saying that.”

 “It’s true. You wanted to know what was going on behind the scenes, you should have known it wasn’t going to be pretty.”

 “No! You can’t die! I need you!”

 “Y/N” She warned.

 “NO!” The light fixtures exploded, all the machines you were attached to along with anything in your vicinity.  Sparks of electricity shot out in all directions. “You will not leave me!” you cried. The hospital staff rushed around, yelling at each other about a power outage in the hospital. “I’ll figure something out. I don’t want to be alone again.”

 “You’ll have the girls, the school-”

 “But they're not you.”

 “Y/N, calm down.”

 “Calm down? You got to be fucking kidding me, right?”

 “We’re not going to do this now.”

 “Just go, the school needs you more than I do right now.”

 “Y/N-” Cordelia was cut off by her phone ringing. It was Zoe. She quickly answered it, “Zoe this is not a good time.” Cordelia listened to her friend explain why she called. “The power’s out?” Cordelia looked over to you, you paid her no mind. “Did you try the power box…The neighbours powers out too?... Okay hand some candles out to the girls and I’ll find out what’s going on… Yes we have candles other than the ritual ones, there in the garage- I’ll get back as fast as I can. Make sure the younger girls are calm. Bye.” She hung up the phone. How did you know that they would need her? You managed to not only knock out the hospital's power but the whole neighbourhood. 

 Back at school, you were known for being a book nerd. Having only mastered telekinesis and had been rumoured to have done Descensum (which you’d neither confirmed nor denied), you’d made up for it in your vast knowledge of the magical world. Your inability to perform most magic was what drew Cordelia to you originally. You were the outcasts, but you found a home there. In the beginning of your friendship you were made fun of by your peers, but you managed to befriend them by teaching them how to improve. Your magic had developed since you left but this was the next level for you. It scared her.

 “How did you know-”

 “The traffic lights are probably out, so drive safely -or better walk.”

 You wouldn’t talk any more to her after the last comment.

 When back at the school, Cordelia pulled out the candles from their hideaway in the garage. She gathered a group of girls to hand them out or place them in highly populated rooms. Zoe told her that she didn’t need to head back, that being there for you was more important than a power outage at the school. 

 “The school is more at risk with the power outage.” Cordelia handed Zoe a couple candles. “We had a fight.”

 “Oh~ Did you tell her-”

 “Everything.”

 “How did she- well she didn’t take it well that was a stupid question.”

 “She was fine until I brought up Mallory being-” she was wary of saying it aloud with the other students about. Zoe knew what she meant. “I knew she wasn’t going to take it well. I underestimated her power.”

 “Her power?”

 “The outage. It happened at the same.”

 “It could be a coincidence.”

 “The light in the room exploded.” 

 “And she couldn’t do that before?”

 “I didn’t think so. I’ve only seen her use telekinesis and she mentioned transmutation,” Cordelia said.  “I haven’t been paying her as much mind as I should be. I’ve been so caught up with the while Michael thing.”

 “All I can say is ask around to see what people have seen her do to get a rough idea of what she’s capable of if it concerns you.”

 “It’s not the power that concerns me-”

 “I didn’t think it was.”

 “It’s the sudden development of it…” Cordelia continued to tell her about the possibility of there being more than one powerful witch in the school that wasn’t Cordelia. That she had spoken to a powerful spirit (she left the rest of the details out of the story) and they mentioned that there could be a spiritual being among them. “If there is one, I don’t know what to do?” Peoples recebt comments have been making her believe the idea more every day.

 “You think it is Y/N?”

Your comment today about her markings confirmed it in her head. All the placement of markings were only places you have come into close contact with. The only thing she couldn’t explain away was how it started before you showed up. Was it a long process or was it someone else and she’s using your strange genetics as an excuse?

 “I only have two ideas and we still need a supreme.” Her other idea was Mallory but the supreme had to be younger than her. For all she knew, there could have been a third person. “You can’t tell either of them.”

 “I wouldn’t dare.”

 Cordelia heeded Zoe’s advice and asked about to see what people had seen you done to get a grasp on your magic level.

 “I was going to ask her for help with a spell when I saw her reach into a mirror and pull out something. I didn’t know that was possible. Don’t tell her, she didn’t see that I saw.” One of your students told the blonde. Scrying and Conjuration. The abilities to see things such as messages, visions, and prophecies on a reflective surface and conjure objects and beings from nothing or another location.

 “I don’t know, telekinesis,” a student unenthused by Cordelia's question droned on, “She always knows the right page in a book. That’s gotta involve Divination or some shit.”

 “She smokes a lot and I’ve never seen her with a lighter,” a younger student said. 

 A lot has happened since she had been gone. 

[ripspaghet]

bff | 03

↳ series m.list | 00 | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 |

→ pairing: yoongi x reader

→ word count: 4,062

Prologue Summary; Your best friend’s boyfriend takes an unhealthy interest in you and just as he shows up something from your past starts to creep up on you again. Could this strange and mysterious man have something to do with it? And should you trust him, or your instincts to run far, far away from him?

→ warnings: none yet.

“____, come on. I know I can be boring when I teach but, please, at least act like you’re listening?” The odor of old books and dust wafted through musky air. Rarely any students come here anymore, opting to study elsewhere or not at all. So, it’s fairly quiet except for the few crickets jumping around outside the glass doors of the stuffy library. 

“Ah, uh, sorry.” You pull your attention away from the tiled floor to look at your friend. He’s leaning over the table your both sat at. His long body looks awkward scrunched up in the small library chair, almost like he’s a grown man sitting in something made for a toddler. 

 A sigh passes his lips, “Let’s just call it a day. If you can’t focus it’s better to just get some sleep and study another time.” You nod along with his suggestion. He was beyond right. There’s no way you’re gonna be able to focus any time soon. Not when those dreams are still looming around in your mind and you remain unable to properly remember anything, which is no surprise but only furthers your annoyance.

“Oh, that reminds me! Sorry, I almost forgot to tell you. I’m going to be out of town for the next few days and won’t be able to help you study. Don’t panic though, I have a friend that agreed to help you until I’m back. He knows all about this stuff. He took it last year.”

Your shoulders fall limp, “You what?”

He began sliding his textbooks back into his bag with his other belongings, “I know, but it can’t be helped. My family is having a getaway and my parents wanted me to take a break with them.”

You click your tongue, “Only Kim Namjoon’s parents would want their kid to take a break from school. My mom might have my head if I ever even thought about taking a break. She’d think I was trying to drop out.”

Namjoon chuckled heartily, “I’ll be back before you know it. Don’t stress. My friend probably knows more about this stuff than me anyways. I’ll text you his number.”

“Is your friend Einstein??”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“Seriously,” You groan, losing your composure, and leaning back into your chair, “how could you do this to me? What if this guy tries to assault me or something? You can’t just leave me with some random.”

“You know, the more you hang out with Jimin the more you start to sound like him. This guy isn’t like that, trust me.”

“Jimin? What’s that supposed to-” A fist slams down on the table and you and Namjoon nearly jump out of your seats, “You’re leaving?!”

“Oh, Taehyung,” Namjoon laughs nervously, regaining his composure. 

“Who’s gonna help me with my creative writing class?! I came here to ask you for help.” 

You raise an eyebrow at the boy, “What the hell are you in a creative writing class for?” Taehyung doesn’t spare you a glance, keeping his eyes fixed on Namjoon, who’s checking twice for all his belongings.

“____ can help you with creative writing. She’s good with that stuff.”

Taehyung’s head whips over to you his eyes widened, “Really?”

“What?“ You adjust yourself to sit up straight in your chair, "Namjoon, don’t tell him that, I’m too busy as is. I can’t help him. Absolutely not.”

“Surely you could squeeze in a minute or two.”

“Namjoon,”

“It can’t be helped.”

“Namjoon.” 

He just smiles at you knowingly, “I’ll be going. The weekend calls. Have fun you two.”

“Wait-”

“Bye, ____. Get home safe.” Your eyes flicker over to Taehyung and you squint up at him in irritation. He’s looking at you expectantly, tapping his foot.

"I’m sure Jimin can help you." 

"You-”

“I don’t have the time.” You gather up your belongings, not sparing Taehyung another glance as you make your escape.

You’d made a habit out of avoiding Taehyung since you’d met him, as you did for all the frat guys at your university. It wasn’t anything personal - it's just that the whole school knows that they're bad news. In other words, party every night until we can’t walk straight anymore and mess around with as many girls as we want, types of bad news.

Your feet drag lazily across water-covered concrete once you make it outside. It had stopped raining for the time being, but that didn’t change the fact that it was now below freezing out due to the sun being replaced by a moon that was hidden behind dull rain clouds. The streets were empty aside from the few people making their way home from a late shift at work. 

“You will soon.”

You grimace. Why is it so familiar? A voice very gravelly and intense, where have heard it before? You purse your lips in thought. Just at the remembrance of a voice, red begins to color your cheeks and your hands grow clammy. What is this? You’d never felt this way before. Except when reading something similar to a thrilling romance book. The dream had been so seemingly real, the voice so close to your ear that it was impossible to deny how intimate the situation had been.

You groan in frustration. Jimin can’t possibly be right about it being a wet dream though. “Right, because you never talk with any other man besides me.” You roll your eyes. You should’ve punched him in the gut right then. Plenty of guys talk to you, it’s just that you’re so obviously uninterested that they grow bored easily. You’re not interested in just some fling.

“Excuse me?” A tap on your shoulder drags you out of your whirlpool of thoughts, “You dropped this.” You turn, a bit startled to see a gold necklace dangled from elegant fingers, the gold clashing with the pale skin it rests on. 

Deja vu.

“Oh, thank you.” You take the necklace from his fingers. It must have fallen from around your neck without you noticing.

“Oh,” 

You lifted your gaze up from the gold now resting in the palm of your hand and meet brown orbs, that almost come off as black under the harsh yellow-toned street lamps. His dark hair hangs just above his eyes in unruly waves.

“Yoongi, ” 

An expression of slight uninterest bores into your eyes despite his surprised tone, “What are you doing out so late?” Your hands attempt to bury themselves deeper into their pockets, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach as a familiar feeling of warmth consuming your chest.

“It not that late, is it?” You force a small smile that probably ended up looking a nervous cry for help. 

He glances around at the dark city surrounding the two of you, “Seeing as it twelve o'clock at night, I’d say it is.“ 

"I was studying at the library with a friend. Lost track of time I suppose.” Another awkward smile.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“N-no, I’m fine. You don’t need to do that. My place isn’t too far and I always walk home late. I’ll be fine.”

“I insist.” His voice is firm and strict, making his words come off as more of a demand, rather than a suggestion.

“Ok, I-I guess it’s fine, ”

The walk home is quiet. You don’t spare another glance in Yoongi’s direction despite the taunting urge to. It didn’t help any that it felt like his eyes were constantly glancing over. How had the atmosphere between the two changed so much in such little time? How come you felt so utterly scandalous under his gaze? You can’t help but feel your insides coil as silence settles over the two of you and remain in it for the rest of the way to your dorm. And despite a nagging feeling telling you otherwise, nothing happens.

The next day is another cold one, but instead of there being snow, there’s a thin layer of ice stuck to the ground as gentle rain pats down against it. Namjoon texted you his friend’s number and address this morning and informed you he’d already talked to him about it. And as per usual, decisions were made without your consent. It was bad enough you had to get up early on a weekend for work, but now instead of head straight home to bed, you have to rush off to study with some random.

"I’m so sick of the smell of coffee. I go home, my clothes smell like coffee. I go to bed, my bed smells like coffee. Drag my ass out of bed and come here, to smell what? Coffee. It’s not even nice smelling coffee either. It’s bitter and too strong, like diesel gasoline.” You keep your eyes fixed on the coffee shop’s glass doors, opting to wait for the next custom rather than acknowledge your babbling coworker. 

Namjoon told you that his friend had no other free time to spare. So, it was in the morning, or never.

“I mean, can’t they at least make it smell good? Heaven knows it already tastes like crap.” You learned rather quickly after taking this job that entertaining this man’s ranting would only add to the flames. You pity the people who walk in unknowingly and spark up a conversation with him simply for his good looks, to later find out that his mouth never shuts while doing something he despises, which would pertain to his entire job. 

“____, are you even listening to me?” His voice goes up an octave, bringing his eyebrows along for the ride.

Reluctantly you turn your head away from the doors and stare blandly at his wide rounded eyes and parted lips, “Yes, Seokjin, I’m hearing every word of what you’re saying.”

He studies you for a moment before speaking again, something he rarely does, “Ah, that’s right, you’re not a morning person. I’m sure you have it much worse. I can’t imagine already being in a bad mood and having to come here.”

“Mhm,”

“And the customers are always so rude in the morning. I don’t know how you manage." 

You don’t know how you’ve been able to keep yourself from shoving a bag of coffee beans down his throat, "Yeah,”

Work drags on as normal and as soon as the clock strikes 9:40 am you hang up your apron and fly out the door with the speed of light, completely ignoring Seokjin who calls after you, nagging about you not bothering to even tell him goodbye. 

Once outside you follow your phone’s navigation down multiple streets, your hood up while you grip an arm around your waist in a sad attempt to retain even the smallest amount of body heat. Winter, what a season that you hated to love.

“You have arrived at your destination.”

You halt. Well, that wasn’t all too far. Looking up your gaze meets a tall luxurious building.

“Madam, may I assist you?" 

You startle not realizing the man standing next to the building’s entryway, "Uh, yes? Maybe? I’m meeting a friend of mine. Would you happen to know someone by the name of Namjoon?” In your awestruck confusion, you figured that maybe the mention of Namjoon’s name would help in some way. You mean, Namjoon is the one who recommended the person who supposedly lives in, what appears to be, a tower of silver and gold.

“Ah, yes, follow me, Madam. I will show you to the floor." 

"Ok,” Your voice turns into a small whisper as you look up the building again, feeling the sheer intimidation it radiates. This can’t be the place. 

You follow the doorman inside as he leads you to an elevator at the center of a spacious lobby. Seeing as how early it is in the morning it’s not unprecedented that the whole place is empty. Most rich people probably leave as early as five in the morning to get a head start for the day, you’d assume.

“The Master is in the penthouse so we will be going rather high up. If you have a fear of heights I’d recommend avoiding the windows.” Your stomach turns as the elevator doors shut and you’re lurched up. The elevator dings each time it passes a floor and eventually you start to think that, maybe you’re going to hurl out of the top of the building and fall all the way back down to the ground because how could there be this many floors?? You supposed it was a fitting fate for one as tired as you. At least then you be getting some kind of rest.

“The Master?”

“All will be explained by the Master himself.” The doorman doesn’t even spare you a glance, his attention remaining on the rising floor number. 

“Oh,” You nod and look away wondering what exactly Namjoon had signed you up for this time. Perhaps you were about to mean a famous business leader or a master of the arts? Knowing Namjoon had set this up left nothing off the table. That guy could probably arrange a meeting with the president of the United States with his whole family’s well regarded social status.

“Here we are, Madam. Be sure to push the doorbell before entering. The Master treasurers his privacy."  The doorman bows his head and you step out of the elevator before closing the doors with the press of a button and ascending back down. 

You turn to face the other way and push the doorbell to a pair of tall smooth wooden doors as instructed. But as you wait nothing happens. You hear nothing as a whole minute ticks away and you debate just going back down in the elevator to head home for your bed. Failing any of your classes isn’t an option for you though. You hesitantly ring the bell again and pull out your phone double-checking the address just in case. It wouldn’t be all too surprising if you were in the wrong place. What kind of person around your age, that just finished school a year ago, could afford a place like this?

Once again no one comes to let you in and your impatiens begin to teeter. You swear, if this guy made you come all the way out here this early in the morning just to stand you up, you’d kill Namjoon. So, with that thought in mind, you place your index finger back on the doorbell and let it have a piece of your mind. The dinging rings out over and over again. And finally, after what felt like a thousand dings you hear a door slam from somewhere inside the penthouse, then muffled swear words and stomping just before the large door is swung open so fast you feared it might be yanked off its hinges.

"What the hell do you want from me?!” A familiar head of messy black hair, that’s even messier than normal is laid over the wrong side of his head makes you gasp. His eyes are squinted and puffy as they stare back at you in an uncouth manner.

“Uh-”

“Wait,” He’s eyes get bigger and he reaches up to rub the sleep out of his eyes almost like he’s seeing things, “____?”

Your eyes dart away awkwardly as you try to find words to say in response, “I’ll be leaving now.” You turn on your heel to run for the elevator.

“Shit, are you Namjoon’s friend that needs tutoring? Fuck, I completely forgot about that.” You could tell from the sound of his voice he was running his fingers through that messy black hair of his, but you continued walking. Fuck that guy for being attractive. You’re getting the hell out of here. No more coincidental run-ins.

“Quite alright, no need to apologize. I’ll be going now.”

“No!” He ran out in front of you to block the elevator buttons, nearly falling down in his haste to stop you, “I mean, ” He paused hardening the expression, “I promised Namjoon I’d help you. You can’t just leave.” You looked him up and down. It was strange seeing this, a side of him normally only a girlfriend or best friend would see when you’d only just met. And you barely being qualified enough to be called an acquaintance made it so it shouldn’t have been a problem to feel so awkward, if it hadn’t been for a tiny part you that was thinking about how good Min Yoongi, not only looked in casual clothes but looked without a shirt in black baggy joggers, with bedhead, sporting a sleepy voice. In fact, the more you looked at the man the more pissed off you became. How dare he tempt you in sullying your friendship with Mina by looking like that.

Suddenly taking notice in your lingering gaze Yoongi tried composing himself, putting his hand atop his head in an attempt to hide his mess of hair, “Namjoon will kill me if I go back on my word. Just come inside.”

“Put some clothes on.” You spun around in annoyance, striding into the penthouse. In all honesty, you’d rather jump from this floor to the ground than stay here, but Yoongi had reminded you why you were here. Namjoon is gone and won’t be back until the day of the presentations and you know there’s no way in hell you’d manage on your own with an unfinished project that you knew would remain that way if not given a helping hand. You know yourself well enough to know that being uninformed and out of ideas would lead to you throwing in the towel without having even tried to make a fully finished piece.

Yoongi was close on your heels, shutting the door behind him, “Actually, I thought I’d tutor you naked. Just to switch things up a bit.”

“Excuse me?!” You spun again almost sure you’d get whiplash. Yoongi was just watching your reaction in amusement and it dawned on you he was being sarcastic.

“Just a joke, ____.”

You glared, “Yeah? Well, I’d appreciate if you didn’t joke about such things with me.”

He chuckled almost endearingly, “Why?”

“Why? What do you- You know what? This is inappropriate. I’m leaving.” Judging from this conversation you had no doubt in your mind that this man had the capability of cheating on your best friend. 

You went for the door but Yoongi grabbed your upper arm before you could get past him, “You really shouldn’t take me seriously, ____. Now, stop being a child and let’s get this over with.” He removed his hand from around your arm as if it had never been there, to begin with, and walks away from you. “I’m going to put a shirt on and I’ll meet you back in here. Make yourself comfortable.” You feel like you’ve just undergone a full 360 in a short amount of time since you entered his home. Why are you here again?

Surveying up his home you walk further into what seems to be a rather cozy living room. All the colors in the room are either warm or extremely dark, except for the occasional white pillow or blanket laying around. Even the floor is tiled with warm reddish wood. The pitch-black walls contrast against the brightness flooding in through a window that covers the whole outer wall of the room. It’s similar to homes you’d only ever seen in magazines or movies.

“Wow,” you breathe out and take a seat down on a long black leather couch in the center in the room. The place has probably been professionally decorated just to Yoongi’s liking.

“Would you like something to drink? Have you eaten?”

You jump, startled, “N-no, I’m alright.”

He nods and holds a notebook out to you now sported a baggy black sweatshirt and unruly combed hair, “Here,” You hesitantly take it from him as he takes a seat next to you, “these are my old notes from when I was in school. They should be helpful. Is there anything in particular that you’re having trouble with?”

“Ah,” Right that’s what you came here for, “I’m not very good at this music stuff which is why I needed Namjoon’s help. Its extra credit for me is all. I’m majoring in film.” You pull your bag from your side, taking out all your own notes, a few hefty textbooks, and your laptop.

“What is your focus for the project then?” He leans over you watching as you open up all the proper program on your laptop. You nervously fidget, feeling your skin heat up and try leaning away from him without it being noticeable, “I want to present a completed song.” Yoongi gives you a look of ‘You can’t be fucking serious right?’ And you sigh, “Listen, I know I don’t even major in music and don’t really know what I’m doing, so it’s dumb of me to try this. But, I have a great love for music even though it isn’t my major. If I do something with this,” You point at your laptop screen, “I want it to be my very best. I really wanna try at it and I think I can hit all the points, I just need the opinion of a professional.”

He looks at you for a while before finally speaking, “You know, me helping you with this is kind of cheating.” You rose an eyebrow at him, gesturing that he elaborates. “It wouldn’t be fair to all the other students. Can’t you just choose a different route? Like, I don’t know? Doing a piece you’d put into a film or something? Something a little more down your alley?”

You shake your head, “I’ve already started. I don’t have the time to scrap anything and restart. Here,” You turn your attention back to the laptop and plug in a pair headphones then hand them to Yoongi, “Just listen and give me your thoughts.” Reluctantly he takes the headphones from you and puts them on. You press play and watch him closely, gauging his reaction as his breathe hitches not even five minutes into the song.

You quickly pause it and he takes off the headphones confused, “Was that you?”

“Was it bad? I suppose I can use auto-tune. That’s not breaking any rules right?”

“No, no, I mean,” He stops mid-sentence staring at you.

You turn away, facing your laptop, “You’re right, maybe I should just scrap it and start over.”

“No!” You flinched away from Yoongi at his sudden outburst, “No, you shouldn’t do that.” He’s to the laptop this time, studying all of your work, “It’s very good. It caught me off guard.” He puts the headphones back on then presses play again. You stare at him, in a loss for words. It was one thing to have Namjoon tell you your work was good when he was still in school, same as you. Yoongi, on the other hand, is already a music producer and judging by your surroundings he’s a very successful one.

“Is this all you have so far?” Yoongi slides the headphones back off, eyes on the screen of your laptop.

“Yeah…This is more of the ending rather than the beginning. I have parts written out and I’ve tried doing them myself like this but it just doesn’t sound the way I want it.”

Yoongi nods, “This has lots of potential. I’d like to see the beginning half. I think you can make an amazing piece with just this alone. I like how you’ve mixed the two genres. I can understand that it wouldn’t translate when using only your voice. With the way it flows, you’ll need to almost flip back a forth with two voices. Doing that will also add to the overall emotion in the song seeing as it’s a romantic piece. You’ll need someone with a lower octave that balances while with your own sound. Finding someone to do that should be hard as your voice is pretty enough on its own to captivate any listener. The difficult part is blending the just right amount of both that’s not overdoing it.”

You nod trying to ignore the flush you feel in your cheeks as you watch him flip from line to line on your recordings. 

“I’m impressed.” He looks up to you and instantly looks away.

“Thank you.”

.

.

.

tags

@im-emo-motherfuckers @team-wang-puppy @seokchella

[youngster-monster]

lotus - far from the one you love

Here's the truth:

Occam doesn't trust easily. They never did, even back when they could still feel a knife press against their throat and smile anyway, terrified and elated in equal measure. They've always kept themself at arm's length from anyone, at a safe distance from pain. Watching over people with no one to watch over them. It made them a good sniper, a decent Titan in that they still protected people, in their own way.

It hasn’t gotten any better since then.

When they realize, one gloomy morning, that they trust the Drifter, that they— care for him, it doesn’t fill them with the joyful relief of a loner finally finding solace in friendship. It just feels them with dread. They can’t keep people alive: it’s out of their hands, no matter how hard they try. And if they get attached, and if that attachment dies— it hurts.

And Occam fears nothing more than getting hurt.

(Once upon a time they relished it. Embraced the pain as a stinging reminder of survival. What went wrong, they wonder, and even in their own mind its rhetorical. The answer comes anyway, unbidden, uncalled for.

Everything.)

In the end, Occam runs.

They're not proud of it. They're not not proud of it. In truth they don't think about it. No more than someone would think about their own heartbeat, except on some rare occasions where the what-ifs keep them awake before the usual nightmares can wake them up. And even then it's not regret, not quite.

Running comes as easily to Occam as breathing does. Easier, maybe. Each time they breath they trace the path of the air to their lungs and out and devise a dozen of ways to cut that route. Crush the trachea; hands around the throat, squeezing, or an arm, more efficient; a knife to the throat, between the fifth and sixth rib, in the back angled just right. A bullet (throat, tearing it apart). A bullet (lung, whichever, ideally both). A bullet (if you're a good enough shot it doesn't matter where you aim).

The more Occam learns about killing a man the more acutely aware of their own mortality they are. Their life is a tower of blown glass balanced in the palm of one hand, propped up by the butt of a gun. Fragile. Easily toppled over. What does it take to kill a Guardian? Less than they think. Bad luck. Good aim.

A bullet.

(Through a Ghost, exploding in a burst of Light and broken shell pieces.)

A bullet.

(Through the head, the Traveler blinded by the lingering Darkness.)

A bullet.

(If you're a good enough shot it doesn't matter where you aim.)

(Occam is an excellent shot. They can't trust the guy on the other side not to be, too.)

-

They pack what they can and pile up the rest, light a match, breathe in the gasoline smoke and itch for a smoke. It’s the one lethal habit they kept after everything but their last pack is lying on top of the pile. They didn’t really think this through.

(Take only what you can carry. Don't get attached to what you'll have to leave behind. Don't leave anything behind.)

They watch the leaves of the plants they carefully tended to shrivel and crumble in the flames. Unblinking. Unflinching. Build themself an armor with the ashes and make themself small under it, easily hidden. Easily overlooked.

There's only one pot left. A small one. Baby blue flowers, the kind they refuse to name or look at for too long. Sentimental flowers that they couldn’t throw on the bonfire with the rest. They sneak into the Drifter's room while he's out and leaves them on the closest surface, next to a still-beating Knight heart. It'll keep the flowers company while he's gone–

He's not, though. He stands in the doorway, back-lit by the corridor. Occam didn't bother turning the lights on. They didn't plan to stick around. Still don't.

"Leaving without a good-bye?” He says, in that lighthearted way of his that never fooled anyone. “That's cold, brother. Didn’t take you for the kind to kiss and run."

And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? Love — because that’s what it is, in the end — is dangerous. It’s a risk, and not one they’re willing to take. Not now, with the Nine at their door, Darkness on their heels. They have to run. Drifter knows it, too, by the look in his eyes. A kind of resolute anticipation, like he knows what’s about to happen and he’s still waiting for… what. For Occam to offer an explanation? A map to their next landfall, an address to send postcards to?

An invitation to come along?

(Would he come along?)

Would Drifter do the same, were their places reversed? Or would he find a better way? Stay anyway? Would he come if Occam asked?

He would. That’s what they scare the most. Whether or not he’d want to come, he would. As selfish as they are – and they are selfish, Light, they'd keep the whole world tucked behind their teeth if they could get their hand on it – they can't ask that of him.

He’s a liability.

(Maybe if they keep telling that to themself it will come true.)

Easier to survive if you only have to worry about your own ass. Better chances when you're only hiding your sorry carcass, when you don't have to choose between your beating heart and what it's beating for.

They close their eyes so they don’t have to look into his as they transmat to their ship without a word. When it comes down to it, Occam is just a runner. A coward. Doesn’t leave much room for teamwork.

(They don't know how to run away with anyone. Only how to run away from them.)

-

Out of all the people Occam's known, Thyme came the closest to figuring their nature.

"You're a monster, Dredgen Khan," she'd said, digging a finger in their chest as if to prove a point. "You're a rotten, despicable person, an even worse Guardian, and you won't even be worth the wood they make your coffin out of."

She was right, of course, the whole five foot nothing of righteous wrath of her, but for all the wrong reasons. She thought all their actions were evil because they were evil, too.

The truth is that Occam isn't evil. They're not an inhuman monster.

They're just scared. They're a small, pathetic person, scared out of their mind and made selfish and petty by the fear. It’s worse, maybe.

One can excuse many things for the greater good, be it real or made up by your own twisted sense of morality. Not many excuses for cowardice.

She'd been right then. Worst out of all this situation might be that they've been doing nothing but proving her right again and again since.

-

There aren’t many places a rogue Lightbearer can run off to and survive. Even they need food, need clean water and a shelter, and the few habitable places in the Sol system that survived the Collapse are held by Guardians.

This is how Occam washes up on the Tangled Shore. It’s easy to disappear there. Easy to get yourself killed, too, which is why they hadn’t initially planned to settle here. But they need supplies, which means they need Glimmers, and the Tangled Shore is where you come when your need for funds outweighs your morals. The rifle they carry ought to be enough to keep them safe, if only for the time it takes them to find a better long-term plan.

(Here’s what they forgot: it’s a hunting ground, and they’re more prey than apex predator.)

He comes to them weeks after their departure. By then they’ve somewhat settled into their role in the food chain of the Reef, enough to make the most of it. At the moment they’re sitting in a dark corner of the Spider’s Palace, waiting for an informant who’s running late by hours — not unusual but still worrying. Good sources are hard to find and they’d rather keep those they have alive for longer than a few days. Especially since what got them killed tends to travel up the chain back to Occam, and that’s more trouble than any job is worth.

But when someone finally sits down in front of them, it’s not the nervous Marauder they were expecting.

It’s Shin Malphur.

The sight is so unexpected that for a moment, Occam is actually too shocked to be afraid. They knew, kind of distantly, that this place was among the Renegade’s usual haunts, because where else to find Dredgens than among the dregs of polite society. But he’s not one to come out in the light, ironically enough. He prefers his face covered, his identity hidden — an intimidation tactic and security in equal measure. He keeps to the shadows, tracking his preys, waiting for the moment to strike. A Hunter, in every way.

(My, Renegade, what long teeth you have.)

Now, though, he sits opposite of Occam without a helmet. He has his hood up, for what it’s worth, casting his face in shadows but failing to cover the Light glowing through the cracks and flaring in his eyes. Every line of his body as he slouches in his chair is relaxed, careless, in every way the cocky Guardian he’s pretending to be. An easy prey for the people here. He keeps a hand on his gun, but even that seems more bravado than actual threat even though they know exactly how dangerous he is.

And then he smiles, a small, crooked thing that never reaches his eyes, and they remember.

Shin Malphur is a wolf.

Occam isn’t sure what to think of Shin Malphur’s presence here.

The two of them struck an uneasy alliance some time ago. Rather a ceasefire over their mutual fondness for the Drifter, unexplained though it may be on Malphur’s part. They’re not exactly on friendly terms, nor are they outwardly aggressive toward each other the way Occam could be with Thyme. They’re at that weird spot between awkward acquaintances and natural enemies born from dramatically opposed worldviews and several ill-advised hookups.

It’s not enough to guess his motives for coming after Occam, but just enough to stay on their guard when he leans forwards and says,

“You’re a difficult person to find.”

Not difficult enough, apparently. They lean back, try to keep some manner of a safe distance between the two of them. Shin’s grin widens at that, a quick flash of sincere emotion.

“I try to be. Why are you here?”

They know he’s here on his own volition — the person who can make Shin do anything he doesn’t want to has yet to exist or is long dead and gone — but they still feel a pang of… disappointment, perhaps, when he replies, “Checking you haven’t gone to the dark side. Mostly.”

They scowl. Their helmet hides the expression, which is always useful, but they can’t help feeling like they’re leaning on it too much. Not that they can go around without it safely, but it’ll do them good to keep it in mind. Just in case.

(It simply wouldn’t do to come back and be like an open book to-)

They shake themself out of this train of thought. Shin’s presence is more disturbing than expected.

“Well. I haven’t.” They go to open their arms as if to present themself to him before realizing, somewhat belatedly, that they look exactly the way they did the handful of times they met while Occam was on Dredgen business and it might look a little suspicious. They cross their arms over their chest instead. The movement looks awkward but they always feel like that when Shin is around. He has a knack for keeping them off-balance. “You can leave now. I’m busy.”

“Oh, if you’re waiting for your informant, don’t bother. I ran him off to be sure we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“You-”

Occam makes a frustrated noise and rubs the visor of their helmet in a vain effort to alleviate the headache Shin is giving them. When they look up, Shin is staring at them. His arms are crossed over the table, fingers drumming on the grimy surface. He’s abandoned all pretenses of not being on the hunt: now the question is to find what he’s hunting.

Information, or Occam themself? Either is as likely, but one will be easier to get out of than the other.

(He’s like a dog with a bone when he finds something to be curious about. At least when he’s on a manhunt Occam can usually distract him once they’ve reached the ‘pinned against a wall with a gun pointed at his head’ part of the evening. Shin awakens parts of their psyche they thought they had killed off long ago. It’s unfortunate that it had to be the ‘life-threatening situations put them in the mood’ thing rather than their sense of empathy or what passed for their mental health back then.)

“You planning on coming back at some point?”

They look to the side, pretend to be surveying the room. They know it won’t fool him but it feels safer than looking him in the eyes when they say, “No.” and mean, I want to.

Knowing Shin he could read the lie right through the helmet.

“You’re a moron.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, you are. You know it too,” he says, not… entirely unkindly. “You’re not safer here than you were in the Tower. This place’s gonna be the first to get hit by the Darkness once it reaches the system, and that’s if you don’t get stabbed in the back by an overeager Fallen before that. What are you doing here, Occam?”

Running away, like they always do. Hiding and waiting for the fallout. They don’t tell him that, though. Why would they?

Instead they stand to their feet, almost knocking their chair back in the process. “That doesn’t concern you,” they say, as placidly as they can muster.

“It concerns Drifter, and he’s no use to me when he’s moping.”

That gives them a pause. They know they’re being played: the look he gives them, calculating and self-satisfied, tells them that much. Still they stay. Against their own better judgment.

“He’s not moping.”

“How would you know?”

“He doesn’t care enough to mope.”

They mean it like, ‘Drifter has been alive far too long to care about one asshole he’s been carefully Not Dating for months leaving for the Reef’. Obviously Shin has to take it the wrong way.

“Is this what it’s about? You think he doesn’t care enough?” When they don’t react to his guess, he shrugs. “Or maybe you’re the one who cares too much. You got too invested and then ran away so there would be no possibility of talking about it.”

This time, they flinch. They can’t help it. Shin can be unnervingly perceptive when he wants to be, and he’s usually cruel about it. At least with Occam. 

His grin tells them he smelled blood; now he’s going for the kill.

“You’re in l-”

They turn on their heels and stride off before he can finish the sentence. His voice chases them out of the room.

“You can’t run forever! Eventually he’s gonna be the one tracking you down, and what are you gonna do then, huh?”

Run further away, possibly. Or hide until he gets bored and leaves. It’s worked well for them so far.

[dust2dust34]

(i will be the fire) that keeps you warm (5/5, Olicity, AU)

Summary: The morning after.

A/N: Thank you so much for coming along with me on this fun, fluffy journey! I hope you enjoy the last installment.

(read on AO3)

(read from beginning)

*

Felicity woke slowly.

Beams of sunlight stretched across the bed, just starting to heat the room up. Dust and dog hair danced in its light, all cheerful and blissfully unaware of last night’s storm. Blue sky greeted her, not a cloud in sight that she could see, even without her glasses on.

God, it was frakking hot.

It was barely seven in the morning if she had to guess, there was no way the sun was hot enough to irritate her this much. Felicity groaned, smacking her lips, furrowing her brow as she lifted her head to look around.

Reality settled in quick and just like that, the night before rushed back.

She knew exactly why she was so hot.

A wall of muscle was at her back, a strong, thick forearm wrapped around her stomach, a large hand loose and relaxed… under her shirt. Slow, even breaths danced across the back of her neck where a stubbled face was buried in her hair. A large foot draped over one of hers, and the other was hooked between her calves, effectively tangling their legs together. And her hands? Oh, one was up underneath her pillow where his other hand had migrated the night before, their fingers touching, while the other…

She had reached back at some point and stuffed her hand under the band of his sweatpants. It rested on a very nicely toned - nay, very muscular - hip that was nearly as hot as his bare chest.

It was…

Jaw-dropping? Awe-inducing? Incredible? Fantastic? Ecstatic?

Nice.

Nice? Felicity barely stopped herself from snorting. That’s what she thought of this amazing moment that she had only dreamed of? Oliver Queen in her bed, her hand in his pants, his hand under her shirt, so comfortable with her that he was completely knocked out? In her bed, no less. In any bed, really, but that it was her bed, with her?

It was all of the above things, but it was also just… nice.

Comforting.

Safe.

As much as this was a lot of her fantasies coming to life, it was also the fact that he had come to her last night when she was scared and calmed her down. Made her feel secure in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time. So secure that she had fallen asleep with the storm still shattering the world outside. And he’d fallen asleep, too. Had he had any nightmares? She would have felt them, surely, the way he was wrapped around her. And he was still sleeping, so deeply, somehow finding the security with her that he gave her.

Warmth filled her, suffusing every inch until she was floating.

Except she wasn’t. She was anchored to the earth. By him.

And her hand in his pants.

Felicity bit her lip on a grin and scrunched up her face to keep back a weird, shrieking noise that threatened to erupt from her throat.

She didn’t realize her fingers were drifting over his hip until he stirred.

Oliver didn’t wake right away, coming out of his sleep as slowly as she had.

She marveled at the way his muscles moved under her hand, flexing when he stretched. A low groan fell from his chest, so low she barely heard it. But she felt it, radiating into her back where he was flush against her. The sensation sent a bolt of awareness drifting down her spine and she shivered. The move inadvertently pressed her butt against him, more than it already was, but instead of waking him, it earned her another groan. This one was deeper. Huskier. Oliver burrowed his face into the back of her neck and took a deep breath. The hand under her pillow twined with her fingers as the one inside her shirt pressed more firmly against her abdomen. She tried to keep herself still, not wanting him to stop even for a second, but her breath stuttered out of her, forcing her stomach to dance under his touch. He seemed to like it, because he curled in even more around her. It forced her hand on his hip to slip in deeper.

And he was hard.

It had been so long since she’d felt someone’s touch like this, but it wasn’t just that. It was Oliver touching her, surrounding her, breathing her in.

Felicity’s head swam. Sensation flooded her. The world disappeared in hazy fog.

When his hand moved up and his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts, she couldn’t have stopped the moan that slipped out of her even if her life depended on it.

The sound jerked him the rest of the way into consciousness.

“Felicity?” he said in a roughened voice. He yanked his face from her hair and when he realized where he was, what he was doing, he moved to pull away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“No,” she interrupted, flipping onto her back.

His hand stayed put, something that sent a thrill through her, but hers slipped from the band of his sweatpants. Which was probably a good thing, she realized. Especially because if had stayed there her fingers would have ended up somewhere else.

Not a bad thing. At all.

But maybe too much. Too fast?

Oliver’s hair stuck up in every direction. A deep indent from a wrinkle in the pillowcase was evident on his cheek and his eyelids were heavy with sleep.

His eyes were alert, though, and locked on her.

They should talk. Figure this out. Try to make sense of what they were feeling…

Felicity arched up off the bed and pressed her lips to his.

Or she could just kiss him.

It was nothing more than a peck, soft, dry lips pressing together, and then she fell back. Oliver’s eyes were closed, but the second she pulled away, they snapped back open. His pupils blew wide, nearly swallowing up the molten blue. No, earlier had been molten. Now his gaze scorched through her with an intensity that had her stomach swooping.

Oliver dove in for another kiss.

When their lips touched for a second time, she was lost.

This, this was jaw-dropping, awe-inducing, incredible, fantastic, pure ecstasy. His lips wrapped around her bottom one in a sensual pull before his tongue slid across it, begging her to meet him with hers. With an eager sigh, Felicity did just that. She pushed her hand into his thick hair, fisting it lightly, her other arm winding tight around him. She splayed her hand over his back, caressing his scars, feeling them, learning them, not hiding anything in her exploration. He shuddered, breaking free for air, but even that was too far away for too long. His lips found hers again. He cradled her to his chest as his other and slid up to her ribs. His thumb brushed the underside of her breast. When she nodded, her lips hitting his teeth, his stubble scraping her skin, he slid his hand up further and gently cupped the soft mound. Her hard nipple raked against his calloused palm, lighting a fire deep in her core, earning him a little cry. He swallowed it up, and it seemed to ignite his own fire. With a wild moan, Oliver surged forward, blanketing her even more. His rapidly growing hardness pressed into her hip and an ache deep inside her blossomed. An emptiness. A need. For him. Only for him.

The kiss spiraled, growing in fervor, and along with that, a desperation. It edged his kisses and the intensity of it was almost too much. He drank from her lips like a man who hadn’t tasted water in days. No, longer - weeks, maybe. Months. Years?

Underneath it all, though, was a need that matched her own. She met it with equal ardor, gasoline on a fire neither of them had meant to spark. But they had and neither of them moved to stop it.

The flames consumed them and they fell in with abandon.

Felicity twisted closer and threw a leg over his hip, urging him on top of her completely.

Oliver shifted onto her and she opened her legs for him. Hard met soft. They moved together, in tandem, hips flowing forward, against each other, eliciting more sounds, soft little moans under wet, heady kisses and gasps for air.

Up until Artie dove into the mix.

The pit bull appeared out of nowhere and started licking both of them.

Felicity laughed, turning to escape the puppy tongue. Oliver’s husky chuckle joined hers as he did the same, but Artemis seemed to take his denial on as a mission. She went after him and his laughter grew louder, unchecked. It was beautiful, even as he pulled his hand out of her tank top and buried his face into Felicity’s neck to escape the puppy. His whiskers tickled her neck, which had her laughing more, which in turn spurred Artemis on.

Soon, they were nothing more than a roving pile of giggles and dog licks with happy barks.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Felicity finally said, pushing Artie’s face away. “Okay, we get it.”

Artemis barked and Felicity was pretty sure she was saying, ‘Do you really?’

“Not to kill the mood entirely,” Felicity said, fingers playing in the soft hair at the base of Oliver’s neck, “but I think she needs to pee.”

He lifted his head and looked at the dog. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Artie barked again. ‘You’re lucky I like you.’

Felicity snorted, and it pulled Oliver’s attention back to her.

His lips were swollen, well-used, his lids heavy, but not with sleep. With lust. Need. Desire. And maybe even a little… happiness? It shined out of him and the sight set her heart racing. Especially when he smiled. God, that smile was dangerous. Like panty-melting dangerous. Which was happening. Right now. Arousal danced over her every nerve and she bit the edge of her lip. His eyes dropped to watch the move, the blue darkening, morphing into an alluring cobalt as his pupils widened.

Oliver leaned in for a kiss, but it was soft and chaste. The passion from before was still there, but it was subdued, buried under something else.

This wasn’t just lust between them.

When he tried to pull back, she slid her hands up the back of his neck to hold him in place and nuzzled his nose. He grinned against her and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.

Red caught her eye.

“What’s that?” she asked, urging him back.

Scratches covered his shoulders and chest.

“From last night,” Oliver supplied as her fingers ghosted over them. “That secret corridor isn’t built for anyone but Artemis-sized people.”

And yet he’d still pushed through.

Felicity met his gaze. “My hero.”

The words were meant to be cutesy, fun and adorable, a cherry on top of what was becoming an amazing morning, but then Oliver grimaced. Tension filled in his face and he shook his head with a gruff, “I’m nobody’s hero, Felicity.”

A rebuke was ready on her tongue, but she bit it back. Instead, she bit her tongue and stared at him. She could say as much as she wanted, but she knew none of it would land, not the way it would with other people. How long had it taken her to get him to talk to her without scowling? And it had taken weeks for them to get to where they were now, and not by choice, really. It was more from a game of push and pull that wasn’t just words, but actions as well.

She was good with actions, and if that was what he needed? She would do her best to become amazing at them.

Eyes never leaving his, Felicity stroked the new scratches before moving on to the older ones. Scars covered nearly every inch of him and it didn’t matter where her fingers landed, she found one.

His muscles grew taut, the tension spreading, his lips pursing, and she knew he wanted to tell her to stop, that she didn’t have to do this, that he didn’t need her to.

But he didn’t do any of that. Because he was comfortable with her? Because he trusted her? Because he needed it - this acceptance, this touch, this connection - more than he knew how to put into words?

The moment stretched on, Felicity touching him everywhere she could reach, and when that wasn’t enough, she leaned up and kissed a thick scar on his right pec. He shuddered, his head bowing over hers. She moved on to his left side, to a weird star tattoo that hovered over his heart.

She lingered there, wanting to imprint her lips on him.

“Felicity…”

“To me you are a hero,” she told him.

Vulnerability painted every inch of his face, filling his eyes, and she cupped his face.

“You are,” she confirmed.

Oliver swooped down. His lips slanted over hers and she immediately opened for him, taking as much as he wanted to give her, and giving every bit of it back. There was nothing one-sided about whatever it was that blossomed between them.

Artie barked.

On a laugh, Oliver pulled back once more. But he didn’t go far, dropping another kiss, one more, another on Felicity’s lips before finally looking at Artemis.

“Alright, we’re getting up,” he told the eager dog.

Artie’s tail went about a thousand miles a minute as she launched off the bed.

They climbed out of bed. They had to pause to rearrange their clothes - her tank had twisted around her entire torso - and adjusting pants - it was impossible to miss the tent in his sweatpants and she both licked her lips and blushed at the sight.

“We are so finishing this later,” Felicity said as she found her glasses.

“Yes, we definitely are,” Oliver growled in agreement before grabbing her for a quick, hard kiss. It set her even more ablaze, leaving them both gasping when he pulled away. He had to take one more kiss, though, like he couldn’t get enough. He smiled and she somehow managed to return it with pleasantly throbbing lips. “I’m going to go grab a shirt, but then how about some breakfast?”

“Oh yes, please,” she replied with a delighted grin. On a snicker, she tucked her finger into the band of his sweats and tugged it, making it snap against his skin. He jumped with a little, “Hey!” as she said, “I would love to see John’s face if he runs into you looking like this.”

“He’s seen worse, trust me.” They made it to the door. When Oliver opened it, Artie took off down the hall. He gave Felicity one more kiss. “See you downstairs.”

Felicity grinned against his lips. “‘Kay. Oh, but hey, can I put in a request for breakfast?”

“If it’s you asking, anything.”

That melted her into a useless puddle of goo. Well, not entirely useless. She was hungry.

“Cinnamon swirl pancakes? The ones with icing in the middle, all…” Felicity twirled her finger between them. “Mixed up in there. You know the ones.”

Oliver hummed with an amused tick of his lips. “I do. I remember those very well, mostly because a certain someone liked them a lot the last time I made them. So much, in fact, that you were moaning around your fork that you’d do absolutely anything to have them again.”

Warmth spread through her at the thought of him remembering that. And that he’d paid that much attention to her, weeks ago?

Felicity winked. “Imagine what that means now.”

His nostrils flared, eyes darting to her lips and then back to her eyes. Electricity arched between them, heating the air. With a teasing grin, Felicity pushed up onto her toes and brushed her lips against his.

Artemis knew exactly where this was going and she bound back with an urgent bark.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Felicity told her. She kissed Oliver’s jaw - because she could now, that was a thing she got to do, and she was so totally going to do it all the time - and then pushed him away before she got caught up in him again. She skipped forward to match Artie’s excited patter of paws on the floor. “Let’s get the heck downstairs, huh? You’re such a good girl for holding it in, yes you are.”

The instant they were downstairs and Felicity opened the French doors in the kitchen, Artemis ran off, relieving her bladder for what felt like an eternity. She was too excited to do the rest of her business, so Felicity let her back in, heaping more praise on her. All that training was paying off and to reward her, she dropped a little treat in her food. Her tail only stopped wagging when she was snarfing down her food, but even then every little noise had her looking up, as if waiting for Oliver to appear.

Felicity wasn’t the least bit ashamed to admit she was doing the same exact thing. She couldn’t wait to see him again, even though she’d seen him just mere moments ago. That excitement had always been there, but now it was more vivid. Because whatever was happening between them?

It was real.

Artemis licked her bowl clean just as Oliver walked into the kitchen.

Felicity spun from where she’d been leaning over the counter. When he walked straight to her, she sighed. And the way he looked at her? Oh boy, I am in trouble. When he reached her, he grasped her hips and tugged her against him, giving her a soft kiss.

“Mm, minty,” she whispered before making a face. “Now I’m paranoid about my breath.”

Oliver responded with a kiss that she felt all the way to her toes.

“Oh… okay, that…” Felicity fanned her face and then touched her lips. “I’m good now.”

“Good. So, cinnamon swirl pancakes. I’m pretty sure I have everything I need…”

“Oliver.” Felicity grabbed his hand before he could go. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Like a date?”

“Yes. A date. You know, a date-date. You know, where two people get dressed up. And eat food. Somewhere. On a date. I just figured we should, you know, make it official. Have a date on the calendar. A date. For our date-date. Wow, I’m really going for gold with these sentence fragments, aren’t I?”

“I love your sentence fragments,” he told her, curling his fingers inside hers.

“Good,” Felicity replied. “Because I can’t seem to stop, even though I’m trying. No, what I’m trying to do is ask you out and I realize how silly that probably is considering we just slept together. Not slept together, but slept in the same bed. Why am I clarifying that?”

“Yes,” Oliver interrupted before tugging her into his arms. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Good. Okay then, it’s a date. We have a date.” Felicity grinned and when he returned it, that swoopy feeling was back in her stomach. She traced the edge of his lips. “I love seeing you smile so much.”

“You give me a lot of reasons to smile.”

“That makes me very happy.”

“You make me happy,” Oliver told her. They started swaying where they were wrapped up in each other. “There’s… I haven’t… It’s been a long time since…”

“I see my sentence fragments have rubbed off on you.”

Oliver paused, and then he huffed out a little laugh. He pulled her closer to his chest, splaying his hands over her back.

“What I’m trying to say is that… When I was on the island…”

Felicity held her breath. He had told her about his nightmares, bits and pieces, but he hadn’t really opened up to her. Not like this.

“I wasn’t there alone,” he continued, “and the entire time, no matter what I did, it was too… I could never trust anyone. And when that goes on for so long, you stop seeing people for… for people. You see threats. Sometimes… targets, even. And when I came home, I… I didn’t know how to turn that part of me off. Until I walked into your office for a consultation and you demanded I offer you a place here in exchange for the security upgrade.”

Felicity laughed. It came out a little uneven - there was so much in what he’d just told her, she didn’t even know where to begin to wrap her mind around it - but she kept her voice light. “Sorry about that, I just really liked it here.”

“Please don’t apologize,” he whispered. “It brought you into my life. You were the first person I could see as a… as a person. There was just something about you.”

“I was chewing on a pen.”

“It was red.”

She grinned on a soft, “Yeah.”

“Felicity… You’ve opened up my heart in ways I didn’t even know were possible.”

The declaration stole her breath away. And that’s what it was, a declaration. It washed through her. No, it crashed through her. It changed her. It sent her flying as much as it grounded her. Showed her the beauty of the universe and anchored her to the best and most real thing she’d ever felt with another person. 

When Felicity pulled back to look into his eyes, the power in his words reflected back at her from the gorgeous blue.

She kissed him.

It was a promise, that she felt the same, that they were doing this, that there was so much more to look forward to, not just for her alone, or him alone. But for them.

They didn’t part - they didn’t want to part - but then Oliver’s stomach growled, followed by hers.

“Food would be good,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to walk Artemis.”

“Can I come with?” Oliver asked, smoothing hair off her temples. “Breakfast won’t take long, and then we can take the long way. Wear her out.”

“Oh, have something in mind for later, do you, Mr. Queen?”

“Perhaps.” He grinned and kissed her. “Especially later tonight. After dinner.” Artie barked and Oliver pulled back to look at the pupper. “Don’t worry, you’ll get something special for dinner, too.”

“You’re going to spoil her.”

“I figure I owe her one,” Oliver replied. “She did bring us together, after all.”

“She did, didn’t she? Our little matchmaker.”

Artemis barked again and ambled over to jump up on them as if to say, ‘You’re welcome.’

The End

*

Thank you for reading! I switched things up a bit between them compared to canon, I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

[peachywise]

nullify part 4

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part iv: the revealing file || part i ⋆ part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆ more parts to be released

- synopsis: You had wanted to forget about the fire. Forget all of it. But then you were presented with a file on your life, given to you by a kid who knows all too well its contents. Looks like you were intertwined in something much bigger than you had ever expected all along, and you're only going to get intertwined even more. 

- notes: so sorry this update took a while! i'm in my last few weeks of my university semester, and i'm busy with final essays. i'll try and get the next update out sometime next week but it could take a bit longer. however, I'll be back to a better and faster posting schedule in april. anyways this chapter is pretty five interaction heavy instead of Klaus, but i had to cut this one in half as it was getting too long, so they'll be more in the next part!! heavy trigger warning for mentions of abuse and fire. 

link on a03 

___________________________

“That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Letting out a loud scream at Five’s sudden appearance in front of you, surrounded in that ethereal blue haze, you decided he was the one being a dramatic little shit head. Even more so when he quickly went up on his toes and slapped his hand over your mouth to smother your voice before you could keep screaming and swear at him. You quickly jerked away, still reeling from the comment about the fire he had made only seconds before inside the apartment.

“Back the hell off or I’ll punt you down the hallway,” you threatened, flattening yourself against the wall beside the door, heart erratically pounding as you tried to calm your anxiety and the aggression fighting its way up.

“Calm down and just hear what I have to say.”

Calm down? Oh, he did not just fucking tell you to calm down.

“Hey hey hey, where are you going?” Klaus suddenly burst out from the now open apartment door, eyes flashing one side to the next until they landed on you. His taller figure stepped in front of you and he reached a hand out, placing it in a soothing gesture on your arm. His face was downturned in what looked like genuine concern. It was actually kind of nice of him, up until he said soothingly, “take a breather and calm down for a sec, yeah?”

You had to resist the unbelievable urge to stomp on his foot and then kick him in the nuts.

Closing your eyes and inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you whispered in reply so quietly through gritted teeth, “back away before I rip Five’s hand off and shove it up your—”

“Everything okay out here?”

Turning your attention to the large, blonde man taking up the entire frame of the doorway, you let out your held breath and opened your eyes. Five did as well, just as Klaus dropped his hand to his side, his eyes still never leaving you.

Your heart rate and initial anger had started to simmer down a bit at the continual tug and pull of the situations you kept finding yourself in, enough so that your curiosity of everything was starting to take hold once more. But you were still reluctant to step back into that apartment. Your trust was wary, at least in the case of some of them. Right now, you only trusted Klaus. He had been a loud and obnoxious pain in the ass, but hell, he hadn’t tried to hide anything from you and had basically answered most of what you assumed he could. If anything, he had overshared. You wished you could forget the story he had told you on your walk over here. He had way too vividly description how once on impulse he had bitten into a live koi fish he saw in a pond in order to ward off a loan shark across the way coming to collect money. What was worse, it actually worked. At least until they sent another guy a half an hour later.

“Go back inside, Luther. You to Klaus,” Five directed.

Turning your attention back to the toddler in command as he spoke, you quickly shifted your gaze back towards Klaus as he inevitably went to argue, stepping towards his brother with an exasperated look on his face. You reached out to gently grab his shirt. “Just go inside.” You needed to figure out how exactly Five knew about the fire, and just how extensively the details he knew went. It wasn’t exactly information you wanted out in the open, and though you trusted the curly haired brother the most in the family to an extent, it still wasn’t enough. No matter who you had trusted in your life, it had never been enough to openly discuss what had happened.

Klaus snapped his mouth closed in an uncertain grimace, his unnaturally comforting green eyes flickering as he tried to read your suddenly emotionless expression. You released some of the tension in your shoulders and heaved a breath. “Seriously, It’s fine. But if you hear glass shattering just know I’ve thrown him out the window.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bending to the side to look at Five who stood directly behind Klaus, you raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Come here then, preppy.”

Five crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, glancing down the hall at nowhere in particular. Clearly, his patience was running thin. Good.

Luther didn’t even bother to stick around and watch the show, unlike the unmistakably entertained Klaus. He just wordlessly turned back around into the apartment, leaving the door wide open for Klaus to follow.

“Okay, fine. Just don’t tell them all the fun bits without us, brother dear. It’ll be too priceless to miss.” Klaus settled on saying, departing back into the apartment, flashing his cheeky grin as he did.

You turned towards Five once you heard the familiar click of the closed door, grabbing his arm as you tugged him further away from the door in case there were any eavesdroppers. “You shouldn’t know about the fire. The entire story didn’t even hit the news.”

He shrugged your grip away easily. “And who do you think covered it up?” He bit back, a pressing look in his eyes.

What exactly was he implying? The little dude was kind of freaky—less of a kid than what he looked like— but he would have been the exact same age as you when it happened. Ten. As capable as he seemed now, you highly doubted he could have been able to suppress what had happened in the media. Allison possibly could have with her powers, but even then, there were so many people coming and going throughout that morning that you would have caught sight of her. The Umbrella Academy wasn’t even in the same city as you, for Christ's sake.

“Are you implying that it was covered up, or that somehow you had something to do with it?”

You could have been wrong, but a sort of half satisfied tick tugged his lips up the tiniest bit. But instead of a reply, he vanished again in a blink of an eye. You were really starting to hate his power. Letting out an aggravated huff, you twisted around slightly as if somehow you would find him dramatically down the hall, but he was back in a literal flash in under ten seconds, except this time he had a file in hand. He handed it to you, stating, “I found this in Hargreeve’s office. Read for yourself.”

And with that little cryptic introduction, you gave a speculative glance before gently taking it into your own hands, slight hesitance overtaking you as you flipped it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The first thing that caught your attention was a picture of you at twelve years old, miserable in an oversized black hoodie, paperclipped to a copy of one of the social service identification documents used by your old foster caseworker. Once you flipped that over, you found and skimmed through written reports, Reginald’s familiar insignia watermarked at the top. In them detailed everything; everything you knew, everything you had assumed, every plot hole in your entire story.

Reginald had known where you were this whole time. He’d kept a watchful eye on you, and you had no doubt he had similar files on all the other babies he had never been able to get his hand on. One of the reports detailed the first time your force field had popped up. You were in kindergarten and some kid had been chasing you with those barely sharp baby scissor that couldn't even cut through shitty quality construction paper. In your instinctual fear, the blue bubble surrounded you and five-year-old Jimmy bounced right off of it, tumbling two feet away, landing on his wrist and snapping the bone.

No one had seen, other than the teacher who had immediately looked terrified and sent you to the office, rushing you there herself. When she dropped you off, the counselor intervened and talked to you, and by the next day, your teacher had basically all but ignored the fact it had ever happened. The kid’s broken wrist was simply explained away as him tripping on the floor. No one would believe a five-year old’s account of what had actually happened anyway.

The councilor, as detailed by Hargreeves, was an onlooker hired by him to keep tabs on you if anything like this had ever happened and to make it go away. It seemed there had always been someone hired in your school to do just that. To watch. To report. Intervene when necessary.

Then there was the report on the fire. It described how your mom had gotten up in the middle of the night to go to your room, leaving your dad asleep in his own bed. It continued to detail how she poured gasoline from your doorway to your bed, striking a match and dropping it so the flame would trail up towards you. Police documented pictures were attached of your black and charred bedroom, all your childhood objects nothing more than undistinguishable ash. They never did find your dads body in there, but from how everything had been destroyed, you had no doubt he was simply mixed into all the rubble and debris that had once made up their entire family home which crumbled in a single, terrible night.

The police report detailed all of this as well, in addition to your mother’s capture and arrest, which he somehow managed to get a copy of for his invasive file. But it lacked the details Hargreeves inevitably figured out. How could a child survive such a destructive event? You had walked out with nothing more than a severe burn mark on your leg, while your father who tried to rescue you instead of getting out had literally been caught in the crossfire. They had interviewed you, but you kept quiet. But Reginald knew it was your force field. He wrote about how he paid off multiple people to cover this up and make it seem as if it had never happened. Not for your sake, however. It was just so you would never come across someone who wanted to use your powers against his children. Like Five, he speculated that the force field could extend far past what you had always thought. It could render all his ‘projects’ useless. And he couldn't have that.

You closed the file without looking at the other pictures and papers littered within it. You couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. It would have just detailed every other moment in your life like a statistical, emotionless biography.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Five spoke, breaking through your reeling thoughts. You tried to stop the bile rising to the back of your throat.

“Who else has seen this?” You whispered, clutching it tightly to your chest as you met his eyes.

“Just me, as far as I know.”

You nodded your head, taking a second the inhale and exhale and suppress it all as you had most of your life. You slipped the file into your bag, stating without room for argument, “I’m keeping this.”

He tilted his head in affirmation, replying, “I expected as much.” Quiet again, you took just a bit longer to try and collect your emotions, turning your face away to look anywhere except the kid who knew more about you than anyone else. It was unnerving. Even more so as he actually seemed at least a bit sincere when he continued with, “I am sorry. But what we need you for, it’s more than this. More than all of us. I had to look at every single option wherever I could, and right now, you’re that option.”

You could take some solace in that. Five, you had come to figure out, was all business. He had a scientific mind, looking at everything as steps to get to a singular goal. He wouldn’t do anything malicious or invasive for fun. Well, at least he wouldn’t unless it got him to whatever goal he had in mind.

“You keep this to yourself, and I’ll listen to whatever plan you have in mind.”

Maybe you would regret it, maybe you wouldn’t. But the Hargreeve’s were clearly desperate for something—for help. You could respect that.

“I also won’t toss you out the window no matter what it is.”

That got a smile out of the little bugger, and an affirmative agreement of, “deal.”

Pushing yourself slightly from where you had withdrawn against the wall, you started to make your way back to the apartment, Five keeping stride beside you. Just as you were about to open the door, he asked, “so, are you going to tell me why you brought a clock with you as a weapon?”

“Nope.”

Five laughed. The bastard actually laughed at something you said. A small, breathy one that really was only a quiet huff presented with a smile, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Alright then.”

Well, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Then you walked into the living area and immediately realized that it was actually going to be far worse than just ‘bad’.  

“Are you wearing a G-string?”

Holding his pants in his hand, with what looked like coffee or tea dripping from them and on to the plush white carpet, Klaus turned towards you from where he had previously been glaring at an equally as annoyed looking Luther, a sly smile morphing his face instead. Slightly popping his hip coquettishly, he replied in a faux sultry tone, “why yes, I am. You like? 

You shrugged, dropping your bag into the couch, already becoming desensitized to his odd and unexplainable behaviors. “Honestly, I’m just happy to know you wear anything under those pants at all.”

[winterwriter8845]

Hello! If it’s possible, could you please do a flangsty “Get Me/Unbind Me” mix with Jacob? I really enjoy your writing btw!!

the Rescue

Warnings: none

Paring: Jacob Frye x Clara

Words: 1,111

Thank you for the ask anonnie. It means a lot that someone still likes my writing (whenever I do post it). I’m glad that people still enjoy it, and it gives me motivation to keep writing and following my dreams of becoming a writer.

_______________________________

Clara walked down the street, tears in her eyes. Her heart was racing as she could hear Jacob’s yells behind her. “Clara! Come back! I’m not done with you!”

Clara ignored him, still walking. Her hand rested on her swollen stomach that carried Jacob’s child. She was only four months pregnant, and she was carrying a little girl, or so she thought from the signs that she was having.

Jacob turned into a mess as he watched her walk away. He was losing the love of his life, and he knew it. “C-Clara!” His voice cracked. He watched her disappear down the street. His heart was cracking.

Clara walked down the street to Charles Darwin’s house. Her mother had been a friend to Charles, so he opened his door to Clara. She knocked on his door, wrapped her arms around herself to keep herself warm. The rain had started to pour down on her, soaking her hair and clothes.

Before Charles could answer the door, someone wrapped their hand around her mouth and knocked her out. Charles came to the door just in time to catch a glimpse of Clara’s captor running of with Clara’s unconscious body.

Charles knew that this wasn’t good and that he needed to find Jacob. He grabbed his coat and took a carriage to Jacob’s place. When he arrived, he could hear Jacob stumbling about upstairs, his boots clomping against the hardwood floor. Charles could also hear bottles shattering. He wasn’t sure what had happened between Jacob and Clara, but he knew it wasn’t good.

“Jacob!” Charles yelled as he started to hit on the door with his fist. He heard the poor Englishman fall down the stars. “Poor boy…” he muttered.

The front door opened, and a drunken Jacob stood before him. His eyes were bloodshot from the alcohol and crying. His hair was messy, and his breath smelled of alcohol, Jameson to be more specific. “Whataya want?” He blubbered out.

“Clara’s been taken. I saw some men in red uniforms take her away.” Charles warned.

Jacob looked up at him. Sure, he cared for Clara, but he was too drunk to care at the moment. “So? She’s better off without me. She’s pregnant, and all I do is hurt her.”

“Jacob Frye!” Charles slapped the man in front of him. “She is your fiancée! You are to treat her with respect and protect her no matter what. Now get yourself together and look for her.”

He mumbled some things before stumbling back into the house. Charles followed him inside, grabbing his coat from the floor. He dusted it off and helped Jacob slip it on. Jacob wiped the sweat off his face and stumbled out the door. Charles walked outside. He whistled at some rooks that stood guard outside. “Watch him. He’s still not right in his head.” The Rooks nodded and ran after him.

Jacob and the Rooks took a carriage to a wharf where they had taken her and were keeping her hostage. They knew he was coming for her, and they wanted to end him. Jacob had gotten a little sober by the time he arrived at the wharf, enough to make sense of what was happening. He checked his ammunition and made sure he had enough. He used his senses to try and find any clues on which direction she was. He found one of her slippers and walked up to it. He looked up at the small house on the wharf as he knew where she was. “She’s on the third floor.”

He stood up from his kneeling position and started to make his way to the house. He started to scout the house and take out Blighters as he did, the Rooks doing the same. He reached the room where Clara was gagged and tied to a chair. She had a bloodied lip from her smart mouthing to the gang members. Her skin had rope burns from the rope that seemed like it was ever tightening around her.

Clara looked up at him and started to cry, shaking her head at him. She knew that it was a trap. She knew that if he tried to untie her, that he would trip a wire and the house would be engulfed in flames. The room was doused in gasoline, barrels of gasoline in the next rooms on the floor. She continued to squirm and scream at him.

But he didn’t listen. He tried to untie her, but a wire tripped, pulling the wire on the candle. The candle fell to the floor and ignited the entire floor. The fire started to make its way towards Clara and Jacob. Jacob quickly cut her free and picked her up. He pulled the mouth gag away from her. “I-I’m sorry, Clara. I’m sorry.”

“Shh, Jacob. Let’s just get out of here.” She kissed him quickly before pulling away to look to see if she could find an exit.

Jacob grabbed her hand. “There’s a window.” He pulled her to the window. He jabbed his hidden blade under it, prying the window from the sill. He pulled the window up and helped her out. They carefully climbed out onto the roof. It was slick from the rain, and she almost lost her footing. She held onto the wall for support.

Jacob looked around. “I’ll climb down first, and I’ll help you down.” He walked to the edge of the room. He slowly climbed down to the lower room. He held his hand out to her, and she carefully climbed down. “Are you okay?” He asked her. After he knew she was okay, he slowly stepped towards the edge of the roof, looking down. It was a straight drop to the ground. “I’ll go down, and I’ll catch you.”

She looked at him and nodded. He slowly and carefully climbed down to the ground. He held his hands out to her. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”

She looked down at him, hesitating. The fire had reached the window, and the window shattered, the glass burying into her skin. She cried out in pain as she hunched over to protect her baby bump.

“Clara! Jump!” He held out his arms for her. She jumped, and he fell to the ground as he caught her. He laid there, holding her. Then, the building collapsed, flames going up into the sky. Jacob looked at Clara. “Are you okay, my love?” He held her face, looking into her eyes.

She nodded. “There’s just glass in my back…”

“Is the baby alright?” He asked as he held her stomach. He wanted to make sure she and the baby were alright. She nodded, turning on her side to lay her head on his chest. “I love you,” he breathed out.

“I love you, too.” She leaned up and kissed him.

He carried her to a carriage and sat her down in the seat. He kissed her again, savoring the feeling of her lips and the moment they have together. He climbed out and got on the front of the carriage. The horses pulled the carriage away from the curb, and Clara relaxed back into the seat. She was exhausted but happy that she was back with Jacob.

They arrived at the house a few minutes later. She was almost asleep when the carriage stopped, and Jacob opened the door. "We're here, my love." He smiled as he helped her out. He then picked her up. She buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent of Jameson whiskey, leather, and gunpowder. She kissed his chest, smiling.

Jacob carried her inside and up to their bedroom. Their dog greeted them as Jacob laid her in bed. "Let me help you change, love." He picked up a nightgown from the dresser and helped her change into it. Then he slipped out of his clothes and into a pair of thin pants. He grabbed into bed with her and wrapped her up in his arms. He scooted down so his head was level with her baby bump. He started to kiss all over her stomach. "I'm sorry, my love..." He said as he looked up at her. "I was stupid... I'm not worthy of being your husband."

Clara sighed. "Yes, you are. You came in and saved me from the burning house. You've protected me all this time. You protected me when I was still a maid for the Queen, when we barely knew each other." She pulled his head up and kissed him tenderly.

He smiled as he kissed back. He went back to kissing her baby bump. "I love you so much, both of you." He kissed her stomach again before gently laying his head against it, listening to the baby's heartbeat.

They eventually fall asleep like that, his arms around her, holding her close as he listened to the baby's heart, her hands resting on his head.

[eggscelsior]

Kindness

He’s on foot. He’s torched the car and buried his mother’s remains, and now he’s running, running, for over an hour; his promises to his mother are the mantra he mouths silently to control his breaths and stave off full panic. There’s a city, he doesn’t even know the name. He doesn’t even know his own name. His last identity is back there with his mother, he doesn’t have a new one yet. He can’t think, he’s running so the sharp wind can dry his unshed tears, hurtling himself through dark streets and swerving away from laughter and drunken shouts as he plummets through the downtown.

There’s someone watching him. Behind him.

Don’t look back.

There’s more than one.

And suddenly they’re chasing, but he’s too fast. And honestly, beyond the survival instinct, he’s either not worried or just can’t care anymore. He can’t tell. He’s too tired.

Don’t slow down.

His slow shadows have friends up ahead though, calling out and laughing, so he assesses his options, an alley well lit by a street light at the end to the left with two men walking toward him - from the street? Witnesses? Don’t trust anyone - and a dark one to the right. He takes a hard right down the side street.

But the man he runs into a few feet into the darkness shoves him back by one shoulder hard enough that he stumbles into the light. He sets his foot down on a glass bottle and when it rolls he careens sideways into the wall. His back and head hit and his breath leaves him in a sick wheeze. He imagines the air coming out of his lungs still smells like gasoline and flames, giving away his mother’s location, so he sucks in a shallow breath and tries to hold it, tries not to pant for air. He fails, but they don’t care about his mother, because they don’t comment beyond laughing and shuffling closer. He wonders vaguely if he’s going to be robbed. His clothes and scuffed duffel don’t look like much, but it is so very much, if he’s searched.

“You on the wrong side of town, you fucking white pendejo.”

And he relaxes. They just have a disagreement over skin. He can survive this, has survived it before. It’s a straightforward transaction, a beating for being new in town and ignorant. It would be easier if he was staying in one place and wouldn’t repeat the mistake, but alas. There’s always a new city, always lowlifes, and he doesn’t always outrun or outwit them.

He sags into the wall, but only for a moment before the man who spoke grabs a fistful of his baggy frayed shirt and pulls him up to get in his face. He closes his eyes and urges himself to stay relaxed. Punches hurt less if you move with them.

The swing doesn’t come, however, for long enough that he opens his eyes again. This isn’t how it normally goes.

The thug that yanked his oversized shirt taut is staring down into the neck hole at his scars, with an expression that is a bad mix of impressed and sympathetic. After a long pause, their eyes meet.

“That’s...fuck.” The man seems to have quite a bit of trouble finding words in English but not Spanish, and his own Spanish is all but gone with time. He recognizes heridas in the rapid sentences. He thinks it means scars or cuts, maybe. The man finds their common tongue again. “Fuck, you been through enough, kid. Get home safe, just...¡Chingados! Cielo santo.” His shirt is released.

So many places he’d lived, without really living. So many places he’d passed through, crouched in, slept in just long enough to stock up the energy to move again and not nearly long enough to call rest.

“I’ve never had one,” he murmurs emptily, and he didn’t even mean to waste the breath it took to vocalize it, but it’s out there. He takes a breath to replace it, inventorying bruises the brick wall just gave his ribs, and the man in front of him smells like cigarette smoke. There’s fire all in his vision, and the sound of blood on vinyl and the sudden roar of the ocean fills his ears, loud enough that he has to slump back into the wall to stop from swaying. 

Mom. What do I do without you, Mom?

“Can I bum a cigarette?” He asks distantly of this man who was about the beat the shit out of him a minute ago, and an indeterminate number of seconds later, one is pressed, lit, into his fingers. He can’t process correctly right now, and that’s not good for his survival. He forces his fingers up to his face and breathes in the smoke, pushing out the fresh memories, focusing on the familiar smell. Then he mutters “thanks” and makes his feet move.

He passes seven men and none of them stop him.

On a bus to Nevada, he decides his next name will be Neil Josten. And as he dials the number of a forger in Reno for paperwork, Neil slowly realizes that a street gang in an unnamed California city were the first people in his entire life to give him a moment of mercy and genuine kindness.

[ughthatimagineblog]

i’m their healer (part three)

  part one / part two / part four   word count: 1166   warnings: cussing, cringy but cute fluff   a/n: this is part three, again I don't own any stranger things or anything related to it. but there will be one more part to this mini-series! make sure you read the previous parts (listed above) before reading part two, three and next, four!

  Coming up on the junkyard, Steve stopped at the hill to inspect the place. “Oh, yeah, this’ll do. This will do just fine.” He muttered to himself before walking away. You walked up to Dustin, taking Steve’s place. “I’m sorry about Steve.” Dustin said quietly.   “Why are you sorry?” You asked, sounding sort of bitter.  “I thought you. . .”   “Thought I what? That I have feelings for Steve? Don’t be an idiot, let’s get to work. You picked a good place, Dustin.” You said the last sentence lighthearted so he wouldn’t get too hurt from your tone.

“I said medium well!” Lucas shouted from a distance.

You, Steve and Dustin all looked up to see Lucas and. . . Some red-headed chick? Oh, wait. . . That’s Maxine Hargrove. Damn I hate her brother, maybe she’s not half as bad as he is. You thought to yourself as your two groups began walking towards each other.  “Who’s that?” Steve asked.

“Dustin’s little crush.” You muttered with a smirk, walking past them.

You were helping Max out carry things to the bus while the boys were elsewhere. “So, is all this stuff real?” She grunted, lifting something off the ground. “Yep.” You replied, helping her out. “And is that your boyfriend?” She gestured to Steve who was working on carrying back a chair.

You looked at him a moment, hair still in place even after all this wind. Face contorted in a focused grimace. Your heart beat faster.

  “No, he’s uh, he’s just a friend.”

You laughed to yourself before loading the piece of scrap metal on the bus. You were about to let go when a loud banging made you and Max jump to look back at Steve. “Hey! Dickheads! How come the only one helping me out is Y/N and this random girl!” He was shouting at, presumably Lucas and Dustin behind some car.   You and Max shared another glance before laughing and setting the metal in place.

All of you spent the rest of the day preparing the scrapyard for battle. Gasoline strung in specific places, the bus, now an arsenal and hideout/lookout. Tires at the top for protection and everyone’s given weapons except Maxine inside.

  Later that night, Lucas was at the top, being look out and Max was questioning Steve, who was sitting across from you, flipping a lighter on and off.

“So, you’ve really fought one of these things before?” It reminded you of the question she asked earlier. “And you’re, like, totally, 100% sure it wasn’t a bear?” She asked and you shifted uncomfortably. You wished it were a bear. A bear would have died and never came back. Steve looked at you and noticed you grew uncomfortable.  Dustin did as well. “Shit, don’t be an idiot. Okay? It wasn’t a bear.” Max raised her eyebrows and looked at Dustin.    “Why are you even here if you don’t believe us? Just go home.” Dustin shrugged and went to go sit somewhere in the back while Max muttered something and climbed to the top to go sit with Lucas. Once everyone was gone, you sighed. “You okay?” Steve asked. “As okay as a sophomore in High School about to fight a demon from another dimension can be.” You laughed and he smirked. Silence washed over you. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “For ignoring you for the past year.”    “It’s okay. I know you didn’t want to ruin your ‘King Steve’ rep.” You smiled playing with a stick you found on the floor. “No, that’s not why.” Steve said concerned and scooting closer. You stopped fidgeting and looked up.    “Then why?” You asked.    “I. . . I didn’t know how to talk to you. When the whole thing went down, I barely knew you and afterwards it felt like I knew everything about you. But it was a lot, you know? And I didn’t think I could just go up to you and talk about how classes were.”

“Why not?” You asked.

“Because, I don’t know, it felt wrong. Like It would have been like nothing had happened. But something did happen. And at least not talking to you, but looking at you in the hallways, the knowing glances I give you, I know you see them and I know you know what they mean. . . It’s like we are both acknowledging it without saying it out loud.” Steve took in a deep breath, like he was just about to run out.  “Then why didn’t you just come up and talk to me about it anyways?” You asked, upset but thrilled he had even had these thoughts all this time.

“I didn’t know how.”

“A simple ‘Hi’ would have sufficed instead of leading me to believe you thought you were too upper class to talk to me.” You said, slightly angry. “I know and that’s why I’m sorry.” Steve said, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

You looked at him and looked back at the ground.

“It’s okay.” You muttered but Steve still looked defeated. He cared so much about you. Felt so much for you and to see you upset, it made him hurt.    You looked up at him to see his arm propped on his knee, looking off in angered thought somewhere. “Hey,” You nudged his foot and he looked at you. “If we both make it out of this, why don’t we start again. This time where you do talk to me. I’d like that.” You bent your head down a little with a smile on your face to see if he would smile too.

After a moment of looking at you, he smiled as well.

“I’d like that a lot too.” Steve smiled and you laughed, triumphant that you got him to cheer up.  You scooted over to Steve and took the lighter from his hand, breaking the stick in half, you lit one end of each stick on fire, you handed one to him.     “To talking.” You smiled and he looked at you with one of the biggest smiles you’d seen on him in a while. You were a weirdo, but he found himself loving it.     “To talking.” Steve stated with a smirk. You touched the burning end of your stick on his and watched the flame grow bigger, then you pulled it away and you both blew it out at the same time.

   He then looked at you with a weird expression. “What? It’s not like we have chardonnet and wine glasses here.” You gestured around. “Okay, okay, true.” Steve laughed and you laughed with him, giving him his lighter back.  Silence fell on you again, but this time, you felt comfortable with it. You yawned, and rested your head on Steve’s shoulder. “Wake me up if we get any danger. Then I’ll wake up ready to beat up the bad guys.” You mumbled and Steve chuckled.

“Yeah okay, tough guy, I’ll wake you up.”

“Thanks, Stevie.” You mumbled and the last thing you remember is hearing his heartbeat quicken as you fell asleep.

@applepiehater101

[shadowsheyla]

Hi! For the kiribaku thing, how about a scene where kirishima is the one getting pissed instead of bakugou. Like, really really angry to the point that people go "oh shit.... "

So I’ve always seenKirishima as a guy who’s more of a quiet angry type, in a way that it seethesand burns wrong (and he may or may not end up saying something mean just for the sake of bringing someone down to his level. Which he ends up feeling absolutely horrible about). 

And also, I figure that something’s really gotta happen forKirishima to be the levels of angry that you’re lookin’ for. Hopefully I can showcasesomething decent though~~

Also, simply becauseI can, I’m basing around my MarriedWith Birds series. ‘Cause fuck it, it’ll help me return to the mindsetof this world.

[KIRISHIMA EIJIROU: AGE 20]

As much as he’d like to say that he’s a hero, and as much ashe technically has the paperwork that claims that he is, in the eyes of hishero branch he’s a sidekick. A sturdy, unflinching, and down-right stubborn oneunder the wing of one Pro hero by the name of Fatgum (and he’s been there sincethe second year of high school when he was just an intern).

“You can’t save them all,” Fatgum states, expression somber,the worst he’s seen in the longest of times. His gaze unwavering in his staring,outwards at the flash of red, white, and blue lights as emergency services tookover the scene. Three ambulances already filled, and at least three more wouldbe needed.

And Kirishima knew that, knew that no matter how much hetried sometimes things just happened and sometimes shit had hit the fan beforeyou could even do a damn fucking thingto stop it. “Two people died because we couldn’t—” he ground his teethtogether, clenching his eyes shut.

There were more than just the two of them on the scene—anyother hero could’ve done something. Kirishima could’ve done something—anything. He could feel his stomachroll, boiling as he seethed beside the taller man.

“I know,” Fatgum says and Kirishima looked to him, “I knowit hurts, and I know how frustratingit is. And there’s days I go home an’ I can’t bare to look at myself, an’there’s days I wish I didn’t become a hero.” The man is looking towards apolice officer radioing in with the walkie talkie on his shoulder. “But I am,and you are. So we owe it to everyone to put on our costumes, and come out herean’ save as many people as we can. And some days we can save everyone, an’ somedays we can’t. But at the very least we owe it to them to try, ‘cause who elsewill protect them?”

His words didn’t make it better, it didn’t make the angerwithin him smother in the slightest. But it made something in his prickle withunderstanding, with the acknowledgement that he too was feeling the same damnthing that Kirishima felt—and if he were to think back on it (and he would), he’dappreciate that that was the exact thing Fatgum had been aiming for. Toacknowledge that frustration and helplessness and tell him that every hero hadheld this way at one time, and that they needed to continue on for everyoneelse if not just for themselves.

-

Staring out the blur that passed, Kirishima stood with themasses on their commute home. Body swaying as a person bumped against him,“sorry” they mumbled and continued on. It was better than the person beforethem who said nothing. He got off at the next station, setting out with theflow of the crowd.

-

[BAKUGOU KATSUKI: AGE 20]

The front door slammed open, then back closed, sending thebirds into a twirl of fright and displeasure. Bakugou stilled, pausing in themiddle of his stirring head tilted as he listened to the new arrival slamanother door closed further down the hall. The blond man flicked the burnersoff, removing the pan from the element.

He left the kitchen, and check to the left towards the pairof discarded boots by the door—they were Eijirou’s. His first stop from therewas to the large bird cage to check on Blast and Red. “You’re okay,” he cooedat the pair, only for them start up again when a sharp crash and shatter ofglass sounded from the door his husband had tucked away into.

He bared his teeth, thefuck is wrong with him.

Bakugou left the birds and followed the pregnant silencethat always seemed to permeate after something broke—like the world, or theperson, was trying to decide if it needed to fracture more or if this wasenough—until it led him to their bedroom. The door was still closed, and whenBakugou pressed his ear to the door a different break greeted his ears.

The splintering of fake wood cracking, followed by theclatter of objects that had been on the very piece of furniture he had justbroke. Bakugou sighed, pulling away from the door and leaned up against thewall beside it. Listening for any further movement—there were none—beforetwisting the handle and pushing the door open. He counted to three before roundinginto the room, leaning against the doorframe.

It had been Eijirou’s nightstand.

Both shelves were discarded, tossed to opposite sides of theroom while the main frame splintered in two separate places a foot from wherethe door swung to. A plethora of miscellaneous shit scattered along the floor, therewere things on the bed—the lamp for one thing (good, picking up after alightbulb was never fun), the two picture frames he kept at his bedside wereanother. Bakugou’s gaze roamed back down to the floor, catching the glass thathe’d heard earlier. Just a regular glass than, not some memento.  

“Are you done with your tantrum?” He crossed his arms overhis chest, tone cautious. He’s seen Eijirou like this two other times in thespan of knowing each other, and each time it had Eijirou snapping out somethinghe didn’t mean. Eijirou’s temper was easy to pull the man out of, oncesomething allowed him a reprieve of his inner stewing—the whole battle was toactually shake him out of it.

The man was stubborn at the best and worst of times.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Eijirou quipped,lacking any of the usual warmth that accompanied it. Bakugou’s fist clenched, atwitch of his cheek the only sign that the man hit the nerve he’d been aimingfor.

It was a dig at him; they knew too much about each other forit not to be the case. It wasn’t just a prod at his temper but the IED as well.Bakugou clicked his tongue against his teeth, “don’t start with that Eijirou.You know the difference between them just as much as I do.”

“Yeah ‘cause thatexcuses it,” the redhead snorted, needling further. He was looking for a fight,and Bakugou could feel the temperature in the room drop as he pushed off thedoor frame. He really didn’t want toget into it with him when he was like this; it was like an open flame flirtingwith gasoline.

They’ve said things at each other in anger before, they’vefought like any couple, but this one hit harder than anything else—it was justsomething about how Eijirou was behaving mixed with the suggestion that hiswords provided.

It didn’t sit with Bakugou right.

He crossed the distance between them, brushing shit away ashe passed. Bakugou grabbed hold of the shirt he wore, pulling the other manforward then whipping him around and slamming him back into the closest wall. Hebarred his teeth, sneering up at his husband, "do I need to drag you outto some abandoned lot and have us kick the shit outta each other? 'Cause Ifucking will."

Eijirou blinked, mouth falling open. “That’s…” he stared,then stopped himself.

“It’s not anything but a couple of guys kicking the shit outof each other,” Bakugou stated, pushing back as he released the other’s shirt. Eijiroucouldn’t meet his gaze as he paused, it was somewhere locked on his neck. “Cleanthis shit up,” the blond sighed, “I’ll finish dinner.”

-

Eijirou found him in the living room with Blast and Red backout of their cage, the white bellied (Red) caique bouncing along on the coffeetable talking non-stop while the black headed caique (Blast) lay on his back inBakugou’s lap as the man played with his belly.

Bakugou glanced up, “you good?”

The other man sat, running his hand through wet strands ofred. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve—”

Bakugou snorted, “I’ve said worse shit to you when we’refighting.” That one just hit something still a little sore. “It’s payback, in away. Shows that even you, as fucking sickeningly sweet that you are, are pettyenough to hit at sore spots to start a fight. Makes me feel a bit better when Iknow I’m not the only fucked up one in this relationship.”

“Katsuki,” the other frowned, “don’t excuse this. I knew it’llhurt and I did it anyways. You’re always saying to not let you get away withthat stuff, so don’t let me either. I shouldn’t have brought this home with me—andI shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He leaned forward, setting Blast on the table beside Red(who continued to Bop, Bop, Bop around talking to himself) before leaning backagainst the arm of their three-seater. “Then what’s fucking you up?”

Eijirou looked away, watching the two birds as Blast tackledRed and the pair began their wrestle. Bakugou sat silently, watching the otherman watch them, for what seemed like minutes. “Five people died; I could’ve gotthere sooner—I could have saved them.”The man looked up at him then, lashes full of unfallen tears.

And Bakugou got it—fuck, you never could forget those days.

He moved leaning in and pulling his husband towards him, “c’mer.”He pressed a kiss to his temple; he didn’t have words for it, wasn’t fluentenough in comforting conversations. He didn’t try. Bakugou simply held him;there wasn’t much else he could do save that.

[promisedyouforever]

dementophobia, chapter five

I had a time and a half wrestling with this!  But finally, here it is!

PAIRING: Ten x Rose RATING: Teen FIND IT:  Ao3 | Teaspoon ON TUMBLR: Part One * Part Two * Part Three * Part Four * Part Five

@lvslie ...!

Chapter Five

(See Part One for full comments)

Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and fifty-three minutes before:

The Doctor stopped them where they stood.  He’d not made much of the crowd at first, but looking at it now he saw it had more than doubled in only moments, a pace that was only increasing.

Dammit!  Pete’s unexpected presence had distracted him and yanked his hearts and thoughts in too many directions at once.

The mob was some distance away yet, but the gap was closing.  The unease Rose had momentarily chased away came swooping back through him to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Reflexively he tugged, pulling her closer.  She came easily, fingers tightening against his with one hand while the other wrapped around his arm.

“Doctor?”

“It’s… ”  He trailed off, searching the crowd with his superior vision.  His attention swam from person to person as he tried to pick out details, to piece together some idea of what was happening.  They were a diverse lot with no obvious commonalities beyond their humanity; yet here they were, united by something important enough to cut through such distinctions.  And they were tense, the low white noise of agitation rippling through the sea of bodies.

Many were dressed in street clothes, but a few wore what looked like uniforms, all the same shade of grey and all bearing some variety of the letters “MMH”.  They were far more nervous, and almost all hid their faces with handkerchiefs or scarves so that all he could see were eyes – jittery but fierce, anonymous eyes.

A few clutched what looked like photographs.  He  knew by the way they clung to them that they could only be pictures of loved ones.

He wasn’t sure which detail disturbed him most.

“Doctor?” Rose murmured again, snapping him out of his thoughts.  He glanced down at her.  “I think… This is some kind of protest, yeah?”

She’d seen enough social unrest in their travels together to know it when she saw it, a thought that gave him the peculiar sensation of simultaneous pride and guilt.  Slowly, still scanning the scene, he nodded.  “It is.”

But what was driving it?  He needed to know more; he had no idea why they were even in this universe, but he had a gut feeling this was connected.  He watched and weighed their options.

The mood in the plaza gradually escalated, and he circled the idea of fleeing the scene.  What had begun as nervous bravery was rising and changing, becoming the kind of restless edginess that whispers riot police and broken glass.  And the throng grew still, relentlessly, closing in fast.

He muttered, “This is very, very not good.”

Claustrophobic anxiety began to wrap itself around him, squeezing.  They weren’t safe here.  Telepathy dampened and time senses stressed by this universe’s unfamiliarity, there was still something, something scratching at the recesses of his mind.

Rose.  Rose isn’t safe.  The urge to pull her away grew until there and then she was the single overriding categorical imperative, a visceral need more important than breathing.

The warmth of her palm, skin against skin, conjured a flash of his empty reaching hand and electric air and her fingers losing their grip, white white walls and the blinding hungry pull of the Void.

Not safe.

That was all.

“We can’t be here,” he declared.  He took a backward step and moved her along with him.

She hesitated.  “Can’t we do something to help?”

He shook his head, apologetic but urgent.  “No.”

Whatever this was, it was beyond their control.  A deeply aggrieved populace was amassing, and they seemed on the brink of exploding into bright, violent flames.

A man holding a megaphone, features cloaked beneath a balaclava, shimmied up a lamppost near the government building.

Ah.  The match that lights the gasoline.

Something jostled the Doctor’s shoulder and he whirled to see people now moving in from behind them, rushing forward en masse now that events were underway.  Soon he and Rose would be surrounded, absorbed in the mob and cut off from exit.

He began to say so when someone darted between them, severing the lifeline of their joined hands.  They fought to re-establish it as more people crushed in around them until finally, he caught her reaching fingers and pulled, forcibly dragging her free.

Breathless, she leaned into him and squeaked, “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 “Just stay with me.”  He tightened his hold on her.  “And don’t let go.”

She pressed closer.  “Not a chance.”

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Rose flailed, eyes screwed shut, all knees and elbows and fists pummelling empty air to fend off some invisible attacker.

Without thinking, the Doctor scrabbled to get a grip on her.  Her response was a sweeping roundhouse punch aimed at his head.

He yelped and caught her wrist just before the blow hit home.  Snatching the other one up for good measure, he trapped her hands tight against his chest.

She kicked and yanked, struggling with all the panicked fury of a wild animal.  Amazed at her strength and fearful she’d hurt herself, he still knew better than to let go.  All he could do was yell, “Rose, stop!  Stop!  Rose!  

“Stop!”

At his last and loudest she slumped back, surrendering to lie trapped, red-faced and snarling.  Her breath came fast and shallow, her brows pulled wire tight over sealed eyelids.

Something feral growled across the surface of his brain.  It was chuffing, sniffing – looking for a way in.

Then it was gone, vanishing before he could be certain it was ever really there, and Rose left him no time to consider it.  Her head snapped back suddenly against the pillow.

She howled.

The sound of it sent razor blade shivers across his skin.  It was utterly alien, even to him, a strange multiplicity somehow deafening and haunting, enraged and frightened and mournful all at once.

And so very, very wrong.

His throat constricted; this… creature wasn’t her.

It wasn’t Rose.

He’d found her – had it really been only moments ago?

He’d found her, and yet she was still missing.

But he’d seen her, caught that glimpse just before she lost consciousness.  She’d recognised him.  She was there.

She had to be.  Whatever had set this off, she had to be alive still, inside somewhere and just – just misplaced.  He could not believe anything else.  If he could just calm her enough…

He rallied, determined to do whatever it took to be heard over the ear-splitting keen.  “Stop, love, stop!  I’ve got you; it’s alright..  you can do this…  I’ve got you… you’re safe…”

He kept on for what seemed so long but could only have been seconds, a persistent litany of urging and reassuring, demanding and pleading.  None of it did any good, and the only option he had left would be too dangerous to try if he couldn’t soothe her at all.  He had to find a way.

After an inhumanly long time her lungs were spent.  He rushed into the brief quiet with a voice now hoarse from shouting, and words never said spilled out in a ragged tumble.  “Please, Rose, open your eyes.  I know you’re there.  You’ve got to come back.  I need you.  You’re scaring me now.  Please.  Please.”

She drew a long breath, prelude to another wild cry, and he couldn’t keep the muddy, thick tangle of emotion and frustration from flooding him.  Without thought he burst out, “For fuck’s sake, Rose, it’s me!”

The second scream died on her lips.  Her eyes flew open wide.

He’d shocked himself with his own profanity, but maybe that had done it.  He could not stop a glimmer of hope from rising.  A heartsbeat passed, then two, and he waited, but she seemed frozen.  Tentatively, softly, he called her name again.

She startled at the sound, and her vision skittered blindly across empty space, searching for the source.  Her pupils were huge.

Huge and ringed with swirls of luminous gold.  He swallowed past the sudden stone in his throat.

“Rose?”

The unnerving glow flared into fiery clarity, bright and sure and no longer sightless.  Preternaturally swift, her eyes shot up and nothing short of infinity was staring straight and unblinking into the darkest corners of him. 

A voice that was still not quite hers whispered, “They know.”

What?

“They know,” she repeated.

“They’re coming.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, that wasn’t it.  Confusion hammered home once more how little he still knew, how efficiently he’d been stonewalled from the very beginning as he stammered, “What? Who?  Who’s coming?  The Ministry?  Who?”

The light in her eyes flashed white hot.

“Everyone.”

 ~~0~~

 Twenty one days, seventeen hours, and forty-one minutes before:

The Doctor moved against the current as nimbly as he could, darting between people, pushing and squeezing past the ever tightening crush of protesters moving in.  Rose slowed him down but he kept an iron grip on her hand and pulled her along with him.

Forty minutes:

He stopped for an instant, and she stumbled into him gracelessly.

He glanced up, gauging their position, and saw they’d made some progress.  Just another few metres and –

Behind them, a megaphone crackled to life and the crowd hushed, stilled with anticipation.  He took advantage of the distraction and quickened his already frantic pace.

Thirty-nine minutes:

The voice of unrest boomed through the speaker, shouting, “What do you want?”

A split second of silence followed, then a lone voice, elderly and fragile, found the courage and cried out in a thick Welsh accent, “I want me son back!”

That was the spark that lit the fire, and the crowd roared to life.

Thirty-eight minutes:

Chaos poured in around them.  A wall of people surged forward, taking the Doctor stumbling with them.

Rose lost her footing completely and plummeted in the opposite direction.

Thirty-seven minutes and 47.6744 seconds:

Her hand was wrenched violently away from him.

Adrenaline flooded him and he dove toward her, crashing into people, heaving them aside and using his own weight to clear a path.  He barely noticed – all he saw was glimpses of blonde moving too fast away from him; all he heard was the roar of his own ears and her voice calling him.

A flash of prescient induction insisted he wasn’t going to reach her.  He ignored it.

Then without warning a heavy gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and sent him spinning.  Before he could react the same hand caught him off balance and shoved.

He hit the ground.  His head cracked hard against the pavement.  It lolled sideways against his will, his cheek pressed into something wet and dark and mixed with the scrape of gravel.

Blood.  His.

Oh gods. Rose.

Everything went blurry at the edges and impending darkness poured over him like thick honey, cloying and heavy and dragging him under.

He fought, willing himself to stay awake, to get up, to get back to Rose.

His body wouldn’t respond.

Disjointed, distorted flashes swam across his vision.  Black boots.  Military uniforms.   The swing of a rifle.

Memory and waking nightmares bled hazy redwhite into the now, and it was the boots of Cybermen he saw, and it was Torchwood and Daleks and the crackling smell of voidstuff and the end, the end of it all.

don’t no hang on hang on

Her fingers weren’t strong enough and he couldn’t reach her, could do nothing but watch as she fell into the impossibly white absence-of and how could nothing be so bright?  She crossed into it and in 0.005 nanoseconds the static devoured her without so much as a flicker.

She was gone.

Gone, and forever ended.  Gone and he followed her, pulled into the light as the healing coma overtook him.

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Pete snatched his overcoat from its hook and shook it at Maddie. “How did you let this happen?”

Anger flashed in Maddie’s eyes before he saw it harnessed, pressed into defiance.  “I did not ‘let it happen’!  You’ve been running it all, Pete!  We’ve done everything, everything you asked, and more!”

“Well, obviously your surveillance of him leaves something to be desired,” he snapped.

She opened her mouth and he knew it was to tell him what he already knew – how hard the alien had been to find, how something about this “Doctor” had eluded their best (admittedly alien provided) equipment.

He cut her off before she could start.  “And her protocol damned well better hold!”

“It ought to!” she shot back.  He raised his eyebrows at the less than complete confidence in her voice and she threw an annoyed glance at the ceiling.  “We’ve never done this before, rewriting the memory centers so extensively.”  She sighed. “I told you there were risks, Pete.  I told you from the beginning this could open her up to brain injury.”

With more difficulty than he would have liked, he managed to keep his voice level, though it was weighted with sarcasm.  “Well, what is your best prediction, Madame Scientist?”

She narrowed her eyes at him then took a beat to consider it. Her growing frown told him that he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

“Well, Pete, let’s think through it,” she said, no small measure of edginess in her own voice.  “We had to reprogram everything specifically for her from the ground up. But you know you’re the only one who has the termination sequence. It’s permanently dormant unless you activate it, and it should stay that way.”

He sensed she wasn’t telling him everything.  “But?”

“But,” she said on a huge exhale, “that might be a problem itself. I honestly can’t predict the outcome of going offline without the termination protocol intact.  It’s never happened.  Her brain could retain its current state, revert, or wind up so much mash she can’t tie her own shoelaces.  There are too many variables.”

It was hardly reassuring, not close to enough; a feeling he couldn’t quite identify was getting louder, more difficult to keep at bay, and it was egging him on. “Maddie, goddamit!  If Rose is hurt – ”

She barked a short, humorless laugh, and he was thoroughly taken aback by the venom in her voice.  “Bit rich to worry about that now.”

At that, a wave swept over him the likes of which he hadn’t felt in a long time.  He drew himself up to his full height and pinned her in place with hard and dangerous eyes. For the first time in their history, to him they were no longer bickering spouses – she was the Minister, but he was the Autocrat, the only person alive more powerful than she was.

“If this ends badly,” he ground out, each word delivered with military precision, “I will hold you responsible.”

Shocked but unflinching, her chin angled up and she glared back at him with a menacing expression that promised devastation should he go too far.  “Try it, Peter,” she hissed.

For an instant everything slammed to a halt as each of them stared the other down.  Then something broke through in Pete, piercing the steel sheen of his authority.  It was that feeling again, the sharp graveyard nails of something ancient and rusty.  Something that had died forty-three years ago.

It bloomed in his awareness like the blood of a wounded soldier, a vivid crimson-stained flower on crisp white.

It was fear. Fear of losing his daughter.

It was making him rash.

Suddenly exasperated, he shook himself from whatever had overtaken him and barked, “Oh, God, we’re just wasting time!”

Maddie’s expression was inscrutable as he yanked on his overcoat.  He ignored her, hoping she’d forgive him later.  At least insofar as she ever forgave him anything.

He headed toward the doorway as he spoke.  “Tell the agent to wait for reinforcements unless they try to leave, and get a team down there, now.  I want all of your best people.”

She gave him a curt nod and moved two fingers toward the skin behind her ear when he interrupted.

“You go with them, understand?”

Again, she nodded.  “What about you?”

Pete set his jaw.  “Oh, I’m coming with you.”

Again she began to speak, and again he ploughed over her. The need to settle this and settle it permanently clawed at him relentlessly now.  “No argument.  I’m personally retrieving my daughter and doing what I should have done before.  No more protocols.  I don’t care what state she’s in.  Your doctors and technicians will come to her.  I’m bringing her directly under my care.”

She seemed to know better than to question him.  “Alright, then.”

He turned away then back, almost as an afterthought, to give her one last order. “And tell them to get rid of that damn alien the first time anyone gets a clear shot.”

 ~~0~~

 PRESENT:

Everyone.

The Doctor stared at this not-quite-Rose, into those unending eyes, and a bone deep chill rippled through him and he had no words at all to ask exactly what she meant.

Suddenly she broke away from his gaze and wrenched her hands from him with incredible strength only to pound her fists into the mattress beneath her – once, then again, and again.  He was frozen, gaping and unable to process what was happening.

With the fourth impact, her back arched.

She began to spark, veins beneath her skin lighting up with streaks of gold, what looked for all the world like –

energy.  Vortex energy.

Impossible!

She looked like she was about to regenerate.

For all its might, his so-impressive, massive brain fell poverty-stricken and he stared at her with owlish shock and unabashed awe.

With one last, mighty slam of her fists, her face morphed somehow and even her body shifted, and the glow abruptly vanished.

She blinked and he knew in an instant she was finally finally there, just Rose, his Rose.  He forgot everything else and saw only her, and a muffled sob of relief escaped him.

She pushed herself up slowly with trembling arms, eyes darting everywhere as she took in her surroundings.  Gingerly, he lowered himself to sit beside her, and as the bed dipped and she sat up fully under her own power, those eyes landed on him.

They were amber and hazel and only Rose, all Rose, full of bewilderment.

“Doctor?”  Her voice was small and hoarse.  “Where are we?  What hap – ”

He didn’t try to rein himself in, didn’t even let her finish her sentence before he shot forward, wrapping her in his arms, enveloping her completely. Disoriented, still she returned the embrace without question, and it undid him completely.  He held on, stroking her hair without letting go, rocking them both back and forth and murmuring her name until tears closed his throat and stung his eyes.

There was a rustle from somewhere behind them and a dumbfounded voice stammered, “What – What the hell was, was – that?!?”

George.  He’d forgotten the man was even there.

He ignored him and only tightened his hold on Rose.

Held on.  He held on and held on and couldn’t seem to stop until he realised the tables had turned. She was practically rocking him now, shushing and smoothing her hands along his back as she whispered gentling, comforting words.  “Shhh, s’alright, we’re alright, I’m okay, Doctor, I’ve got you, it’s alright…”

He should be the one saying those things.

He pulled back and she took a deep breath, composed herself and met his gaze.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He should be asking her that.

He cleared his throat and nodded slowly, looking back at her through red,  raw eyes. “I am now.”

The meaning of that wasn’t lost on her, its honesty surprising.  “Something bad happened to me, didn’t it?”

He didn’t know how to begin, what to tell her, what she recalled. His hand leapt to the back of his neck, mussing his disheveled hair even more.  “Erm, well – let’s start off this way.  What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were in the Tardis and… and we had a rough landing, yeah? Did I hit my head or something?”

Another wave of relief washed over him – could it be she remembered nothing of the past three weeks?

But... no, he’d lied to her before, and he vowed never to do it again.  “No.  Absolutely no head injuries allowed in the Tardis,” he said, trying to lighten the weight of it.

She half-smiled.  “Okay.  But that’s the last thing – ”

Abruptly she switched direction.

“No, wait!  That’s not right.  I… you weren’t…”  She cocked her head, concentrating.  “I was in a really posh room, and I – did I live there once?  I was playing chess with… I dunno.”

Chess?

She shook her head, frowning, and he watched as her thoughts doubled back on themselves.  “No.  No.”

Her frown grew puzzled, then dread began to steal away her confidence.  “I don’t play chess!” she insisted.  She gave him a pleading look.  “Do I?”

Her confusion was what he’d expected, but this made him wonder just how much the Ministry had mucked about with her brain.  There had only been the one time, in the library, when he’d tried to teach her to play chess. She loathed it.

He took her hand and replied softly, “No, you don’t play chess. It’s alright, though.  I expected you’d be a bit confused.”

Though his touch was welcome comfort, she was still on the verge of tears.  She shook her head again.  “Yeah, but that’s not – I – Doctor, it’s all mixed up!  Are you sure I didn’t hit my head?”

“I’m sure.”  He opened his arms and said, “Come here.”  She leaned over gratefully and curled into him until she was sitting in his lap like a lost child.  He’d never seen her so vulnerable; she was always so strong.  He wanted to wrap his hands around the neck of whoever was responsible for taking that away from her.

“It’s alright,” he murmured into her hair.  “I promise.  We’ll get back home and I’ll get you fixed right up, you’ll see.”

She quieted then, and it helped him ease himself down from everything they’d just been through as well.  Gradually, other thoughts began trickling through, events to file away for examination later.  Then he caught a glimpse of poor George, sitting in the desk chair now and staring at them with a look bordering on shell-shocked.

How, exactly, was he going to get her back home?

With a jolt, he remembered the warning.

They’re coming.

He had to get her out of there.

At that instant Rose stirred and he glanced down at her. It seemed she’d had a thought of her own.

She looked up at him and asked, “Doctor?  Where’s Dad?”

As if a trap door had opened, his stomach plunged past the floorboards.

 ~~0~~

 INDETERMINATE:

A leviathan Consciousness stirred.  Something had disrupted a connection, severing a link in the collective web that sustained and nourished all things in its realm.  Untroubled, the Consciousness moved without motion through space that was not space, seeking the source of the disturbance in the simultaneous everywheres that were not and yet were.

So many tiny creatures, so distracted, so fraught with the mundanity of their fleeting and finite three dimensional lives.  The Mind was so often (what a strange concept, often) replacing them.

Easily the disturbance was located.

Oh.  The gap in the web was bigger than expected.

The Mind stopped and looked again.

Peter Tyler.  The small one who thought himself an emperor. It had been nothing to discern that his offspring was the one of true importance.

And she’d been cut off, disconnected somehow.

The Consciousness peered more closely.

Outrage rippled along Its not-body.

The Doctor.

    to be continued...

[biluata]

Our Hearts Run on Gasoline - Quakerider One-shot

Words: 4,356

Request #2: Robbie and Daisy meet at an illegal street race

No Powers AU Meet-Cute with Dramatic Action and Sweet Moments

Read on Ao3: Here

Racing was in Robbie's blood. His father knew it from the day Robbie was born, just like his father before him. All the Reyes men were racers, and Robbie was no exception.

As the night was reaching eleven o'clock, Robbie rolled up in his custom '69 Charger at the crowded parking lot of an abandoned furniture store in East Los Angeles. Reggaeton blasted through the warm, night air and the beats hummed through his chest. Several tricked-out cars painted in obnoxiously loud colors filled the space and were proudly shown off by their owners to the flocks of people gathered around. While some were just there to dazzle with their sweet sound systems and fancy LED light shows, there were a few mean-looking vehicles who came to play.

Robbie grinned as he reached and gently patted the dash of his beloved Charger, Lucy. She might be a classic beauty, but she could still give all the other guys a run for their money. He and his Uncle Eli had made sure of that.

Robbie pulled up into an empty spot where several of his friends had already gathered around to laugh, chat and drink the night away.

"There he is!" Juan announced as he draped one arm over Robbie's open driver window while the other hand held his beer high in the air. "The man! The myth! The legend! The Ghost Rider!"

Cheers erupted from his friends as they raised their beers then chugged them down. Robbie chuckled as he parked his car and got out. "You know that's just a stupid nickname," he said, pushing Juan and his gaudy, bright orange-and-black bowling shirt aside.

Juan laughed then held his beer bottle close to his mouth like a microphone. Robbie rolled his eyes. Not this shit again.

"They say he sold his soul to the Devil in order to get his sweet ride," Juan continued in a deep voice reminiscent of an old radio announcer. "You never see him coming until you already lost. He is. . ."

"The Ghost Rider!" Ricky, Mateo and Felipe hollered by the trunk of his car. They all immediately bawled into hysterical laughter, holding on to each other to keep themselves from falling over.

Robbie shook his head with grin. They teased, but it was all in good fun. These were his people after all, his friends. Ever since Uncle Eli got sent to South Ridge Penitentiary four years ago for attempted manslaughter, they had been there for him like no other. Besides Gabe, these guys were his family.

"Honestly, you guys, that's enough," Lisa chided with a roll of her eyes, pushing the three aside and walking up to him and Juan. Robbie smiled, but quickly averted his eyes. She was wearing an outfit that was highly appropriate for the summer heat, but also highly inappropriate for public eyes. Between her white crop top and her pale jean short shorts, she was showing enough skin to make a nun collapse on the spot.

She stopped only a few feet in front of him, but his nose was still overpowered by the scent of her floral perfume. "H-hey, Robbie," she said in a high-pitched tone. Lisa leaned against his car, twirling one of her long brown curls and batting her dark lashes at him.

"Uh, hey, Lisa," he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. To say she had a crush on him was obvious. Robbie wasn't a complete idiot. And Lisa was a sweet girl, very pretty, too. The only problem was she was Juan's cousin, and if Juan was like a brother to him, Lisa was like a little sister.

He had tried dropping hints over the years that he was not interested, but to no avail. She still kept showing up to the races, to his work, and even to his home with a sweet smile, googly eyes, and sometimes a delicious baked good. He liked her. She was a good friend, but that's all she would ever be. At this point, Robbie could only pray she'd meet a guy someday who would make her forget all about him.

"You know, I'm here, too, cuz," Juan scoffed from beside him.

Lisa shot him a scowl before turning her big hazel eyes back to Robbie and flipping on her charming smile. "So, how are things? Did Gabe finally decide to come this time?" She asked, glancing around.

A stabbing pain pierced his heart and he bowed his head a little. Gabe never approved of Robbie's street-racing hobby. Besides the fact it was illegal, it could also be highly dangerous. One bad blowout and that could be the end for any driver. He's seen it before, has even gotten close to crashing himself a few times, but ultimately Robbie decided that the rewards were better than the risks.

Robbie had been trying for years to get Gabe to come with him to the races, to maybe see why he enjoyed it so much, but to no avail. It turned out tonight wasn't going to be any different.

He sighed. "Nah, he said he had homework to do."

"On a Friday night, are you serious?" Juan asked.

"Oh, hush," Lisa said, smacking her cousin's arm. She then gave Robbie an empathetic smile and placed a tender hand on his shoulder. "That's too bad, but, hey, at least he's such a good student."

Robbie smiled. That was true. Gabe was one of the smartest kids in his school, and he really couldn't stay made at him for that. He was going to go places, which is more than he could say for other kids in this city.

"What your brother is, Reyes, is a nerd!"

Robbie groaned as his shoulders sagged. Ramirez, he thought bitterly.

Manolo Ramirez strolled up to Robbie's car looking like a Latino Elvis Presley with his black hair gelled up into a tall pompadour and his floral shirt only half-buttoned up. He wore a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses despite it being night and had two gorgeous women hanging onto him, one under each arm. They were so similar, they had to be twin sisters who seemed to have just walked out of the cover of a fashion magazine.

Robbie sighed. Manolo was a decent racer, could even give Robbie a run for his money at times, but he always had to appear like the biggest fake and asshole in the world.

"Hey, Manny," Robbie said, forcing a smile on his face. He brushed off Lisa's hand as he stepped closer to his rival.

"Tonight is the night, Reyes," Manny stated with a flash of his shiny, whitened teeth. "You're going down!"

"Funny, Manolo!" Juan called from behind him. "That's what I was telling your sister last night!"

An explosion of hooting laughter and hollering erupted within a ten-foot radius around Juan. His friends jumped around the small space, howling and ramming into each other as if they lost their damn minds. Robbie stifled the laugh that bubbled through his chest with a grin instead.

Manny's face was so red, his head could have ignited into flames any moment. He ripped his sunglasses off, eyes like poisoned daggers.

"Hey, Reyes," Manny said with a scowl that matched the acidic contempt in his voice. "You better watch your friend's mouth before either of you gets a fist in it."

A hushed "ooh" fell across the crowded group as their eyes glanced between Manny and him. Robbie let out a soft chuckle. "Manny, it's just good fun," he explained. Everyone knew Juan talked a lout of his ass. Robbie often took everything his friend said with a grain of salt. "Relax."

Manny sneered as he slipped his shades back on. "Whatever, man, I'll see you on the streets!"

Robbie shook his head as Manny walked off with the twins in tow. Every conversation with that guy was like dancing on broken glass.

"Eh, forget about him, Robbie," Juan said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "You know, for a guy with a lot of beautiful women around him, he hardly seems to get laid, huh?"

Robbie chuckled. "You may be right about that."

"You two are the worse," Lisa announced as she wedged herself in between them.

Suddenly, a cacophony of cheers, hoots and whistles rang through the night. Robbie straightened up, eyebrows scrunched together. What in the world? His eyes scanned the scene, widening when they found what everyone was making noise about.

A sleek cherry-red '62 Corvette slowly rolled onto the lot, sparkling magnificently even in the dim streetlights. Robbie bit his lower lip. Lucy may be his baby, but even he could recognize what a good-looking car this little beauty was. It was gorgeous from its smooth curves to its shimmering chrome adornments. His hand twitched. The mechanic in him was already itching to get a look under the hood and see how it ticked.

The crowd of watchers slowly backed up as the newcomer made their way through the lot and parked only a few spots away from where Robbie and his friends were.

"Who do you think it is?" Juan whispered. "You think it could be Lucas?"

Robbie shook his head. "Nah, Lucas is too much of a scrub to have a ride as fly as that. Maybe, it's another hotshot from Miami?" Those guys always rolled into town in the summer like they were such a big deal, but Robbie would knock them down a peg or two.

The driver's door popped open and a woman with short dark hair dressed in all black stepped out. Robbie raised his brows. Okay, he was not expecting that.

She slammed the door to the Corvette shut then turned, scanning the lot. Electricity danced across his skin as her heavy-shadowed eyes seemed to land on him. Was she looking at him? She had to be, because soon she was strutting his way.

Despite her small demeanor, the woman walked with her shoulders back and her head high. With each hard steeped of her heeled boots, it was like the ground shook beneath her. She oozed a confidence and swagger that warned anybody and everybody she was not one to be messed with. His heart rate began to pick up speed and he'd be lying if he said he didn't find her tough-girl act to be a little sexy as hell.

She stopped in front of Robbie and his group of friends, shoving her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and jutting her hip to the side as if she didn't have a care in the world. "Are these where the races are at?" She asked, taking her time to eye every single one of them. His heart jumped as her dark eyes settled on him, slowly looking him up and down.

"Um, yeah," Robbie answered, cringing as his voice cracked a little.

The woman nodded as her hands shuffled around in her pockets. When she pulled them back out, in each hand was a thick wad of twenty-dollar bills. "I want to join."

"In that?" Juan asked, nodding to her Corvette as everyone laughed.

Robbie smirked. Juan was right. She had a pretty sweet ride, but his Charger could easily smoke her.

"Don't worry," she said with a grin, her eyes flicking from Juan to him. "Lola has a few tricks up her sleeve."

He raised his brow. This could be interesting. "Okay, you see Big Bass over there by the pimped-out Scion XB?" Robbie gestured over to where the large Latino man, both tall and wide, in a blue sweat suit was chilling with a few scantily-clad women and a police monitor. "He runs these races. You should talk to him."

She nodded her head. "Cool, thanks." Her eyes roved over him one last time before she spun around and walked off.

"Tourists," Lisa spat quietly from beside him that garnered a few chuckles from his friends.

"Aw, come on, cuz," Juan cooed, draping an arm over her. "You're just jealous, because she kept giving Roberto the eyes."

Robbie's ears began to burn as Lisa's face turned a bright red, as well. "Wh-what? No!" She exclaimed hastily, shoving Juan so hard he nearly fell on his ass.

"Yeah," Robbie choked out, rubbing the back of his neck. "She was probably just trying to figure me out, you know, examine the competition."

"Right," Lisa said, nodding her head and smiling sweetly at him. His stomach churned. Crap. He didn't want to give Lisa the wrong idea, but he was also pretty sure that woman (no matter how hot she was) was not checking him out.

He scratched his chin. Although, if she was . . .

"Hey, hey, Robbie!" Big Bass called, shuffling his large figure over. "Homicide in Monterey and the cops are moving in. Now's the time, you in?"

Robbie's gut clenched as he nodded his head. It was a damn shame they could only race at the cost of somebody's life, but that's just how their world had to work. Robbie dug into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out several hundred dollar bills which Big Bass happily accepted.

"Cool, man, I'll see you at the start." Big Bass said then hastily headed off.

This was it. His time to shine.

"You got this, Robbie!" Lisa cheered, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Yeah, I got a lot of money riding on you, man!" Juan teased with a pat on his back. "So, don't fuck this up!"

Robbie laughed as he brushed Juan aside and opened the door to his Charger. "I don't plant to," he stated as he got in and slammed the door shut.

"Yeah, that's my boy!" Juan hollered.

The crowds of people quickly rushed to get out of the way as Robbie and the others drover their cars to the hastily thrown together starting line.

Manny was already there in his tricked out '08 Chevy Cobalt SS. Robbie chuckled. The damn thing looked like it just rolled off the set of a "Fast and Furious" movie with its silver paint job and shimmery purple flames on the side. Yep, it was a very Manolo-style car, alright.

Robbie sidled up his Charger alongside him. "Nice flames," he teased. "Think they might help?"

Manny sneered at him. "I hope you got a good look at my ass, Reyes, because that's all you're going to be seeing." He lowered his sunglasses down, pointing two V-sign fingers at his eyes then then over towards him.

Robbie snorted as he shook his head then noticed as the red Corvette pulled up on his right between him and Little Emilio's Honda Civic. So, he was going to be racing her after all. Robbie sat there admiring the fierceness on the newcomer's face as her hands tapped hastily on something in her dash. Her fingers moved with such a graceful dexterity, it was more like she was playing a piano than a car. He grinned. Yeah, this could prove to be a very interesting race.

He focused back up front as Big Bass came to stand out in front of the four cars. "Alright, alright, you guys know the rules, one lap around, first one back here is the winner, and if I--"

Robbie tuned him out. After nearly four years doing this, he knew the man's words by heart.

"We got this, Lucy," he whispered to his car as he did before every race. She had rarely failed him before, tonight wasn't going to be the exception despite what Manny jeered. Robbie gave Lucy's dash a gentle pat as Big Bass finished his speech and stepped off to one of the sides where the crowd of people from the parking lot gathered. His friends stood off to his left, clapping and giving him thumbs-up.

"Ready, racers?" Big Bass hollered.

Robbie revved Lucy's engine, which let out a guttural roar and flared the flaps on her blower. They were ready.

As Big Bass raised his arm to the sky, it was as if the world fell silent. Robbie couldn't even breathe as he waited, his stomach a churning mess and his foot twitching over the pedal.

Everything happened in slow motion and at the speed light at the same time. Big Bass' hand fell and Robbie took off faster than a bat out of hell.

He sunk back into his leather seat, hands tight on the wheel, as Lucy surged forward. His heart sputtered into overdrive, coursing energy through his veins. Everything was a blur around him with the only fixed point in his universe being the open road ahead and the needle climbing on his speedometer.

The biggest smile grew on Robbie's face as butterflies swarmed his chest. He swore there was no better feeling in the world than going fast in a car. With the windows down and the air rushing across his face, he was flying. It was magical, the indescribable connection between man and machine that made his whole body tingle. Whenever Robbie got in the driver seat, it was as if his heart and Lucy's engine became one.

Robbie shook himself from his euphoric stupor as the first turn came up ahead. He checked his rearview mirror to see he had gotten a good head start with Manny trailing at least a car behind and the other two lagging just behind him. Shifting gears, Robbie easily made the turn and maintained his lead.

They raced through the near empty streets of East L.A. like demons in the night, lacing the air with the acrid smell of burning rubber and exhaust. Although Manny would catch up with him at the turns, Robbie would still easily pull ahead. He laughed. Manny was probably fuming by now underneath those ridiculous shades.

The racers made one last turn and they were down to the final stretch. Robbie revved Lucy's engine and she roared like a black jaguar. This was it. There was no stopping them now.

He glanced at the rearview mirror and his eyes widened. While Manny was still behind him, Ms. Corvette was rapidly catching up to them. Fire and smoke spewed out of the back of her car, sending her forward at breakneck speeds. Robbie's jaw dropped. Were those rockets?! God, she hadn't been kidding when she said that her car had a few tricks.

Manny seemed to finally notice her sudden approach as his eyes bugged out to the size of saucer plates before narrowing into snake-like slits. "Not today, bitch!" He spat over the rushing wind.

As the newcomer tried to pass Manny by, he swerved his car into her. The harsh sound of smashing metal filled the night briefly followed by the shrill screaming of tires. Robbie's stomach dropped and his fingers went cold as the Corvette quickly spiraled out of control. Her brakes screeched as her car skidded into the brick exterior of a store, grinding in a spray of sparks to a halt.

Robbie couldn't breathe. His body was numbed. Was she okay? How could she be after a crash like that?

He glanced forward where victory only lay a few yards ahead then back to the steaming Corvette. His heart panged tight in his chest as he slammed on his brakes and peeled his car off to side of the road.

Robbie gritted his teeth as Manny passed him by with resounding hollers and whoops followed by Little Emilio. Once they were gone, he peeled Lucy around and sped back to the Corvette. Screeching to a standstill a few feet away from the wreck, Robbie wriggled out of his seatbelt and threw open the door. He hopped out, only stopping for a moment to slam his door shut before rushing over.

The air stunk heavy of burnt rubber and leaking fuel. His gut heaved, but he managed to make sure his dinner didn't make a second appearance. Glass littered the ground along with a few torn pieces of metal. Luckily, the car wasn't on fire, but steam billowed out of the front like an active volcano. His heart was beating faster than a jackhammer as he slowed down near the driver's side. Robbie held his breath and prayed that he wasn't about to find a dead body.

The woman lay in the driver's seat with a deflated bag on her lap and several bits of shattered glass in her hair. She was pale, her eyes half-closed and a line of blood trickling down her forehead. A sweeping coolness ran through his body when he saw the rapid rising and falling of her chest, and he damn near collapsed onto the ground. She was alive, a little battered and bruised with a few cuts on her face, but alive.

"Hey, hey, stay with me, you're okay," he said, gingerly resting a hand on her shoulder.

The woman jolted awake as if his was lightning. She gasped for air, her wide eyes searching around until they landed on him. His heart fluttered wildly in his chest. Her chocolate brown eyes, even if they were reminiscent of a deer in a headlight, were gorgeous. He hadn't been able to notice it before, but now, with their faces only a foot apart, he could truly appreciate how mesmerizing they were. They even had little flecks of gold that shimmered like stars.

"Wh-what?" She coughed out.

Robbie blinked his eyes. Right. There were important things to worry about right now. He took in a deep breath. "You were just in an accident," he explained in his gentlest tone. "But, it's okay. You're okay."

She nodded her head, but her eyes still seemed dazed. Shakily, she undid her seatbelt and Robbie backed up as she opened the driver's door.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Robbie said, offering a hand as she slowly staggered out of her car. The woman swatted it aside with her left hand, but immediately doubled over, crying out in pain. His body tensed. "Hey, let me take a look?"

She watched him warily, considering him like a wild animal and wondering if he would bite. She said nothing as she held out her left arm. Robbie slowly unzipped the sleeve of her jacket and smoothed it back. He then held her arm in one of his hands while the other softly tapped up her arm. When his fingers touched halfway to her elbow, she flinched, sucking air sharply through gritted teeth.

Robbie nodded. "Your arm's fractured, but not completely broken. I could take you to the hospital."

"No!"

His shoulders jumped at the harshness of her voice. The woman roughly brushed him off with her good arm, but she still winced at the pain the movement caused her injury. "No hospitals. I-I can't."

He held his arms up, showing her his palms. There was a dark fear in her eyes like an animal caught in a corner. His head tilted a little. Was it just something against hospitals, or was she afraid she could be arrested if she turned up at one? Either way, she probably wasn't going to tell him. "Okay," he agreed. "No hospitals."

She nodded, her body slowly relaxing once more.

"But you really need to get that checked out," he said, stepping closer.

She stepped back. "I'll be fine." She looked away from him and her eyes widened. "But Lola won't."

Robbie followed her gaze and immediately cringed. The once beautiful Corvette was now in a terribly dismal state. The windshield was gone with only a few shards of glass hanging around the frame. The front end was concaved in where it hit a street sign and the hood now stood up like a pitched tent. The right side rested against the wall, but if the missing side mirror was any sign, Robbie figured it wasn't looking too pretty, either. At least, the left side was only dented in slightly from when Manny bumped into her, and it seemed like the back end was fine, as well. All in all, it could have been worse.

"Shit!" She muttered under her breath, running a hand through her short, dark locks. "Coulson is going to kill me."

Robbie cocked his head to the side. Coulson? Who was Coulson? Her boyfriend? Her really handsome auto-enthusiast boyfriend? He sighed as he shook his head. What was he doing? Now, again, was not the time for such thoughts.

Tears brimmed in her eyes that threatened to spill over any second, but she bit her bottom lip and took in a deep, shaky breath to force them back. He raised his brow. God, she really was tough.

"Hey, it'll be okay." Robbie walked up to her as she examined the front end of her car and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm a mechanic and I've been able to fix up cars in much worse states than this."

"Wait, really?" Her narrow eyes flicked between his face and his hand, but she didn't make any moves to oppose. "You can fix her?"

He nodded. Robbie still remembered when his uncle rolled Lucy into Canelo's one night. Poor thing was barely a car at all, and now it was the baddest ride in all of East L.A. If he could do that with almost nothing, he was certain he could fix her Corvette.

"Yeah. Well, it might be a little heard to get some parts, depending on what we are working with, but I could probably get it done in a few weeks, one month tops."

The woman tilted her head as she stared at him like he was one of the strangest puzzles she's ever seen. The kind of puzzle where you have no idea how it got put together but the end product was undeniably amazing. Robbie grinned. It was great to see her being in his place for a change.

"Thanks," she murmured.

He smiled as he removed his hand from her shoulder and held it out. "I'm Robbie. Robbie Reyes."

She slowly accepted his hand, sharing a small, dazzling smile back that made the stars pale in comparison. "Daisy."

[mctalcladboot-archive-blog]

Self-Para || Origins

Set: Remnant. Pre-roleplay. Pre-Season 3 Spoilers: Contains heavy spoilers around Mercury from Season 3 Triggers: Dismemberment. Abuse. Self-Mutilation. Alcoholism. Blood. Arson. Guns/Knives/Weapons. Murder. Death.

* Note that this is heavily headcanon based on what happened before meeting Cinder and Emerald. If Mercury’s backstory is ever actually explored (which I doubt it will be in season 4, if ever at all :c) I will probably adapt to it when it comes.

5 hours

Mercury was smart. He watched, waited, and planned. It was one of his greatest skills. And, hopefully, it would be his saving grace. See, Mercury knew his father’s schedule. It was simple, really. He’d leave in the morning for a hit. Finish and head towards a tavern by noon. By five, they’d force him to leave. Now Marcus Black wasn’t a stupid man even in a drunken haze. ‘Don’t bite the hand that provides alcohol’. He wouldn’t be happy about being kicked out but, if he wanted to go back the next day, he couldn’t actually kill anyone. So he’d take his one hour stumble back home. Back to Mercury. No hassle there. As long as he didn’t KILL Merc, he’d always have an outlet.

Heh. Maybe it would just be better for him if his father just did. It would save Mercury a world of pain.

Hands clenching his bed sheets, Mercury stared numbly down. His legs were basically useless. He wasn’t paralysed. No, he could still feel them.That was the fucking problem. Nothing in his life could just be EASY. Marcus knew Mercury used his legs to fight. He’d been the one to fucking TEACH him. So he knew damn well that they were his lifeline. His greatest possession. His weaponised boots laid in a corner, unused for weeks now. He’d been PROUD when he made them and he had thought that alone would give him enough force to get the hell out of here.

Marcus didn’t see it that way.

His legs felt like shattered glass. Every little movement resulted in excruciating pain. It had for weeks now. Nothing changed. His aura could heal superficial wounds but they couldn’t repair shattered bone. They couldn’t fix the scars that tore through his nerves and left them limp. They were useless now. Dead weight. And if Mercury wanted to survive, he needed to utilise the time he had.

And damn straight Mercury wanted to SURVIVE.

Swallowing heavily, his eyes moved to the large and extremely sharp knife laying at his side. Marcus wasn’t as cleaver as he liked to think he was. He wasn’t as observant as Mercury. Maybe, if he had been, he would have noticed Mercury stealing from his Dust supply. He might have noticed how much time Mercury spent in the wheelchair slaving away in the backroom working on his latest weapon. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t.

It wasn’t a surefire plan and that terrified Mercury. The idea of cutting them off made his stomach lurch on his own, but he couldn’t know if the replacements would WORK. It wasn’t something he could ‘try on’ beforehand. To the side laid his latest creation; his Dust powered prosthetics. In the back of his mind he remembered one of his father’s lessons. How ‘weapons were an extension of yourself’. That sounded fucking twisted now, even to him.

Reaching over, Mercury took the knife in hand, cursing at himself when his hand began to shake. He didn’t want to do this. HE HAD TO. As if on cue, his eye began to ache and his legs seized sending a fresh wave of AGONY through him. Gripping the knife with both hands, his teeth clenched as he tried to force himself through this. He didn’t have a choice anymore. They were useless.. and if he didn’t get out soon, the rest of him would be too. This was his best chance.

Tightening his grip, Mercury lowered the blade.

4 hours

Mercury was shaking. His hands stained with blood. The blood-loss was leaving him lightheaded. He’d tied up above the knee beforehand but it was still so much. Breathing in, Mercury could hear his voice shiver, his eyes blurry with tears. He could still feel them. It was stupid, he knew they weren’t there anymore, but his body just didn’t understand. Now, along with the brittle glass, he felt fire. His aura was working rapidly to repair what it could, to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t enough. They were gone. He just wanted to lay there and grieve. To curl up and cry. Pride be damned, he just wanted to scream and wallow in self-pity. His lungs were already raw, a reminder that he’d already done that much. But Mercury had a plan and he had an opening. He couldn’t just give in now.

Wiping his hands on a prepared cloth, he tried not to stare at the blood left behind. His blood. Taking a sharp breath, Mercury inched the prosthetic closer.

3 hours

They fit. Of course they would. He designed them. Still, there was a wave of relief that hit him. He had to adjust them of course, but they fit. And they MOVED. He could still feel the dull phantom pain but he could live with that. Pulling his pant legs over his new limbs, he cursed when blood began to drench through. It was healing but not as fast as he’d like. Using a cloth, Mercury tied around where the prothetic joint met skin, pulling tight despite the pain to add pressure. The prosthetic would be a bitch to clean later but Mercury didn’t have time to wait it out. He had to get use to them NOW.

Readying himself, Mercury forced himself on unsteady legs. It had been too long since he’d walked, prosthetic or not. Teetering, Mercury lent on a bedside table for support. Cursing, Mercury inched his feet further, mapping out the movement. They worked just like his old legs. It shouldn’t be this hard. Steeling himself, he let go of the draw, taking an unsteady step closer to his door. To his boots. He had to get use to it NOW.

2 hours

The bleeding had stopped. His pants were stained and he still felt weak, but it was progress. He couldn’t afford to pass-out. Walking was getting easier. Being stuck in the chair for so long, it had been difficult work, but Mercury had a schedule of his own. In time, he was able to build up a run. Then a kick. His boots triggered just as they always had. Sure, Mercury’s legs weren’t exactly Atlas standards, but they worked fluidly. They reacted to his movements just as his old legs had. They triggered the boots just as usual. It was different, of course. He still stumbled and it screwed up. But he was counting on Marcus being drunk. It wouldn’t be his cleanest fight but it was his most important. Turning to his father’s desk, Mercury raised his leg and kicked it, the boot triggering and sending it across the room with an explosion.

The recoil almost tripped up Mercury, his foot lowering quickly to save him. He wasn’t perfect on his feet yet but it would do. Walking (Ha. Walking. Fuck you, dad) towards the workshop, Mercury made his way to the gasoline.

He was going to burn the Goddamn place down.

1 hour

Sweat slicked down Mercury’s face, his legs trembling in effort to keep him upright as the heat of the flames bathed over him. It felt good watching it all burn. The sun was slowly beginning to set, the flames sending and eerie glow over Mercury. He’ll see it soon, Mercury reminded himself.  He’ll be pissed. Mercury was counting on it. One of you is going to die. Stepping back, he slowly turned and headed further down the pathway, away from the fire. And it wont be me.

0 hours

“What the FUCK?”

Tired and aching, Mercury kept an unwavering gaze on his father. Just on time. Like clockwork. “Hey, dad.” His throat hurt and his chest squeezed in protest as he spoke. He wasn’t going to let that get in the way though. A part of him wondered what unsettled Marcus more: their burning home or the fact his son was standing after mutilating his legs beyond repair.

Probably the latter, Mercury reasoned.

“You shit,” Marcus slurred, stumbling a step. For once, Mercury was happy to see his father so disoriented and clearly drunk. It actually gave Mercury an upper-hand for once. “What the fuck have you done?”

Shrugging, Mercury felt the whirr of his boots as he triggered a reload. Vaguely, his aura could sense the presence of others. Witnesses. Frowning, he tried to keep his focus on Marcus. If they tried to intervene he didn’t know if he could win this. He wasn’t counting on that. “Shit,” he hissed, raising his fists and putting his right foot forward. He had to finish this quick. If he had to be caught, let them do it after he got his revenge.

Marcus made the first move. Watching. Waiting. Planning. That was the difference between them. Marcus never LEARNT.

“You sack of shit,” Marcus hissed, muffled as Mercury had him pinned face-down to the dirt. With the heel of his boot pressed to his father’s spine, Mercury allowed himself a moment to just soak it in. He won. And with Marcus’ aura was zero one small trigger and Mercury would be rid of him.

His ‘witnesses’ had seemed content with watching so far which Mercury was grateful for. He enjoyed having this kill to himself. With a quick trigger, he felt his father’s bones snap under his foot with the pressure of an explosion, the man falling silent instantly.

Stumbling back, he looked at the man numbly, exhaustion quickly settling in again. Any semblance of control he had died along with it. Panting, he could taste the blood in his mouth.

Turning, Mercury noted two women. One with midnight black hair who seemed unnerved. The other younger one with mint green hair looked far more alert and fearful. He supposed murder wasn’t in everyone’s taste. Taking a breath, he spat out with a level of anger:

“What are you looking at?”