#i feel accomplished here because the lights are literally flashing red and blue so working with coloring was *a task*

[sgtbradfords]

#she did say naked time wouldn't be happening for a while

[mediocre-writerr]

unbreakable [jennifer jareau]

jennifer jareau x reader, emily prentiss x sister!reader

requested: i love your works sm, could i request a criminal minds one where the reader is emily’s little sister and jj’s girlfriend and she gets injured and she calls jj to tell them her location, but her injuries kept getting worse. jj and emily try to stay calm, but are scared and when they get to her its angsty (and COMFORT)

*not my gif*

The black pickup truck flew through the red light, heading straight for you. Your blood froze in your veins. You wanted to swerve out of the way, but you couldn’t. You were frozen. 

The black blur grew closer and closer with ease. You couldn’t even get into a position to save yourself, you just continued to stare as the car rammed into your driver’s side. 

The amount of force causing your entire car to flip over and over and over again. Until eventually you landed in a little ditch with your car upside down. 

You don’t know how you were still conscious, but you couldn’t move. Everything in your body ached. 

It was a simple drive. A drive you’ve made countless times. You were going to surprise your sister and your girlfriend at the bureau with their favorite lunch. You know how much stress they’ve been under lately, but then all of a sudden you felt like you were dying in a ditch.

Luckily, with technology these days you were able to use your car to call your girlfriend. The ringing filled the echoing car as your eyes began to grow heavy.

“Hey love, you’re on speaker! What’s up?” JJ’s voice filled the car.

“Hey Y/N,” Emily’s voice said from next to her and you smiled to yourself softly.

You cleared your throat before speaking up, “I’m-I’m in a bit of a situation,”

There was silence on the other end of the phone and you could just imagine their faces right now. They probably looked at each other, each of their smiles dropping.

“What happened?” both of their voice said in unison.

You chuckled softly, “So uh funny story, I was going to surprise you guys today,” you got out as you felt your breathing start to become more ragged, “Bring you your favorite lunch, but as I was a driving a truck came out of nowhere and now I’m outside down in a ditch,” 

“Okay, Y/N, where are you right now?” Emily asked and you could tell her protective older sister was showing. 

You tried to remember where you were driving by, but your mind was starting to become a little fuzzy. You shrugged even though they couldn’t see you, “I’m-I’m not sure, I already got the food so I was on the way to the bureau. I can’t remember,” you admitted and you started panicking even more, “Guys, why can’t I remember?” 

Reid’s voice whispered to both JJ, who was pacing the room, and Emily who was currently bitting on her fingernails, “She’s probably suffering head trauma,” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” JJ’s voice whispered soothingly into the phone, “Close your eyes and try to think,” 

You closed your eyes, following the exercise the BAU did on countless occasions to help victims remember, but you came up empty, “I don’t know! I can’t! I can’t remember!” you exclaimed as your chest started heaving. 

“It’s gonna be okay, can you move?” JJ asked again, “Are you able to get out of the car?” 

You shook your head, “No, no I can’t move. J, what’s wrong with me?” you whimpered.

It was her turn to shake her head, “Nothing, absolutely nothing. We’re gonna have Penelope track your phone okay? And we’ll be right there to you. Hotch is gonna send an ambulance as soon as we get your location, okay?” 

“You may want to hurry,” you whispered, feeling blood drip down your face, “I don’t know if it’s ketchup from your burgers or blood that’s dripping from my head,”

You reached up to feel your head and looked back at your fingers before smelling it, “No, that’s blood,” 

“Baby girl,” Derek said in a stern voice to Penelope who was trying her best to get the location fast enough.

She looked at him with a nod, “I’m going as fast as I can,” With a few more types at the keyboard there was a ping, “I got it!” 

They all looked at the computer screen, Hotch was already on the phone with the ambulance repeating back her location. Without hesitation, JJ and Emily ran out of the room and towards the car. Everyone else following suit. 

They drove to where you were which wasn’t that far away, literally down the block. You were almost there. 

The girls parked on the side of the road and noticed that no one bothered stopping to help you. The black pickup truck, nowhere to be seen, he probably drove off as soon as he was well enough to leave. 

There was broken glass leading towards the ditch and they slid down it as safely as possible. Your driver’s side door was caved in so they went to the other side to drive and get to you.

“Hey Y/N?” Emily’s voice filled your ears and your ears perked up, despite your eyes threatening to give out on you any second now, “We’re here now, okay? I need you to stay strong, the paramedic is on their way,” 

You smiled, “I don’t know,” was all you could get out, until you calmed your breathing down, “I don’t know if I can stay awake for that long,” 

JJ’s eyes were threatening to spill the tears that were held in her eyes. Derek went over to the passenger’s side to see if he can help get you out. JJ hung out next to your driver’s side and looked at the blood trickling from your head.

“Can you stay awake for me, baby?” JJ asked and you turned your head to look at her best as possible.

You made a pouty face, “I’m really tired JJ,” you whispered, “I think I need to go to bed,” 

Emily finally started breaking down, “No, we’re gonna try something, okay?” She could see you slowly nod, “Okay, it’s Christmas Eve, you’re six years old and I’m eight. We wanted so bad to stay up and see Santa put gifts under a tree and you were following asleep, but I kept waking you up. You need to keep imagining that okay?” 

“Emily, I love you,” you told her as your eyes started drooping more. 

She shook her head, “Hey, no. Santa’s coming soon! We need to stay awake,” she told you. 

Even with Derek’s strength he couldn’t get the car door open. He slammed his hands on the car in frustration, as he looked up at Hotch, “They’re gonna be here in five minutes!” 

“Hotch! We don’t have that kind of time!” Derek screamed.

JJ reached her hand through your broken window, “I love you,” you whispered to her as she rubbed your cheekbone softly.

“You can tell me that when we get you all bandaged up, okay?” she told you and you shook your head.

“I think my head needs a little more than a band-aid,” you joked which caused her to let out a breathy laugh. 

Mission accomplished, you thought to yourself. 

You started to close your eyes and she shook head, “Hey, stay awake, okay?”

“Can you tell me a story?” you whispered, something JJ would do whenever you were having a rough day or the two of you were being lazy on the couch. 

“Will you stay awake for me if I do?” she asked and you nodded.

“I’ll try my best,” 

“It’s Christmas Eve in about twelve years or so. We have two kids who are six and eight. They’re waiting for Santa to come down the chimney so they can see him. They’re telling each other that they need to stay awake,” she begins and looks at Emily who’s breaking down, crying softly in Derek’s arms. 

Her voice starts to become more shaky, “And I’m shaking your arm in bed every so often whispering to you, ‘Love, you need to stay up so we can put the presents on the tree’. But you’re falling in and out of sleep, so I give you a sweet kiss and rip the blanket off of you. You groan in response as you cling onto me,” 

Your eyes start to close, but JJ continues talking, “You say ‘I'm so tempted to call Rossi and tell him to buy a Santa costume just so they can go to bed already.’” you let out a breathy laugh as JJ tries her best not to cry in front of you, “You always pretend to hate the idea of staying up, but you’re secretly happy because it reminds you of how you and Emily used to be when you were young,” 

“In a world where your parents were barely around and the only people you had were each other, waiting for Santa to come reminds you of her,” she finishes telling you, “You need to stay awake, okay? So we can live a life like that, please,” 

The flashing of blue and red lights, along with sirens filled the void of silence. The paramedics and firemen rushing down the ditch to come and rescue you. JJ is moved out of the way and into Emily’s arms. The two of them crying together, holding each other close. 

The firemen breaking the door away, letting the paramedics due their duties as they rushed you onto a gurney. Your eyes were still fluttering open and closed as you tried your best to hold onto the little life that was present in your body. 

Until you couldn’t anymore. 

/ / /

“Love,” JJ’s voice drew out, you fluttered your eyes open to see her staring back at you, “You fell asleep again,” 

You rolled your eyes teasingly, “I’m sorry, these kids are unbreakable. It’s 4 in the morning and I need to sleep if we’re going to be hosting tomorrow. I mean we still have to finish cleaning,” 

It was her turn to roll your eyes as she pressed a soft, yet sweet kiss to your lips. You smiled into it, the feeling of contentment overflowing you. But it’s gone all too soon as the cool Virginian winter air hit your body.

“No! Babe!” you whispered, groaning. 

JJ was sitting up in bed as you wrapped your arms around her waist, clinging onto her like a sloth onto a tree. She let out a laugh before planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“Rossi is on speed dial, I am more than willing to call him,” you mumbled, before placing a kiss to her hip causing her to laugh more.

The two of you just stayed in that position until you couldn’t hear whispers from downstairs anymore. 

You perked your head up, “Do you hear that?” 

“What?” 

“Exactly,” you shot out of bed as quickly, but quietly as possible. She let out a soft giggle before following suit. 

The hard wood floor cold against your bare feet. You looked from the top step to see the kids finally fast asleep on the floor. JJ opened the closet door and grabbed all of their presents, lying them neatly along the tree.

You took the cookies that they made and took small bites out of it before drinking some of the milk. You went over to JJ with a cookie in your hand, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind. 

“Cookie?” you whispered and she nodded gratefully before taking a bite out of it. 

The two of you just swayed from side to side as you embraced the colorful lights of the Christmas tree filling the dark room and your two kids sleeping peacefully on the floor with one another. 

You grabbed your phone from your pocket, shooting a text to Emily who was probably fast asleep. You and JJ got close to the two kids before taking a selfie with them, sending the picture to Emily saying:

They did it again...stayed up much later this time. I’m starting to feel bad for Mom and Dad now!

You grabbed the blanket that was on the couch and laid it over the two kids, as JJ wrote note in cursive thanking them for all the cookies. You placed a kiss to each of their heads before following JJ to bed.

The two of you getting comfortable once more in bed, finally allowing yourselves to try and get some sleep, “Aren’t you glad you stayed awake?” she whispered.

You nodded, softly, thinking back to the time where you almost died, “I’m very glad I stayed awake,” you told her, the double meaning hidden along the sentence. 

But JJ knew, she always knew.

[westallenfun]

WestAllen secret santa gift From: @sophisticatedloserchick For:  @candiceverse

Summary: AU. Much to his embarrassment Barry twists his ankle slipping on ice. But then he meets Doctor Iris West and maybe his luck has turned.

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2042

A/N:I hope you enjoy this! I tried to do an uncommon AU trope since you said you’ve read so many Westallen fics :p

Barry had done some pretty embarrassing things in his life. Like the time in fourth grade when he confessed his love for the most popular girl in school Tammy Lawson only for her to turn him down in front of everyone in the cafeteria. Or the time he spent weeks preparing to try out for the school football team only for him to fail at every challenge. There were more but Barry didn’t like dwelling on them if he could help it.

Now years later Barry had more or less grown into a accomplished and capable adult. He got a great job working as a CSI for the CCPD, owned his own apartment and even made meals for himself that didn’t requite a microwave a few times a week. Which is why the events leading up to him ending up in the hospital on Christmas Eve night made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out of it.

“You okay there bro?” Cisco cautiously looked at him.

Barry gave him a withering look before gesturing to himself. Where he currently found himself in a small hospital bed and the unflattering hospital gown he wore, right down to her left ankle the shade of dark purple and swollen three times its normal size.

“Right sorry,” Cisco winced, “Dumb question to ask.”

Barry returned to staring up at the bright florescent lights of the hospital room contemplating his bad life choices.

After several minutes of silence Cisco awkwardly coughed to get his attention and held up his cellphone.

“So your parents said they’ll be here soon,” Cisco said looking like he needed to brace himself.

Which turned out to be the right instinct to have.

“Cisco!” Barry bolted upright in the bed and sucked in a sharp breath of pain from jostling his leg. “Why would you do that? I don’t want them to know about this.”

“Dude come on,” Cisco tried to reason with him. “You don’t think your parents wouldn’t notice the swollen ankle and the limp?”

Barry scowled because as much as he hated to admit it Cisco had a point.

“Did you tell them the whole story?” Barry narrowed his eyes at his best friend.

“No I swear I didn’t,” Cisco held up his hands placatingly. “I only told them you slipped on some ice.”

“Good,” Barry sunk back into the hospital bed. “Getting a swollen ankle on Christmas Eve is bad enough without letting my parents know what an idiot I'am.”

“I promise no one will ever know,” Cisco comfortingly clapped Barry on the shoulder. “Look on the bright side things couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

At those words the dark blue privacy curtain was sharply pulled back to reveal the doctor.

“Hello there,” She smiled pleasantly at the two of them. “I’m Doctor West, I’ll be your doctor this evening.”

Barry felt his jaw literally drop looking at her.

She couldn’t of been much older than him which meant she must of been smart as hell. As she smiled at him Barry felt the air go out of his lungs simply looking at her. Her skin a smooth rich brown and her long black hair sensibly clipped back to keep tendrils of hair out of her face. She dressed in the typical light blue scrubs and white lab coat but somehow Barry knew she looked better than most girls dressed in designer clothes. But what Barry found he couldn’t take stop gazing into were her dark brown eyes framed with thick lashes.

“Barry, Barry,” Cisco’s fingers were snapping in front of his face, “Earth to Barry!”

“Huh….what?” Barry blinked out of his stupor then felt his cheeks go red when the doctor looked at him in concern.

“You weren’t responding for a minute,” Doctor West immediately went to his side. “Are you feeling dizzy? Any headaches?”

She suddenly pulled out a pen light and flashed the light in Barry’s eyes checking for a response.

“No, no I’m fine,” Barry reassured her. “Only a little tired maybe.”

Doctor West looked at him thoughtfully before walking to the end of the bed to grab his chart.

“Well looks like you didn’t sustain a head injury with your fall,” She said while scanning the chart, “Would you mind telling me how it happened?”

Cisco and Barry both exchanged panicked looks that had Doctor West narrowing her eyes at both of them.

“Gentlemen I can’t give proper care unless I know the whole story,” She put the chart back and walked back closer to Barry again, “Now please tell me what happened.”

“I…Ummm…Well you see,” Barry fumbled over his words.

He found his brain couldn’t work properly when Doctor West looked at his directly. Something about those dark almond shaped eyes made Barry melt.

“I pushed him!” Cisco said suddenly.

Both Doctor West and Barry turned to look at him shocked.

“I’m sorry you did what?” Doctor West asked in disbelief.

“We were horsing around,” Cisco practically gulped as Doctor West stared him down. “And you know we got too rough and he didn’t see the ice. Boys will be boys right?”

Cisco ended his explanation by awkwardly waving his hands about nervously. Barry buried his face in his hands already knowing the doctor wouldn’t buy one word of this.

Before Doctor West could open her mouth to say anything else Cisco pulled out his cellphone making sure they both saw it.

“Oh look that’s my mom calling,” Cisco said even though the phone didn’t ring once. “I better go take this. So I’ll be going and I probably won’t be back, k bye.”

As Cisco practically fled the room Doctor West turned to give Barry a disbelieving look.

“I hope you know I don’t believe a word of that,” Doctor West folded her arms across her chest. “Care to tell me the truth?”

Barry slunk down in the bed having to accept he wouldn’t be getting out of this. Not only would he be telling this embarrassing story but he would be telling it to a incredibly gorgeous woman that he would normally ask out on a date under the better circumstances.

“So there was this old lady,” Barry began nervously.

“Uh huh,” The doctor’s lips twitched upwards in an almost smile.

“And she was crossing the road, and its all snowy and Icy.” Barry continued already dreading continuing. “I went to go help her. To make sure she didn’t slip and fall. And well…”

Doctor West reached out to squeeze his shoulder and give him an encouraging smile.

“I guess I must of startled her because she hit me over the head with purse.” Barry continued.

Doctor West’s eyes went wide surprised at the turn in his story.

“And she kept hitting me, then I slipped on the ice and hit the ground,” Barry kept going knowing there was no point in stopping now. “She kept hitting me with her purse and screaming that I was trying to rob her.”

Doctor West pressed her hand to her mouth and Barry could tell she had to struggle not to laugh.

“I tried to get away fast but when I got up and tried to cross the street a car hit me and I slid on the ice right into this Christmas tree and then-”

“Okay okay I get it,” Doctor West broke out into laughter. “You’re painting a very vivid picture.”

To Barry’s shock and surprise somehow this night got so much worse.

“Listen I’m sorry,” Doctor West calmed her laughter when she noticed Barry pouting. “Honestly what you did was very sweet and chivalrous.”

“You think so?” Barry looked at her in disbelief.

“Definitely,” Doctor West gave him a soft smile. “Not many guys would go help an old lady cross the street. I can tell you’re a good guy.”

Barry felt a wave of warmth spread through his chest as he rubbed the back of his neck shyly. He still felt embarrassed by the whole incident but getting praised by his beautiful doctor made him feel that much better. As they looked at each other Barry found himself drowning in those dark brown eyes, his chest tightening the longer they gazed at each other.

Doctor West bit down on her full lower lip thoughtfully which made Barry’s stomach do pleasant flips again.

Barry couldn’t help but be compelled to lean in closer to her and to his surprise she didn’t pull away.

But the sudden appearance of his parents put a stop to that.

“Barry sweetheart are you okay?” His mother rushed past the curtain to Barry’s side.

Doctor West quickly pulled back to put a respectable distance between her and Barry. He felt himself caught between answering all of his mother’s many questions and watching Iris shake hands with his dad and them chatting.

Before Barry could divert from his mother’s attentions Doctor West gave a small wave and walked out of the room.

Barry tried to school his features to conceal disappointment at Doctor West leaving so he wouldn’t be too obvious to his parents.

“Good news son,” His dad come over to his bed, “The doctor said after they put your leg in a cast they can discharge you tonight.”

“Yeah that’s great,” Barry smiled weakly but kept thinking about how he wouldn’t have a chance to see Doctor West again.

Two hours later after getting his leg in a cast and filling out piles of paperwork Barry ended up in a wheelchair being pushed by his dad to the parking lot. Barry kept craning his neck and looking at all the doctors as he was being pushed down the hall hoping to spot Doctor West.

As they got closer and closer to the exit Barry had resigned he wouldn’t see her again tonight.

“Wait a minute Mr Allen!”

Barry’s parents stopped pushing wheelchair as all three turned around to see Doctor West speed walking towards them. Barry felt himself blushing again when she beamed with happiness when she caught up to them. If only his parents weren’t here Barry might get the nerve to ask her out on a date.

“Is everything okay doctor?” His mother asked her nervously.

“Yes of course,” Doctor West rushed to reassure them, “I just wanted to give Barry an updated prescription.”

Iris turned to smile at Barry handed him a folded piece of paper. Their fingers briefly brushed and Barry could feel shocks of pleasure go through him at the small touch. More than ever he mentally kicked himself for not getting her number when he could.

“Thanks Doctor,” Barry stumbled over his words, “For everything.”

Barry locked eyes with Doctor West and as ridiculous as it sounded he felt a connection between them.

Iris gave him a final nod before turning around and walking back down the hall.

“What a nice girl,” His mother said as his father started pushing his wheelchair again, “You should ask a girl like that out on a date.”

“Leave him be,” His dad chuckled at his wife’s not so subtle hints. “You can’t expect Barry to ask every girl out on a date.”

As his parents to continued to discuss his dating life, or lack thereof, Barry unfolded the piece of paper to see what she wrote.

‘Dear Barry,

This might be crossing over a line but its not often you come across a cute guy who is also the nicest. So if you’re interested too give me a call’

Barry stared at the phone number with suppressed glee and if he didn’t have a twisted ankle he would be jumping with joy. Already in his mind he planned when he would call her and ask her out on that date, preferably when he could walk without needing assistance. His eyes then went down to where she signed the note at the end.

Iris, Barry thought to himself, what a beautiful name.

Turned out getting your ankle twisted by a old lady on Christmas Eve had its benefits.

[dibs4ever]

Grieving

Nathan Gordon smiled at the little red headed bundle in his arms. So tiny, and new. Only a month old and so much had already happened to the poor child she had already gone through so much. Her mentally unstable mother running off in the night with her 4 year old brother.

Leaving her father alone with the newborn and a paper signing her rights over. Why keep one but not the other?

Nathan couldn’t understand it

Then again Barbara Keen never was exactly right in the mind

“Dad thanks again for offering to do childcare.” The voice of Jim Gordon spoke

Nathan looked up at his son and shook his head “Think nothing of it. It’ll give me something to do with my days now that I’m retired” he smiled bringing his infant granddaughter to his shoulder

Jim smiled “Well there is absolutely nobody else in the world I’d trust Barbara with. You raised my sister and I on your own which wasn’t exactly common in the 70s and 80s “

Nathan chuckled “Your mother was involved.”

Jim looked at his father over the brim of his glasses. Okay so maybe he did raise the kids on his own for the most part

Little back story on Nathan Peter Gordon

After getting an honorary discharge from the Vietnam war due to an injured leg he did what all the war men did and found a wife to marry and settle down with. It was 1962 he was 25 years old when he married Francis.

She wasn’t like his friends wives, she wasn’t sweet or doting. She didn’t ask him how is day was

She was a bitter women who wouldn’t stand for anyone who didn’t agree with her.

If he was being honest with himself the only reason he married her was because that’s what was expected of him. Women weren’t where his attraction laid. But being a gay man in the 1960s was just asking for a lifetime of criticism. Besides Francis could give him what he desired to be most. A father. Which happened in 1963 when his his daughter Hannah was born and then 3 years later when James was born

He absolutely loved being a father but always feared leaving them with Francis when he left forgot work as an attorney . She was cruel to them.

In 1970 after years of verbal abuse and accusations from Francis he finally confessed to the woman that he was gay.

They promptly divorced, Francis shocked the judge when she requested only to have the children every other weekend. Allowing Nathan to be the primary caregiver.

Something he thanked it was probably the only nice thing she ever did for him. Although he was certain she didn’t want them anyways. It wasn’t easy being a single dad but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, he supported and loved his children. Praising their accomplishments. Hugging them when they were downs and giving advice as they grew up under his wings.

Fast forward it’s 1996 and he’s holding his 30 year old sons newborn daughter.

Nathan takes care of his granddaughter every day and some nights for the next 5 years as his son worked his way up in the GCPD.

Then in 2001 she starts kindergarten and he only has her after school and some nights. It’s a bittersweet moment for both Nathan and Barbara. The two of them were each other’s best friends

Nathan waited outside the school with the other parents and caregivers. The school doors opening

“Grandpa!” The five year old shouted running across the school courtyard and into his arms with a flying leap.

She snuggled into his chest “I missed you.”

He chuckled lightly “So did I, come on little one, let's go get ice cream. It's Friday after all.” He smiled

4 years later he’s on his way to pick her up from school again. He hadn’t been feeling right . He has a coughing fit, then looks down at the kleenex...blood. Something wasn't right

Stuffing the napkin product in his pocket he decided to put on a brave face and go pick the light of his life Barbara Gordon up from school. She’d help him relax till his Doctors appointment next week

Nine year old Barbara opens the back car door and climbs in

“Hi grandpa.” She smiles leaning over the seat to plant a kiss on his cheek “Did you make any snacks at home? I’m starving.”

Nathan smiled, he almost always prepared a small snack for his growing grandauter to have when she returned from school. But today he had felt so ill and afraid due to coughing up blood that he completely.forgotten be had planned to make a her-her favorite snack of homemade nacho.

”I thought we’d get ice cream” be spoke looking back at the girl in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the driveway

She laughed lightly he freckles doing a little dance when her nose scrunched up. He adored her freckles “Grandpa it’s only Tuesday. We only get ice cream on Friday’s.”

He shrugged “Who says we gotta play by the rules.” He winked

Barbara smiled at him

The following year Nathan Gordon passes away from cancer. He’s surrounded by his daughter Hannah, her husband and their children along with his son and Barbara.

Barbara Gordon sat in the office chair of her fathers office. Since her grandfathers recent passing her dad had yet to make arrangements for a new childcare provider.

Not that she needed a babysitter. She wasn’t a baby. She was 10. Besides the past couple months her grandpa had been so weak she basically took care of herself anyways

Her dad had been gone for a while. Where to? she didn’t know. He never told her anything anyways.

She sighed and continued drawing random doodles on the piece of copy paper she’d been using for the past 30 minutes to occupy her time.

The door opened. Her dad stepping in. But he wasn’t alone . A boy with dark hair, shorter than her but probably around her age stood at his side. This she knew wasn’t common. Very rarely did her father handle children personally like this at work. The boy was looking down sadly.

“Why don’t you take a seat son” her father waved to the pair of seats that sat infront of his desk. The boy nodded then moved and took a seat in one of the chairs

“Barbara this is Richard. He’s 10 like you. Why don’t you keep him company while I make some phone calls in the hall.” Her dad informed

She nodded and watched him walk out, the office door closing behind him

After a moment of Richard not looking up, Barbara moved and switched seats to the available one beside him

“I’m Barbara, how are you Richard?” She asked

He shrugged

“Not much of a talker Huh? It’s okay I’ll talk. I’ve been bored out of my mind all night. My dad thinks I need a babysitter but I don’t. I mean I’ve literally been sitting in this office by myself all night anyways so tell me what the difference would be if I was sitting at my home all night alone?”

Silence

“I’ll tell ya, nothing. I finished all my homework within 30 minutes of being here. My grandpa had me on a strict routine. If dad was ever around when I got home from school the past 5 years he’d know I always finish my school work promptly. What grade are you in Richard?”

“Can you call me Dick?” He spoke softly

Barbara grinned “He speaks....uhh sure I guess. Like I was saying my grandpa. He knew, he always said I should skip a grade. Grandpa knew more about me then my dad.”

Dick looked up at her “I’m in 4th grade. You talk a lot” a small smile played on the boys lips. Although his blue eyes were still filled with saddness

Barbara flashed him a smile back “Sorry my grandpa always said I talked a lot when I was nervous and you being so quiet kinda brought it out.”

Dick nodded “You and your grandpa are close? You’ve already talked about him 3 times in the past 10 minutes”

Barbara inhaled a breath at the mention “We were he Umm. He died last month.”

Dick looked down again “Oh”

She nodded “First time someone close to me has ever died. Have ugh have you ever lost someone. Maybe you could help me, give me some advice.”

Dick was silent “I’ve lost someone. But I don’t have advice.”

Barbara tilted her head “Who did you loose?”

He took a deep breath “My parents.” He squinted his eyes

Her eyes widened she couldn’t imagine loosing her father. Loosing her grandfather was tearing her up inside as it was “When?” She wondered. They were only 10. How young was he when he became an orphan?

“Tonight-they were murdered. I saw it.” He choked

Barbara’s jaw dropped. That explained why he was here “Dick, I’m so sorry!”

Tears began to flow slowly from the boys eyes

Not knowing what to do, the young girl moved her hand grabbing the fellow boys hand and lacing their fingers. To her relief the boy squeezed hers tighter. Letting her know that the small movement was just the right amount of comfort he needed at that moment. Together the two adolescents sat holding hands. Tears slowly streaming down their faces. Finding comfort in their newfound friendship and grieving their recently lost loved ones

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

sprung spring | somebody watching me; drew mcintyre [m]

PROMPTS USED:

 “You won’t be able to walk after I’m done with you.” + “that feels so good.” + From Behind + choking + fingering + standing up / in front of a window + “I’m not wearing any panties.” + teasing,dirty talk + “Someone’s watching us.” “Then stop holding back your moans and let’s give them a show.” + Voyeurism - hinted at -

NOTES:

Whew.. Was this ever a bitch to pull off. And I’m going to be totally honest with everyone, I really do not feel like I executed it to the best of my ability, but.. It finally started to flow and I did not dare stop or turn back. I feel like personally, this isn’t the best thing I’ve written, but... lately, I’ve been lagging in motivation or time and I’m just lowkey relieved that I finally got this out and got it to work. It took me like... two weeks I think? I’m gonna be honest. In hindsight, I do believe that my entire problem with execution here was Voyeurism. Because I just couldn’t get myself to come up with a scenario in which either party would willingly allow someone to watch? Oh and I’m realizing now that I totally ignored the prompt “I’m not wearing any panties.” but.. It’s out and I got it written and I pushed through another personal boundary I had no clue I had (voyeurism) and I just hope at least one person enjoys it?

WARNINGS:

sexual acts, duh. oral sex, edging, light choking, sex in front of a window - with someone watching outside, swearing, unprotected sex, body fluids, and biting/marking, oops rip that one snuck it’s way in.

PAIRING:

Drew McIntyre x OFC, Rhiannon

I didn’t try to tag anyone here. Tags are notorious fail for me, so... Maybe I’ll try to tag people again soon.

They flocked to him almost the instant she and Drew entered the party. And given that he had just accomplished a pretty huge career milestone, Rhiannon totally understood why. She also understood that they were best friends and that getting jealous or upset over it was something a girlfriend would do and something she had absolutely no right to do.

But damn it, it bothered her when she looked over and saw Mandy Rose practically hanging all over Drew. Granted, Drew looked totally annoyed and when they locked eyes across the crowded party, he rolled his eyes while glancing down at Mandy and Rhiannon’s response was to give a mild shrug and giggle about it while sipping her drink… It still bothered her. Way more than she cared to admit.

This is just one of many reasons you’re trying to stop flirting with him so hardcore and get yourself some distance, her brain chose that second to both remind her and scold her for not sticking to her original plan; telling Drew she had a date again tonight.

The pathetic thing is, she thought to herself, I don’t have a date. I… literally cannot fathom being with anyone else but him, I just know I can never tell him. She sighed and dragged her fingers through her hair, trying to silence the thought but it wouldn’t be silenced. It remained, nagging and nagging at her, eating away and driving her crazy.

Just like a whopping 99 percent of the time lately. It was getting harder and harder to be around him and keep her feelings hidden. It honestly felt like at any second, she was just gonna open her mouth and the words were gonna come tumbling right out.

A flash of red had her smiling and when Heath Slater came fully into view, she ran over, hugging the man. Heath nodded in Drew’s direction, chuckling in amusement. “Got separated, huh?”

“The second we stepped in the door, everybody bum rushed him. I mean… He did just win the Universal title. I’m just kinda… giving him space.”

“That look in your eyes, lil bit. Says that’s the last thing you wanna do.” Heath chuckled and dragged his fingers through shaggy ginger hair as he eyed Rhiannon intently. She sighed and shrugged, nodding towards Mandy, who seemed to finally be catching onto the fact that Drew wasn’t overly fond of her or the way she was invading his personal space. “I mean… let’s face it. There’s no way in hell I can stack up to… That.”

Heath fixed his gaze on Mandy who was storming off, annoyed and he shook his head, looking from one woman to the other. “Girl.. I oughta smack you in th’ back of the head for that. I’m tellin ya… You’d be surprised what happened if you finally just took a chance.”

“Heath, don’t.”

“I mean.. Everybody in back already thinks ya’ll are a thing thanks to earlier at the arena, that little scene with Ziggler. Ziggler told everybody after it happened.” Heath shrugged and reached out as a server made their way past, grabbing himself a beer and twisting off the top, shotgunning half.

Rhiannon stood there, heavily considering Heath’s words and cringing over the fact that Ziggler had told everyone that she and Drew were a thing, just keeping it quiet. She groaned quietly, rubbing her forehead. “How many of ‘em laughed and thought I was delusional?”

“Nobody, actually.” Heath flashed a grin and stepped closer to let some people get past the two of them. His gaze met Drew’s gaze and he flashed a smirk, shrugging at his best friend. If Rhiannon could see the look he was getting right now, that firm warning glare that Drew had the habit of giving pretty much anyone where Rhiannon was concerned… But she didn’t.

Just like Drew never seemed to notice that Rhiannon was flirtatious with him almost constantly. And that when they were together, they acted like an actual couple.

… somebody’s gotta do somethin… Heath mused to himself as he nursed the beer in his hands. If these two didn’t get this whole thing sorted out soon, they were going to combust. He stepped away from Rhiannon slightly, giving a teasing defensive wave of his hands as if to indicate no, he was not trying to make a move.

Drew seemed to relax and Heath chuckled to himself. Right up to the point where he saw Brock Lesnar and Paul Heyman making their way into the party.

Rhiannon tensed and swallowed hard almost the instant she set sights on Brock and caught him already staring at her…. And worse, making his way over. She rolled her eyes and grabbed for a cup sitting on a table nearby, filling it with the rum laced punch in the bowl in the middle.

Just as he reached where she stood with Heath, Rhiannon took a huge sip of the punch, making Heath laugh.

“What the fuck are you doing here, huh? I heard this was invite only.”

“It is, but let’s be real, do you see anybody linin up to throw me out? Didn’t think so. Take a hike, ginger. I’ve got something to finish discussing with the little lady here.”

“Already told you, buffoon. Not.Fucking.Interested.” Rhiannon raised her hand, putting it right into Lesnar’s face as she stepped as far away from him as possible. Or tried to… she wasn’t quick enough because his hand went to her hip and he was pulling her close.

Heath cleared his throat loudly, clenching his fists. He shot a look back to where Drew stood, grumbling when he saw that apparently, Mandy was back and trying her luck again and as usual, Drew was entirely too fucking polite to tell her to fuck off already. “Just fuckin great. Awesome.”

“Didn’t I tell you to get fucked, Red? Do you wanna get F5’ed tonight?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, shrimp dick.” Heath grumbled, tensing all over, stepping up.

Rhiannon stepped between the two, glaring almost hatefully up at Brock. “Did those steroids we all know you pop like goddamn skittles rot your brain? I told you earlier. I have absolutely no use for you. I have a real man.”

“A real man, huh? Well looks like your real man is over there… Lettin Mandy Rose fawn all over him. C’mon.. you know you want me.” a beefy finger trailed beneath her chin and Rhiannon rolled her eyes, snapping her teeth at it as if she intended to bite it off. Brock’s eyes flashed a brighter shade of milky blue momentarily.

From behind her, Zelina cleared her throat.

“Did anybody invite you?”

“Did they have to? I do what I want.” Brock’s tongue trailed lazily over his lower lip and Zelina grumbled, rolling her eyes, casting a glance at Rhiannon. “Drew’s girlfriend, right?”

Rhiannon swallowed hard. Heath eyed Rhiannon, hints of a teasing smirk playing at his lips as he shrugged and turned his attention back to Brock, squaring up.

Rhiannon eyed Zelina and nodded. “Yeah. I’m just asking myself if this fuckin idiot got one too many Claymore kicks to the head earlier. Because I swear, I’ve already told him more than once the only way I’d ever be interested is never. I could have a gun to my head and I’d still choose the gun.”

“You heard her, shoo. Get movin. Scram!” Zelina sassed, stepping up to the giant of a man. “Besides, I don’t recall my friends inviting you. And they are the ones throwing this party, if I need to remind you. As a matter of fact, I believe that Maryse specifically said if you dared to show up, she wanted the cops called.”

“You really think you scare me?” Brock snorted in derision, staring down the two smaller females intently. Rhiannon nudged Zelina and leaned in, muttered loudly enough for Brock to hear, “I’m telling you… Steroids are a helluva drug.”

Brock clenched his fist and chuckled. “Sassy… I like that.”

“I’d like it if you fucked all the way off. But honestly, I don’t recall asking you what you like at any point.” Rhiannon gave a mild shrug.

“Your man’s gonna lose that title.. Then you’re gonna come running to me. We all know that belt’s the only thing you’re after. I know your type.”

“You know nothing. Nada.” Zelina spoke up, glaring up at the taller man. Rhiannon nodded in agreement, stepping closer. “He’s about to know how it feels to catch a stiletto to the balls though if he doesn’t fuck outta here.”

“Careful… His type considers that foreplay, girl.” Zelina spoke up, grimacing at the thought of anyone willingly getting in bed with Brock.

Rhiannon bit her lip, dragging her hand through thick and dark curls, tapping her foot impatiently. Heath cleared his throat menacingly. “Do you need help getting the fuck out? Huh? Because I can go find more than a few of the guys who are more than a little sick of you showin up and fuckin shit up… Or I can just do it my damn self. Either way’s fine, son.”

“I’m not your goddamn son, Slater.” Brock stepped up. Heath stepped up too and Rhiannon cleared her throat.

“Okay, whoa.”

Across the room, Jinder nudged Drew and leaned in, whispering into his ear, “Hey… You might want to get over there to Riri. You know how she gets when she’s scared and you know how Brock is.”

Drew growled as he looked over to find Heath and Brock in a tense staredown with Rhiannon stuck between the two and Zelina raising enough hell to get the attention she needed drawn to the area. Drew clenched his fists and calmly shoved past Mandy, leaving her to pout and grumble about not getting what his thing was for the dark haired girl.

“She’s not even that pretty.”

Jinder eyed Mandy and rolled his eyes. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Jinder shrugged as he grabbed for his own drink and took a sip. “You should leave him alone, by the way.”

“But he’s not even with that… woman.”

“Her name is Rhiannon and actually, they live together.”

“Well he sure as hell doesn’t talk about her all the time… I mean…” Mandy stammered, trying to justify the flirting she’d been doing. Jinder eyed her and laughed. “Ziggler is more your speed if you want the honest truth.” Jinder walked away, leaving Mandy to stand there, mouth agape.

Drew shoved through a crowd and stopped behind Brock.

“Aw, c’mon, princess. You know who the real man is. You know you want me.”

“I’d honestly rather fling myself into a dying star.” Rhiannon countered, bending to slip off her stiletto. She was beyond done with this, she just wanted Brock to leave already. He was causing a scene.

As most ‘nice guys’ do, of course.

“What’s so fucked in your brain that you can’t understand what I said earlier? The only man who’s getting any part of this,” Rhiannon gestured to herself with a smirk, “Is Drew McIntyre?”

Drew nearly choked when he heard her say it and he cleared his throat menacingly. Between what he’d just heard and what Jinder, Tamina and Nia were saying she’d openly admitted to earlier at the arena when they all talked… Tonight was that one shot. The one he’d been waiting on. If she really felt this way and he knew his own feelings were only growing more and more each day and getting harder to hide as a result.. Something had to give.

Heath was right. There was no perfect time. There was time, however. Picking his moment was only going to keep things tense. Stepping up… Taking what he wanted… that was clearly what he needed to at least try and do here.

Bearing that in mind, he didn’t hesitate when Brock turned to see who was standing behind him. Instead, he raised his fist and sent it smashing into Brock’s nose. Brock went to lunge and Drew stepped to the side, letting Brock wind up on the floor. “Did ah not tell ye earlier? She es mine.”

Brock was getting up, smirking and about to swing. Drew ducked and raised his leg, sending a kick to Brock’s midsection. Then he grabbed hold of his shirt and hurled him towards the door, standing over him and sneering down calmly. “Ah’m da only one whose goin ta take ‘er home. Get it through yer fookin thick ‘ead.”

The shoving match started again and Jinder and Heath as well as Paul and another or two of the guys present were quick to step in, get the two apart and Paul was dragging Brock out the door.

Drew fixed his gaze intently on Rhiannon and he flashed this amused smirk, shrugging at the way she pouted up at him. “Wot?”

“You and that temper, I swear.”

“Ef ah ‘adn’t come over, he never would’ve fucked off.” Drew was stepping closer; much closer. Rhiannon’s heart raced and she took a shaky breath, stepping closer to him before she could stop herself. She gave a nervous laugh, twisting dark curls around her fingertip as she looked up at him. “How much of that did you hear because I… I can explain?”

“Ah ‘eard enough. Was standing dere da whole time.” Drew licked his lip and couldn’t resist the gently teasing smirk that came when he saw her eyes lock on his lips intently, almost dazed.

Everything Heath and Jinder ever told him as ‘proof’ that she was flirting with him heavily and she was definitely as into him as he was her came rushing back and between that and the adrenaline from the night as a whole, Drew didn’t think, he acted instead, grabbing hold of her, pulling her up his body. Rhiannon’s legs squeezed his waist and her arms went around his neck as Drew started to make his way out of the room, wandering down a long hallway in search of somewhere, anywhere that might be just a little quieter.

“Drew?”

“Yeah, love?” Drew swore as he tried to pull on a door knob to a closed door and found it not budging, not even slightly. He stopped messing with the doorknob, gazing at her intently. “Wot’s up?”

“You’re not… saying anything… About what I said..” Rhiannon managed to get the words out, shaky voice and all.

“Dat’s because ah’m not a talker, remember? But as soon as ah can find a bloody unlocked room, ah fully intend t’ show y’ exactly how ah feel about it, love.” his lips brushed right against her mouth as he spoke and she whimpered, trailing her tongue over his bottom lip, earning her a growl from him as he pinned her between the door and his body, her back making a soft thud against the wooden door as it made contact. She dug her nails into his shoulders lightly and licked her lips, staring at his intently. Drew couldn’t help but chuckle and he muttered quietly, “If y’ want t’ do something, do it.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Rhiannon muttered, not bothering to censor herself. It was starting to click and the shock was starting to wear off, leaving this almost euphoric high in it’s place. He felt the same. He had to. Her heart felt like it was about to beat right out of her chest. The rush was almost dizzying.

“Oh, ah’m temptin y’.” Drew’s lips brushed against her mouth again and her nails dug in just a little more as she crashed her mouth against his lips. He nipped at her lower lip with his teeth, his hands digging into her ass as he shifted her in his arms slightly. His tongue trailed over the outline of her mouth, then slipping between scarlet colored lips, lazily trailing over her teeth and slipping between to tangle with her tongue. She wound up tugging his hair out of the ponytail he’d thrown it into before leaving the arena, her fingers tangling in it, tugging and using her grip to pull his mouth into the kiss even deeper. He groaned into the kiss, the noise quickly swallowed and overpowered by the soft smacks of their mouths meeting over and over.. Deeper and more desperate; almost frenzied.

“Challenge accepted.” Rhiannon breathed against his mouth; breaking the kiss to ghost her lips right down the side of his neck. She knew him well enough to know that his neck was a hot zone… Anything, even the slightest accidental touch was… Basically asking for it. She felt him tense and felt his fingers digging into her body as he shifted her in his arms. She pressed herself into him completely, rubbing herself against him just a little. 

Drew shivered at the contact, sucking in a sharp breath, muttering a husky warning against her lips. “Yer askin for me t’ take y’ right here, against the door.” 

“I’m not exactly going to complain.” Rhiannon was at it again, rubbing against him impatiently, whimpering when his mouth latched onto her throat, leaving a bold mark right out in plain sight as he bucked himself into her and his hands moved slowly over her body. “Tell me somethin, love?” Drew muttered as he gazed up at her, a wicked gleam in his eye. “How wet are  y’ right now, hm?”

All Rhiannon could do was whimper, because they came to another stop, Drew sitting her on top of a console table between two rooms, his hands quickly disappearing beneath the hem of her dress. As his palm came to a halt over her throbbing sex, he hissed when he realized that she was well beyond soaked already, growling against her mouth as he gripped her jawline, tugging her face closer, crashing his mouth against her own. His palm settled over her core, squeezing and she slid forward on the tabletop, wrapping her legs around his waist tighter, desperate for friction, trying to settle for rocking herself against the slow and steady torture of his hand. “That… fuck that feels so good. Mmm.. Harder, Drew.” she moaned out as he began to squeeze and rub her cunt harder and faster, growling quietly into her mouth as she rocked herself against him more urgently.

“Harder?” he questioned, meeting her gaze, a chuckle forming as he flashed a mischievous gaze at her. “Gettin close are y’?”

“Just want you now.” Rhiannon begged shamelessly, not caring how it sounded. Drew scooped her off the table and stepped to the door closest to them, trying the knob. The second the door swung open, he gave a quiet and triumphant laugh, stepping inside, closing the door behind him before turning his attention back to Rhiannon.

“Ah asked y’ a question.” he was using that firm but teasing tone on her. And damned if it didn’t stir her up, just like it did every single time she’d hear him using it in his promos on tv.. Or on her whenever they were just playing around with each other at their apartment. Rhiannon gulped and nodded, pouting up at him and giving him the most pleading look she could dredge up. The one that always got him to cave and give up the remote.

Drew groaned quietly, stepping over to the bed, gently tossing her down and following suit, settling himself over her, burying his mouth in the side of her neck. He wanted her marked all over and too sore to even think about walking out of the room on her own. As long as he’d waited to finally be able to do this… He was going to make absolutely sure that everyone knew she was his.

He parted her legs with his body, centering himself over her. Rhiannon’s hands went for the hem of his tee shirt, tugging it up and throwing it to the floor nearby. Drew eyed her dress hungrily, his hands venturing down, pushing it up around her hips and then tugging it up, throwing it to the floor to settle softly next to his discarded shirt. He leaned down, a hand going beneath her to catch in the clasp of her bra and as soon as he had that free, he was tossing it to the floor too. His eyes roamed downward, settling on her panties before locking eyes with her again as he licked his lips and chuckled quietly, lowering himself. 

Rhiannon’s hips rocked upward almost the second she felt his teeth sliding over her skin, catching here and there before giving the waistband of her panties a tug. As he continued to work them down her legs with his mouth, she shivered and whimpered softly, the feel of his facial hair and his tongue against her skin sending goosebumps all over her body. Her legs fell open wide and once her panties reached her ankles, she kicked them free quickly, raising to sit, her hands going for the waistband of his jeans. Drew lowered her hands, nodding to the mattress, that firm look in his eyes. “Oh no y’ don’t. Ah’m th’ one whose goin’ t’ take care ‘f you.” he licked his lips, holding her gaze. His hand lowered to the button on his jeans almost painfully slow and Rhiannon whimpered, swallowing hard, her eyes darting down, watching the movement of his hand almost intently. “It goes both ways.” she muttered quietly, raising her hand, fingers going for the zip. 

Drew chuckled and allowed it, shivering as she took the chance to palm at the way he strained hard against his jeans before finally unzipping them. The second she’d gotten them unzipped, Drew was standing, earning him a pout from her. He discarded his shoes and then tugged down his pants. Drew sank down to his knees in front of her, pulling her closer to him on the bed, flashing her a hungry look before parting her legs, his hands gripping her hips as he started to work his mouth up the inside of her thighs. Rhiannon shivered and moaned quietly, propping on her elbows, biting her lip as she gazed down at him. Between the burn she felt from his beard against the inside of her thighs and the fact that he stopped to nip and suck at her skin, she felt her heels digging into his shoulders and her fingers already starting to grip at the bedcovers. “Fuck.” 

Her whimpers and quiet groans had him smirking against her skin, daring to sink his teeth in a little more, leave more marks. She rocked her hips upward, trying to get closer. Her fingers were tangling in his hair, tugging, trying to guide his mouth upward. He dug his fingers into her hips to keep her still and she gave a pleading whimper.

Drew all but stopped, gazing up at her, taking in the sight of her with her face all flushed and her eyes fluttering open and shut. He could feel her tensing and he muttered lazily against her skin, “Relax.” - almost in a firm command. “Get as loud as y’ want.” he encouraged as his mouth started to roam higher. He moved his hand away from her hip, trailing it almost teasingly over her dripping core, meeting her gaze again. “Put yer legs over my shoulders.” he instructed as he pulled her closer, his tongue ghosting right up her center as he buried his fingers deep inside and dug his other hand into her hip to hold her as still as he could. “Dat’s a girl. And so fookin wet already. Good.” he muttered as his tongue circled her clit slowly, making her whimper a little louder, the sound echoing off the wall only to be muted by the music that seemed to filter through the walls from the party going on down the hall.

Rhiannon tried to rock her hips against his mouth and fingers but his grip was too tight. She whimpered a little louder, begging because he seemed to be enjoying this slow torture he was dishing out. “Drew, please… Now?” she breathed out, her fingers digging into the bedding a little more, gripping at his hair a little tighter. 

Drew groaned as the taste of her hit his tongue and he stopped to gaze up at her again, biting his lip and giving her a smirk. Hearing her beg for it was… Hotter than anything he’d ever allowed himself to imagine. And it only seemed to bring out his teasing side, because he dipped his head again, trailing a straight line up her folds and then dragging his tongue outward in a curve to form the letter D. 

Rhiannon’s whimpers turned to moans and she bit her lip, sucking in several sharp breaths. Drew’s fingertips dug into her hip tighter and he chuckled because he felt her starting to shake. Daring to tease just a little more, he dragged his tongue between her folds and worked his fingers even deeper inside, scissoring and massaging, his tongue plunging in, another growl at the thickening taste of her on his tongue. 

“Fook.” he swore against her heat, his tongue slipping out as his fingers continued to work her open and stretch her. She tried again to buck her hips and get more friction, just a little more, but tears of frustration built when she realized that thanks to his grip on her hip, she really didn’t have much movement and that was exactly the way he wanted it. As his tongue trailed another straight line and then the two curves required to form the R in his name, Rhiannon’s heels dug into his back and she whimpered loud enough that the sound seemed to echo through the room. Drew smirked against her core and muttered calmly, “Louder, Riri. C’mon.. Ah want da whole party t’ know whose da one makin y’ feel so fookin good right now, princess.” 

“Drew, fuck.. C’mon, please..” Rhiannon breathed out, gasping as she nearly choked up when his tongue plunged back deep into her cunt, swirling and competing with his finger’s scissoring and fucking into her deep and fast. “Please what?” he asked, gazing up at her as he came to a stop. He’d felt her tense up again and determined to keep her right on the edge until she was a whimpering and dripping mess beneath him had him stopping, just to let her back away from the edge. Her heels were digging lightly into his back and her hands had a white knuckle grip on his hair and the bedding beneath her body. The flush of her cheeks, that tongue dragging slowly over kiss swollen lips had him biting his lip and giving another quiet groan as he turned his attention back to what he’d been doing, muttering against her soft skin simply, “Patient, princess. Be patient. Y’ won’t be able t’ walk when ah’m done with y’, princess. Dat’s a promise.”

“But it feels so… Fuck..” Rhiannon trailed off as she felt him starting to drag his tongue over her folds all over again, tracing an E into them this time, sending a shiver through her entire body in the process. Her whimpers and moans were starting to get a little louder, and Drew gave a louder groan of his own as he felt her body tensing up, felt her really starting to drip and puddle, his tongue lowering to her thigh to chase up her juices as he glanced up at her. He could look at her and tell she was teetering right on the edge, literally all it would take was him saying it was okay, telling her she could get off.

But not yet.

His head dipped again, his nose bumping against her pelvic mound as his tongue worked it’s way back up, ghosting over her folds, circling her clit and maybe for just the briefest of seconds, allowing his teeth to gently graze against the circular bundle of nerves which only made her moan louder, try again to rock her hips urgently. And then, he started to trail the shape of a W into her cunt, burying his tongue inside deep, his tongue and his fingers massaging and scissoring as she got wetter and wetter. “Wot’s wrong, princess?” he asked the question lazily, his voice sending a jolt of pleasure through her body as her fingers tugged at his hair, trying to push his head down lower, guide his mouth back down where she needed it most as her back arched and her free hand dug into the bedding beneath her even harder, fingers going numb at the grip she had on the bedding.

“Drew, p-please. Now.” Rhiannon’s head tilted back slightly, her tongue moving slowly over her lips as she took a few deep breaths and fought back the sting of frustrated tears.

Like before, he repeated himself firmly, shaking his head as he paused to look up at her from his position between her thighs. “Not yet. But if y’ keep gettin louder for me…” his tongue trailed over his lips and she shivered, pouting, trying to squirm where he had her pinned against the mattress, to rub against him somehow, get any little bit of friction she could manage.

But Drew wasn’t having it.

Apparently, he was going to keep slowly pushing her close to the edge, only to stop and guide her away.

When she felt his tongue join his fingers buried deep inside her cunt, she arched her back and her hand went back to his hair, tugging, almost pushing his mouth down closer. She was grateful she had even that little bit of motion left between the way he held her hip in place and the fact that she was so fucking close that it literally had her shaking and blurred dots lining her vision already.

Her cries echoed off the walls of the dimly lit room; louder with each one that left her lips. Drew groaned out loud as his tongue swirled faster and his fingers dug into her hips harder, almost a bruising grip. He felt her tensing up all over again and he muttered against her dripping core, “Know what ah want t’ do after this, hmm?”

“W-what’s that?” Rhiannon gasped out, trying to catch her breath, trying to keep the orgasm threatening to rip through her at bay just a little bit longer. Almost failing at it too. She locked eyes with him, giving him her most pleading look; prepared to beg if she had to. It almost felt like she was definitely going to have to resort to that.

Drew nodded to the window and licked the taste of her off his lips, coming back up her body to pull her into a deep and slow kiss while continuing to fuck his fingers deep into her cunt, his thumb lightly circling and pressing or toying with her clit as he did so. “Ah want t’ take y’ right against dat window. Y’ want me t’ do et, princess?”

Rhiannon’s head fell back and she rocked herself upward against his fingers buried inside as she moaned out loud “Fuck, please Drew…” as the kiss broke and his fingers scissoring, thrusting movements sped up just a little. Just enough so that for a few seconds, she was getting enough friction to catch her breath and back away from that edge just a little.

And then he was lowering himself again, back between her legs, throwing one over each shoulder as he raised her hip, gripping them both with his hands. This time, his tongue buried deep in her cunt, swirling and licking greedily as he growled and the warmth of his breath and his heavy facial scruff tickled at her skin and pushed her even closer. Thrusting her hips against his mouth, Rhiannon took full advantage at the sudden freedom to move she had, rocking her hips for him and sending his tongue deeper inside.

“Fook.” he groaned out against her skin. “Faster, princess. C’mon, keep et up. Want y’ screamin m’ name.” 

“Ugh, fuck.. Drew.. I’m.. I’m..” Rhiannon was dangerously close to giving in to the intense orgasm built, a breath away. Drew nipped her pelvic mound, gazing up at her, that smirk on his face. “Let go, princess.”

And she did, shaking and gripping the bedding beneath her. Drew licking her clean greedily and then raising up, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth as he lowered himself, crashing his mouth against her mouth. As the kiss broke, Rhiannon’s eyes settled on the window and then her gaze shifted down to Drew’s cock. He couldn’t stop the curious smirk he gave, not that he wanted to. “Wot do y’ wan’ t’ do? Use yer words.” 

“I’d rather show you.” Rhiannon muttered in a lust-filled daze, biting her lip as she nodded towards the window again. Drew chuckled and started to walk away, standing there, beckoning her to him. Rhiannon slipped off the bed, tip toeing across the room, pulling his mouth down against her own again. Drew’s hands were all over her, gripping and squeezing and leaving his fair share of handprints behind. She was just about to sink to her knees in front of him but he bit his lip, stepping away, then stopping in front of her, staring down at her all over again as he pressed himself into her heavily. “Turn around.”

“Drew..”

“Turn around, love. Press against th’ window.” Drew muttered the words against her neck lazily. Under his firm gaze, she did as asked, turning away. Almost the second she felt his cock slip between her thighs, grazing right against tender and throbbing folds, she whimpered and a shiver ran through her body, making him chuckle against her neck just before sinking his teeth in and letting his lips latch on. “Feel good?”

“Mhm.. so good. It’s gonna feel so much better when you’re finally fucking me.. Please...C’mon.” Rhiannon begged, daring to wiggle her ass against him, making his cock graze against her all over again and Drew growled as his arm wrapped around her, his hand dipping down and disappearing between her thighs. She whimpered louder and he groaned as he felt her shake just a little. “Tender, hm?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Just wait til ah’m done wit’ y.. Yer not goin’ t’ be able t’ move.” Drew’s voice against her skin was husky, the warmth of his breath tickling her skin along with the coarse beard. Rhiannon gripped the edges of the window, bracing herself as Drew’s fingers continued to lazily circle her clit, applying light pressure, toying with the bundle of throbbing nerves until she was moaning his name, breathless and begging even louder.

His other hand roamed upward, squeezing her breasts, briefly lingering at the base of her throat as he grazed his cock against her all over again, teasing the tip between her folds. When she bit her lip and bucked her ass against him urgently, a series of frantic begging whimpers falling from her lips and echoing off the walls. He chuckled as it clicked and he realized that maybe she had a thing about the way his hand rested against her throat.

“Fuck. Please.. C’mon, Drew, I need you… inside me..” Rhiannon begged, a pleading moan coming next as she felt his fingers squeezing into her throat just a little bit. He growled against her ear, a dark chuckle following as he sank into her slowly, almost carefully and went still, gasping against the shell of her ear, “So fookin tight.” and nipped at it. When he felt her starting to relax, he started to slam into her hard and slow, as deep as he could get. Rhiannon met his thrusts into her with her own rocking motions, the pace between them syncing easily, even though she was dying for him to go faster, harder.. His hand squeezed at her throat a little harder and he gave another low chuckle. “Y’ like my ‘and around yer throat, do y’?”

“Mhm.. Oh.. -oh fuck… right there, baby.. C’mon, fuck me harder.” Rhiannon begged aloud before she ever realized she’d done it and Drew groaned, slamming into her harder and slower, making sure she felt every single inch of his thick length as it sank deep into her womb. The way she squeezed around him had him taking it slower, stilling to nip at her neck and leave little bite marks all over her neck, muttering against her skin how good it felt to fuck her, asking her at one point, “Do y’ like et? Knowin dat anybody who walks by th’ window can see me fucking y’? Answer me, princess.” 

“Y-yes. Fuck. Right there, c’mon. Harder, baby.” Rhiannon begged, her back arching against him, his hand gripping her hip tight as he started to really slam into her from behind, pressing into her, pressing her right up against the window.

“Harder, hm?” Drew questioned, giving her throat another little squeeze. Rhiannon whimpered as the dizzying intensity of another orgasm began to sneak it’s way through her, a slow and lazy build because Drew was purposely keeping them at a slow and steady pace. Her body pressed against the cool glass of the window and she could see him behind her in the reflection of the window, her fingers gripping the edges tighter as she did her best to stay upright. The harder and deeper he slammed into her, the better it felt. The more intense it got. His hand moved down from her throat, resting against her other hip as he pulled her hips back against him, slamming into her just a little faster. 

Drew could feel her walls clenching around his cock and he drove into her a little slower, muttering lazily against her neck, “Feels so fookin good. Y’ take me so well, princess.” as he stilled just to keep himself on the edge of his own rapidly building orgasm. When he bottomed out and she tensed, a long and drawn out moan leaving her lips as her head fell back, the back of it resting against his chest, he growled quietly. “Ah know y’ can get louder. Let me hear et, love.” 

And as he started to speed up again, slamming into her harder and deeper, his hands gripping her hips tighter, tight enough to leave handprints behind, Rhiannon caught sight of someone lurking around nearby. “Someone’s watching.” 

Drew stilled, leaning forward to glance out the window from behind her and he caught sight of her pout. “Wot’s th’ pout for?”

“You stopped. Fuck, c’mon. Need…” Rhiannon whimpered out, rocking her hips back against him, driving him deep into her womb, a satisfied and almost wanton moan leaving her mouth as she licked her lips and continued to sink herself onto his cock, over and over. Drew had to grip her hip and his other hand wandered up, resting over her hand where it gripped the edge of the window and he pressed himself into her heavily. “Y’ need what, love?”

“You.. don’t stop.. Oh fuck I’m… I’m so close.” Rhiannon managed to breathe out, earning her a chuckle as Drew muttered, “Ef we’re goin’ t’ ‘ave an audience, maybe we should give ‘em a show?” mostly in teasing, but when Rhiannon started to really buck her hips back against him and cause him to bottom out, he growled quietly, his teeth nipping at her neck as he muttered against her ear all over again, “Y’ like that, do y?”

“I like anything that involves you not stopping. Fuck… Drew, baby..” Rhiannon begged as he started to pound away at her harder and just a little faster. She gave herself over to the pleasure, the way it felt to have his body pressed firmly against her own, his hands and mouth all over her, the way it felt to be filled and stretched by his cock. “Faster, c’mon.. Please?”

“So fuckin wet. Yer drippin.” Drew growled out against her neck, nipping at it as he sped up, his hips smacking against her body joining the sounds of their labored breathing and the loud moans and begging Rhiannon was doing. “And y’ take me so well.” 

Whoever had been watching was forgotten, the two of them caught up in each other, and yet, the person remained.

Rhiannon whimpered aloud, moaning his name over and over as Drew bottomed out over and over again, his cock going deeper, buried balls deep inside her. When he felt her tighten around her, he tried to slow down, but Rhiannon kept slamming her hips back against him, begging for it. “I’m so close, c’mon.. Please Drew?”

“So ah’m ah.” Drew growled against her ear as he slammed into her harder and deeper, his hips erratic smack against her backside echoing around them and competing with their combined cries and heavy breathing. “Don’t wanna stop.” he grunted as she clenched him deep inside, her release coating him, flooding and dripping and spurring him right over the edge also. He leaned against her heavily, hands gripping her hips to hold her upright, taking deep breaths as he throbbed and emptied inside her, his lips moving over her neck in a slow frenzy as he let them both come down from the high of their orgasm.

Rhiannon turned around to face him, pressing against him and Drew picked her up, carrying her back to the bed where they collapsed, spent, a tangle of arms and legs. “If y’ think dat’s somethin, love… wait til round two when ah get y’ back to our place. There are rooms dat need t’ be broken in…” Drew’s finger trailed over her lips, then down, tracing the line between her breasts. Rhiannon leaned in, teeth tugging at his lower lip as she muttered lazily against his mouth, “Challenge accepted.”

“Let’s get outta ‘ere.” Drew asked, gathering their clothes, holding hers out to her, chuckling as he helped her start to re-dress...

[ruffled-serpent]

Nethke’s Lair Review

@the-belows-128375​  You’re up, friend!

To start I want to say that right off the bat I noticed that you seem to have a soft spot for guardians! They’re quite excellent dragons, so I understand the sentiment. And also I enjoy how you seem to have a nice, organized biography template that you use for dragons that have lore. The templates you use are legible, and a great reference for both quick refreshers on the dragon’s personality and good for deep diving into their lore. First up, your namesake

Nethke

I like the wild ride of a backstory you gave Nethke, going from abandoned egg, to loner, to slave, and finally ending up in a welcoming home is such a great direction to take this dragon. What I particularly adore about the aesthetics of this dragon is you found a way to incorporate the reds of her tertiary into a nice gradient that shifts into pinks accomplished by your chosen accent and halo. The blues of the cloak mesh nicely with the secondary color AND gene. Excellent work all around in making this genone work so well

Nothing

Nothing really caught my eye due to her name, so I had to click to see if she had some juicy lore. I was rewarded because her lore is incredibly captivating. I personally love shade-related lore, and Nothing is such an interesting way to do just that. I really resonate with the quote in her bio that reads: ”That feeling when you're halfway through a really delicious thing, and you're like "should I finish this?" and you're physically full, but then you're like, "I'm eating this anyways"” because what a dang mood. As for aesthetics, I want to compliment you on your use of matching her browns with the garb and her eyes with the cloak. I imagine you chose her for the muted colors, wanting her to be a shade-touched dragon, and by golly you’ve done a great job with her.

BloodMixer

The whole ebonhide estate tab has me super intrigued, but BloodMixer drew me in on aesthetics alone. He is SUCH a handsome looking dragon. The way you’ve matched the celebration sage with the gold opal is utterly satisfying. The way his ice eyes blend in to look like just another star involved with the StarCon combo is quite lovely. His familiar, the harvest hardshell is such an excellent match as well, with the deeper oranges and tan of the cornucopia matching not only with the dragons own orange range them but with the little Olive wreath apparel as well. A subtle detail that didn’t go unnoticed here :)

Yaremka

Yaremka is such an excellent use of the festival skin, but what I most admire about the way you’ve dressed her is your use of the luminous sundrapes to frame her wings SO nicely. The small empty space is still visually pleasing, and if anything were to fill it, it would probably make the dragon look too busy. What an excellent light representative all around! I also enjoy the feisty wildclaw nature that comes out in her lore.

Firestarter

although not as dressed up as some other dragons I want to talk about how much I LOVE firestarter’s look. I’m not sure if you were going for this angle, but the use of terracotta ghost makes his ribs look like I’m peering into the grate of a furnace. It so wonderfully matches the grating on the banner as well. This dragon literally represents a furnace and I’m absolutely here for this aesthetic

Pandoriax

Pandoriax’s accent goes SO well with facet and opal. It brings in nice flashes of purple which lets the eye wander around the whole dragon which guides the viewer to admire the whole dragon. The wisps and the gloomwillow guide is an excellent combination here and their bright blues mesh well with the accent and the opal gene. Pandoriax is a stunning and beautiful dragon.

Marlowe

Marlowe’s aesthetics really nail down the whole “light dragon accepted into Earth culture” theme. Marlowe’s lore is so amazingly detailed. I love how as a dragonling you’ve given him a lisp and how you illustrated him correcting his lisp overtime. That is such a small, but fantastic detail that just makes the whole piece seem so full. Speaking of full, Marlow looks like he’s filled with gems. The opal gene and the earth halo combined with the gold from his accent is SUCH a fantastic way to bring out the Earth aesthetic. He is such an entertaining dragon to not only look at, but to read about as well

Wistala

Wistala is such a sparkly dragon. I really like how you’ve used the accent to match her tertiary color and her crystal facet genes. The purple gradient also works nicely together with the browns in her apparel, and I like how you matched the white cloth from the gem thief with the map kit. I also rather enjoy how you incorporated her cat into her lore :) a very well put together dragon!

Beautiful Dreamer

There are so many things I like about this dragon. As far as looks, I like the accent paired with the poison primary. The color matching is so spot on. I also really like how he is a dream specialist, and how that can easily tie into his smoke gene. I love it when genes are integrated with lore, and Dreamer’s a fantastic example of it. Speaking of lore, I adore Baku’s involvement in Dreamer’s life, and I’m glad you gave such a cool dragon a happily ever after.

A Practical Heart

right off the bat, A Practical Heart is such a romantic looking dragon. The reds of his accent, flowers, and coat only emphasize the passion, and while this dragon doesn’t have lore in his bio, it almost isn’t needed to at least assume to motive behind his design. I like the small amount of mystery we get from having his eyes covered by the hat. The storytelling done with just his outfit is commendable

A Practical God

I’m sensing a theme here with the names, and honestly I love it. It’s such an intriguing mechanic. So, with A Practical God, I like how you’ve use the skincent to turn the dragon into a ghostly shadow god. The skull and antlers really bring home that “old god” type aesthetic while the magic cards are a good visual storytelling on what we can expect his powers to be. Another great visually based dragon

Practical Bones

I get a witch doctor kind or a vulture culture kind of vibe from this dragon. I can appreciate the raven armor and the birdskull apparel pieces as a part of this dragons collection or aesthetic. I’ve always admired how the raven armor gives dragons an entirely armored leg, and I particularly enjoy the layering you did here with the wingsilks. Sometimes it can be hard working with blacks in regards to apparel because of the differing tones, but you handled that very well in this greyscale themed dragon.

Forgemaker

The use of the skincent and crucible here is just so dang flawless. It almost looked like the crucible was part of the skin until I realized the smoke was definitely a part of an apparel item. The whites involved in this dragon remind me of fallen ash, and work so well with a fire-themed dragon. And while Forgemaker doesn’t have much lore, the small bit in his bio is very telling. Defecting to the Other Power is so ominous and hints so something much larger.

Bayer

Bayer is such an amazing looking arcane dragon. From deep purples to light pinks you’ve worked with such a great range in both Bayer’s genetic colors and apparel items. I love that you’ve chosen a dragon with a dark primary, it brings out all the other details of his apparel and genes that would be washed out if it were any brighter. Everything flows so nicely here, what an intelligent design and inspiration.

Rumple

For Rumple, everything also flows nicely here. The secondary gene you’ve picked for him goes perfectly with the electricity of the stormclaws. I love how close the robin/cyan colors match. Given that he’s the engineer of the estate, you’ve pictured his skill of tinkering well with the steampunk gloves, circuit accent, and again the stormclaws. His spines match so well with the vest, and while not perfectly matched the dark colors do go hand in hand with the lead wings. Lastly, the Sentry Squawker as his familiar is such a great way to drive home the engineering theme you’ve created for him.

Nethke, from your lair I feel like I’ve learned a great deal about visual storytelling. And with dragons that you’ve written lore for, it feels full and enriching. Nothing feels like it’s too much or overdone. Thank you for letting me review your lair!

[lilsum4]

Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind - Chapter 9

You did it, you won. You made me sit down and write and update. Every time I thought “no one cares anymore,” one of your comments would come in and remind me that this story exists. Your kudos, comments, well-wishes and dogged perseverance won. So here is an update, 4 years later.

Special thanks to @davidtennantstrainers​, who always chimed in with a “still waiting! you okay?” when I least expected one.

Read on AO3 if you prefer.

Close Encounters of the Invisible Kind - Chapter 9

She had forgotten that gravity's a right bitch.

Donna stumbles, quite literally, out of the TARDIS doors with as much grace as a newborn fawn. Or as though she's single-handedly imbibed a pub's stock of lager. Nerys' center of gravity feels horribly off and inhabiting these foreign limbs takes practice.

To add insult to injury, Nerys is also wearing truly uncomfortable wedding shoes, and she can already feel a pinch in her toes developing.

Once out the doors she uses the TARDIS to re-balance and keep from falling flat on her face. With hands upon warm wood, she realizes that, for the first time ever, she has an opportunity to examine the TARDIS from the outside. She's never had a chance before. So now she runs her fingertips over the aged, blue paint -- tottering around it in a full circle, in awe at the machine. "Look at you!" she breathes, inspecting the details, from the message on the door to the actual working telephone. "You're amazing!"

Donna throws her arms wide against the police box in a hug, squeezing tight, relishing the rough texture of it under her hands, real skin pressing against solidness. It's perfect. "Thank you," she whispers now, her own little secret message, "For taking me in. Giving me a home. I won't get to hug you for real again -- so thank you."

The TARDIS feels somehow content under her touch, so Donna thinks the TARDIS appreciates it.

She finally pulls back and turns, finding the Doctor standing a few feet away, watching her with a warm, secret gaze.

"What!" she demands in her brassiest tone. Well, Nerys' brassiest tone.

"Nothing," he grins. He extends a hand to her. "Come on. Aren't we supposed to be getting your friend to her wedding?"

She reaches forward and takes his hand and that feels perfect, too.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Several things happen rapid-fire after that:

She screams at the Doctor for not thinking about bringing money with him. She's the ghost along for the ride; it really should be up to the living to think about details like that, and it's not like he's green at this whole "unforeseen adventure" shtick. He says, one too many times, "Don't get too comfortable in that body," like she can forget, christ on a cracker, that this is temporary! And so then she accidentally-on-purpose leaves him behind when he's not paying attention, because he's being a git about this whole unintended possession thing and by god, she's allowed a bit of fun, ain't she - just for the little time before Nerys gets her skinny body back?

In the taxi, Donna bounces delightedly on the seat, actually enjoying London traffic for once. She doesn't get to enjoy if for long, as the driver turns out to be a Santa robot, and then Donna puts Nerys' body in mortal danger by diving out of a moving car, into the Doctor's waiting arms.

It's an awkward leap that's more flailing limbs, a hope, and a prayer, than anything else. She doesn't think the Doctor quite understands how utterly foreign this body feels -- how any body would feel after all this time -- and it's really a miracle that she doesn't land with a splat on the busy motorway.

When she does, against all odds, land with the Doctor's surprisingly solid body beneath hers, it takes her a moment to stop relishing the sensation of someone pressed against her. It's been soooo long.

But she does, in fact, remember that this is not her body. So in that moment when the Doctor and her are face to face and shocked into stillness, it strikes her that it's not Donna he's looking at, watching out for, holding hands with. It's Nerys.

She commands trembling limbs to lever herself to sit, in a pool of white skirts, on the floor. Excitement and adrenaline subside so that all that's left is an unwelcome pang in her chest. A deep, watery breath doesn't help the bite of realization that, as wrapped in giddy excitement as she is to take part in an adventure, none of this is truly happening to Donna. None of this is about her. It never is.

The Doctor has scrambled off to right the bucking TARDIS, consumed in flipping levers and pulling switches and dealing with a growing plume of smoke.

Donna watches him for a moment, then tells herself she really should get up. She's wrinkling Nerys' dress. The dress that should have been Donna's.

The sentence slips from her mouth without actual thought: "I looked better in it, you know."

"Hm?" the Doctor queries, distracted, more concerned with landing them safely.

"The dress. I looked better in it."

The Doctor finally looks up to find Donna slowly standing, smoothing down layers of tulle, looking down at her friend's form.

The Doctor recalls Donna only as an amorphous grey mass with terrifying pits for eyes, but looking at her in that borrowed body now, with a cocked hip, radiating attitude, he can imagine she must have been a force to be reckoned with. And for a moment that niggle of memory hits him again -- of gold-nebulae eyes, staring into his, and hair red as the fields of Gallifrey. He shakes it off, as he always does, as a fancy of regeneration sickness.

The TARDIS pauses its bucking as he finishes banging a button into submission, but flies smoothly enough - despite the growing smoke - for him to step away from the console and towards her. "You keep saying it's your dress. I don't recall you mentioning you were engaged?"

Donna keeps her gaze lowered, one hand going to a tiny rip in the beading along the side.

"No, I wasn't. It was just, you know, hopeful thinking. Picking out your future dress so your mates don't end up filching your style. One of those silly things. But I really did love this dress, ever since we saw it once when we were window shopping. And then she goes and takes it!"

The Doctor is grinning, but as the seconds beat by and she continues to look down, he begins to suspect that her sassy pose and ire are all an act.

"Donna?" he asks carefully.

"I tried it on at the shop and everything. Even Nerys agreed it looked good, and getting a compliment out of her was a fucking miracle."

He reaches out a tentative hand and places it on her shoulder.

She looks up finally, trying to smile through a trembling chin, her eyes suspiciously wet. "I ripped it. She's gonna be so angry."

"You saved her life. She'll get over it."

For a moment he thinks she'll say more, thinks that gravity will win the battle with the tears he sees in dishwater blue eyes. But instead Donna squares her friend's shoulders and lifts her chin, all traces of vulnerability wiped from Nerys' face as if they'd never been there. "Damn straight! Now, where did you land us?" she sails out the door, leaving the Doctor looking after her.

He has to wonder now how many times he's missed that vulnerability, invisible to everyone, any nuance lost under the loud voice and funny quips that only he gets to hear but never see.

The light is bright, the wind whipping Nery's careful blonde chignon out of shape, as the Doctor follows Donna out onto the rooftop.

Donna sighs. "Forget the dress; I've gone and messed up her wedding."

"No you haven't. It's not your fault she got pulled into the TARDIS. Obviously, something's after Nerys."

"But who would want to be after Nerys?" asks Donna. "It must be some sort of mix up."

She shivers as she sits on the roof's edge, and he finds a long-dormant impulse kicking in. He takes of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders.

Donna smirks -- the Doctor has to wonder what that smirk would look like on her real face -- and gives him a little eye-roll. "Of course this sad excuse for a jacket fits Nerys. You both are skinny as rats."

"Oi, I'm trying to be a gentleman here. Doesn't happen often, you know!"

She bumps his shoulder playfully. "Right, right." She burrows deeper into his jacket, and he watches her fingers play over the pinstriped material as if memorizing the texture. He sees it again, that flash of sorrow quickly buried. He has the strangest impulse to wrap an arm around her, to somehow comfort her into getting that well-hidden dejection cleansed from her gaze.

"Don't really even know what we were trying to accomplish, really. I mean, so if we'd gotten her back to the wedding, then what? I'd still be stuck in her," she muses, looking off at the cityscape.

"Maybe she'd force you out, not wanting to miss her own wedding. Moot point, now. We have to figure out why she's being hunted, and fix it."

"Poor Nerys. Chased around on her wedding day," Donna sighs and shivers again.

The Doctor shifts at her side, the urge to hug her almost overwhelming now, but he resists and instead digs in his trouser pockets until his fingers touch metal. He pulls out a ring, and offers it to Donna, palm up.

She gapes at his hand for a second, before carefully asking, "What's that for?" There's a catch in her voice.

"Biodamper. It will hide Nerys' biological signature from the robots. Should buy us some time." He offers it again but her hands stay resolutely on her lap, until he takes one in his own and slides the ring on her finger. Her hands are trembling. From the cold, perhaps?

"With this ring, I thee biodamp," he teases.

Her fingers curl in his. This time Donna can't hide her feelings fast enough, and Nerys’ face shifts into an expression of sadness and longing.

"For better or for worse," whispers Donna.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Donna knows Nerys better than anyone, and has been hearing of her fairytale wedding plans since they were 15 and sneaking out of school. She gets it in one when she guesses where the reception would have been held.

"You had the reception without Ner- uh - me?!" Donna asks, appalled, upon entering the ballroom.

"Why not? You decided to pull that prank, so why waste all this?" begins Beatrice, attired in an appallingly ugly orange bridesmaid dress. Donna never much had liked Beatrice.

"Wasn't anyone worried?" Donna exclaims. "What kind of friends are you?!"

Lance -- LANCE! -- comes up to her. "Now, sweetheart. Don't fret so. We all knew you'd turn up. No case of cold feet would keep you away for long, right?"

"Lance?" she wonders, befuddled. Why was he even here?

He hugs her (and oh man, he was fit!), and a niggling suspicion has her pulling back just far enough to peruse his well-fitted tux and the expensive flower at his lapel. Donna stumbles back. Nerys...that absolute man-stealing cow!

It unfolds then, between friends and bridesmaids trying to placate her with glasses of wine, how she shouldn't be too angry. How lucky she is that Lance took her prank in a stride. How of course they were soulmates; it was fate that they'd meet at her friend's funeral who'd--

Wait, hold up! Donna reaches out and snatches the cocktail the Doctor had been nursing right out of his hand, to down in one gulp. Donna's funeral. They'd met at her own damn funeral! Now she really is fuming, and doesn't feel one whit guilty when the music strikes back up and Lance drags her onto the dance floor.

She's tearing up the dance floor, because...well, because she can. This, all of this, should have bloody well been Donna's, and so if anyone has the right to be dancing with Lance right now, it's her!

The Doctor hangs back, indulgent, letting her have her moment of fun. She winks at him over Lance's shoulder and the Doctor raises a new, fruity drink to her in reply. A conga line forms and she snags him into joining as they pass by, and then they're making a joyous circle around the room and she spins to laugh at some wry comment the Doctor makes about how conga lines are so much more fun when done on a planet with zero gravity, and it's all so wonderful that she forgets, for a little while, that this isn't hers and it isn't her future they're celebrating and then...

Then, she spies the quiet couple seated at a table on the fringes, and reality rears its head once more. Her feet cement themselves to the floor so that the Doctor crashes into her before pulling her out of the way as the conga line reforms without them.

"What is it?" the Doctor asks, scanning for danger as the blood has drained from her wine-flushed face.

"My parents," whispers Donna. Sylvia and Geoff, looking a little older, a little more tired. The smiles they aim in her direction, however, are as familiar as always.

It takes her several uncertain steps to make it to them, and the well wishes and hugs she receives pass in a blur. A quick impression of warm hands and Sylvia's favorite perfume, Geoff's hearty laugh. Donna has no memory, later, of what she said or how she forced Nerys' lips into a smile. Of how she was able to nod when Donna's own name was brought up and how much they wished she could be there to celebrate with her dear friend.

The Doctor is waiting, hands ready to grip her cold fingers, when she staggers back to him and begs, "Please, get me out of here." And right on time, the baubles on the decorative Christmas tree begins to explode.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donna can confirm that after being kidnapped from your wedding, finding out your rubbish friends held the reception without you, and then finding out you’re being poisoned, a great distraction from your troubles is to barrel down maintenance tunnels in a Segway. It is so ridiculous that the laughter bubbles up without warning, until she and the Doctor are hooting and giggling and altogether having a swell time. Unfortunately, Lance is an utter killjoy.

Well of course he is, the two-timing arse - turns out he was cheating on Nerys with a spider.

"Is it always like this when you go adventuring," whispers Donna, much later, back on the TARDIS and watching the world being born. "The bits of chaos and the danger and the wonder?"

"Yep. 'S great, isn't it?" grins the Doctor, before noting that a wayward tear is further smudging Nerys' makeup

"I'm sorry about your friend's fiancee," offers the Doctor.

"Hmm," nods Donna. . She presses a cold hand to her chest. "She's so shocked inside. Oh, poor Nerys. What an absolute wanker Lance is. But this," she takes a deep breath now, staring at the kaleidoscope of colors outside the door as dust coalesces into her planet, "this puts it all in perspective, doesn't it. I hope it helps her."

It doesn't, not really. Or at least not right this moment, as she continues to sense Nerys aching in betrayal. But maybe one day in the future, Nerys will think back to this vista no other human has seen before, and heal.

The moment of calm is shattered as they’re pulled back to earth, and Donna heartily wishes her friend hadn’t chosen these horrible shoes for the wedding as she finds herself sprinting to keep up with the Doctor once more.

"So these Huon particles," Donna wheezes once the Doctor brings them to a stop at a maintenance door. "I still don't understand. What are they for?"

"They're an ancient form of energy, energy that's necessary for the Racnoss to rise. They need a living host to catalyze, and Nerys is it."

"You think maybe that's what's making me stick to her? Cuz it feels like how the TARDIS can keep me anchored" she ponders, watching him take out a stethoscope. She's pretty sure he's just fucking around at this point, he's such a drama queen.

He pauses suddenly, eyes going wide before whirling at her. Excited, happy hands gesticulate wildly. "Yes! Oh, yes! I'd forgotten entirely that you're stuck. Aren't you clever! The Huon particles, they're so old that the only other surviving particles power the heart of the TARDIS. They're like the little plus sides to your minus--"

"Oi, watch it."

"--an ancient magnet, keeping you in place!"

"Well gold star for me! Does that mean when you get them out of her I can finally leave?"

"Yep," enthuses the Doctor, back to inspecting the door he's so hell-bent on opening. "We'll sort that out back in the TARDIS, and then 'poof!', you're back to your role as resident ghost and Nerys is back to her boring life, probably knee-deep in wedding bills. Really, the wedding industry is a scam, I don't understand why--"

It occurs to him that he can't hear Donna’s labored breathing hovering over his shoulder any longer. He whirls back around and, of course, she's gone.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I fucking hate you. To think, it could have been me!" spits Donna, now suspended in a web beside Wanker!Lance.

He sneers, and Donna wonders that she ever found him attractive.

The Racnoss Queen forces the Huon particles out of the both of them, and Donna's ire for her friend is derailed as she begins to feel the tendrils holding her in place begin to dissipate. Goddammit, why did she have to be right this time! If she's forced out here, she's going to be lost!

She digs in tight, trying to keep within this borrowed body. The Huon particles want to take her with them, but she's not going to go without a fight! She calls out furiously to Nerys within her mind. "Help me stay!"

Nerys continues to cower in a tiny corner of her mind, nursing hurt and horror and disbelief. Donna is grasping tight with a strength she didn't know she had, seeking out the cells within Nerys' body that contain the tiniest footprints of Huon energy still, ingrained after 6 months of being dosed. But she's not going to be able to hold on for long by herself. "For god's sake, Nerys, be useful for once! What, you want this cheating bastard and his spider mistress to win?! You end up as spider food and Beatrice gets first dibs at any eligible bachelors at your funeral this time around?”

That does it. She feels Nerys psyche uncurl, ponder, and finally lash out a mental hand, clawing back at Donna, gripping at her with Nerys' signature bitchy stubbornness. A final, mighty heave from Nerys has Donna settling back into Nerys' body with a palpable jerk. "You better fucking get me out of here alive, Donna!" she hears Nerys say to her. "It's your fault I even met him!"

And isn't that classic Nerys.

The Doctor, thankfully, arrives right on time. He doesn’t catch her, the dunce, but at least Nerys is not spider food, so that’s a win. She’s sure she’ll remember Lance’s fall for a long time, though. Is even more sure she’ll remember the Racnoss Queen’s frenzied sobbing and screams of “My babies” for much longer.

Which leaves Donna now standing in ankle deep water, staring at a stranger.

The Doctor, a silent and grim executioner, is perhaps the scariest thing she's seen today, or ever.

The water is rising rapidly, the screams of dying Racnoss long faded. "Doctor, you can stop now!"

He looks down at her with burning eyes, this stranger wearing the Doctor's face, and it's almost scary how well she can read him right now. How unfair it is that the Racnoss survived and his people didn't. How horrible it is to be the last. How easy it would be to just watch the water rise. The relief it would be to let go and finally, finally rest.

"What's death like, Donna?" he whispers to her and she hears it just fine, even over the rushing water.

She gulps, terrified. But she forces her borrowed voice to be strong. "Boring. Endless. Pointless. Is that what you want? Because it's not what Nerys wants." It's not what I want for you.

He closes his eyes, finally, and when he reopens them it's the Spaceman she's used to looking back at her. "Let's get her out of here, then."

-----------------------------------------------

The Doctor has made it snow for her.

"It's time, Donna," he says to her quietly.

"I know," she sighs. She shuffles her feet a little, enjoying the solidity of dirt underfoot. Even the ache in her arches and pinching in her toes is welcome. She rubs her hands over cold arms. Skin and bone and a voice and will and action. She's about to let go of all of it.

"You need somebody, you know," she says abruptly, using hands that aren't hers to reach for the Doctor's grasp. "Out here with you, a companion. You should find someone else, someone new. Like I told you before."

"I don't need anyone," he denies gruffly, though he grips her fingers tight.

"Yes you do. You need someone to share in the adventures and because... sometimes you need someone to stop you," she replies, kindly. Somebody to live for. And it can't be me.

He blinks rapidly at her. Wayward tears or snow in his eyes? She can't tell because she is blinking just as hard.

“Not Nerys, though!"

He chokes out a laugh, scrubbing one hand over his face. “No, not Nerys. Not now that you’re finally going to be free of her.”

She grins, trying to be strong, and nervously smooths her hands over her ruined dress. "Okay, well, here goes nothing. You know she's going to freak the holy hell out as soon as I leave her, right?" she begins. She wants to ask for a hug again, because she needs it, but she feels stupid asking.

Though she does quickly remember something else. "Wait! Oh here, save this for me." She slides the biodamper off Nerys’ finger.

The Doctor takes it from her with a confused look. "It's useless now, you know. No harm in it for her."

"But it's mine," she confesses in a rush. "Not Nerys'. You gave it to me and it's ...it's the closest I ever..." her throat clogs up, "closest I got to getting a ring from someone. Even when I was alive I..."

The Doctor's sympathetic eyes do her in, utterly, and she finds herself suddenly shouting, "Why did I have to die!"

To her horror, she feels tears sliding down Nerys’ pale cheeks. Her bottom lip is trembling, her chest aching, breaths staggering. She’d forgotten how much it physically hurt being so sad.

Then she is being enfolded in the Doctor's arms, his hug wonderfully tight as he shushes her and rocks her. And she didn't even have to ask.

She reaches around him, fists clutching his coat. She'd forgotten, too, how it felt to be comforted.

She is the one who finally pulls back, because it's too tempting to cling to him longer. She looks away and scrubs her eyes. The Doctor continues to gaze at her with soft understanding, slipping the ring into a pocket before reaching for her hands once more. "Donna..." he begins.

But she is embarrassed enough already, crying and snotty, and Nerys is not a pretty crier. She abruptly uses the Doctor's grip on her to pull herself out of this borrowed body. This time, Nerys is more than happy to let her go, and it's almost like a cork popping out of a champagne. The force of it throws Nerys back and Donna is left a ghost once more, with a firm grip on the Doctor to keep her tethered.

Nerys catches her footing, stares, smacks the Doctor hard across the face, and turns tail to run away, screaming, "HELP! Martians are real!"

"What the hell was that for!" exclaims the Doctor. He shakes his head at the retreating form of the woman, and heads back through the TARDIS doors. He ensures that Donna's hand is firm in his before closing the door, because she remains silent. Nerys is still screaming and scrambling towards her front door when the TARDIS disappears.

It's only after the TARDIS is in the vortex that he realizes he can feel Donna's hand in his as if she were solid.

[illegiblewords]

5 Questions for Writers!

               5 Questions for Writers                                                        

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

 Don’t…

 Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

 Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

 Click.

 Click.

 Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

 Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

[ilovemygaydad]

Dance, Dance

Part One: Introductions

Based off this post that you really need to read for context!

Pairings: Analogical and Royality (past sleeplogical)

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Logan, Roman, Sleep/Remy, Deceit/Dominic, October/Toby, September/Ember

Warnings: domestic abuse, swearing, sexual humor, crude comments, bullying, making out, abusive deceit, i can’t think of anything else but tell me if you want me to tag something

A/N: Thank you to @wisepuma23 for being excited about this for me! Also, if the scenes seem weird, it’s because I’m trying to incorporate a bunch of povs because the movie is like that and it’s!!! important!!! oh and uhhhhh sorry for not writing since literally before the new blog but i’m dumb so yeah

Masterlist | Ask Blog | READ ON AO3

The shrill call of the intercom startled Virgil awake. It beeped, but no voice came out. Frustrated, Virgil slammed the talk button and spoke through gritted teeth. “What?”

“Virgil, do not get sassy with me. Your phone privileges are still on thin ice,” Dominic drawled.

“Of course. Sorry.” Virgil wanted so, so bad to bludgeon the damned intercom.

“Get me breakfast. I want eggs benedict and a grande in a venti cup of nonfat vanilla chai tea filled to the top with cream and three Stevias. THREE! Oh, and bring it here in five minutes. And get the twins their breakfasts.” The intercom clicked off.

Great! Virgil thought. What a totally realistic goal for me to accomplish. Fucking kill me.

And, needless to say, Virgil didn’t have the stupid eggs and the even more stupid drink in five minutes, so Dominic made Virgil cough up his phone for the next two months. And then the twins dumped their smoothies onto him because they weren’t right. Virgil had to change his clothes and then make new smoothies.

Virgil barely made it out the door in time due to his chores, and then he almost forgot his skateboard, so by the time that he had rolled up to Patton’s beat-up van, he was late. Patton gave him a quizzical look, but he just shook his head and climbed into shotgun.

Once they started their journey to school, Virgil actually took in what Patton was wearing. The top half was pretty normal looking; Pat’s purple-streaked curls were neatly swooped back, and he had on one of Virgil’s old flannel shirts. On his bottom half, he had—

“Patton, are you wearing a blue tutu?”

The friend in question grinned. “Yeah! I think that it perfectly fits my playful personality!”

Virgil suppressed a smile. “It sure does, Pat.”

“I think I’m going to add tutus to my future fashion line. It’s a winner for sure. And then I’ll get famous, and you’re going to become an all-star dancer, so I can pick you up in my private jet for lunch in Paris!” Patton spoke animatedly, flinging his hands around and ignoring the road. Virgil, practically used to it already, took the wheel in his own hands to make sure they wouldn’t go off road.

“Dude, I have to get into dance school before I can become famous.”

“Yeah, but you’re gonna!” Patton waved dismissively at Virgil’s worries. “Oh, anyway, did you hear that Logan Parker is coming back today?”

“Obviously. I live—turn right—with Toby, Ember, and Dominic. I never hear the end of that shiiii… stuff. Never hear the end of that stuff.”

Patton shrugged. “Fair.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and began to rummage around his pocket for a second, pulling out a pan of black eyeshadow. He flipped down the visor to use the mirror, but as he let go, the whole visor clattered to the floor, completely unhinged. “Fuck, Patton. Would it kill you to fix this thing?”

“Don’t upset her! She’s sensitive, and I don’t want her breaking down on me!” He paused for a second before smirking at his best friend. “Plus, it’s not like you really need the mirror to apply your eyeshadow, anyway.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, you love me.”

“I wish you were dead.”

Patton just smiled pleasantly, pulling into the parking lot. “Okay, dear.”

It took a whole ten seconds to swipe on the eyeshadow under Virgil’s eyes. As soon as he was done, he stepped out of Patton’s awful van and took a step onto the sidewalk.

“Honestly, Ember. I can’t believe you still drink those awful frappuccinos! They’re so full of sugar,” Remy Sinclair drawled, driving his silver convertible with his two cronies. “Black coffee is obviously superi—oh.” Remy had spotted Virgil.

Shit!

The black coffee in Remy’s hand flew right onto the front of Virgil’s shirt. The boys in the car all laughed; though, it sounded more like a cackle. “Oh, Virgil. I’m so sorry!”

From the van, Patton started to yell, “You’ll be sorry when I shove my fist up your—”

Virgil rushed to put his hand over Patton’s mouth, and Remy just drove away.

“Loganloganloganloganloganlo—”

“Roman, I swear to god. If you don’t stop that insufferable babbling, I will throw you out the window of this limousine on the 405.”

Roman pouted. “You won’t pay attention to me.”

“Yeah, well,” Logan muttered as he flipped over his schedule again. “I would like to know where my classes are so I don’t look like an idiot on my first day back.”

“You’ve read that thing a billion times! Can’t we get hyped for all of your fans—”

“Roman. For the last time, I am here to learn. You are free to spend your time frivolously flirting with every guy with a pulse; however, I am dedicating this year to my education.”

“Ugh, fine. You’re no fun!” Roman huffed, crossing his arms. “Are you at least excited for school?”

Logan smiled at Roman for the first time during their ride. “Yes, actually, I am. Thank you for asking. Are you?”

“I’m excited if you’re excited. You know how much I love to see you smile, man.”

“It almost sounds like you’re into me, Ro,” teased Logan. Roman’s eyes widened for a second, but when he saw Logan’s tiny smirk, he calmed down.

“Mr. Parker?” The driver was looking at the duo in the rearview mirror. “We have arrived at the school.”

“OH MY GOD, IT’S LOGAN PARKER!”

“Oh my god, Pat, Logan Parker is here. What a surprise! It’s almost like he goes here again,” Virgil mocked, turning as a swarm of people ran to the entrance. When he wasn’t being shoved around, he was able to see Logan Parker’s tall, lean figure looming above most of the students fawning over him. Someone else—a slightly shorter and far more muscular boy in clothes more fancy than should ever be on a teenager—stood at his side, a charming grin on his face. But seriously, who wore black dress pants, a white button up, and a red vest to school? This kid, apparently.

Patton both physically and mentally tore Virgil from the scene. “C’mon, let’s get to class before we’re literally run over.”

Logan shot a panicked glance at Roman as the hoard of kids surrounded them. He was used to crowds, sure, but not at his freaking school! He was trying desperately to be a normal teenager for once, damn it! He couldn’t even arrive at school without making a scene.

“Hey, hey, hey, friends and fans!” Roman shouted. Logan recoiled away from the noise, physically feeling all of the love that he felt for Roman drain out of his body in one fell swoop.

The crowd screamed in response:

”I love you, Logan!”

“I’m your biggest fan!”

“Logan, I wanna fuck you!”

Gross. Why couldn’t people understand that he was ace?

“Right, well, I know that you’re all super excited to see Logan, but we’re here to learn! Well, he’s here to learn.” Roman made eye contact with a handsome boy and winked. “We’ll be doing a meet and greet after school—” Oh, and there was more of that screaming— “For now, though, we’re going to get to class! Part ways, everyone! Roman Ellington and Logan Parker coming through!”

Somehow—and Logan had no idea what kind of witchcraft that Roman pulled—the crowd made way for them to pass. As the pair walked into the school, Logan pulled Roman close.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘we’re having a meet and greet after school,’ Roman?” he snarled. His bright smile never faltered.

“I had to placate them somehow! And it worked, didn’t it? It’ll only be an hour, and then you can go home and do whatever it is that you asexuals like to do.”

“God, don’t phrase it like that—and you owe me big time, Roman. Like, Crofters for a month big.”

Roman muttered something about how expensive that would be, but he cut himself off. “Shit! Logan, watch out—”

SMACK!

All of the books and papers that Virgil was carrying flew out of his hands, fluttering to the ground like snow as he was bumped to the floor. He had stopped paying attention for, what, two whole seconds, and someone just happened to slam into him. Not to mention that he probably had a concussion with how aggressively he was flung to the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” The voice paused for a second, and another one yelped. “Roman, what the hell did you push me for?” Virgil groaned and looked up.

Oh. It was Logan Parker. Great.

“It’s fine. Uh, don’t—fuck, ow—don’t worry about it.” Virgil vaguely waved his hand and shoved himself up into a sitting position.

“Here, wait. Let me help you up.” Logan held out his hand for a moment, but it was pulled away to spin him towards—what a fucking surprise—Remy. Who then pulled him into a deep kiss. Right in the hallway.

“Logan! I’ve missed you so much!” Remy squealed, ignoring the way that Logan winced and tried to protest. “Oh my god, I’ve got to show you the dance studio. You’re going to love it.”

And they were gone in a flash.

The weird dressed guy who was always with Logan stepped into Virgil’s line of view with an apologetic smile. “Uh, sorry about Logan, kind sirs. Things are still very wild after the move, though I’m sure you can tell.”

“Yeah…” Virgil said, rubbing his head.

The boy’s eyes flicked to Patton, and he smiled more genuinely. “Nice tutu.”

“Thank you! Uh, I think…” A light dusting of pink spread across Patton’s cheeks, and Virgil was already loathing having to deal with a crushing Patton.

“Of course! Oh, where are my manners? I’m Roman Ellington, Logan Parker’s best friend and manager. You guys can call me The Prince.” He winked at Patton.

Virgil decided that enough was enough. “Yeah, sure thing, Princey. Oh, and you might want to go after Logan. It looked like Remy was planning to drag him to the studio for some, uh, ‘dancing.’”

“Yeah…” Roman winced. “I’ll see you two later, um…?”

“Patton! And this is Virgil.”

Roman took Patton’s hand gently. “Until next time, dear Patton.” Roman kissed the hand as punctuation and walked away.

“Oh my god… Virge, I think I’m in love.”

“Jesus. Come on, Patton. I need to get you to a cold shower before homeroom.”

Part Two

[wits-writing]

Rock Candy Mountain Vol. 1 comic review

Folk music as artistic expression of “the people”, namely the dispossessed left behind by society, goes down the roots of the genre. Harry McClintock’s “Big Rock Candy Mountain”, a Depression-era song about a paradise for hobos, play on that concept explicitly with lyrics about a land where “the box cars are always empty” and there are “streams of alcohol.” It’s a pretty jovial song about a ridiculous fantasy, though the original version McClintock played before he recorded it included lyrics that make the empty promise of that fantasy clear with some darker implications (“I've hiked and hiked till my feet are sore/And I'll be damned if I hike anymore/To be buggered sore like a hobo's whore/In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.”). However, even if that fantasy is false or dangerous, it can still fill the gaps where life has fallen short.

Trying to reach that goal is exactly what the main character of Jackson in Rock Candy Mountain, an Image Comics published series from writer/artist Kyle Starks with colors by Chris Schweizer. Set in 1948, it’s a journey towards a promised land of crystal fountains and cigarette trees following the main character, Jackson, as we see him navigate the culture of the hobos living along the rails. A blend of humor, action, and urban fantasy, Rock Candy Mountain is one of the most entertaining comics to come out this year. This volume collects the first four issues of the series and gives readers a well-structured intro to Jackson, the hobo culture, and the threats he needs to outrun.

[Full review under the cut]

We first meet Jackson in the middle of his journey and most of his past gets left a mystery in this volume. There’s not even much to gather from what is revealed; he has (or had) a family, fought in WWII, stole something valuable from the US government, has a magic book that seems to always be pointing in the direction of Rock Candy Mountain, and sold his soul to the Devil so that “no one man will be able to defeat him in combat.” There’s much more to gain about him from how he acts than whatever’s in his past. He’s been living a hobo life long enough that he has a reputation (“Everyone knows Jackson”) and that experience pays off in an uncanny ability to plan his way through plenty of close calls that could end his quest to find Rock Candy Mountain. He’s ready to help people, but he has no patience for the mobsters, tramps, and yeggs of the world looking to get by for nothing in return. Jackson tells another character “I don’t live in a world of hope. I live in a world of solutions and plans.” That one line says all there is to know about the way Jackson presents himself to the people around him. But that’s clearly not the whole truth of who he is, since his quest seems entirely built on hope for some form of salvation despite what he’s done in the past.

On the other end of the spectrum in terms of composure is Pomona Slim (or “Fire Kitty Dragon” if he had gotten his way with his hobo name), a Kentucky man whose entire life has been defined by ever-present bad luck that culminated in him striking out trying to be an actor. When Jackson hears his story, he’s happy to help the poor guy get to Lexington. He’s clearly not suited for a hobo’s life on the rails and every aspect of him down to the clothes he’s wearing gets that across. This is also what makes him work so well as a point of view character. His first meeting with Jackson is the point where the story begins and how he reacts to it does a lot to set the tone. Once he finds out that Jackson is on his way to Rock Candy Mountain, he starts to worry he’s traveling with a crazy man. A fear that encountering the supernatural seems to confirm rather than assuage. Most of this volume shows how Pomona gets increasingly frustrated with having to go through Jackson’s various plans, which all sidetrack his personal goal of making it back to Lexington. All made worse by the fact that they both end up in prison by the fourth issue.

The fact that Jackson is willing to do so much to get to Rock Candy Mountain and why is the driving force of the narrative and the backbone of its theme. When Pomona starts questioning other hobos if they think it’s real, one of them replies “Is hope real?” Jackson clearly feels finding Rock Candy Mountain is his only option to finding something better for himself and why it’s driving him is summed up when he says, “Everything I do is about getting back to my family.” There’s a little quirk to the lyrics of “Big Rock Candy Mountain”, it’s not about a general idea of paradise but a paradise in the context of the hobo life. It’s why the lyrics aren’t about never ending up in prison or being chased by cops, but rather about how at the Big Rock Candy Mountain running away from cops and breaking out of prison are easy. How Jackson thinks of himself comes into focus with these ideas in mind. He’s not looking for redemption, he’s looking for a way out.

The hobo culture as presented in the comic informs a lot of the atmosphere around the characters. There’s an emphasis among the more helpful side characters on everyone in a group being able to pitch in, put on display literally in the second issue when everyone in a group of hobos put up an ingredient to be made into stew. If someone’s able to give you a little extra help, then that’s more reason to entertain their eccentricities, it’s why Jackson bows to one of the chickens of a man who gave another bird for the stew and why most of the other characters are willing to entertain Jackson’s notions of being able to find Rock Candy Mountain. The characters make deals so that they can each get something out of them, but trying to get out of those deals can be dangerous when they’re made with the wrong people.

The Devil obviously presents the biggest threat to Jackson’s journey towards Rock Candy Mountain. He gets Jackson’s soul when he dies and has decided he’s going to collect as soon as possible. The interpretation presents the Devil as violent and a little overzealous in his methods of getting what he wants, at one point nearly killing everyone at a camp before he could get the information he wants out of them. He doesn’t like having to take physical form or coming to Earth at all to accomplish his goal. Though he certainly finds ways to pass the time, like massacring an entire town. There’s an impatience to this Devil that comes through in the way he gets annoyed at inconveniences throughout his confrontation with Jackson in issue three, where the deal they made ends up being the thing that helps Jackson escape. His little moments of disbelief at people thinking they can find a way around his actions provide some good comedic moments.

Kyle Starks’ distinct sense of humor always helps to make his books stand out from everything else on the shelves. While Rock Candy Mountain puts the humor in less of a focus than some of his other works, like Sexcastle, it’s still present throughout. There’s no one quite like Starks when it comes to building a moment to the point where the perfect line of dialogue or small payoff action can feel as satisfying as some of the one’s here, like Pomona’s reaction the first time he sees Jackson in a fight or Jackson taunting one of his opponents when they’re at an underground fight club. His art style keeps the flow of events clear from panel-to-panel and page-to-page, making the major comedy and action bits in the book land so well.

The fight sequences in Rock Candy Mountain end up needing to get creative because Jackson’s deal with the Devil only helps him under the specific circumstance of a fight against “one man.” He’s unstoppable under that condition, which can lead to some very satisfying moments when it’s time to throw down. When he does have to work around it, like when he’s has to beat up a half a prison’s worth of inmates before he can escape, it’s one of the best moments in this volume in a sequence reminiscent of Old Boy or The Raid. Still needing to think of his feet like this helps Jackson’s character get communicated through the action scenes.

The mood throughout the story is enhanced by Chris Schweizer’s colors. It matches Starks’ linework in how it does a lot with a little. There’s a fair share of moments defined in Rock Candy Mountain by minimalist color palettes, particularly scenes set at night where almost everything is kept in shades of grayish-blue. It’s a simplicity that builds the atmosphere of the book, like when red prison lights flash over the previously mentioned sequence of Jackson fighting the prison inmates. Outside of these singular palette moments, the comic’s color scheme is defined by earthy tones that communicate the time and can create contrast in moments where the bright red Devil shows up to menace people. Schweizer’s coloring adds so much to the story that it would be quite the same if it was in black and white like Starks’ other independent comics.

There’s plenty more in the first volume of Rock Candy Mountain to recommend it that I haven’t even touched on. The colorful side characters of the book, including; Black Orchid, Hundred Cats, Gumpy Tom, Big Sis, and FBI assistant director Babs Bardoux, all breath further life into the world the comic builds around the main characters. Then there’s the backup material about the real-world history that informs the events of the story which only come with comic in the single issues rather than the trade. But all of that would only reiterate the point that it’s a book well worth reading. So pick it up in whatever form you like and read it all this coming fall*.

*(Okay, I know it’s already fall but I wanted to do something with the song lyrics for the closing line.)

[shima-draws]

A Year of Scars

Oh hey it’s that Senyuu oneshot it took me two years to finish //jazz hands

Having it sit in my documents for two years and constantly rereading it well, I've become quite attached to this story :') It's probably one of the top favorites of mine that I've written so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! And it feels SO GOOD to have it done after so long, like, I feel liberated

ANYWAY!! Hope you like and please be sure to read it over on Archive too! (It’s under the user Shima2112 //finger guns))

A soft hum broke the eerie silence inside the Demon World prison, echoing strangely off the walls. Hazel eyes scanned over the many pages of notes and equations, their owner pausing to reread a sentence every now and then when necessary. Alba leaned back and stretched, grunting in satisfaction as his sore back was granted some relief. He ran a hand through his auburn hair, being careful not to dislodge the seal sticking to his forehead. Not too long ago he'd slept without it and had accidentally made everything in his cell float while he was dreaming, leaving a huge mess to clean the next morning. He still wasn't perfectly capable of controlling his magic yet, especially while he was unconscious. The seals on the walls and on his body helped to channel his mana better and prevent any unfortunate screwups from occurring while he wasn't paying attention. Alba slid forward and narrowed his eyes at the remaining work on his desk. Shion had definitely gone overboard when assigning him homework last month, and Alba knew the legendary hero had probably done it out of spite. Puffing out a breath, he set to work again, determined to get it all done before the black-haired man returned. 

The brunette finished off his current workbook in a sort of haze, able to race through the problems without thinking too hard. He guessed he had to hand it to his teacher; if Shion wasn't so smart and good at drilling these techniques into his head, Alba was sure he'd be having a much harder time getting everything done. Even so, the training was rigorous, both the physical and mental aspects of it. He had yet to defeat Shion in battle, but he knew if he worked hard it would pay off and he'd finally show the older that he was strong enough. The Demon Hero cracked his knuckles and rechecked his work before closing the book with an appeased nod. There was one less thing he had to worry about. He shifted in his seat and vaguely wondered what time it was. Time passed differently in the Demon World compared to the human one, and even though he'd been living there for quite a while now he could never be sure what period of the day he was in. It was especially hard to tell since this part of his cell didn't have windows; however there was one in his room off to the side. Despite being stuck in a prison cell it was actually quite nice compared to others he'd been in before, and this time he wasn't here because of some crazy crime he'd normally be accused of. The only reason he was here was because of his overwhelming magic power. Everyone felt the need to lock him up before he lost control, and that was why Shion visited every month in order to teach him how to use his magic properly. Alba was more than ready to learn everything he could so he could be free of this place. It wasn't bad, but it certainly didn't help his "prison stripe fetish" as Shion liked to call it. Deciding that he'd completed enough work for the time being, the brunette rose out of his chair and padded over to his room, a more private area that was shaped like a den of sorts. There wasn't much; a couple of his possessions were placed on the shelves attached to the cave wall, a bed sat right underneath the little bar-covered window, and a tiny dresser was shoved into the corner, topped with a few candles for light. Alba peered outside and blinked when he realized it was twilight already. The sky was a clash of light and dark blues, decorated with glittering stars. He smiled softly. No matter what world he ended up in, the stars were always the same. He could gather comfort from that fact. It was no surprise that he'd lost track of time again, seeing as how it was nearly impossible to keep it in the first place. Alba had been working nearly all day, and the need to unwind was becoming imminent as night fell. He quickly retrieved his night clothes from the dresser. He pulled the seal from his forehead, sticking it to the wall for the time being until he got changed and could put it back on. He begun the process of removing his shirt, but he wasn't able to get very far before an all-too familiar voice interrupted him. "Hero?" Alba almost tripped and fell in surprise. His shirt was gathered around his arms and he stumbled towards the entryway, peeking his head out in order to preserve his decency. Shion stood on the other side of the bars, eyebrows raised when the hero appeared to greet him. "Sorry, I'm getting changed," he offered, smiling sheepishly. "What are you doing here, though? Teacher's Day isn't until next week..." Shion opened the cell door and strolled right on in, not caring about Alba's privacy. "I had the sudden urge to give you more homework, so here I am!" The black-haired man chirped, smiling sadistically. His gaze raked over Alba, who now had no cover to hide his shirtlessness, and scowled. "Hero, why are you half-naked? That's disgusting. If this is your attempt at seducing me, it's not worki..." He trailed off, crimson eyes widening in the slightest fraction. Alba didn't seem to notice his abrupt pause and flared up defensively. "I told you I was getting changed! You could have at least waited! And I'm not trying to seduce you!" "Hero." "Getting dressed is a perfectly normal thing to do—" "Hero." "—I like being clean, which is actually a hard thing to accomplish in a place like this, so of course I'm going to change my clothes—" "Alba," Shion said, his tone serious. The brunette stopped, breath hitching. Shion looked very...put out. Alba couldn't quite place it, but his expression was different from the usual torturous stares the hero would get when Shion was feeling particularly evil. "Wh...what...?" The teen murmured, squeaking when the older man stalked over, approaching him quicker than he could process. "That," Shion growled, eyes flashing. "And that—those—" Alba looked down, completely confused as to what his companion was referring to. Once his eyes settled on the uncovered expanse of his chest, everything became clear. "Oh," he swallowed a bit. Right. Shion hadn't seen these yet, had he? Alba couldn't recall a time where he'd been exposed around the legendary hero since their reunion, so this time definitely had to be the first. Alba's chest was covered in scars of many different shapes and sizes. Some were neat and thin, others jagged and deep. A few covered his upper arms and shoulders, and a dozen more or so decorated his back. Most of them had healed already, faded into white marks that were barely visible in the dim lighting of the prison. There were others that were more recent, red and ugly, that had come from the final confrontation of Rchimedes. The brunette fidgeted a little and puffed out a breath. He really didn't want Shion to see these. He was almost sure the raven would go off and spout nonsense about how Alba had a fetish for cutting himself, further fueling his masochistic tendencies. He mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of teasing and taunting, but was shocked to realize that it didn't come. Shion was staring at his scars, expression one of complete disbelief and utter horror at the marks ruining the hero's clear skin. Memories flashed through his eyes of harder times, times where he received scars like these as Creasion, and he could hardly believe the same thing had happened to Alba. Sweet, kind and sort of stupid Alba, who didn't deserve any of it, not like he did. And he wouldn't even have these scars if Shion had never gotten involved in his life in the first place. Alba could feel heat slowly creeping into his cheeks, steadily turning them a faint shade of pink as he was stared down by the legendary hero. It was extremely unnerving to have his privacy invaded in such a way, and he fought the urge to swallow nervously as he literally almost felt Shion’s eyes raking over his bare chest. Getting made fun of was almost preferable to this; at least that was something the brunette was used to and could be prepared for. He would have never expected to be assaulted by Shion’s intense, soul-searching crimson orbs while he stood half-naked in his bedroom, his shirt now hanging limp and awkwardly gathered by his wrists. "Um..." Alba squeaked, fidgeting on the spot. "Do you mind... ? I’m just gonna..." And with that he turned his back, unknowingly revealing the remainder of his scars to Shion as he started to slide his shirt off the rest of the way. Unfortunately he didn’t manage to finish the task—was it too much to ask for him to be able to put some clothes on? Alba froze in his tracks when a pair of strong arms snaked around his waist and held him tightly. Alba opened his mouth in a surprised cry and only managed to release a small squeal, shoulders tensing as Shion nuzzled his nose against the back of the brunette’s neck. "Sh...Shi…?" "Don't look," Shion murmured into his ear, his breath hot. Alba repressed a shudder. "...or I'll break your ribs." He squeezed Alba's midsection almost too tightly. "Not again!" The brunette yelped, but he complied and stayed facing forward, his shirt still tangled around his wrists. Shion started tracing all of the faded lacerations and scars all over his chest, being surprisingly gentle compared to the threat he'd given moments before. Alba pressed his lips together and begged himself not to make any weird noises as soft fingertips traveled down the scar near his stomach. "This one?" Shion asked quietly, his chest very warm against Alba's back. The hero swallowed and tried to think. It was difficult. "Um...that one was from a monster Rchi and I fought a while back..." He inhaled sharply when Shion's fingers dug into his stomach, surprisingly not enough to actually inflict pain. "And this one?" He asked, his other hand rubbing underneath Alba's right pectoral, where a strange star-shaped scar resided. "Fighting tournament," Alba whispered. "We didn't have any money so I entered, and...I wasn't careful enough—" "Did you win?" The brunette fought back a smile. "Yeah. Though I passed out from blood loss for a couple days after." Shion’s breath hitched and he squeezed Alba a little tighter, making the boy puff out a breath of air in quiet surprise. "...ot fair..." Alba blinked, tilting his head to the side a little in order to hear better. "Huh? What did you say?" "I said it’s not fair, Hero," Shion repeated, holding him tightly. Alba felt dizzy, but not from the constriction around his chest. No, it was something else entirely. "Why..." Alba fought to regain focus. Shion was breathing heavily against his neck and to say it was a distraction was an understatement. "Why not?" "Because..." Shion paused, narrowing his eyes angrily from behind the teen’s back. "Because you shouldn’t have gotten hurt. Not from them." Alba’s stomach exploded with butterflies and his heart began to beat double-time. He was starting to feel all sorts of warm just from one measly sentence that had escaped the taller’s mouth. Was Shion being serious? It was extremely rare that he ever showed affection or concern for Alba, and any time he did the hero was always caught off-guard. God, he was affected so easily by this man…! "It pisses me off," Shion growled lowly, his fingers tracing over the scars again, heartbreakingly gentle, "They hurt you...I’ll find every last one of them and destroy them..." "Shion," Alba breathed, hazel eyes wide. "These should be mine," the raven snarled, his fingertips driving into Alba’s toned stomach. "All of them. Nobody’s allowed to hurt you except for me." Alba chuckled awkwardly, expecting him to say something along those lines. Ah, damn. It always came back to his possessive sadism, didn’t it? They stood in silence for a few more moments, watching as Shion rubbed his thumb over a particularly nasty scar that was still healing. Alba hissed in surprise and the black-haired man shifted, moving on to caress one less recent. His hands were so warm. Alba felt like he was being enveloped in his own personal heater. "Hey," Alba spoke up, breaking the silence. "You do have one, you know," he reminded him timidly. He slipped one of his hands out of the trapping sleeve of his prison shirt and slid it up his stomach to splay across Shion’s, fingers ever so carefully lacing with his companion’s. Shion’s fingers twitched but he didn’t pull away; instead he allowed Alba’s hand to interlock with his and even gave it an unsure squeeze. Alba smiled softly and moved their hands across his torso to rest on a very old and faded scar, right near his hip. "This one," Alba whispered, his voice extremely quiet. "Do you remember?" Shion huffed against his ear. "Of course I do. But I’m surprised you remember, Hero. In fact, you seem know where you got all of your scars. You really are a masochist." Alba couldn’t help but laugh a little. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have allowed Shion to get away with saying something like that, but this time the legendary hero’s voice lacked any malice or edge, so he let it be. "You don’t remember yours?" Crimson eyes darkened considerably, but Alba wasn’t in any position to see them. "Not really," he confessed quietly. "I’d rather not remember. All of my scars...are from times I never want to live through again." Alba finally relaxed against him, humming contentedly from his endless warmth. "That may be so for you," he murmured, "but I see mine as a sign of strength...of my growth as a hero. These scars represent everything I’ve fought for. I wouldn’t take any of them back, especially this one," he said, pressing his thumb against the one Shion had given him while they’d been traveling together. It seemed like ages and ages ago. He’d changed so much during that time. Had it really only been a couple years? "Of course you’d say that," Shion mumbled fondly. "And you’d better not take that one back." The brunette giggled quietly at this. They lapsed into another comfortable silence. Alba closed his eyes and listened to the thrumming beat of Shion’s heart, which pounded against his back. It was beating so fast... Shion tapped one of his scars again, dark eyelashes fluttering. "Do they hurt?" Alba smiled knowingly, sadly. "No." Because there was only one that truly hurt, the invisible one that had been carved deep into his heart and soul—the scar that Alba received when his most important person left him behind. Even so, that one was finally starting to heal too. The brunette hero released a quiet sigh and shifted, moving to escape from Shion’s hold on him. The older man reluctantly let go, their fingers sliding past one another as Alba let go of his hand. He didn’t have much time to complain, though, because Alba had turned to face him and immediately interlocked their hands again before Shion could think of escaping. The black-haired male looked slightly startled and caught off guard, a rare sight to see. "Shion," Alba murmured, hazel eyes almost glowing like the candle behind him. He was smiling warmly, completely open and honest. Shion would have punched him and wiped the expression off of his face if the situation weren’t so strange. When Shion didn’t answer him, Alba’s face scrunched up, his gaze stern. "Stop that." "Stop what?" "Blaming yourself," the boy responded easily, reading him like an open book. Shion cursed under his breath, feeling his face get warm. How the hell was Alba able to see through his apathetic visage so easily? "...I’m no—" "You are and you know it. Stop it." Alba cut him off quickly. Shion chuckled humorlessly and ran a hand across his face, crimson eyes darting to the side. The teenage hero exhaled softly through his nose. Then, he braced a hand on Shion’s shoulder and stood on his tiptoes, leaning in until their foreheads were pressed together. Shion barely managed to restrain himself from flinching away at Alba’s proximity, a nervous flush settling on his cheekbones. Alba’s eyes slid shut, his lashes fanning out against his cheeks. "I know what you're thinking, but I don't regret a thing," Alba confessed in a soft whisper. "I would never ever take back meeting you. Even if it meant erasing my scars. I'd rather have a million than not being able to be with you," his voice got thick with emotion halfway through, his hand squeezing Shion's gently. The older man sighed and finally allowed himself to lean back against the shorter teen, his nose brushing against Alba's. A quiet chuckle leapt out of his throat and he couldn't resist nuzzling up to Alba, a contented purr escaping. "I'm no match for you," he breathed, almost too quiet for the other to hear. But Alba's lips curled up into a smile, meaning he'd caught what he'd said after all. Then, louder, Shion added, "That's really corny, Hero." Alba tossed his head back and groaned, but he didn't move any further away. "You ruined it," he whined in defeat, rolling his eyes. "No, I didn't. Come here." And with a sharp tug he was pulled in again, and Shion was sealing their meaningful words together with a kiss. Alba immediately melted into it, a pleased keen leaking out. Shion's arm curled around his waist, fingers tracing over his scars again, almost as if he were trying to memorize their shape by touch. His lips were warm, but not too demanding, because believe it or not while Shion had a lot more experience than Alba, when it came to romance he was probably on the same level. Alba didn't mind, though, he found it endearing—and the thought that they'd be able to explore this new territory together made the rapid fluttering in his stomach become even more intense. Shion reacquainted himself with Alba's mouth again and again, trying to express everything he felt through the quiet air and soft whimpers between them. He stole a couple more kisses before finally drawing back, nearly blown away by the sight of rose tinted cheeks, sparkling hazel eyes and slightly swollen lips. The fact that Shion had been the one to make Alba look like that almost made him lean in to shower him in kisses again. Alba grinned widely, an exuberant giggle following after. The black-haired man couldn't help but smile back, humming contentedly as he continued to trace the patterns of Alba's scars with careful fingertips. "You can't get any more," he stated suddenly, determinedly. Alba blinked in confusion. "Huh?" "Scars," Shion clarified. He rubbed soothing circles into the one at the brunette's hip, the one he'd inflicted. His own special scar, his mark. Alba rose an eyebrow, amused. "I'm a hero, Shion. It's an occupational hazard. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not. Getting injured is part of the job." Shion shook his head in disapproval, scowling. "No. You won't get any more because I'll protect you." His voice softened, as did his expression. "...I'll be there this time. I swear." He was answered with a hitched voice and wavering eyes, their owner trying to fight back joyful tears. "...Okay," Alba finally said. "I'll hold you to it, then." And before long Shion closed the distance between them again, intent on marking his hero in a different manner as twilight gave way into evening.

By "different manner" I totally meant covering him in hickeys LMAO

Not too sure about that ending but eh it's been two years I'm not gonna be picky about it

[bleating-heart]

It is in the Nature of Dreams to End

Agatha remembered first meeting Kai. A giant cat with a lopsided smile sweeping the outside of a monetary up the tallest mountain she'd never wanted to climb. Dressed in a bright orange that clashed against his red-orange fur, a voice that sounded so hopeful, and sharp as a rack, she found him an oddity even amongst the other orevious-lycanthrope guards.

Did she really have time to dwell on him once the sounds of the training monks and Master Zhu Zhu rang high above the walls and a bell alerted everyone "HAE-SEONG IS A DRAGON WATCH YOUR ASS"? In all her honesty? No. Even stranger, but fantastic sights of martial students in perfectly synched rows, ceremonial oil lamps, heavy incense smoke rolling from burners would keep her attention first and foremost.

The second time Kai was forced to the front of her focus, was the fated death of the now Celestial Coatl, Master Zhu Zhu at the hand of his most treasured, and ultimated failed, student; the Black Dragon Lieutenant Sheng-Kai. The tiger Lycanthrope had let out a mournful cry and literally punched the doors of the monastery in outrage of the loss of his master. Agatha had remembered all too well the wail and reaction, as it was something that she too carried with her at the decimation of her village.

She had seen herself, and her body moved on its own.

The battle was long and difficult and very nearly fatal, but thanks to some overripe cranberry juice and the support of some bonded friends, everyone walked away from the encounter. For the third time that day, Kai had made himself a forefront thought in her mind. He had taken Hae-Seong's silvered scythe and severed Sheng-Kai's head from his body, throwing it into the entry way and smirking to himself, asking the others to mount it as a trophy on the walls. Zhu Zhu appeared to them as the last of his energy faded, congratulating them on their victory, and thanking Kai for watching over his students, as the monks made the decision for the Tiger to lead them after the passing of the old celestial.

Some miscommunicating on becoming a 'rider' of the man, and nearly convincing a disciplined man to drink, the team and their new feline member set off on their war path to right the wrong of Hae-Long.

They were inseparable from that moment. As two who worked in perfect synch, as two who supported one another, as two dim bulbs who made a whole halogen with their powers combined. Agatha was surprised when things started becoming... Charming? The gentle rumbling of tiger purrs and Kai drifted to sleep as she nestled into his side, his stupid laugh anytime anyone made a joke about 'mounting', his teasing agreement of Hae-Seong's insisting of her ownership of him... Him rushing into battle as long as she was at his side... His whispers of stories and old scribes when she woke with night terrors... How steady his heart beat was.

Was. Now wasn't that a funny word.

Agatha remembered nothing of how she awoke on the ground of the cliffside the had ascended from to get the the Cloud Giant's palace. She remembered a flash of lightning, and ultimate blackness. She had remembered the white hot feeling of regret as the world was torn from her as the blue dragon has leveled them exactly as Sheng-Kai had what seemed like so long ago. Hae-seong was sick at his stomach as he tried his best not to vomit as he replayed what happened to the Khan, and Keyon was nursing his panic attack when Agatha heard a phrase that made her blood run cold.

"Where's your tiger friend...?"

Almost as if fate was testing her, the final nimbus floated down with the limb body of the tiger-- no, the man, she wanted to see so badly. He didn't make it... There was nothing the Storm Spirit could do. Almost as if on cue, a hand placed itself on her shoulder. She felt nausea overtake her and she turned to see the spiritual figures of Zhu Zhu and human Kai, both clad in their robes, giving her the reassurance he was in a good place. Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper;

"Give him back, you asshole..."

Kai looked as if he was laughing as he faded from her view for the final time. Without hesitation, Hae-seong had turned to the others and told them he needed to start burial rites. Agatha stayed for a moment too long, as she was gently ushered back towards the group as Kai's body was gathered up. Where were they taking her friend...? She couldn't leave him right now, what if he wakes up...

Hand maidens in the Blue Dragon Palace helped her clean up and got her into a new set of clothes as the day came to a close. She didn't see Keyon for the rest of the night, and Hae-Seong had to spend a lot of time on his own preparing for the funeral that was to follow the next day. Agatha could hear him on and off of the sending stone, breaking the news to Kao-Kao, Li-Jiang, and Lu-Bu as well as touching base with Fizz and the Kobolds. She tried to find some comfort in it, knowing that the rest of their traveling family was still okay, but she still felt sick.

Agatha couldn't sleep that night. The room was too cold, too quiet... Too empty. All of the pillows in the world could fix the hurt she felt in her heart. Thoughts swirled together and soon became deafening in the silence;

I was supposed to protect him! I had one job! It's my fault he's dead! Why was I so fucking mean to him on the way there? It was over something so stupid! I'm supposed to be the one who goes!! I AM SUPPOSED TO KEEP THEM ALIVE!!

She forbids herself to cry, so the frustration takes itself out in another way; screaming. The halfling forces her face into one of the pillows she tried to build up into a nest and screams until her throat is raw.

The next morning comes, and the funeral begins. The court is all in mourning garb, and Hae-Seong starts the wake. He speaks of Kai fondly and highly. His accomplishments, his support, his dreams...

But Agatha knows them better than anyone ever will. This whisperings of Kai and how he wanted to change this land for the better, how proud he was that he could go back to the monks and grow with them, how Master Zhu Zhu had blessed him... How admirable it was she kept fighting for those who couldn't fight for themselves, how forgiveness comes with time and healing... How he would stay with her until she was sleeping. At the time, she found it stupid. He should wait up for her because she obviously would eventually go back to sleep. He didn't need to do all of that for her.

As the wake began to wrap up, Agatha found herself staring into the middle space of it all. Her anger was starting to become numbness as she started to internalize it all. The mutual care they had for eachother was something she should've treasured more while she had it. Sure he was fucking weird, but so was she. Hell, so were Hae-seong and Keyon... And Jinsei. Even the stupid horse was weird. He fit with them so well, it was wrong to see him not amongst them.

They moved to the coast line, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, stars littering the fire colored sky. They had placed Kai's body in a vessel with ceremonial dried herbs and kindling as they pushed him out to sea, the water lazily pulling him into her depths. An arrow was lit and now knocked, as a court member offered the ceremonial weapon to Agatha. She felt the anger surface again as she refused to send the arrow to Kai to finish the rite.

"Why would I set my friend on fire?" She would mumble, but Keyon stepped up to finish the job. A well placed Ray of Scorching sent the boat into flames as the court of the blue dragon Khan lifted their heads and saluted the fallen with a timed breath of lightening. Hae-Seong has tried to comfort her with the reassurance of him being on the celestial plain, as was shown to him by Osmar, but she offered nothing in return. The dynasty born knew all too well the loss of Eros, so he let her be.

"If it's any consolation, I'll be finishing up the last of our plans and cleaning up the wake site. You're more than welcome to come and talk if you feel like it."

"Cool. I really don't feel like it."

Hae-Seong just nodded and left her be. He was wiser than to press her.

Agatha had returned to her room almost immediately after and crawled back into her nest. The night was bright with a full moon, and the soft light was pouring into her window along with the sound of waves. Blackness eventually overtook her, though where she arrived next was a mystery to her.

A soft light that felt almost fuzzy as she walked across a grassy knoll that was nearly as plush as fur surrounded her accompanied by the scent of incense she thought she'd forgotten all about. Her Auburn hair swirled around her as a guest of wind pushed her in a direction to go, following a newly formed oath lined with white pebbles through high, red orange temple gates. She felt her pulse quicken as she saw a figure waiting for her on the other side of the gate, clad in an orange robe with red wooden beads adorning his neck. A lopsided grin with a chuckle that sounded like purrs. She bolted to him, losing her footing as she passed through the gate, strong arms catching her before she got the ground.

"Woah! Don't tell me you've forgotten how to walk! Has riding tiger back spoiled you?" Kai teased, helping her to her feet.

"Really? Right now you're gunna do this?"

Kai couldn't help but laugh again at her as she scolded him for his intentional phrasing. He didn't have much time here, but the time he did have, he wanted to make it count. He knew what his death would mean for them, so why not leave on a higher note?

"You can't leave me, you know that right? It's too soon it's too much you can't leave me, you asshole!" Agatha feels the nausea overwhelm her again and hot tears sting at her eyes as they threaten to fall. Kai frowned and placed a tentative hand on her cheek, not knowing quite what to say.

"I know... Even if you forbid me to go, I cannot hold a place here in the world. I was given a chance to say goodbye, and I wanted to make the most of it," he starts, trying to choose his words carefully as the halfling woman knits her grows even tighter together as she shakily reaches up to cover hsi hand with her own.

"I am with Master Zhu Zhu now, and free from my painful curse of lycanthropy! I may have left the monastery in a bit of a tight spot, but I will speak to them before I leave this plane for the last time. It was an unfortunate end, but with the sacrifice of Jinsei, it wasn't in vain. It was just what date had decided for me, and I have made peace with that."

"You're dead because I was too stupid to move us in time to avoid the fucking lightning, Kai. It's my fault... All over again...!"

Kai frowned, wincing at the accusation. He hadn't expected her to take it so harshly, though he guessed he shouldn't be surprised.

"Agatha--"

"Don't."

"I'm sorry it had to be this way... It's not your fault."

"Shut up, Kai!!"

"Please."

The firm tone took her off guard, but she looked up at him to finally meet his eye. He looked as hurt as she felt, and it honestly made it worse. However, she took this as a sign to shut up herself and let him finish.

Kai gently pulled away from her and reached up, removing the beads from around his neck.

"I promise, you are destined for greatness. We have seen how your fate unfolds, and I swear you will be all of the good you want to be. I wish I could tell you, but it's not my place. Besides, I know you hate spoilers." He winks, Agatha not being able to help the half chuckle that falls passed her lips.

He slips the beads over her head, the heady smell of the monastery incense filling her nose as he does.

"I will always be with you. What kind of faithful steed would I be if I left you stranded?" She's about to argue when his lips cover hers. It's soft and almost feels unreal, but Agatha returns it nonetheless. It lasts but a moment before the larger man breaks away to rest his forehead to hers.

"I'm afraid it's time for me to go. Don't forget me when they're singing songs of your glory, alright?" He laughs, stepping back from her.

"Okay... Goodbye, Kai..." Agatha whispers, her world beginning to haze over as she's enveloped in the mist of waking. Kai waves to her as he faded from her for the last time.

"Goodbye, Agatha."

--

Agatha wakes to the sounds of rapping on her door.

"Miss Agatha? Breakfast is served. Your place at the table is being requested so they can start the war council."

She grunts back to the handmaid, dismissing her as she pulls herself up from her nest, still clad in her mourning garb.

It was a vivid dream and a strange one, but she supposed it offered her some kind of closure of--

What was that smell?

She sniffed a few more times before looking down, grasping at her chest. Red wooden beads...? Her voice cracked as a chuckle of realization rumbled in her throat. She guessed he remembered she liked to keep mementos... He really was an asshole, but she supposed he wouldn't be him if he wasn't.

Though she really didn't want to move, she scooted herself out of the bed and dressed herself in her common clothes for the morning. She tucked the beads into her tunic and headed out the door. Though she really didn't want to say goodbye, she supposed she would just have to accept that she had something to keep her motivated to keep fighting. It was selfish to force Kai to stick around in a world he was finished in. It was time to face the day, as her adventure in and of itself, was also drawing to a close.

After all, it is in the nature of dreams to end.

[the-crystal-muse]

“Alright Cadance...It’s time.” She took a deep breath, then let it out as she stepped onto the platform that was slightly raised above the crowd. On it stood an older, light blue mare with a purple mane and tail. She held her head high as she gave a haughty smile towards the audience before her. To the left of where Cadance now stood was a table covered with a pale red cloth.

Behind her, the Crystal Heart spun idly, as it always did. In front of her, watching her with intent, excited, and nervous eyes was a group of a few hundred ponies. The majority of them were crystal ponies, their coats gleaming with light and magic. The ones that weren’t were unicorns, pegasi, or earth ponies. But all of them wore the same thing: maroon robes that reached their hooves, various pendents and accessories with their cutie marks, square caps with tassels hanging off the sides, and eyes that shone with wonder and pride. It was hard for Cadance to tell how they all felt, but the gleaming lights that shone under their feet and dashed towards the Crystal Heart gave her an idea that, for many, this was a positive occasion.

Cadance’s horn glowed as she began to cast the spell. She could feel it wrap around her throat, causing any sounds she would make to be heard with much more ease. Volume increasing spells were one of the harder ones for her, but she spent a lot of time practicing this earlier so that she’d be able to use it with ease right now.

She cleared her throat, a sound that reverberated across the crowd in a rather unladylike way. Cadance flashed the crowd a nervous smile with red cheeks to match. “Sorry, guess I’m a bit nervous to be speaking to you all.” The crowd’s reactions were varied: Surprised, confused, and amused were the three main groups. She expected that, of course. A small joke, even if a little unintentional, was a great ice breaker.

“But why shouldn’t I be?” Cadance asked, regaining her smile and her posture. “After all, you are something never seen before by Equestria or the Empire. You are a symbol of what we could be, and what we should all strive for. Few ponies have worked as hard as you, as diligently as you. And even though some of you may think your accomplishments small, what you’ve achieved today is something many ponies could only dream of.”

She looked over the faces of the ponies before her. So many were smiling with pride, and so many others were blushing with self-consciousness. “You are the first graduating class of Crystal Preparatory Academy to have a student-body divided by homeland. Never before in history has an Equestrian graduated from this school, but you are the first. For that, I must extend my formal congratulations. Not just to you, but to the mare who led you through this trying time. So, thank you Principal Cinch.”

The students shined. The crystal ponies did so literally, dazzling light bouncing off their coats. The Equestrian ones shined in a different way though. Their eyes held a light that fur couldn’t; their grins so real and happy that they were infectious. Cadance couldn’t pretend to be stoic even if she wanted to.

Cinch smiled too, but it wasn’t as warm as the students’. It was arrogant and full of herself, proud of her own achievements but not anypony elses’. Cadance had to work with Cinch quite closely during the school year to ensure that everything would go off without a hitch, and she found that the principal was something of a...

Well, Cadance preferred not to use language like that when she was in Princess Mode™.

Cinch looked towards Cadance with that same haughty smile. “Your highness, it was my honor to serve the crown in such a way. I know that nothing is more important than the education of our students, and I’m proud to show the world exactly what the Crystal Empire is capable of.”

Cadance resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Right. More like what you’re capable of. “I know, Principal Cinch. You have truly done well in representing the Empire to the rest of the world. Your work has come second only to that of your students!”

Cinch’s smile died faster than Sombra. Cadance heard several snickers among the crowd and had to continue, lest she join them. “Your students have done remarkably, both the ones from here and afar.” She turned back to the crowd. “I am incredibly proud of you all. I know what it’s like to be in a place that’s not your home. I myself have spent the last several years adjusting to life in the Empire. Because of that, I’d know how hard it must have been to be away from your friends and family in Equestria. So I thank you for your hard work.”

She turned her gaze over to the crystal students. “Yet your classmates did incredibly as well. I saw the work you all had to go through. Adjusting to working with students from another country couldn’t have been easy, especially when you had one thousand years of homework to catch up on.” More chuckles from the crowd. Cadance heard several murmurs of agreement, including a peach-colored mare with a striped blue mane who said, “You bet your flank it was!”

She was liking this class more every day. It was impossible to keep the grin off her face.

“Your class has gone above and beyond what we expect from our students. Honor, integrity, hard work, and above all: compassion. You may have had your differences at first, but look at you now. You let strangers into your home and helped them find their way. You showed ponies who didn’t know what the world was like how much has changed. Together you’ve created a new generation of ponies in the world, one united by a bond of friendship that could never be broken.”

In the crowd, this couldn’t be more clear. When the year started, Cadance saw how the students were. Divided by their home; crystal ponies and Equestrians traveled and sat separately, away from the others. They were segregated by all but law, and it was heartbreaking. But now they stood, intermingled and proud. Soft and demure fur brushed against shining crystal. Friends stood close as if guarding each other; more than friends held hooves and stood even closer. Cadance felt the intoxicating sense of love and friendship between them all, and she couldn’t help but feel, for the first time in some time, that she really played a part, however small, in their lives.

“So, in honor of your graduation, your teachers and I have come up with a gift to you, to mark this tremendous occasion.” Her smile reached its peak as her horn glowed, encompassing the red tarp beside her and pulled off. Under it was a simple table, long and wide enough to accommodate the many hoof-bands that were on it. Each was a silverish color, yet were flexible enough to stretch over any hoof. They gave off a soft blue glow, and on them were intricate carvings that were meticulously detailed. On one side, you could see the image of a sun and a moon, side by side. On the other, you could see an image of what could be none other than the Crystal Heart. In between each carving were more designs, mostly pretty things to make it look fancier.

“In Equestria, it is a tradition for students to be given hoofbands when they graduate. These bands tend to be special, reflecting some important event during the school year. To reflect the merging of two kinds of ponies, we decided it would be best to use this tradition with an imperial twist.”

She raised one of the bands into the air. “These bands are heavily enchanted. They won’t break, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. These bands have spells woven into them that bear a resemblance to the one used to create the Crystal Heart, millennia ago.”

The band’s markings began to glow a bright blue. “These bands can sense your positive emotions and your love. Like the Crystal Heart itself, it can dispel evil, surround yourself with a shield, and it glows in the dark, making it great at parties.” She put the band back on the table. “This is a gift to you all. They’re not the most powerful magic artifacts, but I felt as if it was appropriate that you take a symbol like this with you wherever you go: Be it in the Empire or Equestria.”

She smiled at the students before her. They stood in awe, even a pink mare with a green-and-yellow mane, whose headphones had been around her ears the entire time. “Now, I will call you each up to the podium to award you with your diplomas and band.”

She began calling names. With each name, a pony stepped forward. She thanked them for their hard work, bowed before them (each time earning a bow from the student in response), and handed them the diploma and hoofband. With each student, the band flashed and gave their coats a crystalline sheen as they walked away.

Cadance did this continually. It was long and tiring, and it took a while to get through each of the students. But she enjoyed every second of it. By the time she was done, ponies were off hugging their families and chatting excitedly with their friends. Some were even crying with joy, and she felt her heart swell.

These ponies, crystal or not, were her ponies. Her people. Whether they were in Equestria or the Empire, she would always be proud of them.

Maybe that’s why, after all was said and done, she took the final band and read the inscription on the inside, where the recipient’s name would be. To Cadance, a princess to some and a friend to others.

She slipped it over her hoof. These were the moments she lived for.

[bananashemmo]

Sweet Evanescence

Pairing: Y/N/Michael

Rating: PG-All

Request: Yes (Ish)

Words: 3.000+

Summary: Y/N is the fifth member of the band but after her tonsils removal operation she is too afraid to sing on stage so Michael, who also deeply fancies her, helps her out.

“Where’s Y/N?”

Luke was he first one to look up from his phone by the question coming from Calum, the confusion clear on his face expression and four eyes glanced towards Ashton. 

“I haven’t seen her for at least half an hour when I think about it.” The curly haired lad stopped the air drumming he had been doing to the sound of All Time Low blasting in the loud speakers, live action coming from behind the backstage area. 

“We’re going on stage in ten minutes, what’s going on?” Luke put his phone down on the coffee table confused and stood up from the couch.

“I think she was speaking with Michael earlier I don’t know about what. She seemed a bit off but she’s been doing that since her operation. It isn’t anything to worry about I would say, the doctor has said go for her now so it wouldn’t be a problem.” 

Calum and Luke neither looked convinced by Ashton’s explanation, watching as he placed the drum sticks onto the coffee table as well and stood up from his wooden red chair. 

“We might as well wait. Of course she’ll show up it’s not like she’s gonna bail on us. It’s the first time she’s going on stage for almost a month, I wouldn’t imagine her to bail out in the last second. That’s nothing like her.” 

When thinking the situation through it made more sense to the pair of best friends, yet it didn’t wash off the curious and almost nervous expressions. This was their first night on the stage after a long break, it would be devastating to cancel once again. 

“I think I’m gonna go find her.” Calum spoke and placed his phone on the coffee table. The backstage crew had already prepared their guitars and such, the only thing they would need was to swing the strap over their shoulders.

“What’s going on?” Michael suddenly came into the room, noticing the tension.

“Y/N is gone, is there a chance you have seen her? I mean, we’re going on stage in less than minutes I can hear the crowd constantly screaming our name.” Luke mentioned, eyes glancing towards the entrance to the stage. 

“What do you mean she’s gone, I literally just spoke to her? She said she was fine and that she would be ready in a second.” Michael mumbled the last part to himself rather than the guys, looking over his shoulder towards the exit he had appeared from.

“She hasn’t showed up.” Ashton confirmed with a nod, Michael’s eyes widening and he was quick to turn around and head back where he had come from. 

The crowd was insanely wild outside in the audience, he was sure they would be able to blow each other’s ears off. It was no shocker, they had been waiting for this for so long it was insane. 

Opening the door to the dressing room he quietly leaned against the frame and watched you sit with your back facing him. You didn’t have to turn around to see who it was because you already knew.

“I-, I can’t go out there.” 

Your voice was so soft he barely heard it over the loud crowd from next door. You sounded so vulnerable, so sad and depressed he felt all your emotions at once. 

“Y/N.” He sighed ever so softly and removed himself from the door frame. 

“We just talked about this. You said you were ready?” 

“Yes but that was a big fat lie. I’m not ready for this, I’m not ready for anything I’m not even done with my medication yet!” You looked over at your shoulder for the first time revealing your red cheeks and puffy red eyes. It hurt Michael right in the chest to witness. 

“But the doctor said go for it. He said that you would be able to sing again so what is scaring you so much?” He needed to give you comfort, he couldn’t just stand there and not do anything about it. 

He headed towards the leather couch and carefully took a seat down. You were crumbled up with your chin resting on your knees but you loosened up by his presence. 

“I’m scared that I will fail. I’m scared of everything Michael because if I don’t nail it tonight it means I have lost my singing voice forever and I can’t-, I don’t even want to have that thought but it constantly hunts me down.” 

The words came out fast and clumsy, you could barely breathe. You had a pit in your stomach that hurt so much you wanted to take painkillers. But it couldn’t be cured, it was all because of your nervousness. 

“We’ve been practicing the song so many times Y/N and you sounded amazing. There’s no way that you will fail on the stage tonight.” He could see your shaking hand so he grabbed it gently. 

“Yes but that was on the piano Michael where you were the only one hearing it. We haven’t performed this song for months, it’s too ambitious and I just know from now that I can’t do it.” The last part was said in such a shaky voice you had to take a deep breath to calm down.

“Yes you can.” He disagreed, not in a tone that sounded annoyed or anything. He was only trying to encourage you in hope of pushing you over the edge of being nervous. 

“You can do so much Y/N you have no idea! You have an amazing voice, you’re an amazing performer and there’s no doubt that you’re the fan favourite. Right now you’re just nervous because you’ve been so used to telling people that you can’t because of your surgery and now when it’s all over you feel like a part of yourself has been taken away from you.” 

He moved you around on the couch so you weren’t sitting as crumbled as you did before. He loosened your arms and made your legs dangle down to the floor because it was the first step to pull yourself together. 

“And yes Y/N that is in fact true.” You looked up at him with confused eyes, “You have lost a part of yourself, but it wasn’t something that was a benefit. Think about how powerful your voice will become now that your tonsils aren’t in the way! It’s the biggest benefit a singer can ever get.” 

Your hand came up to touch your throat just by the mention, it was completely painless now unless you were eating something a little bit too harsh. You had been on yogurt diet since the surgery and it was last week you had started eating proper food again. 

“I know you can do this and I also know that you know. You just have to find back the sparkle you’ve been hiding inside of yourself throughout all this crap you’ve been through. The Y/N before the surgery is still in there and she’s cheering for you to go back where you belong.” 

His face nodded towards the exit door, hand still holding onto yours and he noticed you weren’t shaking as much as you had before. 

“Right on the stage in front of the most amazing crowd.” 

Michael was a good talker there was no doubt. He could see it in your eyes that his pep-talk was working but you were still holding yourself back. 

Horrible images were flashing before your eyes, that everything would go terrible and that you would lose your voice in the end. It was the biggest fear of all time and you knew that you had to push yourself over the limit. 

“But-,”

“No buts-,” He made motions with his arms as if he was ripping over a paper. 

“This is your time to shine, use it! Don’t just blow the chance and say we will try again next month. We know you’re ready, I know you’re ready, you know you’re ready Y/N.” 

You hesitantly looked up at him, your fingers fiddling with the hem of his flannel. You wanted to say something, it was lingering on your tongue but you didn’t know how to get it out. 

“Let’s make a deal okay?” He shifted in his seat, “When we sing, you usually feel comfortable by looking at me. Just by looking at me is seems like all your problems are gone so just do that. If you ever feel nervous on stage just look at me because I will be right there next to you. Right when you need it and right there to make sure everything is going to be alright.”

“You promise that?” You almost whispered. 

“I promise that.” He settled down with flashing you a smile. 

It was an unsure nod that showed your confirmation to this and he was fast to stand up from the couch still with your hand in his. He lead you out of the room and towards the backstage area where you were giving a microphone, seeing the other guys with smiles and sighing in relief. 

“We’re all ready!” Michael announced, giving your hand a gentle squeeze when feeling your eyes on him. 

“Let’s fucking do this.” 

It was like every single limp in your body was shaking once the dark navy blue lights were pointed on you. You almost feared you would collapse when going onto the stage, seeing the crowd on the first rows hollering by recognizing you. 

You had a hard time describing your emotions because they were all so different.

You were nervous there was no doubt, you felt as if it was your first time on the stage ever. But you were also happy, feeling accomplished that you managed to walk out here without problems. It was the arenaline kicking up and it became worse when you heard the small chords from the piano. 

Your eyes glanced towards Calum who was giving you an reassuring smile, nodding his heard for you to start. 

“How can you see into my eyes, like open doors, leading you down into my core where I’ve become so numb …” Your voice was shaky at first and insecure but the applause along with Calum nodding his head in satisfaction encouraged you even more.

But that was when the confidence came. The music becoming louder and the others showing up, Luke with his guitar wrapped over his shoulder and Ashton starting to play behind the drum kit. 

“Without a soul my spirit’s sleeping somewhere cold. Until you find it there and lead it back home.” By every word the confidence of yours grew wider and brighter, your voice becoming louder into the microphone but you were still confused because Michael wasn’t here yet. 

“Wake me up!” Your eyes widened in surprise when he suddenly showed up from the stairs to your right, a microphone in his hand as well and on queue you continued the singing but were still left confused. 

He was having a smile on his face it couldn’t compare to anything else. This was one of his favourite songs, he loved playing the guitar for it yet he had dropped it just to help you out. 

It gave such a different vibe to the crowd, people were hollering and screaming along to the lyrics. It was such a common song in the band, you always heard it before soundcheck and before going on stage, when Luke was the one suggesting it there was no doubt it would be your intro song. 

And with Michael suddenly being able to move around and jump excitedly without his guitar, it was such a different show apart from others. Not only was it the first one after a weeks of hiatus, it was almost magical. 

The way he was looking at you was so adoring, there was such admiring you almost couldn’t stop blushing. He was doing this for you and that was probably the sweetest thing ever, it meant the world to you.

He knew exactly what he was doing because the more you looked at him the more you felt comfortable. You relaxed completely in your own self, the crowd was noisy in the background but what you were focusing the most on was him.

You didn’t even take notice of yourself hitting the notes, it happened automatically, there was nothing to be worried about. It all had gone to your head and finally it seemed to fall back into pieces once again. 

When you came to the second verse you continued singing and you parted your ways. Michael heading towards the right side of the stage and walked down the stairs towards the crowd, walking through the crowd on the right alley.

You did the opposite and took the left turn, making sure not to trip down the stairs but also following his long and fast feet. This wasn’t a part of the choreography, you never really had one but this was what felt the best.

Fans were screaming loudly but still respected staying by their seats, pulling out phones to make sure they could record their closest moment to you and Michael as possible. 

You glanced towards the stage just to make sure everything was okay, Luke jumping around excitedly while Calum had grabbed his bass and rocking it out. Ashton was so concentrated on doing his shit right that he barely had his eyes open, letting out every possibly energy he had in his body. 

When you came to the end of the alley where the rows met you turned to your right and looked over at Michael right as the chorus started again and he smiled all over his face. 

It was such an amazing feeling. You couldn’t describe it. The grin on his face was so affectionate, it made you blush all over your cheeks and you almost wanted to hit him in the arm because that wasn’t supposed to happen. 

Your harmonies were perfect for this song it was a surprise you hadn’t taken notice of it before. Sure you had been playing it out on the piano many times but Michael always stayed lowkey when practicing with you. 

Now, he could scream, yell and sing as much as he wanted. He was fully enjoying this one life opportunity and he really did, using all he could to make it sound as perfect as possible. His eyes were completely scrunched up and it was the cutest thing ever. 

When you literally stood 30 minutes away from each other he took a deep breath and nodded his head impressed when you sang the last bit before the bridge, your heart pounding so loudly it was a full on rush. 

This was probably the hardest part of the song but he was right there, nodding his head along and whispering the lyrics along with you. When you came to the last bit where you had to hold the tone for seconds you just focused on him everything else becoming blurry. 

You were so insanely out of breath when you finally let go and the boys on the stage took the bridge part and the rapping, Calum doing the male voice while Luke pretended to be a light female soprano. 

“I knew you could do it.” Michael yelled into your ear to make sure that you could hear, the fans were going so insane at this point it was hard to even hear your own voice when singing into the microphone. 

You grinned lightly by his voice, heart fluttering by the way he was looking down at you and you linked your hands together, intertwining your fingers. At first he was a little bit surprised by the act but was also quick to relax into your touch, an award winning smile on his face. 

It was time to go back to the stage as the bridge part was almost over and you gave Michael a small nod before you both headed back hand in hand, singing the chorus together. 

The whole arena was almost moving so much you could feel the floor shake. Everyone was happy, everyone was excited and for once everyone was united once again. 

This hiatus was over, you wouldn’t have to worry about your tonsil problems anymore and your voice was more powerful than ever. It was such a rush you could feel goosebumps form on your arms when you came back onto the stage, still hands linked together until the last bit. 

He let go of you to let you have the last bit of shine, the lights becoming dark navy blue again and Luke playing the last long chord on the guitar. 

 “Bring me to life…” You sang out as loud as you possibly could, holding the last one in the word life and felt how your voice had never been as powerful as it was now. 

You continued as far as you could, letting the whole crowd stand up in applause and with loud screams, jumping up and down their chairs in pure excitement of finally having you all back where you belonged. 

Your heart was pounding so loudly you almost couldn’t believe it but it was probably the best feeling you had ever felt in you life. You weren’t sure if you would have survived this without Michael and when he came back to you, you smiled brightly in accomplish. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” He announced into the microphone, the stage lights going back to normal but still a bit dimmed. 

“Welcome back. We’re 5 Seconds of Summer.” 

Another huge applause resulted in Michael’s announcement, everyone smiling from top to toe and he proudly grabbed you and pulled you into his side, his heart beating so loudly in proud and secret love.

[yeeter-parkor]

Don’t get between a mama spider and her baby.

Natasha is highly protective. 

read it on Ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578419/chapters/51447373

Summery: Natasha had killed dozens of people before, murdered ruthlessly to get her mission accomplished, so when someone injured her (yes her) kid, they would have hell to pay. TL;DR:  someone wanted Mama Spider and Baby Spider so I wrote angst and then some fluff and then a dash of murder- enjoy!

Natasha had seen lots of people bruised and bloody before, hell she had murdered plenty of people, so blood shouldn’t fas her, so she didn’t understand why she felt such an ache in her chest when she saw Peter walked in the door from school with a myriad of colorful bruises covering every inch of the teens exposed skin, and if the way he was walking was any indication, they extended to under his hoodie. He walked with a slight limp and seemed to be trying to make a beeline to his room- as if she would allow this to go unexplained. Still, she knew from personal experience that pushing too hard to fast would make the tiny spider clam up. Despite the fact that he was only Starks kid legally, they shared several qualities, geniuses who tried to hide every negative emotion and had a tendency to randomly gift people things with no context, (She had woken up to little wrapped gifts on multiple occasions when she had been having a bad day, with no note or acknowledgment, not that it was hard to figure out.) She, however, couldn’t help but wince when she saw the tears on his face catch the light before he disappeared down the hallway.

She didn’t know who had decided that she should comfort the baby spider, but Tony was in Japan at the moment, and she knew that she couldn’t just let him sulk in silence, which she was well aware he did far too much anyway (FRIDAY was very helpful in informing her which teammates needed to be distracted from a battle, patrol gone wrong, nightmare, Etc.) So, she held her book, white-knuckled as she stared at the clock, waiting for the appropriate amount of time to pass before intruding on the teen, finally, after three minutes and 47 seconds to long without information, she dog-eared her page, and slowly rose, padding to his door. She took care to walk on the heels of her feet, despite the fact that it rebelled against literally everything instinct she had had drilled into her because right now she actually wanted him to hear her footsteps. He probably could tell she was modifying her walk, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, she rationed.

Sooner than she had anticipated, the assassin was meet with the teen’s door, determinedly shut. Somehow, this part felt much, much harder than she had anticipated. Once she knocked, there was no turning back. Immediately, however, guilt and anger filled her, as she thought about the state of the poor teen when he had come in. Hell would freeze before she let someone get away with doing that to Peter. After all, spiders stick together. Or eat each other, but she was choosing to focus on the spirit of it. Finally, after 10 long seconds of internal monologuing, she raised a hand, knocking three times, quick and concise.

“Come in.” Peters’s voice said, sounding shaky and far to quiet for the buy she was used to. He clearly did not have his boundless energy after whatever fight had happened.

“Peter…” Now that she had a good look at him, she really was at a loss for words, he had taken the hoodie off, clearly, and it lay crumpled on the floor, stained red from some of the places that looked like a boot had broken his skin. His hair had been matted with blood, which seemed to still be running down from his scalp in a slow trickle that made her stomach twist. The worst thing though, the worst thing was his face. He looked dejected and, well scared. An emotion that he went to great lengths to hide, and he did so to the extent that seeing it was disconcerting for her to finally see displayed so openly. “What happened?”

“Fight,” he said, now that she was closer, she could hear that his words were clipped and tense, as though he was trying to hold back the emotion in them.

“Hmm.” She hummed. “I think you have to punch back for it to be a fight.”

He just looked down at his dark blue comforter, keeping his eyes completely focused on an imaginary piece of dust.

“Well, come on then.” She said, standing and walking to the bathroom.

“What?” He asked with a raspy voice.

“I need to clean you up because if those get infected you are gonna be in a world of hurt.”

He just looked at his lap again “Okay.”

“And you are explaining this to me,” she demanded because she knew it wasn’t the best tactic but as she looked at the bruises, she felt anger swelling up in her. She had never heard the kid so damn quiet before, and for some reason, it was more disturbing than any of the bruises.

Silently. She tugged the shirt off of him, which was easy, as he was floppy and compliant. She had seen Steve like this several times before, their crazy super healing kicking in and draining them of energy. When Steve did it, she would tease him relentlessly, however, it just added to her growing concern. Despite how hard she had tried, when she saw his core completely black and blue, with clear broken ribs, she couldn’t help but gasp threw her nose.

“Talk.” Was all she commanded, before setting to work on the teen. She took out the rubbing alcohol as he drew in a breath, wincing at the action.

“W-Well, I was at school right? And there was this kid named Flash…” he trailed off again, not seeming to remember the rest of the sentence.

“Doesn’t that count as child abuse, naming a kid that?” she quipped, and felt satisfied when she saw a smile tug at his busted lip, although winced when it caused a single drop of blood to roll down to his chin, which she quickly wiped away using a small pad of gauze.

“Well… he was making fun of my friend, MJ, I told you about her, remember?” he asked, clearly trying to drag out the conversation.

“Hmm, MJ the ‘super pretty really scary kinda badass who you are definitely asking out’ who put a dead chicken in his locker?”

“Ms. Nat! I never said I was going to ask her out!”

“Well you are, proceed,” she said smirking.

“Well um, he wouldn’t leave her alone, and normally she is really good at shutting that kind of thing down, but he was being like, really persistent and horrible and well… Hey!” he protested when she suddenly pressed rubbing alcohol to a fairly large cut on his side.

“Keep talking and I might warn you.”

“Anyway, he was going on and on about history, for some reason, and I guess there must have been something that happened that I didn’t know about, cuz we have different history teachers, because she just like, stormed off, which is not like her at all, yah know. Cuz i’m a superhero and I think she is braver than me… and then…”

“What did he say?” she interrupted, getting a sinking feeling in her gut.

“He asked her if her mom had made any more visits to the teacher to bump her grade up, which didn’t make sense, because it’s one of her best subjects. Well there all her best subjects, except for Cem, but I help her with that. Anyway, so she stomped off and I asked Flash what he said and why it made her so angry, and he kept saying things like, nothing, and I wouldn’t leave him alone, and then MJ came back and she had been crying and she slapped him like... Really hard, and then he tried to go after her, and then I stopped him and then we fought. And…”

“Wait, he did this to you?” She interjected, looking up from where she had been wrapping his ribs.

“No, well… yes… kinda… only part of it…ow! just like, let me finish, I swear it’ll make sense.”

“Okay.” She conceded, turning her attention back to his ribs which she was wrapping tighter then strictly necessary.

“So I let him beat me up a bit because like… what’s the worst he could do right? This is Flash, and so I let him get a few hits in and then act like I’ve had enough, and by then almost everyone had left but MJ hadn’t which was weird, because she usually rode the bus, a-and so I asked her what had happened, and the like… I dunno she just started crying and told me that her mom had been cheating o-on her dad b-because she was worried that MJ wouldn’t pass otherwise… even though she was like…. Acing everything, and she… it...”

“Peter.” She interjected, placing a hand on one of Peters as he wound a loose thread around one of his fingers hard enough to completely cut off the blood.

“A-Anyway, so I was like… upset, and I went to go yell at the teacher, when he just like… totally flipped and started hitting me with a hole punch, and he wasn’t enhanced or anything so I couldn’t fight back without accidentally hurting or maybe even killing his so i just… let him hit me…”

“A not enhanced man couldn’t do this Peter.”

“Well… after all that I was going to walk home, after checking on MJ… of course, but then Flash saw me again and we started fighting because of what he said to MJ a-and he um… he managed to uh, to find out about May a-and he… well… he just kept talking about her and saying like, really, really just like… bad stuff and…” he stopped to draw in a shaky breath and tightening his eyelids to try and stop the tears from falling, which wasn’t very successful.

“Come here, Pete.” She said after a moment of thought, opening her arms wide to allow him to crawl into the hug as she repositiond herself, leaning against the headboard so that she could hug him better. He accepted happily, allowing her to tuck her chin over his head as he listened to her heart.”What did he say about her Pete?”

“H-he said up… well… he said that- that I wouldn’t ever be able to um, to stay at midtown now b-because now May w-wasn’t there to…” He cut himself off, burying his head deeper into her jacket, making her chest constrict with anger. She hadn’t killed anyone point-blank in a long time, but she was pretty sure that this was about to change.

“He shoved me into a car.”

“What! Peter! You could have lead with that! We need to get you scanned! You could be bleeding out internally right now!”

“I-I’m not I-I would be um, I can tell when i-it happens… ``I-I’m okay…”

“That pushed you in front of a car, why the hell didn’t you tell me that first?” She almost shouted, feeling the hot anger filling every inch of her.

“I’m s-s-sorry I j-just umm… I didn’t want you t-to be mad and um…”

She would be lying to say that she didn’t melt a little bit when she heard the way his voice shook. He was so young, so uncertain of how his would be perceived.

“Peter, I would never be angry at you for that, you know that don’t you?”

He gave a tearful nod, though not a very convincing as she felt the tears splash onto her shirt as he tightened his grip on her,

“I’m sorry Ma’am.”

“What on earth do you have to be sorry for Peter? I already told you that I’m not mad.” She asked, trying her very best to keep all of the venom out of her voice, which she didn’t think she was completely successful in doing biased on how Peter flinched into her.

“I um… I well, I fought with Flash a-and and Mr. Ria and um, Flash again…”

“Peter, you don’t have to apologize for being attacked. You just trying to protect your friend, and that is an admirable thing.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles into her shoulder.

“You’re welcome. What did you say flash’s whole name was again?”

“Ms. Nat!” He said, clearly guessing her intentions.

“I thought you mentioned it earlier, I swear!” She said, raising her hand a little and giggling along with the teen.

“His name is Eugene Flash Thompson.”

“Eugene Thompson!” She exclaimed, earning her a laugh from the injured teen, “A human being named their child Eugene Thompson? No wonder he’s such a little shit!”

“Yeah,” Peter said, seeming much more like himself, if not still a bit quiet, giving her an idea. There was only one thing that could make this quite in all the time she had known him.

“Come in, follow me,” she said, standing.

“Where are we going?” he asked quietly, but his interest was piqued.

“We are going to watch a movie, you choose,” she said, pulling him up. She felt guilty when she saw him wince at the motion, although not guilty enough to stop her from slinging an arm over his shoulder and steering him down the hall, careful to take as much of his weight as she could without appearing too obvious.

“Can we watch Star Wars?” he asked hopefully, his face lit up when she nodded.

“Sure. Go sit on the couch while I get popcorn.”

He walked over, keeping a hand firmly around his (More) injured side, as he moved, looking more than a little pained. However, he relaxed once he had settled into the couch, curling in on himself with his knees drawn up to his chin. She prodded him to unfurl so she could hand the popcorn over and pulled the boy against her as the opening soundtrack started. The poor kid really did try and stay awake for her, but by the time Yoda appeared he was long gone, his body tired from work that healing took. Which is the only reason that Clint was able to catch the photo, which he had now hung everywhere and posted on every media outlet that existed, of her and Peter, both sleeping peacefully on the couch as Jedi fought in the background, taken from a possible angle in the ceiling, telling her that he had snapped it from the vents.

When she looked back at it, seeing Peters sleeping face, which at that point was healed enough to not look alarming, if you hadn’t known the state he was in when he came in it would have looked just barely bruised. Looking at the photo, which she definitely didn’t frame and keep by her bed, she realized why it had bothered so much to see him that way, bloody and bruised. It was more than being unsettled by the break of an unwritten rule, that children would be safe at school, from both teachers and students, but as she saw how his sleeping body was curled into hers, so blindly trusting of her, Natasha realized that, even if Tony had been the one to sign the adoption papers, he was all of there kid, and they were never letting him go.

“ Joe Ria, I have been planning on meeting with you for a while.”

Pt 2

“Joe Ria, I have been planning on meeting you for a while,” Natasha said, coming up from behind the desk she had been hiding behind, as she held the gaze of the aforementioned adult in front of her. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly, clearly not feeling nearly as threatened as he should.

She punched him in the face.

“What the hell lady!” he exclaimed, looking almost comically surprised. It would never fail to amuse her how much her marks could underestimate a hit to the face from a woman.

“I believe you know Peter Parker?” she asked, not even trying to keep the venom from her voice now if she scared him so be it, it would only make the job more enjoyable.

“Yeah I know the brat, I teach him, I- W-what is that?” The man asked, stammering when he saw her pull out the needle she had kept concealed in her jacket sleeve.

“I told you I wanted to talk, so you’re gonna talk.”

0o0o0o0o

Peter woke up to his phone dinging insistently, causing him to jolt up. Upon checking it, he saw about 30 texts from Ned, as well as a few missed calls. He was about to check them when his phone rang again, causing him to groan at the sound before answering.

“Hello?” he asked groggily throw the phone.

“Peter! Ho-ly shit did you see the news! It’s insane! The school is closed for a week!”

“What? No, I didn’t, did something happen?”

“Um, yeah something happened! Pull it up on your phone, it was literally all over the news!”

“Okay, okay! Umm… polar bears, Mr. Stark, Ummm, oh shit!”

“Did you find it?” Ned asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” he said, hesitantly, his eyes scanning over the article, the headline glaring at him on the screen

Teacher arrested at local highschool when found tied up with video confession to beating student with a hole punch; attacker unknown.

“Can you believe it! They said that Mr. Ria is going to jail for like, years!”

“Yeah, you know what Ned, I’ve gotta go.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“I think I know who did this.” He said, hanging up the phone on his friend’s indignant squeaks.

He sighed for a moment, blinking away a moment of vertigo from sitting up before swinging his legs over the side of his bed and padding down to the kitchen, where Natasha was sitting, looking rather smug while drinking her drip coffee.

“Did you kill my teacher?” He asked bluntly, causing all his teammates to turn their heads to the pair.

“You’re awake.” She stated instead, “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, my teacher, however, is in the hospital.”

“So he survived,” she said, nonchalantly.

“Natasha, what did you do?” Steve asked, looking at her over the newspaper, wearing an expression that reminded Peter of Mike Wheeler’s father.

“I did what was necessary.”

The supersoldier scowled. “Is murder ever necessary?”

“Yes, in this instance it was Rogers.” She replied, her face taut with an unreadable expression.

They just stared for a moment, unsure how to respond to her, seemingly dumbstruck. They were silent for several minutes, until Peter’s phone rang again, startling them all. Peter answered it hurriedly, seeing it was Ned again. The rest of the team listened intently as they talked.

“What do you mean his parents are dead?” Peter asked through the phone.

“So he just thinks they’re dead?”

“Photos?” He exclaimed through the phone.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll call you back.” And such, Peter ended the conversation, shooting a glare at Natasha who looks not at all guilty.

“What happened?” Steve asked, despite most likely having heard the whole thing, with his enhanced ears and all.

“Mrs. Natasha, you can’t just send photos of a crime scene to a kid! He thinks his parents are dead and what did you do with his parents.”

“Relax. They’re on a cruise to Maui, he’ll see them again in two weeks.” The assassin answered smoothly.

“So he’s gonna think there dead for two weeks!”

“Yes, that was the plan.”

They all started for a moment, trying to process what she was saying.

“Natasha…” Steve started before she cut him off.

“Steve, that kid pushed Peter onto a busy road. He got run over by a semi-truck for fuck’s sake, I think my reaction was perfectly acceptable. And the teacher, a person who was deemed by the state the best applicant to be interacting with children every day, attacked him with a hole punch. I feel that my reaction showed remarkable restraint.” Natasha spat the words at them, her voice showing more emotion then Peter had seen from her in months of training with them. No one spoke for several tense minutes until Clint broke the silence.

“Where the hell is that kid.” He said in an almost growl, honestly slightly scaring Peter.

“Wait, no, no no, no, no. I already have to explain to him what happened to his parents, and I need him alive to do so.” Peter said hoping to calm the fire in the eyes of all three of them.

“Will you at least let me speak with him Peter, you know I would never kill a kid,” Steve asked.

“Fine, Steve, and only Steve can talk to him. But I still don’t want you alone with him.” peter said, having a sinking feeling that somehow he had just made a very big mistake.

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that, there will be plenty of others there.” Peter did not feel at all comfortable with the glint behind the supersoldiers eye.

[surrendermyhart]

Sparks Against The Railing

*Jesus fucking Christ. I could feel everything and nothing at the same time and it drove me insane. Calloused and rough fingers slipped unseen over my skin, salty-slick with sweat and I fought back the need to cry out, to say something, anything. Fuck to even move just a little bit would be absolutely perfect.  If I could just get a little closer; move just a little bit, then I could maybe get what I needed.  I could feel breath on my neck; wet and hot and it pushed me just to the edge, drove me past insane and right back again; pretty, filthy words whispered with a smile that I could feel against the hollow of my neck.  That would be my undoing, it always was.  Everybody had their downfall, that one thing that could push them over the edge quicker than anything, and that was mine. I didn’t recognize the voice not exactly, and I couldn’t see anything but I knew the touch; it was familiar in a way that I couldn’t place. The words enough were almost enough to get me what I needed, whispered and harsh against my ear.  Almost.. Almost…  My gasp echoed in my ears, breathing labored as I sat bolt upright in my empty bed.  Fucking fuck. The sheets were soaked and twisted around my bare legs. My hair, which was usually a mess anyway, was plastered to my neck and cheeks despite the almost arctic air blowing from the vents above my head.  My chest heaved as I fought to catch my breath and my vision was blurry.  The bright red numbers on the clock were clear as fucking daylight, although right now that lied. Blackout curtains were a necessity when you had my job. 5:43 PM.  I’d been asleep for all of three fucking hours after an eighteen hour shift. I was still exhausted as fuck, to say nothing of all kinds of worked up.  On any other day, I would just take a few shots and go back to bed but between the state I was in and the fact that I actually had plans that required being a functioning goddamn adult, that was out. Falling back down on my pillows with a huff, I let my eyes close for just a moment longer as I attempted some kind of stupid breathing shit to calm down.  It didn’t work, it never did.  Yanking the useless sheet from my legs, I threw it aside as I headed towards the bathroom, tossing my t-shirt along the way.  My skin felt hot and sticky but there were sparks just barely jumping across it; memories of touches that weren’t real, my dreams taunting me even after I opened my eyes.  I didn’t bother with the light as my bare feet hit cool tile, it was pointless.  There was something freeing, in a weird fucking way, about showering in the dark.  As long as all your shit was in different shaped bottles, you were good to go.  Mine was; I had been doing this for a very long time. Wrenching the taps to get the water running, I pulled my hands out of the shower and quickly flipped through my phone as I attached it to the sound system.  It was quiet and, although I could handle a lot of things, quiet was not one of them, not at home anyway.  The second that frenzied guitars and pounding drums hit my ears, I let out a breath I wasn’t aware that I had been holding. Swiping my hand back under the water, a smile pulls at my lips.  It wasn’t hot, barely even warm, but it worked for me.  I ducked easily under the cool spray; squeaking as it pelted against my overheated skin.  It felt fucking glorious; not as good as those phantom fucking hands from my dream, but close enough. Then again… I let my own fingers follow the patterns of the drops that cascaded down my torso, giving in to the remnants of the dream disappearing and giving in to flashes of fantasy behind my closed eyes, ones that would never fucking happen, for all of the goddamn reasons. Still… inked knuckles and streaks of paint worked for the moment and it wasn’t long after my hand slipped between my legs that I cried out and my knees buckled, the wall supporting me as I slid to the floor, my eyes closed and head falling back against the cold tiles, still trembling.  Holy shit. The water from above was falling in increasingly colder rivulets and it took me a moment to completely come down so I could get myself cleaned up. It didn’t take long at all and I was stepping out of the shower, still in the dark, before the next song was over, clean and pinked from the increased  heat of the water after I’d finally stood again.  The scent of strawberries hung in the air and it brought a smile to my lips even as I flipped the light on, squinting my eyes at the almost painful brightness.  As much as I liked the dark, it just wasn’t conducive to many things, least of all primping and I would need a fucking lot of it. Just under an hour and I was ready to leave, with almost five minutes to spare. The gallery was just far enough to be out of walking distance and, to be honest, I couldn't be fucked to deal with traffic. Uber it was.  As I waited on my ride, I took an extra few moments to indulge my inner fourteen year old girl in the full length mirror in the hallway. My dark hair had been blow-dried almost straight and pulled back into a soft, messy ponytail, the ends of the loose strands brushing over the collar of my white blouse which was probably the WORST color for me to be wearing.  Somehow, and I had no fucking clue how, my makeup managed to stay put.  Smoky eyes and red lips were essentially my go to, and could get a bit cliched, but they worked for me so why fucking change? The black leather skirt was tight around my waist but not at all trashy, flaring to a modified a-line that ended just above the tattoo on my thigh and matched my knee high boots.  Appropriate attire for an art opening?  I had zero fucking clue, but I didn’t have the time or want to second guess myself as my phone chimed that my ride was here. Grabbing a jacket and a small purse, I headed out into the rapidly cooling night to the sleek black car at the curb and let myself get lost in my thoughts for the duration of the drive.  The invitation had come as a surprise, almost an afterthought it seemed. I couldn’t explain it, not exactly, but there was something off about Keith lately.  Not onstage, never, that was always fucking on, but as soon as those lights went down, there was a distance that was almost palpable.  The same could not be said for Jeremy. The man had the same kind of passion about his art that Keith did about his music, although he expressed it in a different way. It was easy to see why they worked so well, even for someone on the periphery like me.  It didn’t hurt a fucking bit that they were both abso-fucking-lutely beautiful; that shit was all kinds of unfair. Broken images from my showertime indulgence flashed through my mind as the car pulled to a stop and I shook my head gently to push them away as I tipped my driver and climbed out, heading up the granite steps towards the door, the warm golden light spilling from the windows. I was late, but only a bit. What I could only imagine was a veritable who’s who of the Seattle art world already milled about the vast space, speaking in low tones and sipping from delicate crystal flutes as they flitted from painting to painting. The crowd was eclectic, although that was exactly the opposite of a surprise, and I brushed away a piece of fuzz from my skirt before snagging a glass of champagne from a passing white coated waiter. I didn't see anyone I knew quite yet, but Keith would be here, as would the rest of the boys, and obviously Jeremy as well because it was his damn show. I couldn't help but smile as I thought of the blue haired artist and the frontman who had been decidedly hostile towards me of late. Then again, that wasn't exactly a surprise. I was a flirt, and always had been, thank you years of Catholic school, and I don't see fit to alter or censor myself, especially outside of work. It was harmless, really; I just enjoyed pretty people. Anyone in a relationship was decidedly off limits but I could see how Keith was more than a bit upset. Jeremy and I talked quite a bit, and we hit it off like gangbusters, but that was that. He was very much taken, and happy as fuck, so I was content to file that ridiculous smile away for future use. Along with his boyfriend's pretty fucking hands. Jesus Christ. As I fought away the thought, I caught sight of the owner of those hands, such as he was. Keith was in a suit which was kind of like living in bizarro world, but he pulled it off perfectly. He was standing with his back to me with a group of people I didn't know, laughing at something or other. I wanted to say hello but it really didn't seem like the time, especially with the increased coldness between us of late.  Shaking my head, I down my champagne in a single swallow, giving a smile to the passing waiter as I swapped the empty flute for a full one. That was NOT where my mind needed to be drifting right now. At fucking all. Glass in hand, I meandered over to the nearest painting and eyed it appreciatively. I had never doubted Jeremy's talent, I couldn't even consider it with the way Keith went on, but there was very little that could have prepared me for actually seeing it. Every word of praise was deserved. Each piece was different from the last, but still cohesive enough to form a collection.  The colors were almost palpable and I had to literally tighten my grip on my glass in order to keep my fingers off the canvas. I had very little intention of purchasing anything but that flew right the fuck out the window as I paused in front of a piece by the corner.  An idyllic scene in muted, hushed tones was the background and that, in itself was lovely,  but it was the spatter of bright red and the patches of black that slashed almost violently through the scene that caught me. It was painful, beautiful and almost grotesque in the most amazing of ways; this spoke to me in the same language that music did, a feat that had not been accomplished before this moment. I needed it. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it. Taking note of the title, I meandered over towards the petite girl at the entrance, who sported an impressive head of aqua hair and a disaffected expression that only came with youth, to find out what I needed to do in order to purchase the piece that had me so captivated. She was exceedingly helpful, although oddly begrudgingly so, and after taking my information, gave me a bored wave and turned her attention back to the door like some kind of technicolor anime sentry. Returning to the well dressed crowd, I let my gaze wander before catching sight of a familiar head across the gallery by the same piece that I had just left. Blue hair had been replaced with a vibrant red that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and I smiled as I sidled up beside Jeremy, my boots clicking on the floors.*  It's fucking obscene and hurts to look at. I love it. *“Obscene. I like it. Thank you, Tom. ” Jeremy’s earnest voice reached my ears, although it was almost muffled as I caught sight of his blinding smile that I couldn’t help but return. Aqua-haired anime greeter slipped by us and placed a small black ‘SOLD’ sign below the description, and Jeremy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you buy it?”  I was barely able to open my mouth to reply, however,  before a clearly angry guitarist nearly stalked in front of Jeremy and I, the anger radiating off him in waves. Fuck. I wasn't stupid, not in the slightest and had no doubt about what had set him off and I felt guilty for all of a single breath. I got his defensiveness, I really did, but I wasn't exactly the home wrecker that Keith had somehow decided that I was. My respect for Keith was paramount, both as a person and my boss and I knew him well enough to know, even in just the short time I had been playing with him, that a personal conflict, and there absolutely was one at this point, would never affect the band dynamics. At least I thought as much. Giving Jeremy a sad smile and letting my gaze follow the pissed off guitarist, I shake my head.  My gaze darts from the painting to the man that created it and I nodded as he ran a hand through already disheveled pillar box red hair. He looked pained, and the hint of a smile on his face didn't even begin to touch his eyes. There were some things you couldn't fake, not even for a crowd. “Yeah, I saw. I can try and talk to him if you want, I don’t mind.” The offer was genuine and I shifted my weight from foot to foot  as I refocused on Jeremy,  his art and the conversation we had been having before we had been interrupted.* Most people would take that as an insult,  you know, but it works for you. And yes, I absolutely did. It's just broken enough that it needs to be in my house. There is a certain gravity to it… it makes people uncomfortable and I like that. But it's beautiful at the same time. They all are, and in vastly different ways. I fucking love beautiful things, especially ones that aren't conventional. *The words were true, in every sense, and I could have elaborated on them but this was neither the time nor place for that. Aqua Girl had passed beside us again, hanging yet another small ‘sold’ sign beneath the painting to our right.* Well it looks like a good evening for you. You should be proud. *My attention was pulled, once again by Keith in my peripheral vision as he came back into the gallery proper, and I deposited my champagne glass on the tray of a passing waiter, giving Jeremy a small smile as I turned on my heel towards Keith. He looked a bit less ragey, no doubt thanks to the cigarette that I could still smell clinging to him. It made my fingers twitch for the lighter in my pocket and I managed to refrain, somehow as I stopped short beside him.* You doing okay? * I wasn’t exactly sure what I had anticipated Keith’s answer to be, but there was nothing in the world that could have prepared me for the look that was in his eyes when he lifted his head to meet my gaze.  Usually so full of fire and life, they seemed almost empty now, even under the bright lights of the gallery.  He looked so resigned, almost, as though he had seen something in the alley while smoking that had changed his entire life.  “Come back to our place.” The words were delivered with a measured, almost cool indifference, although there was a definite air of something behind them, that I couldn’t qute put my finger on.  Whatever it was though, it wasn’t exactly right. It was a statement, not a question and it threw me for a moment. I could feel my eyes widen but aside from that, I schooled my features into a practiced mask of disaffection. It was no small feat. A thousand thoughts flew through my head in the same moment, all bright and some bordering on violent, although not in the physical sense. That wasn't Keith's style, not ever. He may not have known it but he showed that every time he performed. It was electric and visceral, fucking beautiful. He purged himself of whatever demons were trapped in his head as he writhed and spit on the stage, eventually leaving them broken as he walked off.   No, someone with that kind of energy didn't get violent. But that didn't mean he couldn't get angry, and he did. Fuck, it was almost palpable between us in the moment. Flicking my gaze over to Jeremy, I found the flame - haired artist in conversation with a reporter. Jimmy Olsen looked all of twelve-fucking-years-old and I shook my head before returning to the conversation with Keith. I regarded him for a moment, simply taking him in as my fingers itched for another glass of champagne. He was angry, that was evident, but that resignation behind his eyes still confused me; an acceptance that settled over his stupidly pretty features even as his inked hands clenched and released into fists. He wasn't intimidating, not in a traditional sense, but there was a certain gravitas in the way that he carried himself; a confidence that was earned and well so. Plus… he was my fucking boss. So. My eyes lit on the tray of a passing waiter and I weighed the implications of one more drink.   Nope. Denied. No more alcohol tonight, not if I wanted a clear head for the goddamn showdown the was bound to happen later. Running my tongue over my dry lips, I could taste lipstick and made a mental note to reapply as soon as I could. Now, however, that was not a priority.* I can do that. I took an Uber here so I just need to know when you plan to leave.  *I was rewarded with a curt nod before Keith was off again, circling the room and returning to Jeremy’s side once the small crowd around them dispersed. I wasn't expecting much from Keith, the anger was practically rolling off him in waves. He wore it well though, and I blamed my subconscious for continuing to project fragments of my dream into my night. His  nod was curt and about as far from friendly as it could get and I decided to throw caution to the wind and grabbed another glass of champagne as he turned his attention back  towards Jeremy. I couldn't help watching them, I never had been able to. They were magnetic together, such a juxtaposition of light and dark that anyone who didn't stare was fucking blind. Or just stupid. The familiarity between them; the ease of movements and unspoken words were what truly captivated me. Yes, the were both fucking beautiful and dynamic as hell, but it was the subtleties that really drew me in. Unspoken volumes communicated in just a look; sonnets read with a touch… I wasn't stupid, or in denial, not in the slightest. I was jealous of that connection,  as much as it pained me to admit it. I was always honest, especially with myself. The rest, well… that was just a bonus.  I wished I could read lips as I watched them but eventually gave up, twirling my glass between my fingers as I made my way over to where the guys from Joyriding were standing. Yes, I was just a fill in member, but I had never felt like I didn't belong on the stage with them. In the music industry, having a woman in your band was a novelty; tits and ass were a gimmick to pull in word of mouth. I never felt like that, ever, even though I tended to play up my attributes. It didn't matter to Keith or the rest of Joyriding what was under my skirt and that was one of the fucking reasons that I loved playing with them. I pasted on a bright smile as I sidled up to the guys, making easy conversation.  Christa, Yvonne and Kristin had joined their respective other halves, and some would say better, halfs and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy to see them again. Although the discussion covered everything from art to the next stop on Kristin and Justin’s honeymoon, I was hard pressed to really contribute as my mind wandered. I took a moment to glance back over to Keith and Jeremy, just in time to see the red haired artist brush his fingers across the hem of Keith’s jacket. My mind was reeling with possible outcomes of this evening, most featuring incomparable amounts of yelling and some glass breaking, and I finally dropped my champagne glass on a passing tray, excusing myself politely to find a bottle of water. Or maybe twelve. Once I had my prize in hand, I slipped out the side door and fished my cigarettes from my purse, flicking open my beloved zippo and smiling at the hiss as the flame kissed the end of my cigarette. Pulling in a bracing lungfull of acrid smoke, I held it for a moment, relishing the burn before exhaling and watching it drift up, blue-white against the black sky.  “We’re going to head out if you want… if that’s still okay.”  I was pulled out of my slight reverie by Jeremy’s soft voice.  It was almost hesitant and I glanced up quickly.  Taking a last drag on my cigarette, I drop it to the concrete and catch it under the heel of my boot, grinding it out with little to no effort. My gaze was focused on first Keith and then Jeremy, as he spoke, pushing off the cool wall that I had been leaning against as I headed towards the car, gravel strewn across the small walkway crunching under my soles.  I had no idea what Keith had planned, although I assumed it would involve vast amounts of yelling, considering the amount of open hostility that swam behind his eyes. I only caught his gaze for a second, just moments after flashing Jeremy a smile as I climbed into the car. Keith looked… I don't know. I held his eyes in the rear view for an instant, trying in vain to search for some kind of answer in their stormy hazel depths, but failing miserably. I should have spoken up, said something but I couldn't.  Usually I was outspoken as fuck, cause I didn't give a goddamn what anyone thought, but this situation was as far from usual as it got.  Leaning back against the seat, I fastened my seat belt with a soft click and rested my hands in my lap; my nervous fingers picking out silent notes on my leather covered thighs. It was an old habit. One that calmed me more than anything, and I even found myself doing it when I was working although that was a bit less often; gloves made it a little more difficult. The engine purred to life and quiet, familiar music flowed through the air of the car as we pulled away from the gallery, the yellow lights in the windows twinkling against the dark night.* #SparksAgainstTheRailing #SurrenderTheNight