#i had a random triangle one laying around so i have the backing filled and in place at least but FUCK that one was expensive and so gd cute

[foundationsofdecay]

Woke up and my favorite little beehive earring is missing

[moonpie016]

*Walks in sluggishly as I throw this at you from afar. Then flop on the ground.*

That's a fitting intro. Anyways.

I have stuff to show, multiple things in fact (as I began to procrastinate on that project and just need something to fuel ma juices for that. So, what's the best juice refuel? :] Drawing Mr. Mind. And other things as well.)

---

But first, we have more Cages to fill.

It was cool to doodle this album again, and huh, finally drew Funky Kong Jash (Funky Jash? Idk.)

---

A performance to be amazed, stars flow and nights fall. Will he come back for an encore? Or will it stay inside to feel pressure in it all.

Had a unfinished sketch laying around, so I finished it. And I'm kinda happy with this one. (Stuff in the background wall says: "Mr. Luna, Mr. Sol, and ManicMayday.")

---

The after show, or Mind returning to the stage with Heart. They're both fun to draw in these outfits.

---

Annd one other doodle for today. One of the triangle himself. (Which was made a month ago I think, but finished one piece of it for fun.)

A warning for blood (minor)

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---

Idk whether the brush to color him looks slightly off.

Insert random ramble about Bill and this human "form" or something.

(And first time doodling/drawing Ford. Cool/pos.)

But yeah, that's all. I now rest. But I hope you enjoy. :3

---

[colbystoes]

Rumors pt2

Part 1. Part 2(colby ver.)

hi, this is rumors part 2 but sams version. if you liked part 1 go ahead n click the link above where i have listed both parts.

Summary: You and colby got into a fight after rumors about your relationship spread online and sam intervenes, something unpredictable happens.

bold text: colby

normal text: sam

italics: y/n

r/n is a random girl. just think of a name.

—

3rd pov.

Next morning was even worse. You had no clue where Colby even was, he just like…disappeared. You spent the morning with sam, since he was there for you all night, taking you food, comforting you, basically being the only one that was there. You loved him for that, he was so sweet even when you had massive fights with colby but colby woul get jealous because of that reason. It always caused fights between you too and sam would just distance himself from you since he didnt want to ruin his friendship.

Mostly spending time with sam, you realized that deep down you really cared and appreciated him. You can’t say you see him as a friend but more than that. It’s always been like this, at one point there was a love triangle between the three of you and you choose colby because your love was strong for him. Maybe not. Sam cared so much for you, he would die for you, do anything for you. He had such a soft spot for you, unlike colby, he ignored girls because of how in love he was with you.

Later that day, you went shopping with sam just lift up your mood, chitchatting, and laughing with sam until two particular faces came into view and ruined your mood. Colby and R/n. Disgust filled your face and soon as R/n tries coming up to you. Sams face filled with worry turns to you making sure you dont act out.

“im fine sam..” you whisper to him, you turn towards her and say hi, fake smiling. “HI Y/N” she screeched excitedly.

“this bitch”

“hey guys, sorry we can’t chitchat we have to go byeee!” sam says while he drags me out of there. You look back at Colby, while he stares at you with no expression.

“you really need to talk it out with him” “i know”

—

You’re laying down in your shared bed with colby, when he walks in and slams the door. You jolt up when the loud slam happened. “what the fuck?” you shout. It was late, there shouldn’t be any ruckus happening. You can tell he had been drinking by the way he was standing, he always got aggressive when he was tipsy.

“what? what kind of fucking problem do you have?” colby shouts. Guessing sam was near, you try to calm him down. “geez colby chill out, no need to scream when you’re the problem.”

“the fuck do you mean?, im the problem? how?, youre the one acting bitchy and ignoring me.”

“I KNOW YOU DONT CARE YOU NEVER CARED…you care more about her than me..” your voice got quiet as the tears slip down, blurring your vision. Colby raised his to slap you, but before he could sam came in charging at him tackling him to the ground.

“don’t you dare put a hand on her.” Sam growled, pinning colbys arms down. You rushed out, grabbing your phone and a blanket and ran into sams room. You sobbed and sobbed, not even noticing sam walk in until you felt his arms around you.

—

1st pov.

—

“its okay y/n its okay…” Sam hushes while he put a hand through your hair. It soothes me, i always feel safe with sam. I cant say the same for colby.

“im sorry sam, i didnt mean for this to happen..” i whisper into his chest, he tighted his grip around me.

“it doesnt matter. just know that im here and i will always love you.” sam says getting quieter towards the end. I lift my head with a puzzled look. Of course i knew, i knew he loved me. Ever since we were kids.

“i love you more.” I say, grinning with a growing blush across my cheeks. Our faces got closer and closer eventually our noses were touching.

“you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this.” sam whispered with a grin. Our lips connected softly, it didnt feel forced it felt passionate. I felt his hand trickle its way up to my jawline, the kiss got slower and slower until we pulled away. We stared at each other while we caught our breath. I’ve never felt this way before with no one. He made me feel different. I loved him.

I guess colby and i aren’t together.

—

hiii, okay so this sams version since @blogcybr requested it!! thank you i honestly like this one better🥰.

[yamag00ps]

the in-between

pairing: akaashi x reader x bokuto

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: angst, fluff

word count: 3.3k

summary: What is the difference between the process of falling in love versus actually being in love?

note: this is longer than the others but it’s definitely my favorite part of all four :’) thank you for your patience! I had a lot of fun writing this and ngl I gave myself some butterflies.. Kjgfhbk ANYWAY! the flashback is a week before kuroo’s birthday party! after the flashback, the story resumes to akaashi and bokuto outside of kuroo’s apartment where the last chapter left off. I highly recommend listening to the songs mentioned while reading because it’ll really help you visualize the tone and mood of the story <3 enjoy!

 part 1, part 2, part 3

songs: can’t help falling in love (cover) - kina grannis crazy for you - madonna

flashback - a week ago

Kina Grannis’s cover of Can’t Help Falling In Love played from Bokuto’s speakers as your eyes were glued to the screen. You’ve watched the wedding scene in the movie Crazy Rich Asians a million times, but it never failed to put stars in your eyes. Nick and Rachel gazed at each other, despite an entire wedding unfolding in front of them as if they were falling in love for the first time all over again. You were in awe of how the film captured the feeling of falling in love so flawlessly, without a single word being spoken.

Your eyes watered as Bokuto silently chuckled to himself. You came over for a movie night, but it seemed that Bokuto was watching you watch the movie instead. Akaashi was out of town to see family for a couple of days, so it was just the two of you for the night.

Bokuto found his own eyes watering as well, but not because of the movie. You looked over at him from the other end of the couch and he quickly turned back to the TV.

“Wait are you also crying?” You sniffled. Bokuto threw a pillow at you and scoffed, “..No.”

“What?! I’m just asking! I’m not judging,” your giggle turned into a sigh. “It’s magical.”

He smiled at the small pout on your face.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Magical.

Eventually, the end credits rolled and you both scrolled on your phones for a bit, your head laying on one arm of the couch and his head on the other.

“Have you ever been in love?” You lay your phone on your chest and stared at the ceiling.

“Hm.. I actually don’t know,” Bokuto scrunched his eyebrows slightly, “I think I’ve been close to it though.” He peeked over his phone at you. The television screen was now black, the moonlight being the only source of light in the room. You seemed to be deep in thought, hair disheveled from laying down for two hours, and lips slightly swollen from crying because of the movie. Beautiful was an understatement. Bokuto put his phone down to fully look at you, pure adoration and a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“Do you think there’s a difference between falling in love and being in love?” You asked.

“I guess falling in love is when you believe you could eventually be in love with someone.”

“That’s a pretty way to put it,” you hummed in agreement.

“I wonder how long that ‘in-between’ time is, then,” you added, “like, if you think of it as a spectrum--beginning to fall in love on one side and then actually being in love on the opposite end. There’s that ‘in-between’ kind of grey area.” Bokuto watched in amusement as you talked with your hands.

Little did you know that that was where Bokuto currently was--the in-between of falling in love and being in love. With you. Bokuto smiled sadly upon realizing this. He was struggling not to cross that grey area, knowing it would only hurt him if he did. He couldn’t reach that far end of the spectrum, as it was currently reserved for his best friend.

At this point, Bokuto was well aware of his closest friends’ budding feelings for one another. It was in the way Akaashi looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. It was in your doe eyes every time you used Akaashi’s first name.

Bokuto had refused to confront his best friend for weeks now, convincing himself that if he ignored it long enough, it would go away and his premonitions wouldn’t be true. He also wasn’t ready to let go of his feelings for you, wanting to relish in them, without reserve, just a little longer. He was being selfish, not wanting something that felt so beautiful and pure to end just yet--even if it was unrequited.

However, despite everything, he found comfort in his feelings for you whether you reciprocated them or not. The feelings he had for you were so special, and most importantly, they were his alone. No one could take them away from him--not you, not Akaashi.

Until he met you, he had never known what it was like to feel so strongly for anyone. He had never experienced caring for someone so unconditionally and so purely. It felt like magic.

Magic. That was the only word that did you justice.

Bokuto was never going to forget these feelings and this was both a blessing and a curse.

“Bo?” you pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Hm?”

“I think I’m in that in-between right now.”

You didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t have to. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was it. At the end of this conversation, it was time for him to let you go.

Thank you, he thought. Thank you for the magic.

“I think he might be too.”

end flashback

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

“I know.”

Akasshi opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. How long has Bokuto known? Was it that obvious? Has Bokuto been silently resenting him all this time? If Bokuto knew, did you know too?

The two of them were now sitting on the steps of the building’s stairway with murmurs of the party on the other side of the door filling the silence. Bokuto’s head hung low as he contemplated what to say next.

“I’m sorry. I.. I won’t do anything about it if you don’t want me to,” Akaashi broke the silence.

Bokuto only shook his head at this, not saying a word. For the first time, Akaashi couldn’t read his best friend’s expression. Why did he look so defeated?

“I’d be a pretty shitty friend if I got in your way,” Bokuto finally spoke up.

“What? No, you knew her first. You have every righ--”

“I know I do,” Bokuto slightly smirked and nudged his best friend, “but she doesn’t look at me the way she looks at you.” Bokuto wasn’t angry. He almost seemed relieved, but Akaashi couldn’t pinpoint why.

Akaashi’s lips parted but was rendered speechless again. Was that true? He wanted to hope it was, but the guilt was eating him alive at this point. Truly nothing could have prepared him for this conversation.

“I’m not gonna lie, dude,” Bokuto let out a shaky sigh, “I want to be mad at you.”

Akaashi sighed and apologized again. He didn’t know what else to say.

“But that wouldn’t be fair. You can’t help how you feel and neither can she,” he shrugged.

“But I don’t even know if she likes me.”

Bokuto scoffed at this.

“Akaashi, I know I can be dense and a bit of an airhead sometimes, but even I can see it.” He snorted at his best friend’s obliviousness.

“You know, she asked me if you were single after you first met,” he quietly added with hesitancy in his voice.

“She did?”

“Yeah. At the time.. I convinced myself that I didn’t have to tell you because I assumed you didn’t care, but I was just being selfish,” Bokuto admitted.

“I don’t blame you. That’s fair,” Akaashi shrugged. The air around them seemed to feel less suffocating.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m really sorry. I mean it,” Akaashi added.

“Don’t be. You would have done the same for me,” Bokuto said sincerely. Akaashi didn’t have to say anything more, they both knew this was true.

Both of their phones chimed at once, receiving texts from you.

Y/N: where did you both go? I need a partner for pong :p

Y/N: wait who is even DD tonight

“Speak of the devil,” Bokuto joked. Akaashi stared at the screen a second longer.

“..Are you sure?” Akaashi asked for confirmation once more.

“Yeah man, I’ll get over it,” Bokuto forced a smile, “Now go find her before I change my mind.” He playfully punched his friend’s arm, though there was an edge to his voice.

“My only request is that you don’t do anything in front of me,” Bokuto added, scratching the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact.

“Of course not, I’m not a dick,” Akaashi scoffed, a bit offended at the request. Bokuto snorted at this.

“Debatable.”

The rest of the night was enjoyable, though Akaashi ended up not making a move, not wanting to take advantage of you while intoxicated. However, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t secretly enjoy how extra touchy you were, especially when you would discreetly yet casually reach for his hand every ten minutes.

But there was a specific moment of that night the two of you would ingrain into your minds.

A random girl stood at the front of the room, microphone in hand, as the opening lyrics to Madonna’s Crazy For You ran across the screen. This was your favorite karaoke song as a child, Akaashi knew this. He watched you from across the room and chuckled at the way your eyes widened and your tired figure suddenly sat up on the couch as you recognized the song. You caught his stare and rolled your eyes at his teasing, a slight blush on your face forming as you realized he was watching you.

I love this song, you mouthed. He smiled.

I know, he mouthed back. You smiled.

As the 80's hit played, you and a handful of other people sang along. Akaashi watched in amusement as you soulfully sang the lyrics with the girl next to you. Every now and then you would lock eyes with him and playfully point, singing the words as if they were directed at him.

I see you through the smokey air

Can’t you feel the weight of my stare?

You’re so close but still a world away

What I’m dying to say,

Akaashi was thankful for the dim lighting masking the blush growing on his cheeks. He shook his head with a smirk as you pointed at him, ignoring the growing ache in his heart. You have no idea what you do to me, he thought.

Is that I’m crazy for you

Touch me once and you’ll know it’s true

I never wanted anyone like this

It’s all brand new

He watched as you swayed your body to the music, singing with your eyes squeezed shut. At one point you put a hand over your mouth in embarrassment as you jumbled the lyrics. He shook his head again, laughing to himself. You laughed with him as your gaze softened before you sang the next line.

Eye to eye, we need no words at all

Akaashi smiled back at you, wondering how someone who had been drinking all night managed to look so lovely.

Soon we two are standing still in time

If you read my mind, you’ll see

I’m crazy for you

The two of you seemed to be in your own little world, despite being on opposite sides of the room. Your face was starting to hurt from smiling, drunk on both alcohol and emotion. Anyone paying attention would have seen the hearts in both of your eyes.

Everything seemed to fade away from your periphery and all you saw was him. His gaze refused to leave yours as he was convinced that if he looked away for a split second, he would somehow lose you. In a room full of jumbled voices, the silent adoration you shared was deafening.

You felt like you were floating while simultaneously feeling the adrenaline of going downhill on a rollercoaster. Your heart felt like it was going to burst at any given moment, but you have also never felt so at peace. You struggled to comprehend the duality of the serenity and chaos coursing through your veins--and then it hit you.

This was the grey area. This was the in-between.

You were falling in love with Akaashi Keiji.

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

A week had passed since the party and Akaashi still had yet to confess--the adrenaline from that night slowly vanished, replaced with an irrational anxiety of running out of time.

Ever since he got home that night, Akaashi had been wracking his brain trying to figure out how to properly confess. Being the over thinker he is, he went through every scenario possible in his head, rewording his sentences over and over. The longer he waited, the more discouraged he became.

Strangely enough, the one who brought him back down to earth whenever he would get too in his head about his feelings was the source of his restlessness itself--you. Somehow you were both his chaos and his calm.

As the days passed, you noticed that he had become distracted more often than usual.

You two had been studying in the library for hours when you noticed that Akaashi’s mind seemed elsewhere. By now, you had memorized his tells like your favorite book. His knee bobbed up and down under the table, his hair was disheveled from repeatedly running his hands through it, and his eyes glazed over the textbook in front of him, not having turned a single page in the past twenty minutes. You knew he hadn’t gotten anything done since you sat down.

You closed your laptop and waited for him to match your gaze. It wasn’t until you rested your hand on his bobbing knee that he looked up at you and became aware of the amount of tension in his body. You gave him a small but sincere smile, wordlessly asking if he was okay. You rubbed his knee and he immediately relaxed at your touch, relief rushing through him.

Your timing was always perfect--constantly pulling him out of his overwhelming thoughts as if you could read his mind.

“Let’s take a break,” you whispered. He placed his hand on top of yours and gave it a squeeze, nodding.

It was funny--the concept of you distracting him from his thoughts about you.

The two of you ended up at the mall, people watching from a bench. This had become a favorite pastime for the both of you--picking out random passersby and creating extensive backstories about their lives. It was a way to destress and put your own lives on hold for a bit.

You spotted a couple sitting on a bench far enough away for you to talk about them.

“Those two are secretly pining for each other,” you nodded your head in their direction.

“Hm. Are they in love?”

“Oh no, not yet at least,” you speculated.

“And how do you know?” Akaashi mused.

“They’re sitting too far away from each other,” you stated matter-of-factly. Akaashi silently noted the distance between the two of you and compared.

“Huh. Okay,” He scooted closer, not being discreet at all. You held back a smile and refused to meet his gaze.

“How else can you tell?” He watched you intently, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“He’s giving her too much eye contact. He’s not nervous enough.” Akaashi scrunched his eyebrows in thought. Noted, he thought. Just as you looked up at him, he swiftly turned his head the opposite way with a small smirk on his face.

Doing your best to ignore him, you asked a question this time.

“Who do you think will make the first move?”

“Oh, definitely the guy,” Akaashi stated confidently.

“Oh?”

“It’s in his body language. His body is fully facing her,” Akaashi mimicked his position, now fully facing you with his right arm resting on the top of the bench behind you. You leaned back with your arms crossed, still facing forward to avoid looking at him. You felt his arm fall from the bench to your shoulders, his hand now tracing circles into your shoulder.  

“And what does that mean?” you rolled your eyes, still refusing to face him. Your heart warmed as he mindlessly took one of your hands and started playing with your fingers.

“It means..” Akaashi took a deep breath as if he had prepared a full-blown explanation. You raised your eyebrows waiting for him to finish, eyes still on the couple. When he took too long to continue, you turned to face him and silently gasped upon realizing how close his face was to yours.

You felt yourself stop breathing as he hesitated before speaking. He kept his voice low as if he was sharing top-secret information.

“He really wants to kiss her.” It wasn’t until now that you realized the proximity of your faces in this position. His eyes bore into yours, flickering to your lips as if to ask for permission.

“Do you think she’d kiss him back?” you held your breath, your gaze also lowering to his lips.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he whispered, his lips just barely grazing yours.

You closed your eyes as you slightly tilted your head up, your lips lightly pressing against his, lingering a bit before pulling away. It was short and sweet. You looked down shyly, biting back a smile.

Akaashi watched you, his eyes low. He didn’t wait all this time for short and sweet. His left hand lifted your chin up as he attached his lips to yours again, kissing you with more passion this time. You held onto his wrist and kissed him back, matching his fervor.

“Keiji..” you barely managed to let out, as he wouldn’t stop kissing you (not that you were complaining).

If he initially thought your first name in his mouth was sweet.. The taste of his first name coming from your lips while they were melting into his? Jesus. His brain was short-circuiting.

You groaned upon realizing you were in a public space, but you couldn’t find the willpower to pull away either. All of Akaashi’s inhibitions were out the window. The only thing that mattered right now was you, as you wiped away every lingering trace of doubt, fear, and worry from his mind with every kiss.

“Keiji!” You laughed, attempting to pull away only for him to grab your chin and pull you back in.

One more, he thought.

“We’re the,” one more, “stereotypical,” another, “couple,” another one, “making out in the,” another, “middle,” one more, “of a,” last one, “mall,” for now. You giggled in between kisses. Akaashi chuckled and got a hold of himself, finally pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

“Sorry,” he smiled shyly. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

You closed your eyes and blushed furiously at this. He pulled back further to get a better look at you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Couple, huh?” You already began shaking your head. “Wow at least ask me on a date first, you can’t skip important steps like that, F/N.”

“You kissed me first!” you laughed as you pushed him away.

“Did I, though?”

It took you a second to realize he was right. You were the one to lean into the first kiss. Ugh.

“Oh my god I’m leaving,” you walked off as you fought the smile on your face, not being able to handle his teasing any longer. He threw his head back laughing and quickly caught up to you. He tugged your hand and pulled you into him as his arm hooked around your shoulders again. You peeked up to catch him grinning ear to ear. He looked down at you, and pressed a kiss on your forehead. Not saying another word, you leaned into his hold and sighed.

You thought about all of the wordless moments the two of you shared. Akaashi Keiji wasn’t a very talkative person, but he didn’t have to be. All it took was one look, without a single word spoken, and you knew.

This was what falling in love felt like.

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

a/n: it’s finally done! thank you all for waiting!!! also, your feedback means so much and inspires me to keep writing so thank you all so much <3 (p.s. I love bokuto so so much I felt so bad hurting him but I’ll write something else to make it up to him lmao) also can I just say I love the way the chapter begins with her in awe of the love she saw on tv and then it ends with her finding that exact feeling with akaashi :p full circle hehe

part 1, part 2, part 3

[emilycollins00]

Allowing the heart to give in (Masumi centric)

Attention: Minor character death and spoilers from spring Act 2!

No one asked for this but I shall bring it anyway. 

-

“…I’ll be here if you need me, okay?” Izumi stands in the doorway facing the dark room with a hand on the knob. Her voice is a mere whisper, though the concern is clear.

For the first time ever Masumi doesn’t bother to answer, not even a small movement from the upper bed to let her know she had been heard. Instead, he keeps lying there, empty eyes staring at the ceiling in silence.

Izumi closes the door and looks up. It’s a bright winter day, one of the few nice ones they’ve had in a while- spring was arriving soon after all. She rests her back against the wall while hearing the faint sound of birds in the distance and closes her eyes.

She doesn't really know what to do. Or how. Or if she should.

“Anything new?”

Tsumugi, Sakyo and Azuma walk towards her. She turns and shakes her head, pained eyes glancing at the wooden door. “He won’t speak a word to me either.”

“Now that’s troubling” Azuma places a hand on his cheek, worry in his voice “I thought leaving you alone with him would help him let everything out.”

“Omi-kun says he probably hasn’t eaten anything since he left this morning either” Tsumugi stares at the carrying tray on his hands with a sad expression on his face.

“Ah, I’ll enter again and leave it on his desk. He might get up and eat some.”

Sakyo sighs, rubbing his forehead, though he sounds more resigned than annoyed “Let’s let him do what he pleases for now. If by tomorrow he still doesn’t want to come out, I’ll personally-”

The confidential atmosphere is broken when distant sounds of steps and voices begin to rise in volume in their direction. They must have seen them talking together and imagined there could be news.

“Director!”

“Sakyo-nii!”

The majority of the dorm is soon congregated on the courtyard- except for those with work and part-time jobs that couldn’t be avoided. Sakuya steps forward to Izumi, eyes filled with uneaseness. 

“How is Masumi-kun?”

“He… wants to be alone for the time being” she informs with a sad smile, gaining a chorus of concerns and worried looks.

They had decided Masumi ought to have time to grieve properly, and after talking with his father over the phone, they had also talked with the school for him to be absent the next few days. Now the entire dorm was treading lightly around him.

“B-but is it really okay to leave him in there all alone?” Muku asks, eyes irritated  from crying. Tsuzuru and Tenma stand next to him frowning in silence.

“Maybe if he had a special triangle he’ll be happier? I could bring him one!”

“Let’s let him cope some more before doing anything, okay Misumi-kun?” 

“All right…”

“Hasn’t he been there since you brought him back though?” Banri frowned, his voice edged with sullenness. To have been told the news by a random teacher rather than the dorm had been a low blow.

“It’s not even been a friggin’ day, Settsu. Haven’t you heard of havin’ tact with this type of stuff?”

“I’m going to pretend you aren’t tryin’ to tell me-”

“Guys” Izumi’s adamant tone shuts everyone up. She knows they are worried and are not thinking rationally, so after taking a deep breath to compose herself, she talks again. This time her voice is softer, less demanding “I’m sure he’ll come down when he feels better, okay?”

More grumbles and insecure looks, this time quieter.

“Come on” Azuma places his hand on both Sakuya’s and Muku’s shoulders, forcing them as well as the others to turn around and head back to the living room “Let’s make some tea for all of us to calm down.”

Watching the young ones leave, Izumi takes one deep breath again. She then grabs the tray from Tsumugi and opens the door once more, informing the young teen what she was leaving on his desk.

Before she slips out she pauses, briefly looking up -not that she could see anything from her position- and her heart squeezes. If only they could shoulder part of his pain, they would “We are here for you, Masumi-kun.”

Once again, he doesn’t respond.

Grandma passed away.

The text, short and simple had tore a gasp from Izumi’s lips that morning, making her cover her mouth and almost drop the chair. The action had been enough to gain the attention of the old yakuza, who stopped talking about numbers and frowned, worry flashing his eyes when he read the content of the message “…go to the car. I’ll grab the keys.”

Whether the road to Hanasaki high school had been surprisingly fast, or Sakyo had unconsciously decided to ignore a few stops, no one paid attention to it. By the time they reached the school, Masumi was waiting for them sitting outside, his phone on strong hold.

He barely acknowledged Izumi while Sakyo entered to talk to the administration. Soon enough, they were back inside the car. Izumi talked softly, her hand caressing his, but everything felt disorienting and confusing.

Why?

“We’re so sorry”

                                                             .

In the dark room, Masumi keeps hearing voices from outside.

He has his eyes closed now, covering his ears in a vain attempt to stop hearing his own thoughts. Every time he opens them it’s like receiving a slap in the face, seeing reality remained the same; That the funeral was tomorrow. That he couldn’t even be there in person and instead of feeling grief, instead of feeling at all, he’s just there.

He rolls on the bed.

It hadn’t been a bad one, according to his father- just your typical natural death by old age. In fact, Hatsue Usui had left this world sleeping while listening to her favorite music in the background, so Masumi should be happy for that at least.

He wasn’t.

He opens his eyes and stares blankly at the empty space beside him, random memories of him and his grandma flashing over his mind: Walks around town, shopping- even that first time she had baked a cake for his birthday.

Masumi had been angry. He was still young and wished his parents would come back from their international travels long enough to stop in and say hello. Hatsue rocked him for a while, blew his nose and after stroking lovingly his head, she began humming while mixing some ingredients. It ended up being the recipe for a chocolate cake, the only sweet he had ever fully enjoyed.

His eyelids feel heavy.

When had it been the last time he had had some of his grandma’s cooking?

                                                            .

It’s 4:37 am when Masumi realizes he had lost the battle against sleep at some point in the night. A strange vertigo seizes him and forces him to clutch the sheets until his fingers ache, trying to flee from the incessant hammering of his head. 

More memories come in waves, clinging to him and spreading the emptiness that had gripped him the whole day throughout his body.

He then realizes he was still wearing his uniform, all wrinkled by now. As he walks down the staircase from the upper floor, he also notices Tsuzuru isn’t on his bed nor anywhere inside the room, probably to leave him some space. 

Great. It’s the first time since his grandma passed away that he’s feeling something and it’s bordering on guilt. Masumi hates it. Hates everything right now.

He reaches down to put his jacket on, and as he opens the door, five pairs of eyes lay on him.

“M-masumi-kun!”

“Oh, it is Masumi!”

The boy narrows his eyes, looking around suspiciously and confused. The whole spring troupe was laying on the floor, futons and blankets covering almost all the hallway floor in front of his and Tsuzuru’s room. He even notices they had a weird set of candles and lights surrounding them as to not be in complete darkness.

“…What are you doing.”

“We are scamming the nightmares away so you can sleep!”

“Wait- you mean scaring the nightmares away, right? That just now sounded way too shady.”

“Yes! That is correct, Tsuzuru!”

“Sleep, uh” Itaru yawns from his own futon “That sounds great right now”

“Okay, you two should stop talking.”

“How are you feeling?” Chikage chimes in, ignoring the sudden bickering forming.

Purple-eyes stare back. Usually Masumi would have dodged the question and left them all there, but tonight his feet stay where he is. “I don’t know” he answers numbly.

There’s a moment of silence. He sees how their faces change to an emotion he doesn’t know how to describe, and suddenly he wants to turn back inside once more and not come back.

“Here Masumi-kun, you can- um, have this blanket if you want to sit with us?” Sakuya stands up wavering, trying to see his response. Nothing. “Citron has a thermo with some tea made by Guy-san and Omi-san left us some onigiri too if you are-”

“I’m not hungry”

Something must have gone wrong in the process of him glaring at Sakuya to keep his personal space, because instead of backing away, the spring leader takes a few steps towards him to guide him to a free futon he imagines they prepared for him. The red head places a blanket on top of him, and while Masumi jolts from the contact, he doesn’t retreat. He silently allows himself to be sat in the loose semi-circle.

No one forces him to say anything. The only sound coming from the wind and the rustle of the trees from the courtyard.

Masumi looks slightly to his left. The moonlight reflects off Chikage’s glasses, hiding his eyes. His face still as a statue, unreadable yet solemn. Next to him, Itaru’s head is lazily leaning back on the wall, eyes trained on the phone -though if Masumi paid attention, he could have seen he was basically moving from one app to another.

Tsuzuru’s groans come from in front of him. He looks like he’s about to pass out at any moment, pinching himself slightly every time he dozes off while Citron hums serenely, hair slipping from silver to orange to match the bright light of the consuming candles. Masumi can feel the ex-prince eyes resting on him from time to time.

Sakuya is the closest to him. Their shoulders bump from time to time, and his shoulder feels on fire. The boy suddenly sneezes, shaking Masumi slightly in the process.

“Want another blanket?”

“Ah, yes. Thanks, Itaru-san”

There’s a lump in Masumi’s throat, and he feels sick more than upset. More than anything, really.

“What if I hadn’t come out”

The sentence doesn’t register in Masumi’s head until it’s out of his mouth. Citron and Sakuya instantly turn to him confused while Itaru’s watches him with the kind of careful that Chikage also wears. Tsuzuru scratches his eyes, frowning confused while processing the question.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Masumi frowns at the question thrown back by the scriptwright. No, it wasn’t. None of them even knew his grandma, why would they go through all of this?

“There was a possibility that you did" Sakuya is the one who replies before he can say anything. He’s smiling at him, his voice lingering in the air while a warm breeze hovers over them “And... we wanted to be there for you.”

Masumi doesn't like many people. Schoolmates and other people are mostly only tolerated- but right now, there’s a burst of raw emotion that makes him label them as family.

Not TV-family, of course. The ones with ‘very special episode’ problems solved in an hour or half. Real family. Family that grates your nerves yet can be relied on in a pinch because they're always there. Family that fluctuated between annoyingly childish and supportive. Family that fights and screams with you, but stays by your side and wraps you in warmth despite everything you might think of yourself. Loving you. Cherishing you.

A silent tear rolls down Masumi’s cheeks. Then another. And then some more.

His grandma had left. His pilar. His support. The only constant in his life for the last seventeen years and the only person he once thought he needed to be happy. And fuck him if he wouldn’t give up everything to see her once more.

A choked cry arises from his throat, a low keening sound filling the silence of the dorm. He closes his eyes tightly, fighting to breathe.

“Masumi?”

He quickly bows his head so that they don’t see the rest of his tears streaming down his face, and clenches his jaw as his body trembles from the effort of not making a sound. Too late. He can already feel their stares set on him.  

Sakuya hesitates, but despite the young troupe member having clearly signalled with his body language that he didn’t want to be touched, his arms lean to embrace his shivering figure.

“Sakuya, let’s let him-“

But the red-head is already pressed himself on him, holding him tighter. And somehow, Masumi doesn’t brush him off this time.

The others exchange a silent dialogue and soon enough, Masumi feels fingers running through his hair.

A hand making soothing motions on his back.

Even two pairs of hands place themselves onto his and squeeze them.

Masumi finally lets out a sob against his skin, grief setting in. Hot tears flood down his face. Once more no one says anything, they only exchange a similar look- a shared relief at finally seeing the young boy expressing his pain outloud.

They stay with him until he doesn’t have any more strength to cry. That’s all they can do. Not to try to mend the broken pieces of his heart nor to quell his cries, but to remind him that they are there. That Masumi still has them as well as the rest of Mankai to support him- and they aren’t going to leave.

His troupe is there to take care of him, so he can let go. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for tonight.

_____________________________________________________

I don’t know where I wanted to go with this but yeah, Masumi is a soft baby that has a lot of potential but it was done dirty. I wanna hug him.

Wishing you all a wonderful day!  💕

[beybladefanfictions]

Beyblade One-Shot: Constellations

(Author’s Note: Yeah, this is really random. I got this idea of Ryuga and Kenta looking at constellations together and thought it would make a cute one-shot. This takes place in my fanfiction’s continuity after what is currently the newest Ryuga x King chapter: A Departing Battle, but this was written recently while those chapters are a month old now. This isn’t needed to understand anything going on there but I thought it was cute so I’m publishing it on its own. Anyways, enjoy!)

Ryuga’s POV

The night sky glistened through the treetops above Ryuga as he made his way through the familiar forest. A cool night breeze blew his white jacket back and forth. A peaceful aura surrounded him. The only sound was the slight ruffling of the leaves and Ryuga’s footsteps.

Ryuga suddenly stopped. Around him, the trees parted, allowing him to see the stars in all their glory. Without those irksome city lights, the stars glowed much brighter, like specks of gemstones, and more colours glowed around them. Ryuga had a contempt for big cities. They were generally loud and packed and their light tainted this beautiful night sky.

A new sound suddenly filled the air. Footsteps.

“Ryuga?”

“Hm?” Ryuga looked over his shoulder. Kenta was walking toward him, holding out a flashlight.

“I figured you’d be here,” Kenta replied, lowering the flashlight as he went to stand beside him. “What are you doing out after dark?”

“Getting fresh air…” Before Kenta could reply, Ryuga added, “Calm down, your parents know where I am.”

“You told them?”

“Mhm.” Ryuga nodded.

“Okay…” Kenta muttered to himself. “Good…” As Kenta texted his parents, Ryuga looked back up at the sky.

“Are you… looking at the stars?”

Ryuga looked away. “…maybe.”

He’d never told anyone about this appreciation of his. It probably seemed strange for someone like him to appreciate something like this.

Kenta smiled. “Do you know any of the constellations?”

“Just Draco,” Ryuga replied, with a shrug.

He had to admit he didn’t really see the point in assigning shapes to stars that were in reality, billions of kilometres away from each other. Why not just appreciate their beauty for what it was? There was no point in assigning silly stories to all of them. Still, Ryuga obviously knew about Draco, the constellation his bey, L-Drago, was based on. He could even see it now. The head was a small triangle and the body was the long twisting line of stars behind it, as if it were twisting its body around the way an Asian dragon would.

“Not even Sagittarius?” Kenta asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sagittarius?” Ryuga froze. That’s right: Sagittarius was a summer constellation as well. He scanned the sky. However, he didn’t even have a basic idea of what the constellation was supposed to look like.

Kenta chuckled. “It’s right there.” He pointed at the night sky, forming some complex shape with his finger as if tracing the stars.

Ryuga tilted his head to the side. “Can you be more specific?”

“Here…” Kenta sat down on the ground. Ryuga sat next to him without a second thought. “Right there.” He pointed again. “That open triangle part is the legs.” He moved his finger up. “That long line is the body. Then that part is the arm and the part that goes out in the three directions is the bow.” Kenta held his hands out like he was holding a bow.

“Looks like a bunch of dots to me,” Ryuga grunted, his eyes narrowed.

Kenta shrugged. “Madoka showed me that one in Koma Village,” he informed, gazing at him with a smile. “Since then, I’ve been really interested in constellations. During the World Tournament, when I was left at home…” There was a pang of sadness in his voice at those words. “I started studying them since I had so much time. I can name most of the major ones.”

“How do you remember all that?” Ryuga asked, admittedly a little stunned. 

“Well almost all of them have Beyblades based on them,” Kenta explained, looking back at the sky. “So I remember that way. Like right there…” He pointed at a cluster of stars that formed a triangle. “That’s Aquila, like Tsubasa’s Earth Eagle. I remember that because the corners of the triangle look a bit like wings and that one can be the head.”

Ryuga gazed at his friend silently. *Is this where these constellations came from? The mind of a child?*

“Seems like a stretch,” Ryuga replied with a shrug.

“Oh, come on, Ryuga,” Kenta nudged Ryuga’s shoulder. “You have no imagination.”

Ryuga rolled his eyes. “What are the rest of these?” he asked, laying down in the grass.

Kenta laid down as well. “Well…” He searched the sky for a few moments. “There’s part of Aquarius. It’s a little harder to see in July but you can see the tail part.” Kenta trailed his finger over the stars as if he were drawing a line on top of them to connect them.

Ryuga looked away. Aquarius… it was the constellation of the bey, Aquario. The one blader Ryuga knew with an Aquario bey was Hikaru. Guilt pricked his heart.

“Ooh!” Kenta perked up. “There’s Cygnus! The swan constellation.” Kenta gazed at Ryuga with a smile. “Fun story about that one, Yuki and Gingka told me how that constellation helped them find one of the Legendary Bladers by pointing the way into a temple.”

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “A constellation did that?”

Kenta nodded. “Yeah, there were these rock pillars in front of it, right? And to open the door to the temple, Yuki had to fire his bey through the pillars with holes, forming the shape of the Cygnus constellation.” Kenta sighed, lying back down. “I wish I could’ve been there to see that.”

Ryuga’s jaw clenched. “No, you don’t.”

“Huh?” Kenta sat up again, tilting his head to the side.

Ryuga looked away, surprised at the jealousy that had suddenly pricked him like a needle.

“If you’d stayed with them, you never would have been friends with me,” Ryuga grunted, his fingers digging into the dirt.

Although Ryuga still somewhat resented how soft Kenta had made him, the idea of them never being friends made him feel sick.

“Right…” Kenta put his arms around Ryuga in a small hug. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m glad I followed you, and I’m glad we’re friends. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Ryuga relaxed a bit. Kenta let go of him after a few moments, looking back at the sky.

“Um…” He gazed at the sky for a few moments in silence, as if searching for something to talk about. “There’s Pegasus…” He pointed to it.

“Pegasus? In Summer?” Ryuga was stunned. He was sure Pegasus was an Autumn constellation. Wasn’t that the reason Gingka was picked as a Legendary Blader?

“Yeah, you can see it as early as July,” Kenta answered with a nod. “That square is the body, those two lines are the legs, and that curved one is the neck and head.”

“Where are the wings?” Ryuga grunted, annoyance slipping into his tone. “That’s the whole point of Pegasus.”

Kenta shrugged. “Maybe this Pegasus doesn’t need wings to fly, like your L-Drago.”

“Pegasus means winged horse.”

Kenta smirked. “And dragon means winged lizard.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Ryuga blazed with indignation. How dare someone call his L-Drago a mere lizard?!

Kenta giggled into his hand. “According to America, it does.”

“Well, we’re not in America.”

*Thankfully,* Ryuga bit back the word as he remembered King, who had recently returned to America. He looked away, his heart aching.

“Anyways…” Kenta looked back up, pointing at the sky. “And there’s…” He suddenly froze, his eyes going wide.

Concern swept over Ryuga. “What? What is it?”

“S-Serpent…” Ryuga’s heart skipped a beat. “Er- Serpens. The… the snake constellation.” Kenta was suddenly shivering. He turned away, rolling over onto his side.

“Kenta?” Ryuga scooted closer.

His friend wasn’t meeting his gaze. Ryuga knew exactly what Kenta was remembering and that same memory made Ryuga’s blood boil. He opened his mouth to speak.

“I…” Kenta’s voice was weak. “I know I defeated Reiji and everything but…” He wrapped his arms around himself. “He still freaks me out. So many bad memories…”

Ryuga put his arms around Kenta, pulling him into a hug.

“I know,” Ryuga’s voice was soft. “It scared me too.”

Kenta looked up at him. “But you said yourself he can’t do a thing to you.”

“It wasn’t myself I was worried about,” Ryuga replied, pulling Kenta into his chest. “It was you being hurt.”

Kenta returned the hug, letting out a small sob. After a few long breaths, Kenta let go, shuffling away to gaze at the ground. Ryuga froze for a moment. He needed to get Kenta’s mind off that battle…

“What’s that one?” Ryuga nodded in the direction of a zigzag formation of stars.

Kenta glanced at it. “Oh… that’s Cassiopeia… I… don’t really know anyone with a bey like that.”

“Cassiopeia…” Ryuga dipped his head. “The queen from Greek mythology.”

“You know Greek Mythology?” Kenta asked, turning to him.

Ryuga shrugged. “A little. Cassiopeia boasted about… something so Poseidon turned her into a sea monster.”

Kenta raised an eyebrow. “Well, that seems like an overreaction.”

“Everything in Greek mythology was an overreaction to something. Zeus sees anyone? Has… kids with them. Poseidon loses a duel? Curses the city into a drought. Hades sees a pretty girl? Kidnaps her. Athena sees a woman in her sacred temple? Curses her to be a Gorgon. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s a Gorgon?”

“It’s what Medusa was.”

Kenta flinched. “Wait, Medusa was cursed to be like that?” Ryuga nodded. “Oh…” He looked away. “That makes me feel a little bad for her.”

Ryuga nodded in agreement. He and Kenta looked back at the sky.

“You can’t see all of it but there’s Libra.” Kenta pointed at another cluster of stars, near the edge of the glade. “It kinda looks like a diamond during this time actually.”

Ryuga could see that. He stayed silent as Kenta pointed out more constellations.

“There’s Capricornus, it looks a bit like a goat’s head. And Scorpius…” He moved his finger back and forth in a line. “You can see the stinger. Oh! And of course Hercules, the hero from the Greek myths.” Kenta glanced at him. “Know anything about him?”

Ryuga shrugged. “Just that Hera hated his guts.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. The Gods were all jerks. Besides Artemis. She was unproblematic.” *And awesome,* Ryuga thought to himself. 

Kenta raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t she hate men or something?”

Ryuga nodded slowly. “Completely unproblematic.” He couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile at that.

“Ryuga… you’re-you’re a boy…”

Ryuga chuckled. “Boys are the worst.”

“Ryuga, you’re gay.”

Ryuga glanced at his friend with a smile. “Then surely I know better than anyone?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Ryuga and Kenta both chuckled.

Then Kenta let out a yawn. “We should start heading home,” he replied, standing up. “It’s getting late.”

Ryuga nodded, standing up as well. The two of them walked back to the house in silence.

[jj-scottsbee]

Siblings

   Prompt: You are the youngest and only daughter of Odin, and you are more of a handful than the God of Thunder and Mischief combined.

Warnings: Violence, language

 You were the Goddess of Chaos, everywhere you went you began some kind of trouble. Much of the time even when you tried your best to keep your powers under control, chaos still followed. You were a mix between both your older brothers, you had the heart of Thor, but the mischievous mind of Loki. You inherited both of your brother's good looks and were about as strong as Thor himself. As you often get yourself into trouble, you could either talk or fight your way out of it. You loved both your parents very much, but as Loki did, you favored Frigga over Odin much of the time. Frigga did her best to understand your chaotic nature, whereas Odin punished before he would even try to understand the reasoning behind your actions. Your brothers did their best to help you control your powers, though you would often lose control due to your large temper. Your temper could be small, but it could also outmatch your older brother's and Father's combined.  

 "I have had enough of your games!" Screamed Odin, looking down as you stood at the bottom of his throne. Thor stood to the right of you, along with Loki both glaring at you in disappointment. You stared at the floor, feeling the god's eyes burn into you. 

 For the third time this month, he was yelling at you for your actions. You had been wandering the training grounds when you had been startled, letting your powers go and causing an all-out war between guards, trainees, and the Warriors Three, which included your brother Thor. Frigga and Loki were the ones who had to snap everyone out of the spell you had put them under, as you stood frozen in your spot not knowing how to stop what you had begun.  

 "Father I did not mea-" You tried to argue, but were quickly cut off by Odin's booming voice. You flinched as he yelled, a small surge of your powers traveling through your veins. You were a young goddess and not in full control of your powers yet, though being the daughter of Odin, you were expected to have mastered them by now. The only person who realized your troubles was your mother, Frigga. She knew you were doing your best to control them and were still learning how to wield them, though your emotions were still too strong for you to control the gift which had been bestowed upon you. 

 "SILENCE. I have had enough of your excuses, you have caused fights and chaos everywhere you go. You cause war in other realms and petty fights between loyal Asgardians. You must learn to control your powers or they will surely be taken from you. You act as if you are not of my flesh and blood."

 "I have been working on it," You continued to argue, but again your answer did not satisfy your Father or your brothers. 

 "Oh, please. I had my power mastered before you even showed signs of yours." Thor scoffed with an eye roll, earning a cold look from Loki. As annoying as it was for Loki to clean up your uncontrolled messes, he still cared for you dearly and understood your troubles. It took much effort and countless hours practicing to master his magic. 

 "I should chain you up and have you thrown in the deepest cell on Asgard until you learn what control is..." Odin trailed off, everyone's eyes widened. As upset as Thor was at you, he did not wish to see you suffer. You stared at Odin with disbelief, Frigga snapped her head towards her husband ready to argue, Loki doing the same. "But, I will not. You will learn the meaning of control. You are an embarrassment to this family and, if you cannot control what you have, then you will no longer have what was given." 

 "Yes, Odin." You said pain hidden in your calm tone, though your brothers and Mother could hear it, clear as day.

Odin had released everyone from the family meeting, sending you to your room. As soon as he gave permission, you quickly turned your back to him and swiftly made your way to your room. You planned on shutting yourself in there for the rest of the day, not wanting to deal with anyone else. You quickly made your way through your huge home, ignoring everything around you. You're anger was eating you from the inside out, your power surged through your veins begging you to let it go, to let it live. You clenched your jaw, as all Odin's insults flew through your mind. 

 "You're an embarrassment." 

"You act as though you are not of my flesh and blood." 

"You should be chained up." 

 Your hands balled into fists, your breathing grew heavy with rage, and your footstep became even quicker as you rushed to your room. When you finally reached your door, you flicked your wrist flinging your bedroom door open, it flew back into the wall hard, the handle putting a hole in the wall where it had connected. You then swung your arm behind you, slamming it shut, a loud bang echoed throughout the hallway of where your bedroom sat. You came to an abrupt stop in the middle of your room, your mind was racing. Your anger burned within you, you looked around frantically to figure out what to do to release the rage you felt in your now boiling blood. You spun in circles trying to figure out what to do, you needed to do something, anything to let your emotions out. You had taken too long, feeling your power reach its boiling point, you grabbed a fistful of your hair in each of your hands, squeezing as hard as you could. You let out a blood-curdling scream of anger and rage, your power radiated from your entire body, your vision had gone, blinded by the intense anger you felt. As you did your best to release your anger, you began to send random objects flying across your room, you caused your wardrobe to tip over, your vanity mirror cracked and you windows which overlooked the kingdom's garden shattered. 

 Your screams stopped, your nostrils heaving as you began to finally relax. Your vision had returned and you slowly removed the tight grip that you had held on your hair, as you surveyed your room. There was broken glass everywhere, your curtains waved softly from the calm breeze that pushed through the shattered windows. You turned your head towards your large wardrobe, it now laid on its belly, a large crack down the back of it, and the mirror of your vanity was cracked into 6 different pieces. You looked at your bed which seemed to be untouched, besides the small family portrait that Thor had, had a famous Midgaridan artist paint for you for your recent birthday. The only person in the photo who had been touched by your power was Odin, he had a tear that ran down the middle of his whole body.

 As you stared at the Midgardian painting, dark thoughts began to engulf your mind. 

- - -

 Within seconds of entering the Bifrost, your feet once again hit the solid ground as you landed in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. You slowly took in your surroundings, your body calming itself from the quick trip. Fear and hesitation took over your mind as you realized what you had done, fighting with Heimdall to let you leave Asgard, deceiving your family. As quickly as those thoughts came, they left your mind even faster. Your fearful expression turned into an evil smile, you let out a small pride-filled laugh as you realized you were actually on Midgard. You were in the realm that Thor loved so deeply, the realm that Odin seemed so overprotective of as well. 

 You slowly made your way out of the warehouse and into an alleyway, you wore a tight, black velvet dress. The sleeves ran down both your arms, coming to a pointed end in the middle of the backside of each hand. The bottom of your dress was flowing and held two slits on both of your legs that traveled up from the ground to just beneath your hip. On top of your head, you wore a simple, crown that sat as a headband over your head. It was black, wrapping around your head as is they were sharp thorns twisting together, both ends coming to meet in the center of your forehead where a golden triangle faced downward. 

 As you exited the alley, many eyes fell on you. You were quite the sight in the busy streets of New York City. You took your surroundings in with awe but slightly pouted as you planned to level the city. If Odin wished to see chaos, then that is what he shall see. You were pulled from your gazing as a hard shoulder connected with your breast, a gruff voice following. 

 "Watch where the fuck you're going bitch." growled the man that had run into you, your starstruck expression changing. Your eyes connected with the rude mortal's and within seconds, he stood convulsing in pain, blood dripping from his eyes, mouth, ears, and nose. You watched as he fell to the ground, the scream of the hundreds of witnesses around you only egging you on. Your stared became even more intense as the man screeched in pain, within a minute he had fallen over, his life squeezed from his body. You smiled at the ecstasy you had felt from letting your powers run wild.

 Quickly you turned your attention away from the dead man that now lay in the middle of the sidewalk, and towards the abandoned warehouse that you exited just moments earlier. You raised your hand to about shoulder height, your palm facing the sky, quickly making your hand into a fist, you watched as the building cracked. It slowly began to fall apart, turning into nothing but rubble. The mortals ran in fear, many exited their cars as they had nowhere to go. You watched as they fled from you in fear, their emotions feeding your destruction. You walked tall towards the street, with a flick of your wrist you would send cars flying into buildings, people into windows, and put cracks in the foundations of buildings and the streets. 

 Just as you made another building collapse, a shield came flying at you. You were quick to spin towards the object, catching it in in your left hand as you searched for its owner. Steve came flying over a car, trying to tackle you. He missed, as you moved from his path with ease, you watched with amusement as he regained his balance. The fight gave you energy, the chaos that happened around you, fed your need for destruction. 

Steve lunged at you quickly, throwing punch after punch. You threw the shield away from you and began to block each hit, laughing excitedly as you were finally having some real fun. You soon grew bored of the fight and with the slight nod of your head, you threw the blonde man away from you. Turning around you were met by a blast of heat, it stung your abdomen, but caused no severe damage. You were met with another member of the Avenger's, Iron Man. You glanced at your singed dress and then back at Tony, a small snarl coming from your lips. You plunged your hand up towards his suit, dragging him towards you without touching him. You closed your fist around his neck and drove his back into the ground. As you straightened up you gave one last stomp on his chest, but before you could land your possibly fatal blow, you felt a kick in the middle of your back. It did not faze you much, but it had gotten your attention. As you spun to meet your attacker, you were happily surprised to see a red-headed woman. You smirked as you looked her up and down, she was strong. 

 "Finally, an opponent that won't disappoint." You smiled devilishly as you and Natasha circled each other. Just as you lunged for her, she yelled 'now' signaling Clint to let an army of explosive arrows go towards your head. Natasha ducked behind a flipped car, as she expected the arrows to hit you spot on. 

 You watched her run, holding your arm out to your side, easily stopping the arrows. You split the group into three, sending some back towards Clint, some at Tony, and aimed the rest at Steve who was struggling to get at you again. 

 "Why must you ruin the fun," You grunted as you threw her against the wall of a building. You quickly worked with the wall of the building softening it until it swallowed everything but Natasha's head. You did not wish to kill her, though she had not fought fairly, you admired her skills. You left her there continuing down the street but were again stopped as a giant green man landed in front of you. He let out an awful roar at you, you grew annoyed with him very quickly. You cocked your head looking at him, he went grab you, but you caught his large wrist with one hand. You brought your other hand around the same wrist and began to spin. You reached just enough momentum for you to let the green beast go and send him flying through another couple of buildings. 

 "Hey, lady that's not cool." Came a young voice from above you, you quickly caught a glance of the hero known as Spiderman. You were quickly covered in sticky, white, webs. You looked at your dress that had once been pitch black, now covered in white webs. You let out an aggravated yelled, timing it just right as your legs shoved you off the ground. You grabbed Peter mid-air tackling him onto a roof. You threw him away from you and smiled amused as he tried to scramble back to his feet, trying to flee from you. You grabbed him by the back of his neck, bringing him to face you. With one swift move, you ripped the mask from his face, your heart shattering as you saw how young he was. "Please don't break me." 

 "I won't break you unless you deserve to be broken." Your voice deepened several octaves, hoping to scare the boy away from the fight. You did not want him getting hurt and you could smell the courage that radiated off of him, knowing he would not leave this fight willingly. 

 "Sister put him down!" came the thunderous voice of Thor, you rolled your eyes sneering as you set Peter back on his feet and turned towards your big brother. "What have you done." 

 "I am the Goddess of Chaos, you and Father scold me for doing what I was made to do. You wish to control chaos, CHAOS IS NOT SOMETHING TO CONTROL." You screamed the last part as you brought a car from below, hurling it at your older brother. He stopped it with ease, ripping it in two as he walked towards you. 

 "Y/N I am warning you, stop your tantrum now. No harm will come to you if you stop now." Thor threatened as the two of you stood off against each other. Your chest heaved as you took in deep breaths, the anger only burning even more intensely inside of you. The sky darkened around you two, both your's and Thor's emotions feeding the storm. 

 "You have pushed me for so long to control myself, you ask me to control that of which is not meant to be controlled. Do not speak to me as if I am only a child, I am a goddess. I am-" 

 "You are our sister. We are not your enemy." Loki's soft voice interrupted you, "Y/N I know of the struggles you are having not only with our brother and Father but the troubles that lie within yourself." You now stood in between both Thor and Loki, you carefully snapped your head back and forth not wishing to remove your eyes from either. You argued with yourself about who you needed to be watching. Anger, confusion, and pain that had been trapped within you for so long were slowly hitting its boiling point, the environment around you showing your feelings. The sky almost pitch black, thunder roared throughout the clouds, rain dropped quickly across the city. Your hair soaked as you struggled with yourself. 

 "You know nothing of me." You growled, in a blink of an eye you thrust each of your arms out in the opposite directions sending both your older brother's flying from the roof of which you stood. In the blink of an eye, you were gone, your mess of destruction left for the other's to deal with. 

 After that day, no one had heard from you or seen you. You had simply disappeared, no matter how hard your brothers searched for you, the spells Loki would use to track you, the people Thor had called to help him, none of it was any help. None of your family knew if you were alive or dead, your disappearance causing many more problems within your family. Everyone felt guilty, everyone knew they should have done better. Loki had seen you struggling but believed you could get through it on your own. Thor was only so hard on you, so you would reach your full potential. Odin, simply wanted you to be an amazing goddess and Frigga blamed herself for not helping you more. 

 You were free now. 

[sincerlypadfoot]

Invitation (Chapter One)

Dumbledore sends Dobby to retrieve a old student who left year one after her brother died, Dobby brings the girl a letter, begging with her to come back with him to a place, Grimmauld Place.

A/N I love triangle between Eliza, Charlie Weasley and Sirius Black??? I think So?

Word Count-1.8K

Send Requests Here

“Simple really,” Eliza Miller, a long blonde hair, twenty three year old girl smiled, landing back on her bed and looking up at the roof. She was born June 29th 1972, only attending hogwarts for less then a year.

She heard a bark, then her bed shifting a bit, then slobbering kisses. Her small pup of a german shepard sat on her chest, liking her cheak.

“What shell we do today pup?” Eliza had lived by herself, dog included since she was nearly thirteen, trauma really, is what she told people, shrugging her shoulders.

No one tend to question her, as everyone thought she was crazy. Not lasting a year at Hogwarts before she had ran away, leaving the friends she had made in the nine months.

Pup let out a little bark, rolling off of Eliza and running out of the room, she smiled, pinning herself up with her elbows and looking around her room.

Nineteen Ninety Five was a lonely year, is was the month of August, the trees slowly starting to turn into the pretty colors of fall, having to wear comfortable jumpers outside, well still wearing shorts acceptiply.

Eliza grabbed a random album from her stand, pulling out the recond and tossing it on her recond platter, her room filled with music.

She smiled, tossing all her windows open, the blinds were up and wind was blowing into her room. Music was her happy place, the place she had gone when she had no one, the one thing she had left was music.

Eliza moved across her room, letting her hair down as she started tossing her clothes into a basket, flicking her fingers, letting the basic levitate on it’s on. Continuing to toss her dirty launders.

“Oh I just wanna be free!” 

Pup sat back on her bed, watching as Eliza danced around her room, her sleeves falling down revealing her shoulders. Her golden hair flaying as she danced.

“Please just dance with me!”

The record came to a end, letting Eliza breath, her room was now spottless, she moved from her room, letting her laundry basket follow her, flicking her fingers again, now moving away to her laundry room.

“What a good day to be a witch isn’t it Pup,” Eliza smiled opening her fridge and pulling out a bottle of water.

Pup ran across the room, zooming a bit before stopping at the door. Eliza watched him curiously, before pouring out her large living room window, seeing a unfamiliar little thing walking up her steps.

“Protect me now,” Eliza whispered, gripping her wand beside her as she walked to the door. She waited a couple seconds before opening, swinging the door opened, pointing her wand down in front of her and squinting her eyes.

“Who are you?!” Eliza shouted looking around, a short house elf stood infront of her. She crooked her head looking down.

“Dobby the house elf,” Dobby smiled, walking passed Eliza, coming face to face Pup, who looked at Dobby for a couple seconds before licking his face.

“What are you doing here Dobby, I don’t associate with the Wizarding world no more,” Eliza shut her door, turning around and looking at Dobby, who now held a letter in his hands.

“Dobby has been requests to bring you home,” Dobby smiled walking towards Eliza and holding the letter out.

Eliza took the letter out of Dobbys hand, addressed to her and all. “Who send you?” She asked crossing her arms.

“Dumbledore, you must come with me now, we don’t have any time spare, Dobby has been told to get you back as soon as possible,” Dooby put out his hand, trying to grab Eliza hand.

“Go back to where you came from, i’m not going back,” Eliza walked passed Dobby, tossing the letter on her counter before shaking her head.

“Dobby is very sorry for this,” Dobby followed Eliza, Pup falling behind her. Dobby jumped onto Eliza's back, causing her to fall to the ground.

“Get off me you stupid elf!” Eliza cried out, grabbing Dobby, Pup parked jumping and placing his paws on Eliza's back, parking in Dobby's face now.

“Dobby is sorry,” Dobby repeated, flicking his fingers, disaparting Eliza and Pup. 

Eliza screamed in angry as she fell on a hard floor, Dobby jumping off Eliza back and moving away from the angry girl.

“I’m going to kill you!” Eliza cried out jumping to her feet and turning to Dobby who stood looking at Eliza.

“That is enough!” Dumbledore shouted, causing Eliza to turn and face the grey haired man.

“I wanna go home, you bring me home now!” Eliza cried out backing away from the man. “I don’t belong here!”

“Quiet down!” Dumbledore yelled once more, tears fell down Eliza face in fear, her heart was racing. “He is back don’t you understand,”

Eliza shook her head in fear, cowering herself on the wall. “He killed my brother, I can’t Professor,” 

Dumbledore shook his head, then looked over at Dobby. “Fetch her some nice clothes now Dobby, presentable,” 

Dobby nodded his head, taking off from the room, then Dumbledore looked at Eliza. “You're a very powerful wizard Eliza, now i’d appreciate if you went and changed, we’ve got a meeting to attend,” 

Dumbledore walked off, leaving Eliza speechless, Pup was laying on the couch across from Eliza, asleep and having not a care in the world.

Not a word could come out of Eliza mouth, so she sulked her head down, walking out the door where Dobby had just walked out and up the stairs.

“In here,” Dobby chimed opening the door to a room, there as Eliza walked in laid a outfit, fit for her. “I’m sorry, Dobby really is, he thought that you wouldn’t get so angry,”

Eliza shook her head, smiling down at Dobby. “I don’t belong here, and I appreciate your thoughts, but i’m going home tomorrow,”

Dobby didn’t say anything, but walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Sirius and Remus looked at Dumbledore as he sat down, interlocking his hands with a smile, everyone that sat at the table looked at him.

“Whats got you so happy?” Sirius mocked curling his lips and shaking his head. “This isn’t a time for smiles,”

Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, letting out a sigh. “I’ve brought someone here, someone who can help us, so if you’d like to continue bannering me, i’ll just send her home and we can do it ourselves,”

Sirius raised his hands in the air, leaning back in his seat and rolling his eyes, Remus nudged him under the table annoyed.

“And who is this mystery person, that is so special she’ll help us?” Sirius said crossing his arms.

“Shut it Sirius, you’re going to cause trouble,” Remus muttered under his breath, kicking Sirius under the table once more, causing him to snap his neck.

“She’ll be down in a moment, you’ll know her as the girl who ran away, not out of fear, but out of anger, it took me a long time to find her, and she won’t like being here, so if you guys could be kind,”

Sirius leaned more back into his seat, looking at Remus with a fake smile. Then at Molly who had a real smile on her face.

“I’ve heard of her before, went to school with Charlie, isn’t that right?” Molly looked at Charlie who was home from Romania, jointing the order.

“Yeah she was pretty weird, after her-,”

“Enough,” Dumbledore shouted shaking her head. “She won’t like bringing up her past, you lot will just scare her away,”

Molly tossed the rest of the vegetables into her pot then looked at Dumbledore. “When will she be down here, i’m sure she’d love to meet everyone,” 

“Come out Eliza,” Dumbledore huffed looking towards the door, everyone's heads turned to Eliza who opened the kitchen door, she had been standing and listening the whole time.

“Why am I here?” Eliza asked looking around the room, not recognizing anyone but Charlie, professor Snape and Dumbledore who all looked at her.

“You, produced a full body patrumon, can do spells without your wand, so we think,” Dumbledore suggested looking around the room. “You could help us with Voldemort, i’m sure you’ve heard he’s back,”

“I’ve read something about it, but i’m not interested, i’d like to go home, i’m sorry Dumbledore but it’s really not my thing,”

Molly walked over with a smile. “Molly Weasley dear, are you hungry? I’m sure Dumbledore hasn’t been the kindest host, come sit down,” Her hand went onto Eliza's back, guiding her to a seat, right across from Charlie.

“Eliza,” Charlie said with a smile nodding his head. 

“Charlie,” Eliza smeared, leaning back in her seat.

“Eat up love,” Molly placed some soup infront of Eliza, placing a spoon in the bowl, then passing everyone else theirs.

“You Eliza, are a very powerful witch, and i’d like you to sleep on your decision, think on it please?” Dumbledore asked standing up and looking around. “It was nice to see you all but i’ve got some business, Harry Potter trial, he’ll be here soon, be kind to our guests,”

In a second, Dumbledore disapparate and Eliza was left, without a way to get home, the only thing she’d not be able to do without getting horrible sick, or splinched was apparate.

“I think I need to lay down, or do something, this was really good thank you Molly,” Eliza nodded her head, standing up and apparting her bowl to her sink with a smile, without a word.

“Sick,” Sirius smirked at Eliza walked out of the room, coming face to face with pup who looked at her wagging his tail.

“Thats a pretty cute dog you’ve got there,” Charlie smiled coming up behind Eliza, looking over her shoulder at Pup, who looked up at Charlie.

“Yeah, got him only a couple months ago, was tired of roaming my home alone,” Eliza hadn’t fancied Charlie after he lit her hair on fire the first week of meeting.

“Glad to see you, thought you’d never come back,” Charlie moved to Eliza's side, leaning against the wall. “You know I actually did work with dragons, going back to Romania in the summer,”

Eliza smiled leaning against the opposite wall. “Not surprised, that's all you talked about at school, even aced all the tests about them, not sure about the transfiguration ones,”

Charlie and Eliza both shared a laugh before the front door opened, Pup went running, Charlie was faster then Eliza to hold him back.

“It’s okay dude,” Charlie whispered lowering down and stroking teh dogs head at Tonks and Kingsley came into view, smiling at Eliza and Charlie, then Madeye who double looked at Eliza, without saying anything. Then Harry Potter.

“Hello there,” Harry smiled looking at Charlie then the dog. Then looked up at Eliza who gave a slight smile.

“Harry dear,” Molly chimed interrupting the moment and bringing Harry into a hug. “Go upstairs, first door on the right now, you’ll have to wait tell after the meeting to have something to eat,” 

Harry was shipped upstairs, not before giving Charlie and Eliza a slight wave.

“You’ve got any dog food for him?” Charlie asked smiling at Pup, still petting him up and down.

“At home, but i’m sure I can find something around here to feed him until tomorrow,”

“No worries Eliza, i’m sure my mom will let you go home to get your things, you’ll stay won't you?”

Eliza stayed quiet. “I’ll sleep on it, but i’m sure they’d let me go to my house and grab some things, thank you Charlie,”

[thegreatestofheck]

Bare Bones {Theory 1} ⋇ Pope Heyward ⋇

description: Pippa Cantu has always been a little…strange. With a knack for knowing everything there is to know about every conspiracy, every mystery, and every weird happening, she doesn’t have much time (or desire) for friends. But when her chemistry lab partner asks her to join him and his friends on a hunt for the Royal Merchant, she just can’t say no.

Theory 1 summary: Pippa meets Pope and gets a little closer than she would have liked. 

word count - 3.9k

warnings: swearing

a/n: thank you for being here! I am already in love with Pippa and I would die for her, so I hope that you all enjoy this story!! Much love. 

                                                      ***

Pippa flinched when the school bell rang. Keeping her head down, she ducked into her first class and found the seat farthest in the back. She had always hated the public school system in Maine, and even from her first period on her first day of school, she knew she was going to hate Kildare High just as much. 

Who in their right mind makes someone take Chemistry Lab at 8 o’clock in the fucking morning? 

Students started to fill in the seats around her, some glancing at her out of the corner of their eyes and others greeting each other with giggles and hugs and smiles. Pippa scoffed and lowered her head to her arms. All she wanted to do was get through this day and then the next day and then the next. That’s how time passed for her as of late. Nothing else mattered except getting through to the night. 

Someone slid into the chair across from her, but Pippa didn’t take notice of them. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here to make friends. In fact, she was here to do the exact opposite. 

“Hi,” the person said. Pippa still refused to look up. “I’m Pope.” 

Pippa forced a split-second smile, glancing at him. 

The final bell rang and the boy in front of her, who kept his smile despite her coldness, turned toward the teacher. Pippa scoffed again and leaned forward to rest her chin against her arms. The boy, Pope, was glued to the teacher as she spoke in a cheery, overly excited voice. Pippa couldn’t care less what she had to say. Until the dreaded words came out of her mouth. She said those two words that Pippa feared the most when she found out she was taking Chem Lab on Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 8 AM. 

Lab partners. 

“Shit,” Pippa groaned, sitting up but letting her head hang. Pope seemed eager to hear who his partner would be. 

The teacher started rattling off names, none of which Pippa recognized. Of course she wouldn’t. She had spent this entire summer hiding away in her grandma’s second-hand store, avoiding repeated human interaction at all costs. Some people were vocally happy about their assigned lab partners, others were less so. Pippa waited for her name anxiously, dreading the idea of spending an entire year with one single person as her partner. 

“Phillipa Cantu and Pope Heyward at table- Ah, the two of you are already back there.” The teacher, Mrs. Stedfield smiled sweetly but Pippa just closed her eyes and sent a quiet prayer for her nerves. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she whispered under her breath as Pope turned to face her with a wide grin. 

“Phillipa, huh?” He said, leaning against his elbow and raising an eyebrow. Pippa could see this as an attempt to flirt, a poor one. Whoever told him that this was a good idea was a dumbass. 

“Pippa,” she said shortly. “No one calls me Phillipa.” 

“Well, Pippa,” he said her name with a partial grin. “I’m very excited to be your lab partner.” 

She hid a groan behind an attempted smile and clenched teeth. 

This was going to be a long year. 

                                                          ***

Pippa didn’t have much to say about Pope, but there was one thing for certain, he was determined. 

It didn’t take him long to figure out that Pippa wasn’t to keen on small talk, so he always talked about what they were studying in class. She liked him a lot more when he was talking about science because it was something he actually seemed passionate about. But every time she caught herself smiling or even almost laughing at one of his stupid jokes, Pippa would remind herself why she was here. 

Don’t get attached. It’s not worth it. It’s never worth it. 

But he was getting too close. He kept asking questions, kept pushing her harder to break through the walls she had made for herself. And Pippa couldn’t have that. 

“So, what do you do when you’re not working or at school?” Pope asked from behind a titration tube. Pippa glanced up at him, but he was focused on what he was doing. He wasn’t really listening. 

“I heard that the government replaced all of the birds with drones,” Pippa said, testing the waters. She glanced up at Pope but he didn’t say anything, didn’t even look away from what he was currently doing. “One of the origin stories of werewolves was just a really hairy man who stole and ate children in Europe.” 

“Hmm. Really?” 

Pippa could tell Pope wasn’t listening to what she was saying, just responding absently. With a smile, she continued. 

“Up until the 1800s, people in Germany thought drinking fresh blood from executed criminals could cure epilepsy.” 

Still no response. Pippa’s smile grew wider. 

From that moment on, every time Pope asked her a question, she would respond with one of her many random facts or theories. He never listened. Pippa started using it on others too. As soon as she got into a conversation, she somehow turned it into one of her crazy stories. It usually made everyone keep their distance. No one really wanted to talk to the crazy conspiracy theory girl who seemed way too interested in HH Holmes and the death of Princess Diana. 

“I like your outfit,” Pope said one day. Pippa glanced down at what she was wearing; an oversized hoody and a loose pair of pants. Nothing extraordinary, but he hadn’t even looked hard enough to really see what she was wearing. 

“Thanks,” she said, setting her bag down on the ground. “Back to Jack the Ripper, I’m pretty sure Mary Kelly’s boyfriend manipulated James Maybrick, you know, the rich guy with the drug problem?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Yeah, so Joseph manipulated Maybrick into thinking he was the Ripper so if the cops came knocking on Joseph’s door, he could pin it on Maybrick. Maybrick got it all muddled up in his druggie head and started to believe he was Ripper, so he wrote the diary. It all fits.” 

“Sure. Did you do the homework last night?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Pippa pulled out her notebook and handed it to Pope. 

“Thanks. My friend tore out a page and used it for a blunt.” 

“Some friend,” Pippa grumbled. 

“He’s great.” Pope’s voice was tight. “I’m sure you’d like him.” 

Pippa rolled her eyes. She had two guesses which friend he was talking about; John Routledge, who everyone insisted calling John B but that was the most annoying shit Pippa had ever heard, or JJ Maybank, who was most likely the homework stealing thief. Both had hit on her once before in a time of desperation, but one mention of Area 51 or the Bermuda Triangle and they were gone. 

It was too easy. A girl opens her mouth and starts talking about the things she’s passionate about and most guys scatter. If Pope had the opportunity, she imagined he would leave to. 

For the briefest of a moment, the idea pained her. 

“Something tells me I really wouldn’t like your friend.” 

It was March and the air was starting to get hot. Pippa hated the heat, not because it was uncomfortable, but because it meant taking off her protective layer. It was rare to see Pippa without her sweatshirt, and for good reason. She didn’t feel safe without it. 

The Bunsen burners didn’t help. Of course they were using them today, the hottest day of the year so far. Pippa could feel the sweat beading down the back of her neck as she stammered her way through a theory about aliens and the Giant Heads of Easter Island and their bodies. 

“Hey, you good?” Pope asked, stopping half-way through writing something down. Pippa struggled to nod. “Why don’t you just take off your sweater?” 

Pippa tightened her jaw. How could she tell a boy that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath? But just from the shift her eyes, Pope seemed to understand. He turned off the Bunsen burner and pulled off his goggles. 

“I have an extra shirt,” Pope said, reaching for his backpack. 

“It’s fine,” Pippa said through her teeth. 

“Pippa, come on.” He pulled the t-shirt out of his backpack and shoved it into her hands before she could protest. “Can’t have my partner fainting on me, now can I?” 

The half-smile on his face was sincere. Pippa narrowed her eyes but left to go to the bathroom anyway. There was an ounce of relief as she pulled her sweatshirt off of her body. It felt like she could finally breathe. She pulled Pope’s t-shirt on over her head and her stomach twisted into knots. She hated seeing her arms. Something about it felt so unsafe. 

But Pope’s shirt was big on her and it was at least baggy in the way she liked, so she thought she was just going to have to put with it. 

There was a blush on her cheeks when she walked into the Chemistry lab. Pope had his goggles on when she returned, having gone right back to the lab they were doing. He didn’t look up at her as she came back and she was grateful for it. 

“Here, can you write this down for me?” He asked, hovering a stick over the fire. The fire burned green. 

“Sweet,” Pippa said with a smile. She scribbled down what she could, not noticing as Pope looked away from the fire to admire how she looked in his shirt. As soon as she looked back up, he turned his face away. “You wanna hear about how Amelia Airheart sent an SOS message after she went missing but it was ignored because they didn’t think she could survive?” 

“Sure.” 

                                                        ***

Pippa was sitting in the library, bobbing her head to the music that blasted through her earbuds. Her computer sat in front of her, a thousand and one tabs open at once. Two notebooks and a few more research books lay out around her. A color-coded selection of pens and highlighters was scattered about. The table where she worked was an absolute mess, but it made sense to her. 

She was so consumed by an article and her music that she didn’t see Pope sit down in front of her. Her foot tapped against the leg of her chair while she chewed on a pen cap, eyes scanning the page. It wasn’t until she tore her gaze from the screen to scribble something in one of her notebooks that she saw Pope sitting there. 

The pen cap fell out of her mouth with a gasp and a jolt of her body. Pippa flicked an earbud out of her ear. 

“Shit, Pope!” she hissed before taking a calming breath. He seemed unphased by her shock, a book of his own resting in his lap. 

“What are you listening to?” He asked, turning the page in his book. Pippa felt a lump form in her throat. 

“Nothing.” 

“I can hear it from here. What is it?” 

“What do you care?” 

Pope smiled at her and gave a quiet laugh. 

“It’s just music, Pippa. Not like I’m asking for your life story or anything.” Pippa rolled her eyes before sliding her phone across the table for him to see. “Hmm.”

Pippa snatched her phone back, her cheeks brushed red and her eyebrows pinched together. 

“Hmm, what?” 

“Never pegged you for the One Direction type.” 

“It’s called versatility, Heyward. Look it up.” Pippa huffed and leaned back in her chair. “Is there a reason you’re gracing me with your presence today?” 

“We gotta work on that final project at some point. Came over to talk to you about it, but I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Pippa shook off her hostility and gave a shrug of her shoulders. She capped her pen and lowered the screen of her computer. 

“Nothing important.” 

“Aliens?” 

“1500s shipwreck full of gold.”

“Ah.” Pope let the moment wear on for a few silent seconds before he leaned his arms against the table. Pippa crossed her arms. “This is a pretty big project, so I think we should start soon.” 

“Okay.” 

“Maybe we should swap numbers so we can link up.”

“Link up?” Pippa raised an eyebrow. All the coolness fell from around Pope instantly and his eyes widened. 

“I just mean...well, for the sake of the project...shit, no, I just mean….we have to get together at some point-” 

“Relax, Pope.” Pippa let out a quiet laugh and scribbled her number onto the corner of a notebook and tore it out, sliding it across the table to Pope. “For emergencies only. Everything else we do face to face, capiche?” 

“What, are you on witness protection or something?” Pope joked as his eyes scanned the string of numbers on the paper. Her handwriting was shit. God, he hoped he could read it well enough to text the right person. 

The look on Pippa’s face didn’t affirm or deny his question. At this rate, Pope wouldn’t be surprised if she was. 

“Can we meet after school today?” he asked. “I’ve got to help my dad with some stuff tomorrow and Friday.” 

“Sure,” Pippa said, before leaning back and stretching her arms above her head. Diving headfirst into her theories left her back aching, even if it was only for a free period like today. 

She stretched her arms high up enough to reveal a small sliver of her stomach, but something caught Pope’s eyes. 

“Woah, is that a tattoo?” He asked, a grin growing on his face. Pippa dropped her arms and her eyes widened. 

Shit. 

There was no lying her way out of this one. She was just going to have to run with it. Forcing a smile, Pippa lifted the edge of her sweatshirt and showed him the whole thing. The roman numeral ten was etched in black ink into her skin just under her belly button and a little bit to the left. It seemed like odd placement to Pope. 

“What’s it mean?” he asked. 

“X marks the spot,” she said with a half-grin. “Had to get something to represent my obsession, ya know.” 

Pope nodded his head slowly, but a voice in his head told him there was something deeper than that. 

“My best friend Kie, she’s got like three of them,” he said. Pippa lowered her shirt. “A dolphin, a wave, and something else, I don’t remember.” 

Pippa felt her smile turn into something real. She watched the way Pope’s face lit up when he talked about her, Kie. It wasn’t the first time. On the rare occasion that he actually tried to hold a conversation with Pippa, he would often talk about this girl. Pippa didn’t know a whole bunch about her, but whoever she was, she made Pope very happy. 

But that smile on Pippa’s face was starting to feel too comfortable. Talking to Pope as a whole was starting to feel too comfortable. 

Pippa let her smile fall and she started to shut her books. 

“I have History,” she said, slamming her laptop all the way shut. “Can’t be late.” 

She had the books and notebooks packed up in a blink of an eye and before Pope could even say goodbye, she was gone. 

                                                             ***

“A crystal pyramid in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle, can you believe it?” Pippa shook her head slowly. She let herself laugh, looking down at her bowl of cereal. “Anyway, what do you want-”

“Are you going to the school dance?” Pope asked suddenly, turning away from their project and toward Pippa. She sat cross-legged on his counter, a bowl of cereal in her hand. The spoon was halfway to her mouth when she froze, her lips parting ever so slightly. 

“Oh, um, no.” She set the spoon back in the bowl. She struggled to meet Pope’s eyes. She could feel the question burning inside of him but she refused to let him ask it. “I’ve got...shit to do that day.” 

“What kind of shit?” he asked, looking back at the project. “Conspiracy shit? Alien shit? Cult shit? Or wait, let me guess, murder shit?” 

Pippa let out a strained laugh. 

“Unfortunately, no. Just...personal shit.” 

Pope hummed quietly to himself. Pippa cringed. He was disappointed, upset, hurt. Something somewhere in between. 

“So, the project.” 

“Right.” Pippa slid off the counter, setting her bowl down and stepping closer to Pope, but not too close. 

The front door swung open suddenly. Pope spun around and Pippa dropped to the ground, feeling her heart tighten in her chest painfully, her lungs dropping into her stomach. 

“Mom!” Pope smiled as Mrs. Heyward walked in through the door. 

“Hey, Sweetie. Where’s that friend of yours?” 

Pippa was still on the ground, her eyes squeezed shut. Her heart pounded in her ears and her fingers curled against the tile beneath her. She just had to stand up and smile, that was all. It was just Pope’s mom. She was safe. 

Letting out a struggling breath, Pippa pushed herself up onto her feet. 

“Slipped,” she said simply, attempting to smile at Mrs. Heyward. 

“Happens to everyone.” Mrs. Heyward handed a bag of groceries off to her son and approached Pippa, her arms open for a hug. 

“Mom,” Pope said. “She’s not into hugs.” 

Mrs. Heyward stopped in her tracks, but her smile never once faltered. 

“That’s okay. It’s not for everyone. I’m Pope’s mom. We’re glad to have you here.” Pippa could feel her breath growing short, the squeezing her chest never once letting up as she tightened her hands into fists. Adrenaline ran through her. She tried to cover it up with a smile. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” 

Pippa gave a quick shake of her head. 

“No, I should be getting home.” She tried not to run for the door. “Text me, Pope.”

Plucking her purse off the ground and shoving her feet into her shoes, Pippa barely heard Pope or Mrs. Heyward give their goodbyes as she raced outside. 

“That was strange,” Mrs. Heyward said, setting her things on the counter. 

“Yeah.” Pope let out a deep sigh. “She’s strange person.” 

“Pope Heyward.” Mrs. Heyward gave Pope’s shoulder a light pinch. “Don’t ever say that about a girl.” 

“I don’t think she would take it as an insult.” Pope’s gaze shifted toward the door, his eyes lingering. 

Had she known that he wanted to ask her to the dance? Was that why she ran away so fast? Or was it something else? Something about her that he didn’t yet know that made her scurry away? 

Pope wondered if she would ever let him find out. 

                                                               ***

“Well, look at that, Heyward.” Pippa grinned as she slapped their final report onto their lab table. “That’s an A for us.” 

Pope took the paper and admired the big, red letter. A smile broke out across his face. 

“God, you’re such a nerd,” Pippa laughed, sitting on her stool and giving herself a small push so the chair swiveled around in a circle. 

“I’m the nerd?” Pope asked, mock offended as he put the paper back onto the table. 

“You’re on the Mathletics team,” Pippa said. “I’m pretty sure you qualify as a nerd.” 

Pope felt a small laugh shake through him. He watched Pippa look up at the clock and sigh. 

“Last class together,” Pope said. His lips twitched as he rested his arms against the table. Whatever feeling was in Pippa’s eyes faded and she let out a scoff. 

“You sound like we’re dying once that clock strikes 9:30. It’s just summer,” she said. 

“But we don’t know if we’ll have classes together next year or not,” he said. Pippa sighed again, but it was smaller. She tried to hide it as she brushed her hand against her nose. 

“That’s the way the dice fall sometimes.” 

“We could hang during the summer though, right?” He didn’t care if he sounded desperate. 

“Maybe.” But her answer was clear by the way her gaze fell to the floor. She wasn’t interested in hanging out over the summertime. Pope just wished she would tell him why. 

The bell overhead rang. Pippa took her time pulling her backpack onto her shoulders. Pope stayed where he was. She offered something to him. 

“Forgot to give this back,” she said, refusing to look at him. In her hands was his t-shirt, the one he had given her all the way back in March. “That’s my bad.” 

Pope looked at the shirt and pulled it from her hands. 

“Don’t take it personal,” she said and let out a heavy breath. “It’s better this way. Yeah, it’s better.” 

With that, Pippa fell into the stream of kids leaving the classroom, disappearing almost instantly. 

                                                           ***

Pope fiddled with the phone in his hand. His thumb hovered over the call button on her contact. He hadn’t seen her since that last day of school, actively avoiding the secondhand shop where she worked with her grandmother. 

“What are you waiting for?” JJ groaned. “Just call her, dude!” 

Pope glowered at his friend and pressed the button while his irritation was still strong enough to overcome his fear. 

The line rang once, twice, three times. The fear returned. She wasn’t going to pick up. She would see his contact on her phone and ignore him. He was sure of it.

“Hey, Pope, waddup?” Pope smiled at the sound of her voice. She sounded so normal, as if they had just spoken yesterday and not an entire month ago. 

“Hi, Pippa, how are you?” 

“Pretty good. How are you?” 

“I’m doing good.” 

“Cut the shit,” JJ hissed, throwing a pebble at Pope’s head. Pope swatted his arm in JJ’s direction, sneering. 

“I have a question for you.” 

“Clearly.” He could hear her hesitant laugh from the other side. 

“You’re not asking her on a date, man!” John B was impatiently waiting from the side, his hands on his hips. Kie took a step toward him and Pope met her gaze. There was encouragement beneath her eyes, and she gave him a small nod. 

“Pippa, what do you know about the Royal Merchant?” 

He could hear her breath hitch in her throat as she fell silent. 

“I know a shit ton about the Royal Merchant. Why?” 

There was excitement in her voice, her thirst for adventure radiating through the phone. 

“My friends and I need your help. Can you meet us at the Wreck?” 

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He could hear her shuffling around her room. 

“See you there. Bye-” 

The line went dead. Pope breathed out through his nose, pulling the phone away from his ear. 

“So?” Kie asked, taking another step closer. 

“She’s meeting us at the Wreck in ten,” Pope said, turning to his friends. John B clapped his hands together and started toward the van. 

“To the Wreck then,” Kie said. She put a hand on Pope’s shoulder and smiled. His stomach flipped. “Good job.” 

“I don’t see why we need this chick anyway,” JJ huffed as they headed toward the van.

“I doubt she’ll even want a cut of the gold at all,” Pope told his friend. 

“Bullshit. No way she’d do this for free.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“You have the weirdest friends, Pope,” JJ said with a roll of his eyes. 

“You’re my friend, dumbass.” 

“His point stands,” John B interrupted, a never faltering smile on his face. “Let’s go get that gold.” 

                                                          ~~~

tagging -  @simonsbluee​, @parkerpetertingle​, @diverrdown​, @ponyboys-sunsets​, @outerbanksbro, @kikifromtheblock​, @sunflowerbecca​

if you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! ❤

[maddestzoomer]

that photograph.

summary - 

a death, a photograph, and endless white walls.

warnings - 

mentions of death, also (not really sure if it counts considering he’s already dead lmao, but whatever) technically suicidal thoughts. 

authors note - 

i haven’t written for a while, but this is a story i recently found scribbled in my notebook from a few years back. i figured i’d edit some and post it here. feel free to give me any feedback you may have :) 

The last picture, dark and blurry, sat crammed in between two pages of his favorite book. It was a photo from the cross-country trip Billy had taken with his family last year.

The negatives were long gone, but one grainy picture remained. It had been there for almost a hundred years, long forgotten, but well protected within the lines of verse.

Billy had died on July fourth.

When it happened, it much more of a bigger deal than he thought it would be. He was nineteen, impaled multiple times by a fucking monster only to die in his sobbing sister's arms.  

But in the newspapers, it was nothing more than a freak accident. No-one knew how or why what happened happened, and just about everyone agreed it was strange, but there weren't any real answers supplied.

It was one of those awful things that no one expected and shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. He had done a lot of wrong in his short life, but maybe he didn't deserve to die.

People cried for him, sang for him, wished for things to have been different.

Billy was still dead. His ribs were broken, lungs were punctured, and his esophagus was filled with blood until he could no longer breathe. It wasn't short and it wasn't painless. But it didn't matter how he died.

It wasn’t a loss of life, persay- it was more of a transition. On to the next world, the new beyond.

The next world had started with a line. Hundreds of people waited in front of a single window. Surrounded by endless white walls and equally white floors, Billy had slowly made his way to the back.

Some people hugged their knees and sobbed. Some muttered and stared off into space. Some looked genuinely bored. One woman, a pretty brunette girl, had run up and down the line, frantically asking questions.

“Where am I?” She’d shrieked, hazel eyes wild with fear. “What happened?”

She had been met with shrugs and vacant stares. She was not the first, nor the last.

The line took ages. There was no way of telling time- it could’ve been a year or an hour. But when Billy had finally reached the window, he’d asked the question many screaming and terrified before him people had asked.

“Where am I?” He said to the woman behind the window, who had been busy typing something into an archaic computer system.

“You’re dead, honey.” She murmured, not looking up. “Billy Hargrove?” He’d nodded, not sure what else to do.

“Hand,” she’d instructed, holding out her own. Once he’d placed it in hers, she turned it over, palm facing down, and stamped the back.

It was a triangle, tiny and solid black. Billy’d looked back up to ask where he was, or where to go, or what was next, but the window was gone. So was the line when he turned around.

Instead, he was in a small room. White walls and a white bed stared back at him. A bookshelf sat in the corner. Next to it was a small, black desk with a lamp.

“Hello?” He’d asked to the walls. No one answered.

He’d found out later- hours later- that the door was unlocked. Outside, there was a single potted plant next to his door. He touched the leaves, breathing in the stale air. They were plastic.

Fluorescents reflected off of white walls as he walked down the hallway, searching for another soul.

There was a common room about fifty doors and three turns down from him. When he went out of the hallway on the other side, there was an identical hundred doors and common room. He sat down in a puffy chair, mind overwhelmed.

Emotion had left his body. He wanted to feel anything- scared, excited, nervous, lost, angry- but all he felt was empty. As empty as the rooms around him.

As time passed, he saw other faces. None he’d recognized. Initially, he’d hoped he would reunite with lost family members and friends, but it was quickly apparent that that would never happen. He would never find them.

He could talk, but no one was interested. Once you talked about your life and death, there was nothing really left to speak about but the uncertainty that plagued every soul in the place.

Where were they? What was next? Was this hell?

It wasn’t really hell as much as it was boredom. The bookshelf had every book you could ever want, and endless paper appeared on the desk. He tried to keep himself entertained, but the endless walls and fluorescents shot daggers into any creativity he could have mustered.

It turned out the bed wasn’t for sleeping- it was so he could lay down and stare at the perfectly white ceiling.

He did a lot of that. There was no food to eat, no shit to shit. He probably could have had sex, but finding other people was the last thing he wanted to do. He just wanted to be alone. To think about the life he could have lived. He just sat and stared, not knowing how or when or if time passed.

After re-reading a random book for the third time, Billy decided to try to kill himself. He wasn’t sure if it was possible, because he was already dead, but he could definitely try.

He’d begun to try to fashion a length of paper into a noose when fresh air caught his nose. It was bright, sweet, warm, and it danced into his brain, lighting up parts that hadn’t been touched since he’d died.

It was coming from under the door. Slowly, trying not to scare the hope away, he crept towards the door. The air was intoxicating- better than any vodka he could have bought when alive.

Emotions sprung to his chest for the first time since he’d gotten in line. Dry pine smoke and bird cries flew in on the air, bringing promises of a forest.

Was he hallucinating? Was it a dream? Had he finally killed himself? He touched the handle, fingers shaking. It was electrifying, the feelings that filled him. He felt alive again.

He opened the door to a forest, lit by softly flickering candles. Sobs echoed through the needles, carrying to his ears.

He saw his friends hugging one another. Saw Max silently sobbing into her hands, his Father staring drunkenly at the ground, and his Step-Mother, Susan, gently rubbing Max's back. Sitting on a table was a picture of him, smiling brightly with a surfboard at his side and an endless blue ocean behind him.

Billy had just walked into the anniversary of his death.

Being back in the real world filled him to the brim with long lost emotions.

Life danced within his eyes, as transparent as he was. He found out quickly that he couldn’t communicate or interact with anything- he could only watch.

And when he stared at his hands, he could see the fire-lit carpet of pine needles beneath him. He ached to speak to his mother (even though she wasn't to be found at the funeral...), to Max, to his friends, but even complete silence was better than the room.

Anything was better than the room, the four walls and the plastic plant guarding his door. Anything.

The worst thing in the world, even worse than the room, was having to return to it.

He felt the ground leave his feet as he was thrust back into the four walls, the life leaving his chest as quickly as it had come.

It felt like being socked in the stomach with the force of an entire lifetime. But worse, because he couldn’t cry about it. He couldn’t cry about anything.

Everything- the joy, sadness, nostalgia, content- left his body in a snap. He was left in the room again, with the hallway beyond the door.

He couldn’t even feel upset. He could just sit on the bed and wait.

He waited for another year, only living for the time that the forest would sneak in under his door.

Sometimes, he feared it would never come back, but there was nothing he could do. So he just waited. Re-reading books, walking the endless halls. There was something to look forwards to. He didn’t want to kill himself. He wanted to go back.

He continued going back for a decade, and then another. Slowly, the mourning of his death became smaller and less widespread as his parents died. His picture still existed in old family photos and friends’ diaries, but the memory of him slowly dropped existence.

Eventually, everyone he'd once known was death. Every year he went back it seemed another friend was gone.

Pictures kept getting lost or destroyed- thrown away by accident, or torn in broken picture frames.

Slowly, his descendants died, only to give way Max's great-great-grandson, Arthur, who had the last remaining picture of him.

It had been almost a hundred years since Billy had tried speaking with anyone connected to him. He’d never been able to find any of them within the long halls of the Place- but he seldom left his room, anyways.

The only time he stepped outside the door anymore was when he went back to earth, when he felt the grass beneath his feet and the sun in his hair.

Billy knew, from seeing his hallmates disappear, that when no pictures of him existed he’d never be allowed to go back to the real world. He’d also leave the Place, but no one knew what was in the Beyond.

Billy, when he could feel emotions, was terrified. The last picture of him sat in an ancient book of poetry, on a bookshelf in the attic of Arthur's house.

Max had kept the picture of Billy when he died, cried with it even when Billy had been gone fifty years. She had kept the book with her treasures, a ratty red book cover covered in dust. Almost no one had touched it since she'd died.

Arthur looked like Max. Skin full of freckles, head wild with red hair. The two even shared a similar smile.

Billy found himself following Arthur around when he could almost as much as he followed his own descendants, just to see how he lived his life.

Arthur was, unlike Max, incredibly forgetful. He’d leave his wallet on the counter or forget the dog was outside.

Watching Arthur was almost like watching his step-sister. Even though they were incredibly different, the two shared the same laugh and the same wit.

Then, one day, Arthur forgot to put out a candle when he went to bed.

He’d set them up for a date, but the boy he'd invited had stood him up.

Billy had wanted to comfort him, but he just sat on the couch and watched. After crying and eating almost an entire tub of ice cream, he’d blown out most of them and headed up to bed.

All except one.

One, hanging by the curtain, greedy flame licking at the fabric.

Billy stared at it. Watched as it grew, climbed up to the wall. There. It had to end there.

But it didn’t.

It grabbed the ceiling, expanding up and around the window. Billy glanced at the fire detector. Surely, it would go off?

It was silent. Another unlikely event. Billy was beginning to get nervous.

He tried to touch the fire, to stop it, but of course, his hands went straight through. He tried fanning the smoke to the detector. He grabbed for the phone, tried to shake Arthur awake.

Nothing was working.

Flames greedily ate up the living room and expanded to the upstairs, finally waking up Arthur.

Red hot pain suddenly lanced through his back, ripping a scream out of his mouth. He bucked as the pain forced its way into his mouth. It was similar to the pain he felt when that creature had impaled him.

His entire body felt like it was on fire, lines tracing and crossing over his skin. Billy arched his back, where the pain was concentrated, heat searing his skin. He screeched as if it would never end, because it felt like it never would.

It only got worse. His forehead erupted with slicing agony. Collapsing to the ground, he grabbed onto his blond curls as he screamed, wishing for death. But he was already dead? Dead twice? He was gone. Wishing it was over. Wishing he didn’t exist. Simply wishing.

As quickly as it had come, the pain left. He laid on the ground, softly gasping as his muscles unconstricted. Flinching at every sound, he waited for the agony to come back.

Minutes dripped by. It didn’t come back. He was sore, his body didn’t feel like his own. But he wasn’t being hurt.

Slowly, he stood. When he looked down at his hands, the black triangle had multiplied, spreading over his skin. His veins were black and pronounced over thick, corded muscle.

His tongue prodded his canine teeth, only to find they were long and sharp. Fangs. Billy had fangs. His fingers shook, fear pounding around his mind. He needed answers.

He tried to run his hands through his hair, but something stopped him. Big, bony horns curled out of his forehead. They were solid and sharp at the end, and he cut his finger as he ran it over.

A shard of glass on the floor caught his eye. He glanced at it slowly, scared at what he would see.

Dipping around the side of his back were wings, heavy and black. He reached back to feel them, wincing at the pain that started through his body. They felt leathery, cold.

Blood dripped to the floor from his cut finger.

By the door rested an iron pitchfork, tips covered in dried blood. He shuddered as he felt the very tips of his wings, now hyperaware, brush against the ground.

“Mr. Hargrove?” A voice called as the door creaked open.

Another demon, freakish and unworldly, stepped through the door. He was tall, powerful, with long black horns and a mane of thick, flowing hair.

A pencil rested behind his pointed ear, and he held a staff in his left hand.

Leaning against the stone wall, he looked Billy up and down.

“Where the fuck am I?” Billy asked, knowing full well what the answer was.

“Well, Mr. Hargrove,” the demon laughed, tapping a pencil against his equally pointy teeth.

“You’ve got a triangle on your hand. If you have a circle, you get to go up there,” he pointed to the ceiling, “and live in eternal peace.” He laughed, lip curling into a mocking snarl.

“Here, though, we are not brown nosers. We do not believe in total harmony. We wage war where we see fit, defend ourselves and those we love. We are honest about what we want. We have dignity, courage, and pride. “ The demon smiled, tossing his pitchfork to Billy. It glinted in the low light.

“Welcome to Hell.”

[yamag00ps]

first names

pairing: akaashi x reader

genre: friends to lovers, love triangle

contains: fluff

word count: 1.4k

summary: you use akaashi's first name for the first time and he can't get enough of it. should he feel guilty that he's on a first-name basis with you while his best friend, who also has feelings for you, isn't?

part 2, part 3, part 4

“Oh come on, you have to have an opinion. I’m dying to know the inner workings of Akaashi Keiji’s mind.” You closed your eyes and lay your head back, surrendering yourself to the sunlight.

If you weren’t in a public space, he was sure you would’ve heard the way his heart abruptly stopped at the sound of his first name. In this moment he also thanked whatever higher power was up there that you didn’t catch the pink dust on his cheeks, nor the way he briefly choked on the water he was drinking.

In the midst of collecting himself, he almost missed the way you glowed in the light. Really? He thought. Who fucking looks like that?

You nudged his knee and softly said, “Tell meeeee.”

He kept his voice as steady as possible as he took you in and came up with a response. He knew this was the one chance he’d get to use your first name too.

“What about you? Enlighten me with your intricate inner thoughts, L/N F/N.” Your name tasted sweet in his mouth and he savored it. He hoped he’d be able to say it again, soon.

The two of you were sitting on a bench in an outlet mall waiting for Bokuto to finish up in the Adidas store. You were currently discussing whether the chicken or the egg came first after overhearing a group of teens arguing over it as they passed by.

Your eyes opened briefly to glance at him, smiling at the sound of your first name.

“You can call me F/N, if you like,” you said quietly, closing your eyes again and trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Akaashi, again, thanked any higher power who was listening that your eyes were closed again. He couldn’t hide the stupid grin on his face this time.

“Okay, F/N, why do you think the chicken came first?” He joined you in closing his eyes and leaning back on the bench as well. He moved closer, your shoulders now touching.

“Call me Keiji,” he quietly added.

As much as he was enjoying this little banter, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. His best friend, who he knew had feelings for you, still called you by your last name -- still using honorifics as well.

Was it wrong for him to be talking to you like this? I mean he wasn’t straightforwardly flirting.. yet. And wasn’t Bokuto checking out a girl in the cafeteria earlier anyway? He decided he would deal with it later, diverting all his attention to the sound of your voice again.

“Because, Keiji. Where else would the eggs come from?!”

There it was again. If you said his first name one more time he swore he was going to--

“Keiji, think about it! The theory of evolution states that all species are descendants of a single ancestor and that all species have simply gradually evolved over time. You’re telling me we all came from an EGG?” You were now sitting up facing him, with your hand on his right bicep (though, you ignored how nice it felt).

He threw his head back laughing and placed his left hand over the hand you had on his arm. The passion in your words over something so random was too precious. He squeezed your hand and said, “I literally haven’t argued, nor disagreed with you yet this entire time!”

“Then tell me you agree with me!”

You shook him, your hand still under his. You liked this playful side of him, he was normally so reserved.

Akaashi stared at you, contemplating if he wanted to give you the satisfaction of agreeing with you or if he wanted to watch you “argue” with him some more. To your dismay, he chose the latter. He couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed watching you squirm.

“Hm.. but how credible are your sources, F/N?” He squeezed your hand once more.

At this, you let go of his hand and smacked his arm. Already missing your hand in his, he laughed and reached for it again saying, “Okay! Okay okay okay, I believe you!”

“Thank you,” you ignored the way his hand held yours tightly again, resting on your knee. Akaashi was still leaning his head back on the bench, closing his eyes once more. You stayed facing him, leaning your left arm on the back of the bench with your head resting on your left hand.

A brief comfortable silence filled the air as you watched people filter in and out of the stores around you. At this point you two were carelessly playing with each other’s hands, randomly interlocking your fingers together and sliding your palms against one another. You wondered what the two of you looked like to strangers passing by. Although this closeness was brand new to the both of you, it somehow felt so natural -- as if this was how it has always been, as if this was how it was always supposed to be.

“I just wanted to see how far I could push you into telling me more random facts about evolution,” he teased again. You rolled your eyes and flicked his hand repeatedly, only for him to interlock your fingers completely.

You both secretly hoped Bokuto was taking his sweet time shopping.

You gazed at him, realizing how close you actually were to his face. Your head hovering not too far over his. As if he sensed it at the same time, his eyes opened to meet yours.

“You have really pretty eyes, Keiji.”

“I like yours better.” His eyes betrayed him, briefly glancing at your lips. He really tried not to but he couldn’t help himself. He still couldn’t process how close you were.

You blushed at this, turning away from him and focusing on your hand in his instead. Akaashi gazed at you, wondering how much longer he had before the two of you would have to separate and act normally when his best friend came back. He knew was getting greedy. He hated how badly he wanted to kiss you and knew he had to talk to Bokuto soon.

But, for now, all he could do was savor the feel of your hand in his and the sweet sound of his first name in your mouth. He wondered what other arguments he could pull you into for fun.

When Bokuto finished his shopping, the three of you decided to call it a day. Before leaving, Bokuto sat on the other side of you showing you the things he bought, too excited to notice you and Akaashi letting go of each other's hands. However, with your back now turned to Akaashi, Bokuto also failed to see the way Akaashi's fingers discreetly and slowly traced random letters onto your back. If you were paying attention, you'd have noticed that he was spelling out your first names. He didn't know where this boldness was coming from, he just knew he didn't want to stop touching you.

In the car ride home, you sat in the passenger seat next to Bokuto, with Akaashi behind Bokuto.

“Is water wet?” Akaashi asked out of the blue, eyeing you in anticipation. You gave him the exact reaction he was looking for as you twisted your body to face him. You narrowed your eyes at him as Bokuto answered.

“Of course it is!”

Akaashi stifled a laugh, somehow already knowing your answer.

“No, it is not.” You looked at Bokuto as you said this and then turned to Akaashi again, glaring at him playfully.

“How?!” Bokuto asked, confusion written all over his face at the random topic of conversation.

“Yeah, F/N, how?” Akaashi egged you on.

“Akaashi! You agree with me r--” Bokuto started and stopped himself upon realizing that Akaashi used your first name. Before he could fully process it, you interrupted him.

“Keiji, if you agree with him I swear to god.” You responded, completely oblivious to the new tension in the air.

Akaashi began to laugh until he noticed Bokuto’s face through the rearview mirror. He was clearly taken aback by the sudden use of first names. He didn’t even call Akaashi by his first name, but that was only a personal preference. Still, since when were the two of you on a first-name basis? And where was this banter coming from? Did he miss something?

Keiji? Bokuto silently mouthed to himself.

Akaashi shut his eyes, realizing his mistake.

Shit. He had some explaining to do.

part 2, part 3, part 4

[makapatag]

ANG ANTINGERO AT ANG MANANANGGAL NG PANTALAN

Wherein one exploit of the feared Antingero Miguel Nagbulan is recounted by himself to his close friend and writer Alfonso Valarao, who has written this tale and given it to the publishers of the Empire.

Long live and beautiful day! These greetings I give to the people that will read the following tale. It recounts the great adventure of the Antingero Miguel Nagbulan in his time in Barangay Pantalan, in the island now known in the 116th Year of the Pearlescent Empire as the Island of La Abhorra.

#

The story begins when our Antingero hero—ah, he tells me his no hero, but I am a writer, and by virtue of writing, I must embellish the uh, shit and polish the gold. Ha?—of course I won’t go overboard with the embellishments! The craft of a true writer is balance. Anyway.

It begins with our Antingero hero, Miguel Nagbulan, as he crested a low hill, which was flanked on both sides by bamboo and large trees. The slow trickle of a stream encircled his arrival. It was as if nature itself, that greatest temple in the world, opened her gates to reveal the barangay on the other side.

Our Antingero hero blinked, revealing a slight wrongness in his eyes. Bloodshot, yet the color of night. His face was shaded from the afternoon sun by a simple hardwood salakot, sure to defend from the sharpest of blades. Upon his horse, he had hooked up several rattan bags, each one containing his provisions for his travel.

Travel from the southern port and to the inland barangay had been a dangerous one. Tulisanes abounded, bandits who fight for the freedom of the people from the opressive Empire. Our Antingero hero sympathized with their plight, but in the rising age of mercantilism and because the magical power imbued upon that magical item that is called coin, he was forced to keep up his lonely job.

Of course, his job is not one that many would’ve wanted to have. In truth, it cannot be considered a job in the slightest. The Empire itself does not consider the Antingero a job. It considers them a necessity. One of those necessities one must have but might not want, like wax scrubs. Or baths.

I jest, antingero. We all bathe in the Isles. Only the damned colonizers didn’t.

But I digress.

Our Antingero hero nudged the horse forth. “Come on, Tahimik.” His voice, when he spoke, was soft and sonorous, the timbre of an academic and a poet, a spokesman and a politician. One might be wondering what such a beautiful voice is doing spoiling it all away by becoming a vagabond.

But as our Antingero hero passed a great mango tree, its branches spread out as if to catch the heavens, he remembered why. Around the tree were gravestones—not very neatly kept, but functional enough. The gravestones were simple ones, and had writing etched upon their heads as a remembrance to their family. Surrounding the cemetery were great jackfruit trees, coconuts, narras, and bamboo.

The sun seemed to shine down upon a single man, kneeling before a single gravestone. He wore a simple necklace adorned by a simple upside-down five-pointed star: the holy symbol of Dyosveta. More importantly, around his wrist was wrapped a rosary, and as the man rose and walked away, he recited his prayers, counting off each bead with every step.

Deaths of natural death or deaths because of violence or any non-strange phenomenon was always mourned once, and then celebrated at every anniversary. Deaths caused because of supernatural phenomena, however, were not celebrated. If one were to visit the grave of one who suffered that death, it is mandatory for you to pray the First Decade of the Rosary, else you be the next sufferer of the death.

Antingeros, although not exactly some kind of monster hunter and more of a warrior, have lately become the most popular person to deal with such supernatural phenomena. Their knowledge of orasyones, the invocations, as well as their multiple magical charms, called Anting-Antings, for which they are named, and usually pragmatic knowledge of monstrous beasts have become the leading cause of this phenomenon.

Of course, since the Empire and the Church denounce them, stating that they are “no-good rebels and terrorists”… they have been given the dirty eye and the curse of being “aswang”, monsters, even as they help.

The man that prayed the rosary? When he saw the Antingero upon his horse cantering down the bridle path, he immediately averted his eyes and looked away, and quickened his walking. Usually the antingero would’ve been showered with such gracious and pious words such as “Rebel, terrorist, salot, monster, fiend, devil!” but the man could not break from praying the First Decade.

The Antingero guided his horse down into the baragay, which had a single main road cutting through its middle, and with both north and south ends of the barangay having arches that read “Welcome to Barangay Pantalan!” in the front and “Thank you for coming, see us again!” in the back.

Once inside the barangay, only then was he showered by the expected “praises”.

A young boy immediately turned his eyes away when he accidentally kicked his rattan ball over to Miguel’s direction. He and his friends looked at each other, said “terrorist!” and they immediately ran away.

A labandera, a woman carrying a wooden tub filled with her laundry, sneered at him and muttered “What a maniac!” as she passed by.

Another man trotted his horse quicker when he passed by Miguel, muttering “aswang” under his breath.

Two men wearing white shirts and red pants stared at him from afar, talking lowly enough so only they can hear themselves. But Miguel knew what kinds of things they were saying. He didn’t need to hear them. He’s heard it a lot before.

He cantered his horse over to where the nearest inuman, or drinking place, was. He found it not too long enough, since it was the only place not as crowded in the day. A simple hut with cogon grass roots and bamboo walls upon bamboo stilts. A wooden sign, written in the Shore Script, the official script of the Empire, said: “Aling Nenang’s Eatery.”

There were still people there, of course. There were around four tables laid outside, with some men drinking from wooden cups on one of them. Within there were sure to be more.

Miguel dismounted from his horse and tied him down to a nearby fence. Then, avoiding the gaze of the staring men—who were buff with their years of working in the fields—he entered into the drinking place, climbing up the wooden chairs and arriving at the small porch. By the side of the doorway was a porcelain vase filled with water. Miguel removed his boots and washed his feet, letting the water sift through the bamboo slat floor. As he dried his feet, he heard conversation from within. That the store wasn’t helping pay enough to cover for their fees and taxes, since everybody incurred beer debt and no one paid their dues. The voice was from a young woman speaking with a man.

He laid the boots beside the rest of the slippers and footwear and entered.

Now would be a good time, I think, to recount what our dear antingero was wearing during that time. He tells me that he wore a bamboo breastplate, called a pakil-kawayan, over a thickly- and tightly-braided abaca cord mail known as a barote, with an abaca undershirt underneath that reached his knees, called a habay-habay, in the style of the footsoldiers of the Empire. However, he wore no gauntlets nor gloves, and the sleeves of habay-habay only reached his elbows. Instead, he wore numerous bangles and bracelets, each one adorned by some divine or blasphemous image, or made of gold, or actual rosaries made from the bones of saints. Over it all he wore a straw rain cape which formed a triangle from his shoulders. His anting-anting, all ten of them, hung from his neck, but he concealed them within his habay-habay.

And, of course, he wore the salakot to protect his head, but he removed that as he entered into the eatery.

The eatery was mostly, with wide open windows letting air flow. A short-haired girl sat on a counter that lay infront of an annex, presumably where the kitchen is, wearing a baro’t saya get up: a blouse and a skirt. Par for the course for country girls. Stray strands of hair matted to her lightly sweating forehead, and her eyes had severely dark bags under them, as if she hadn’t slept in three days. When she heard the antingero walk in, she said, “Ah, welcome, ginoo.”

Miguel nodded at her. “Beer.”

“Bucket?” she asked, wiping he forehead with her panyo, or silk handkerchief. Miguel shook his head, and put up a finger to indicate that he only wanted one. She nodded, walking into the annex.

When Miguel had settled on a chair and bench on the corner, she was there with him, putting the bottle down. He smiled and nodded, and placed three silver pieces on the table. The girl nodded in return and picked up the pieces, before leaving. As the girl left, Miguel removed his salakot and placed it beside him. As he did, his eyes met with one of the many men eyeballing him. There were some women also sitting around, eating lugaw, or rice porridge, using a pamaypay, or a hand fan made of buri leaves, usually crudely done, to cool themselves.

Miguel averted his eyes, awkwardly.

It was at this time that Miguel had pulled out a pocket journal and had begun writing in it, using a quill and a crude inkwell in a wooden container, sealed tight with resin. He wrote the things that happened in his journey: his quick encounter with the tulisanes, who had let him go when he revealed that he was an antingero, as well as the small pig that he had to kill to get some meat for the journey. The random river where he got his water, and the one that struck out to him the most: the wooden spirit house that was now dilapidated and abandoned. He remembered then the stories from his grandparents, how during in the past these spirit houses were given to revere the nature spirits, but now not many people do it, for they believe Dyosveta to be the only god worth worshipping.

Every time they would end one of their stories about this past, they would end it with the chilling, “Now the nature spirits have abandoned us in turn.”

It wasn’t long before the scant number of men and women and children that sat around the small eatery were looking at him weirdly. Perhaps it was too early for beer, but in truth that never stopped him before. He contemplated on ordering some breakfast, some tapa with rice would do, when one of the men stood up. He tried his best not to freeze like some cat suddenly caught sneaking. He had left most of his weapons back in his cart, his bolo hung from his horse, and so did his arquebus.

The man did approach him, wearing the telltale white polo buttoned-down and red pants rolled up to above the shin of a farmer. No straw hat, but he did have with him a horribly smug demeanor. “Hoy, antingero.”

Miguel sighed through his nose. He drank another swig of his beer and looked up, raising an eyebrow. Miguel wore his curly black locks proudly.

“You think we like what you’re doing, huh?” asked the man, putting both hands on the table and leaning on it, nodding and grinning. “You think we approve of rebels, eh? You know that the Empire’ll smite ya? All we need is to go over to the kota.”

Miguel nodded, managing a slight smile. “I don’t want any trouble, ginoo.”

“Oh, of course you don’t. But then suddenly, you’ll attack innocent settlements and steal their goods and indoctrinate the good people to your cause, eh? We don’t need your stupid ideologies. We need the Empire to thrive.”

Miguel shook his head. “I’m not here to do politics.”

“Ah. So what are you here for?”

“I’m just passing through.”

“And where you headed?”

“To Pinagsama, ginoo,” said the antingero. “The city where all meet.”

“Ah, you’ve got a date there or something? Your nobya?”

Miguel gave the lightest of shrugs. “You could say that, ginoo.”

“Well, we don’t need any more seperatists, you got that?” The man spat on Miguel’s rain cape. “Your no value ideologies aren’t welcome here in Pantalan.”

Miguel sighed and nodded as the man walked back to his friends, muttering and talking with them. They were grinning, smiling, rolling their eyes.

Miguel looked down on his beer, and took another drink. Three-fourths of the way through, that breakfast sounded good.

Miguel was about to raise his hand to call for the young girl over the counter, but stopped himself midway through just as a woman burst in through the doors. Wearing a simple maroon skirt and blue shirt, her hair stuck up everywhere, frazzled. Her eyes were bloodshot and wide, and she was gripping her stomach. The woman had strangely sharp features, and wore gold necklaces and bracelets. Miguel wondered if she was principalia. “Aling Nenang!”

The girl behind the counter looked up. “Binibini Zeny?”

“Dayang, iha, where is your Aling Nenang? I need her help, please!” And the rest of the people in the eatery were on their feet, helping her to sit down and rest and lie and tell her tale. She was crying, or had been, with her cheeks glistening with tears.

Dayang had walked into the annex and come back out with a middle-aged lady, who rushed over to the woman, who had been named Binibining Zeny. “Zenaida, what happened? What’s wrong? What happened to your baby?”

“Oh, Aling Nenang,” and she wept. “Oh, my baby. My love! He has been removed from me, he has been eaten away from me! What a curse, what a horrible bleeding affront by the Devil!” And she wept all the more, and the people in the eatery comforted her by rubbing and patting her shoulders softly, and crooning with comforting words.

“How could you have miscarried? You were bearing a healthy child….” Aling Nenang placed a hand upon her belly, and shook her head. “Hay, what a tragedy, my binibini. Your child has been eaten.”

“Was it the manananggal?”

Miguel stared at his beer bottle.

“It is maybe so,” said Nenang. “Oh what a tragedy. Even within your stone house, your bahay-na-bato, you have been struck! Even with your tiled roofs and capiz shell windows! The monsters know now boundary.” And there was an uproar, even as the Binibini cried. “Come, let us return you to your father the Kapitan.”

Miguel sighed at this point, and I am with giddiness and excitement to tell you that he did, in fact, step in. He put his salakot on to maintain a sense of mystery—I tell you our antingero is a man of exquisite theatrics—and said: “You need a demon slayer?”

The people around him stopped, and stared at him with evil glares, as if he was anathema. But then, after a moment they all looked at each other with doubt. None of them knew truly about the malevolent spirits and creatures that abounded the Isles, and the antingero were known to be either experienced or educated about them, or at least some of them, for the creatures evaded taxonomy, and each one was a demon to each island.

Aling Nenang rose to her feet. “You’re an antingero, yes?”

Miguel nodded once.

“But you work for coin.”

“Aye. Sometimes shelter. Antingero are not well received, you know.”

“Well you know what they say, Aling Nenang,” spoke one of the farmers again. “It takes an aswang to know an aswang.”

Aling Nenang ignroed the raucous laughter that erupted from that quip. She bit her lip and then said: “Come with me to the kota, where the Kapitan is. Perhaps he is willing to pay you in exchange for your expertise.”

Miguel nodded again. He hadn’t wanted to, but his greater sense of justice and altruism got the best of him—he told me this, not me. Anyway, he rose from his seat, finished his beer, and then gestured for Aling Nenang to lead the way. Aling Nenang did, bringing with her the weak and sleep-deprived Binibini. The men and farmers gave him a wide berth, still eyeing him with disdain.

Miguel, with his horse Tahimik in tow, followed after Aling Nenang. They walked over the dirt path to the middle of the village, where stone walls over 15 feet tall that had stone arches for openings protected the richer families within. This was the fort, or in the local tongue, the kota, where most of the rich live.

“Sorry for the trouble, by the way. I heard Tonyo scaring you over there.”

“Ah, it’s all right. I get it all the time.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Miguel snorted. “Never expected sympathy.”

“Well, I sympathize with the rebels and the pulahanes and the tulisanes.”

“You do? Even as they plunder and terrorize your villages?”

“I’ve heard what they do,” Aling Nenang said, still guiding the binibini along. “They’re only forced into such violent confrontation becaese the Empire refuses to acknowledge them, and the Emperor specifically likes killing them to strengthen his power.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I was supposed to join them, when I was younger,” said the Aling Nenang. “But I decided against it, since I had a baby.”

“Oh? Was that the girl in the counter?”

Aling Nenang nodded. “She’s a good girl, even without a father. Devout, pious, easygoing. I’m one of the lucky ones, too. The Manananggal of Pantalan has been terorrizing our barangay for as long as I can remember. Even when I was pregnant, I went to sleep at night fearing this.”

“You weren’t attacked?”

“No,” said Aling Nenang, as she looked over to the glass-eyed Binibining Zeny. “I might’ve been lucky.”

“Do you have an albularyo here?”

Aling Nenang nodded. “A bit of a ways north, by the border of the forest. I spoke both with him and with our priest.”

“That explains it. Did you follow what the albularyo said?”

“Well, I followed both. I hung a buntot-pagi, a stingray tail, by the door and scattered salt around my house, and also prayed the rosary and placed the pentacle upon my door.”

Miguel snorted. “Following both. Good choice.”

“Is that why I wasn’t attacked?”

Miguel shook his head. “The monsters of the Islands don’t care for the Dyosvetan religion. To them, Dyosveta is just another bathala, another god in the pantheon of nature. Another sky god. Dyosveta might be powerful, but some creatures can ignore him. However, they cannot ignore their nature.”

“The buntot-pagi.”

“Yes. What else can you tell me about this manananggal?”

Aling Nenang licked her lips. “You could always ask the Kapitan, you know.”

“I put more trust in the words of the common folk than the nobility,” said Miguel. “The nobility, within their stone kota, can be separated from it all sometimes.”

“I guess you’re right. Well, the Manananggal has been around, like I said, for many years. Some say since the birth of Pantalan, a few hundred years ago when we were still a colony of Ysparanza. Others say the Manananggal changes every decade, and each Mananaggal was different, that some of them are kind.

“But one thing was for sure with the Manananggal of the past: they almost never attacked those within the kota.”

“Hm.” Miguel stopped and tied Tahimik down to a nearby fence right before they crossed a stone bridge over a moat. The kota was not grand, but it did its job. Moss and dirt and time had claimed the walls. “So the principalia never followed the albularyo, did they?”

“Perhaps some, but definitely not most.” She clicked her tongue, looking down at the Binibini. “Definitely not dear old Zenaida.”

Two armored guardsmen, known as kawal, stood on both sides, arquebuses at the ready. They gazed sharply at Miguel, their mouths in a strictly neutral line. “Beautiful morning to you, ginoo. We bring with you the Binibini, who must see a physician as quickly as possible.”

The kawal took another look at Miguel. “And the antingero?”

“I bring him with me for I believe he can help us with our manananggal problem.”

One of the kawal gestured for the other to frisk the antingero, and they did. However, they found no weapons upon the antingero, save for his anting-anting, and so they let him through. He, once again, left his armaments back on his horse.

“You may pass.”

“Thank you, ginoo.”

#

Past the walls, within the kota, the streets were wide and paved with red stone. Palm trees were set up all around, not as natural edifices but as decorations for the nobles to gawk at. The few houses that were by the gate were already beautiful: exquisite bahay-na-bato, similar to the bamboo stilt houses but with the stilts replaced by an entire basement layer and ground floor made of stone walls. Within, wooden stairs lead up to the living area, which is still separated from the ground floor by waxed wood. Capiz shell windows provided shelter from the light, but they were mostly wide open to let the cool air wind through. The roofs were made of ruddy brown and red glazed roof tiles, which provided protection from the overbearing sun.

The three of them walked through the road, where the ginoos and ginangs were lounging about. One of them—wearing the telltale barong tagalog, a button-up shirt made of transparent piña fiber—was singing to a woman, who wore an intricate butterfly-sleeved blouse and two layered skirt, which was called a baro’t saya. Children walked around wearing collared polos and slacks and leather loafers, carrying with them books and scrolls. Teenage girls walked around with abaniko, or hand fans made of wood and silk. Some of them had their fans pointed down, and the teenage boys that saw these girls would walk up to them, smiling and courting.

Miguel, unfortunately, had no time for that kind of trifle. Neither was he born part of the principalia.

As he passed by those that he saw, each of them looked at him with a mix of wonder and fear. Some young women hid their faces behind their abaniko, while others simply looked away in disgust.

Then a single young boy walked up to him, wearing an unbuttoned barong tagalog over a simple white shirt. He wore a panyo, or a handkerchief, around his neck. “O, ginoo, you are an antingero, are you not?” His grin was wide, and his voice was that brittle tone one would expect from an adolescent. “Please, teach me about your adventures! You’re so cool, with magic powers, like the knights of old!”

“Stay in school, child,” Miguel replied. “And don’t go around idolizing men like me. We’re no knights. We never had knights. Only warriors.”

“Huh? But our schools—“

“Your schools teach you the history of the oppressor, not the oppressed.” And Miguel had to catch up with Aling Nenang. The boy scowled at him.

Eventually, they arrived in the plaza, in the middle of it all. Beside a large stone church was a great bahay-na-bato, with many annexes, and with a backyard garden. A novelty only the principalia could have. Sitting by the window was a woman, sipping on tea, fanning herself with her abaniko. When she saw Miguel and Aling Nenang with Binibining Zenaida, she turned and immediately called to her house-help to bring them up to their living room.

The house of the Kapitan was large, as large as two bahay-na-bato combined. The living room was expansive, decorated with paintings bought overseas and white-and-blue porcelain from trade with the Siyanlei People of the northwest continent. A large piano sat in one side, and the living room itself had a coffee table adorned with literature written by great writers of the Eastern Kingdoms, such as Kazizki, de Fulgum, and Naquia. Two of the books on top were the ones written by injos of the islands, in other words natives: Cecil Tanyaga’s THE BROKEN BLACK TREE, an ancient poem, and THE CLAWS OF MORNING by Horatio Sapantaha.

Miguel had read them both, having been reared by antingeros, who treasured the native written literature as it held the ideologies they would cling to in the most darkest of hours when facing the tyranny of the Empire.

“Beautiful morning, Ginang Floreza,” said Aling Nenang to the woman. The Ginang’s was face slightly wrinkled but more or less fresh. Surprising for a woman of her age, Miguel supposed. “We’ve brought home your daughter.”

Of course, Floreza didn’t hear the rest. She fell upon her daughter and hugged her, bringing her close. “Oh Zenaida, why did you leave so abruptly? Oh, you poor child. Yaya? Please bring her to her room and give her proper water and help. Call Doctor Severo into Zenaida’s room so that he can take care of her.”

The helpers walked in, wearing nothing but a simple blue robe that allowed for air to flow. They carried Zenaida into a hallway, where the rooms were.

Ginang watched her disappear, and when she did, she turned to Miguel and Nenang. Her lips were drawn down into a seething scowl, although her “polite” upbringing made her keep her lips as neutral as possible. Somehow, that was even more searing.

“She came to you first?”

“Didn’t you know of the miscarriage?” asked Aling Nenang.

“Of course I did. The blood on her sheets was enough to tell me the truth. I didn’t know where she went, however. But, of course, she went to you.” And her mouth turned up in disgust. “And now I suppose you’d want a reward.”

“Oh, no not me. I am simply a friend of your daughter—“

“I should have never allowed Zenaida to walk out of the walls of the kota. She didn’t need friends like you.”

Nenang blinked. “Ginang, if my respect would be lost for a while, your daughter would have suffered intense shock and pain if I hadn’t brought her here. And she requires a physician.”

Ginang Floreza sat on one of the wooden couches, which had seatings made of Siyanlei cloth and down. “Shut up. If I hadn’t allowed her outside, she would’ve never met you, and she would’ve stayed here and never have miscarried.”

“Now, leave.”

Aling Nenang bowed low. “Of course, Ginang.”

“What, no thank you?” said Miguel grinning and crossing his arms.

Ginang Floreza stopped then, staring up at Miguel. Her face was one scandalized, as if she couldn’t expect such lowly scum like him to be talking to her. Like a demon speaking to a virgin. “Why have you brought an aswang into my midst?”

Aling Nenang never stood up from her bow. “Apologies, Ginang. The antingero is well-versed in the lore of the dark. Perhaps he will be able to help us with our manananggal problem.”

“I doubt it. We’ve hired antingero before. They’ve never succeeded.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow at that. An interesting tidbit.

“Tell me the details, and I might be able to help.”

“We don’t need it,” said Ginang Floreza, looking away and fanning herself. “I don’t consort with demons. Kawal—“

And as she yelled out, a man wearing an exquisite barong tagalog and slacks and leather shoes arrived, wearing spectacles and bringing with him a walking cane adorned with gold. He walked up the stairs into the living room.

“What is this?”

Aling Nenang turned and saw the man, and immediately bowed even lower. “Kapitan Verado!”

Ginang Floreza took one look at the man, and then looked away again. “She brought our daughter home.”

“Oh, Zenaida is home?!” He began hobbling forward, Ginang Floreza told him not to intrude, since she was in pain and the doctor will be tending to her. She told him that Zenaida had miscarried.

“Ah, dear. Oh, my Lord, my God, my beloved God,” he said, in a sorrowful tone, as he lowered himself to sit down upon a high-backed chair. “I must thank you, Aling Nenang. I must give you recompense, for your service. Here.” And he pulled out two gold coins. “Some escudo. May the God Above bless you.”

Aling Nenang bowed low once again, received the gold coins, and said, “Thank you, with all my heart, Kapitan.”

“Return to your home. I’m sure you have business to tend to.”

“Yes. Thank you again.” Aling Nenang stood up, and then looked to Miguel.

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself,” said Miguel. Aling Nenang nodded, and then walked down the stairs, and out of the house.

“It seems the manananggal problem that the rest of Pantalan has been suffering has caught up to you.”

The Kapitan’s white hair and light beard only emphasized his tired visage. “Yes. So brazen too, this manananggal, that they would attack so close to a church.”

“The manananggal might have gained enough strength to overpower the holy symbols of the church. Many creatures have.”

“How can anything be more powerful than God?” asked the Kapitan.

“Many things,” said Miguel. “But I am not here for that. I’m here to help.”

“Ah, antingero, coming to help. I was friends with many antingero in the past—it is why not a lot of bandits attack Pantalan—but lately the antingero have become more violent.”

Miguel shrugged. “The Empire pushes, and nature pushes back.”

Ginang Floreza’s gaze was enough to cut.

The Kapitan, however, cared not much for the politics. “I would gladly receive your help, and pay you in full.”

“Twenty gold pieces, real escudo.”

“Twenty?” The Kapitan stared at his cane, and then nodded. “Very well. That can be arranged. Anything to rid us of the Manananggal once and for all.”

Miguel nodded. “I need a few questions answered: when did this all start?”

“A hundred years ago, give or take. I’ve known that past Kapitan have also suffered this trouble. However, not until now did the manananggal come to attack within the kota.”

“So I’ve been told.” Miguel stroked his stubble in thought. “Have you killed anyone during this time?”

“Yes. We’ve thrown those we thought to be manananggal off to the lake to the west.”

“The name of the lake?”

“Laglagan,” said the Kapitan. His voice was tired. He called for the helpers to bring him some civet coffee. “Laglagan was the name.”

“What does your priesthood here tell you about the situation?”

“The manananggal are evil, but only because the townsfolk are evil. The manananggal come because they are being punished for their evil deeds and letting the devil into their lives.”

Miguel nodded again, but he knew what bullshit it was. “Then I don’t need to go speak with the priest, then.”

“Why not?” Cut in the Ginang.

“They know nothing, and I’d rather not have the church down my throat.” Miguel turned to the Kapitan and asked, “Do you have a place where there are a lot of banana trees?”

“Banana trees? Why do you ask? There are groves close to the lake.”

“Banana tree trunks are low and look similar to human bodies. Easy for a manananggal to hide her lower body in.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Any suspicious people?”

The Kapitan opened his mouth, but then shook his head. Ginang Floreza spoke: “That Nenang is pretty suspect.”

Miguel raised an eyebrow at that, and then said to the Kapitan—ignoring Floreza completely: “Any more details from the townsfolk?”

“Ah, I’ve… never heard much from the townsfolk.”

“They don’t talk about it?”

The Kapitan swallowed. “No, no. It’s just, I… I forget, sometimes.”

“Hm.” Miguel nodded. “All right then. That’s all I need, for now.”

“Does a demon slayer require downpayment?”

Miguel shook his head. “I always finish my job.”

#

Later that afternoon, with the sun softening its bright gleam, Miguel returned to Aling Nenang’s Eatery. There the people have begun to pile in as the day’s work was being finished.

Miguel had walked up to Aling Nenang and asked for salt and garlic. Aling Nenang, who knew why, gave him two batches in wooden containers, like condiments. Miguel couldn’t help but laugh. Aling Nenang laughed along too.

“Ah, my God. I’m glad you came along. The Kapitan just always sat there inside his stone kota and never cared. You know, until now. Must’ve been fate. You believe in fate, antingero?”

She said this as she cooked. It was getting humid hot inside the kitchen, and Miguel’s clothes began matting to his skin. “Yes,” said Miguel. “But only the ones that can be changed. Where’s your daughter?”

“Dayang? She goes to sleep early on, usually, and she studies at night. She has school, on the morrow.”

“So she usually does that? Sleep early and study at night?”

“The work gets too heavy at night, since everyone drinks and eats.”

“So she just stays at your home?”

She nodded. “Her room is in the annex over there. Ahm, please don’t disturb her.”

“Right.”

Aling Nenang raised an eyebrow. “What about the manananggal? You know, I’ve always suspected if Ginang Floreza was the manananggal. She’s always so uptight, loves to abuse people she doesn’t like, and she lives in the kota!”

“A possibility,” said Miguel nodding. “But that’s every principalia noble.”

“Or it could be my Kumare Rochelle? She’s always gone in the night, and always sleeps in the morning!”

“Never met her.”

“She’s pretty lazy.”

“That makes sense, then. Well, I’m sorry for keeping you. What are you going to do now?”

Miguel glanced at the annex where Dayang studied. “Test my first hypothesis, and go to where a manananggal always goes.”

#

Miguel walked west, departing from the bridle path. He wore his bolo—enchanted by spiritual magick, forged by a Katalonan-Panday—on a sheath on his side, and an arquebus behind him, just in case. He wore a shield on his back as well: a long kalasag made of hardwood. That was all he brought with him as he ventured. He had left Tahimik behind, not wanting to bring unto him any harm.

The walk to the lake wasn’t far. By the time he had arrived by the banana groves, he could hear the quiet sloshings of water against the shore, and the night was so dark one would not be able to recognize the person before them. Miguel brought with him an oil lamp to illuminate the way.

Thankfully—or perhaps, it was fate—the moon shone down upon them, providing a serene glow upon the night.

Miguel walked straight into the banana groves, looking with his eyes if there were any that resembled a human lower body. When the banana groves became indistinguishable, he put a finger to his lips and whispered “Patingin, patingin, sa lagim patingin. Buksan ang ilaw sa likod ng mata.” An orasyones.

His eyes suddenly clouded over, and then began burning a bright white, like stars shone behind them. Suddenly, he could see as good as day, and he turned his lamp off. He resumed his search, and the longer that went, the greater the throbbing of his head.

However, in the smack dab middle of the grove of bananas, he found it. Writhing and without intestines: a standing lower body, wearing no clothes, and with a skirt folded neatly beside it.

Miguel smeared the cloves of garlic upon the body, and then sprinkled salt upon it. As he did, the lower body sizzled, as if he were cooking upon charcoals.

And then, he turned off his lamp and walked to a nearby tree, hiding behind it. He closed his eyes and the effects of the orasyones faded away. Now, using only his ears, Miguel waited for the telltale sound of beating wings.

#

When the sound came, it was not a single pair, but two. One was quick, the other was slow. So slow that one would not be able to hear the second pair if one wasn’t accustomed to silence.

Using the orasyones again, Miguel activated his sight. He looked up, seeking the point in the sky where the noises were coming from, as he rose to his feet and unsheathed his bolo and kalasag. There! He saw them: one was a woman, completely naked, but with wings of great size, so voluminous that they were like dark moon crescents. Her hair was short, and her face was deadly familiar. Her wings beat rapidly, like a fly escaping a bat.

And truly, that analogy could not be more true, for chasing after her—and providing the second set of wings—was a huge creature, with skin midnight black, and with an overly long needle-tongue hanging, being pushed back by the winds.

As they neared, the manananggal looked familiar, even as her innards threatened to spill out. She wore a similar baro to the one he saw earlier….

Through his vision, he saw her face as she looked back at the demonic flying creature that chased after her.

Dayang, thought Miguel, his suspicions confirmed.

And the creature that chased after her, with wings a strange mix of an owl’s and a bat’s with an elongated neck and needle-tongue, was a tiktik. It flew fast but rarely beat its wings, and it flew even without wind, like a statue suspended by silence, moved by a ghost.

Miguel unsheathed his arquebus and pointed it up at the tiktik right as it flew by, for Dayang was seemingly flying in the direction of the lake. He pulled the trigger, and a blast of light erupted from its barrel, and a ball slammed onto the tiktik’s side. It roared without sound, and spasmed, but it continued on its path chasing Dayang, who was past the groves of bananas now.

Miguel slung the arquebus across his back and readied his bolo and kalasag, as he plunged into the banana groves. He passed by Dayang’s lower half and, with a quick sweep of his hand, removed the salt and garlic that still sizzled upon it. Then, he ran out the other side of the banana grove, and into the shores of the lake, where Dayang flew overhead, and the tiktik—as large as two men—followed after her.

“That’s a large tiktik,” said Miguel. “Unusually large.”

The tiktik was a creature of perseverance and Miguel knew that Dayang would be caught eventually. So he clambered on top of a boulder, and yelled at Dayang. “Over here!”

Dayang, thankfully, saw him, and scrambled toward the boulder. “Bring him low,” yelled Miguel again, and Dayang did so. She flew as close to the ground as possible without skidding across it, and then suddenly pulled up as she neared the boulder, clearing Miguel.

The tiktik, stupidly, followed suit, low and slow, tongue hanging uselessly. Its gut was so large that it skidded across the ground.

Miguel leapt off of the boulder and plunged his bolo deep into the tiktik’s back. It spasmed again, and this time it screeched. An inhuman screech that sent Miguel’s heartbeat into overdrive.

“Kalmado, kalmado, sa ngalan ng Santo ng Buwan.” He uttered the orasyon for calmness, one that would help defend against both mental assault and spiritual. He felt his heart slow, his mind clear up. Now, outside of the forest, the moon was bright upon their midnight battleground, and he could see enough to deactivate his sight orasyon.

The tiktik flailed, sending Miguel skidding ten feet away. But Miguel was quick, with his newly sharpened senses. He ran forward, his boots allowing him to ignore sharp rocks on the ground, and caught the tiktik’s long neck in a headlock just as it was beginning to ascend off the ground (which it did so in that eerie, wings non-moving manner, as if it could move itself without any movement). The tiktik flailed again, and the screech was so close to Miguel’s ears that they bled.

But Miguel, calmed, used the sharp edges of his kalasag to pierce the tiktik’s head and push it down. He used the kalasag’s edges to pin the tiktik to the ground as he raised his bolo. But then, the tiktik’s needle-tongue punctured Miguel’s hand, and flung his bolo away into the water. The needle-tongue flailed wildly a few more times, twice striking his exposed arms, once striking his brow, ripping skin off.

Following that, the tiktik’s needle-tongue struck Miguel’s chest. But his three layer armor managed to stop the needle-tongue from piercing deep. One of his anting-anting—the one made to protect from darkness—vibrated.

“God damn you, you ugly bitch mother.” Miguel grabbed the needle-tongue—which was sharp and long enough to be a kris—and with a yell of effort, ripped it from the tongue itself. The tiktik shrieked in pain, and it flailed, even as its bat-bird wings flailed ineffectually and still slowly.

Breathing, Miguel pulled his leg back and stomped his boot down upon the tiktik’s head. And then, with the tiktik’s own needle-tongue (which still disgustingly writhed, for it was organic) he impaled the tiktik’s head into the ground.

That was the only time the tiktik stopped moving.

“Back to nature with you,” said Miguel, breathing heavily. He pulled back and stretched. Pain seared through his brow and hands, but it was nothing he hadn’t handled before.

He pulled the kalasag up from the ground, and pulled it on his back again. When he turned to retrieve his bolo from the lake, he saw that Dayang, the Manananggal, had retrieved it for him, and brought it back to him, still half-bodied.

“Thank you for… taking care of the tiktik.”

“Hm.” Miguel sheathed his weapons. “I assume you haven’t been eating fetuses?”

Dayang shook her head. “Not all manananggal do,” she said. “We’re fine eating pigs and fish. Sometimes the fetus of cows and carabaos, if we’re especially hungry.”

“But you’ve never eaten any fetuses. Not Binibining Zenaida’s?”

Dayang shook her head and held her arms. “I’m… no. I have only been manananggal for 4 years. It’s… a difficult existence. I can hardly stay awake at school. But, so far I’ve been able to avoid any suspicion. Which is good.” Dark circles wreathed her eyes. “I don’t need to eat much, though, which is good for the Eatery.”

“So it’s the tiktik that’s been eating fetuses.”

“For more than two hundred years, apparently.”

“Ah,” Miguel nodded. “That’s how it got powerful enough to ignore the church.”

“It was more powerful than God?”

“Many things are,” said Miguel. There was a silence as the lake’s gentle waves underlined their uncertainty. “The rest of your life will be like this,” continued Miguel. “Until you can pass it on.”

“Yeah. That’s what Maria told me.”

“Maria?”

“The one who made me manananggal in the first place. Gave me the black chick so she can finally pass on.”

Miguel nodded. The both looked at the tiktik. It had begun to decompose already, darkness eating away at it. “What made you agree?”

“Love,” said Dayang. “I loved her.”

“How old was she?”

“Two hundred and thirteen. She became manananggal when she was 17.”

“And you’re?”

“19.”

“Hm.” And then silence took over once again. The moon watched them carefully, waiting for what virtue will erupt from their hearts.

#

The next day the antingero, who hadn’t gotten a wick of sleep, went to the Kapitan with the sharp blade that was the needle-tongue. Realizing what the antingero had accomplished, with the needle-tongue as proof, the Kapitan gave him 20 gold pieces, saying that he deserved it for ‘finally riding Pantalan of a century-old curse.’

The antingero thanked him, and then left with a leather bag filled with clanking gold coins.

He went over to the now just opening Eatery as it was ten in the morning. Dayang was setting up the place as the first few customers were piling in, ordering the usual. Aling Nenang was still sleeping, so Dayang made sure to prepare some breakfast meals to sell.

“You all right?�� asked Miguel.

Dayang smiled and nodded. She looked not as haggard as when she was, well, half a body, but her dark bags still underscored her otherwise pretty eyes. “Yeah. Um, a bit of a stomach ache, but it’s mostly gone now.”

Miguel apologized, saying that it was the last few bits of salt and garlic he had forgotten to remove. Dayang said it was okay. Miguel placed the leather bag in her hands. “Keep it.”

“What’s this?”

“For the Eatery. Stay safe, and be blessed.”

Dayang blinked, and she looked into the leather bag. When she saw what was inside, she shook her head and began to protest—

But Miguel didn’t care. He was already climbing down the stairs, deaf to Dayang’s protestings. He untied Tahimik from his horse, and sent him into a canter and out of barangay’s northern arch, which read “Thank you, come again!”

#

And thus ends, our tale, as recounted by the antingero himself, Miguel Nagbulan. This was not written to sway popular opinion in favor of the rebels, but it is both a tale to entertain and to make you think. Make you think about the people that you deem as aswang.

May you all be blessed, and may you all have a beautiful day.

Signed MIGUEL NABGULAN and ALFONSO VALARAO on this 25th Day of the San Petro Moon, 116th Year of the Pearlescent Empire, after the freedom of the Archipelago.

[myhockeyworld87]

Choices - Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn - Part 1

Alright, here is the new series I’ve been promising. So remember the books,(and now they have apps) where you chose your own adventure? Well it’s kind of like that. I’m going to try and post this every Wednesday; I will then wait 48 hours for people to vote and tell me how the next part should go. You can do this by commenting in the notes or shooting me a message in my Ask Me Anything box if you want to be anonymous. This is either going to be a great idea I had or really dumb. I guess we will see….haha. I just thought it would be a fun way to be a little more active with everyone. I may give it an extra day since this is the first part. Anyway feedback is appreciated. It will jump from different points of views as well.

Word Count: 1630

POV: Tyler

Song Inspiration: Dreamer by Kari Kimmel

Warnings:  None

Notes: So full disclosure, I used to sing in a band for years and sometimes when I listen to those songs again; I get inspired to write. This one totally made me think of a love triangle and who better than Tyler and Jamie. Hope you guys like this. Peace, Love and Hugs Y’All!

It was somewhat exciting to finally meet the woman who had captured Jamie’s attention. She was all he seemed to talk about these days; and from the sounds of it she was really something special. So when he came to you with the idea that you two double date tonight; you had no problem saying yes. It wasn’t like you had someone special in your life, just a regular that you called on from time to time; though she liked to claim she was your girlfriend. As long as you got what you needed, and she kept you off her social sites; you saw no harm in the moniker.

Walking into the quaint little lounge with Kathleen, you saw Jamie seated at a table close to the front. Jamie’s girl was new to the area, moving here for a job; though she had a gig singing at a club from time to time. Tonight being one of those nights. “Hey guys,” Jamie greeted you. “It’s good to see you again Kathleen.” Luckily Kathleen wasn’t too bright and missed the side eye Jamie gave you. He kept insisting the doe-eyed girl was bad news; vaguely you wondered if he was right. “(Y/N) is up shortly, then after her set, she’ll join us.”

“Do you think you could get any closer to the stage Chubbs? I don’t think I can see anything from here.” You had to give him a hard time. It was easy to tell he was in love.

“Whatever Segs. Try not to be an ass tonight.”

A waitress came by and took your drink orders, Jamie knowing her name; since he’d become a regular here. “What me an ass? Never.” Mockingly you put your hand to your heart; as if Jamie’s accusations hurt you. “In all honesty I’m anxious to meet this woman, who you can’t seem to stop talking about.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet her. I’m sure you’re going to love her just like I do.” Kathleen faked coughed; as if to draw attention to herself. Jamie was right you really needed to cut the poor girl loose; she was only a plus one, here to be silent and look pretty, that was all.

The lights dimmed then, a spotlight focused on an empty piano on stage; drawing the attention of the audience. Slowly band members came in focus, before a figure hidden in shadows made their way onto the stage. At that moment you could only see her hourglass figure; something that appealed to your masculine nature. As she took the seat at the piano, the details of her face came into focus; they were details that were familiar to you. It was only her profile but you would swear on a stack of bibles you knew that face; it haunted you in your dreams. Notes floated to your brain, as her fingers deftly moved over the keys. It was a sad melody, one you didn’t recognize; but then her voice broke through the fog in your brain.

Used to laugh aloud when you’re around,

now your far away

Can’t even hear me

Every other word you said to me

As I fell asleep

Are now, just fading whispers

I can’t remember

I believe we were in this together

Giving everything for a chance at forever

It all started rushing back to you. Two summers ago in Toronto, you’d met her at some boating party; she’d been a guest of a friend and had immediately captured your attention. The two of you had flirted wildly, and it wasn’t a surprise to anyone when you took her home that night to your downtown apartment. From there it had been one passionate night after another. She was a fire that wouldn’t quit burning inside you; nor did you want it to die. She would work during the day and you would train; but every night was spent together. To say that you fell fast and hard, would be an understatement; you fell madly in love with her days after knowing her. It was as if you couldn’t get enough of her.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better

And I thought you had a dream here too.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better

Cause now I have to live, have to live

In this dream without you.

On the weekends, you took her to your house on the lake; where at night you would lay out on a blanket and look at all the stars. She told you all her dreams, and you’d confided yours in turn. She’d always had a passion for singing, and she had the voice of an angel; though it didn’t pay the bills. So, instead she sang for fun. She would sing in the shower, until you joined her and then instead of a melody filling the room, it was her moans; you could still hear them. Though now her voice was filled with sadness, as the song in the present continued.

With every other word you made me yours,

With every wish you breathed, and every promise.

How did ya read my mind, tell me every line that I longed to hear,

Well you were so convincing, but you left me empty.

I remember when we were both so naive,

And now you’re telling me that you never believed.

The two of you would make love for hours. Then you’d lay in bed, holding her in your arms; as you whispered how you never wanted to let her go. How you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. All those words had been true then, you believed them as much as she did. You had painted a beautiful picture of the two of you; happily married, kids running around the house. It was what you both wanted; even thought that’s where you were headed.

When did it all become too much

And couldn’t you fight a little harder for us.

You traded dreams for reality, and promises you couldn’t keep

And nothing was the way it seemed.

The words resonated in your brain. How did things go wrong? You’d made her promises of love, of a life filled with forever. But then you’d gone back to Dallas, and all those promises got thrown out the door in one night, when you’d let too much alcohol get the best of you. You’d woken up with some random chick draped across you. Vaguely, you remembered rushing out of the room and calling (Y/N), though it was too late. Mike Stud, had captured your little tryst on Instagram; the thirty seconds did more damage than you could’ve ever thought. She didn’t answer the phone for two days, and when she did, she told you to go to hell; and so you did. Drinking and partying, trying to forget the one woman you wanted to spend your life with. Until now, now you were sitting front row, while she sang what was undoubtedly a song about the two of you.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better;

And I thought you had a dream here too.

I’m a dreamer, who should’ve known better;

Cause now I have to live, have to live in this dream without you.

I should’ve known better.

Oh and I thought you had a dream here too

I’m a dreamer who should’ve known better

because now I have to live have to live in this dream without you.

As the last strands of the melody faded away, you felt a tear slide down your cheek.She didn’t need to live a life without you; you were right here. You could have everything back; only now she was with your best friend. Who when you looked over was beaming with pride, at what you were sure was the love of his life. Anger boiled inside you, it wasn’t fair; Jamie couldn’t be in love with her; not when (Y/N) was yours.

The next thought that jumped into your head, was how in the hell was she with Jamie? Your mind raced back to what Jamie had told you about her. They met at the supermarket of all places, she’d slipped or something; you couldn’t recall the exact details. Distantly you remembered him saying something about her not knowing he played hockey; but he really hadn’t gone into specifics. You searched your mind to try and recall if you’d ever talked about Jamie to (Y/N) two years ago; but you weren’t sure. The two of you had focused solely on each other, not really caring about the outside world. Of course she knew you played hockey for the Dallas Stars; so how did she not connect the dots with Jamie. There were a million questions, swirling around in your head; and only one woman could answer them. Currently, she was up on stage belting out another tune. There was no way you could sit there another second; your heart was beating fast and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Excusing yourself from the table you got up; walking straight out the door. It took you a full five minutes before you could collect yourself and go inside.

——————————————————————————————————————

Alright, now it’s your turn to make the next choice in the story. Should Tyler:

Walk back inside and go straight back behind stage to confront you.

Walk back inside, sit back down at the table and wait for a better opportunity to talk to you.

Walk back inside and pretend he doesn’t remember you.

Walk away! This was a stupid idea and I should just end this story.

The choice is your. You can send your A, B, C or D answer in the comments or to my Ask Me Anything box if you’d like to remain anonymous.

[emilycollins00]

if it's not much of a bother, can i ask for a scenario where izumi has a little sister (reader) and she visits the mankai company one day because she misses her? how would the actors (you can pick who!) react knowing that all the acting genes went to the little sister and how do they find out about it? uwu thank you very much~ ღ

So sorry for the delay! It was really nice to come up with the idea so thank you very much for the prompt sweetie! 💕 

 Hope you like it 

-

Mankai watching Izumi’s sister! reader acting for the first time

It was Thursday morning and being weekday, everyone was running in and out around the dorm; students were in school, adults were on their jobs and you were about to ring the doorbell for the fifth time, when a man in a green suit with patches came out followed by a talking bird.

“Stupid Matsukawa, stupid, stuuupid!”

You wondered if that was the norm around there.

“Will you shut it!” the man with old clothes scolded the animal as he turned to concentrate on the call. He bowed repeatedly to an invisible person “I’m so sorry sir!, I must have taken it to the opposite place…ugh?! Y-you need it that early?! I-I’m outside now, so I’ll run to-!

Unsure, you tried to catch his attention, seeing he might be gone before you could talk “Uh…” He turned, breathing so heavily that you jumped a bit “Hi, sorry I’m Izumi’s-”

The man didn’t even let you finish, “Director! She has gone to help a fellow theatre so you can wait inside! I need to solve some matters but Kamekichi will show you the way” he pointed to the bird flying over you two. At this point, you were barely following what was going on “Now, if you’ll excuse me!”

Before you could even respond, the manager of Mankai had already sprint to try and fix whatever accident had happened. You scratched your neck. 

“Come inside, visitor, it’s too hot outside!” he yelled, “I’m going to get a sunburn!”

You pulled out your phone as you eyed the talking bird. Hadn’t expected your surprise visit to turn out like that. You were thinking about actually calling Izumi but...

You lifted your head “Okay little bird, guess I’ll enter. You’re right that it’s too hot to wait here anyway”

“My name’s Kamekichi, you dumbo!”

The bird turned and you followed him inside the big dorm. Excusing yourself before taking your shoes off, you waited for a response that didn’t come. For being such a big place filled with people, as Izumi always said, it sure was empty.

You roamed around the area, not sure if to stay in the lounge or investigate a bit as you waited. It was spacious and something smelled great over what you guessed was the kitchen “Curry…?”

A happy smile reached your face when you saw it was indeed curry. You had missed Izumi’s cooking so much now that she lived here. But you heard her so happy about the theatre that instead of asking her again to try and make time to go home, you took the first train in the morning to go to Veludo.

Gaining more confidence, you decided to look around some more, finding in no time the big courtyard.

“Everyone lives around the garden!” placing himself on your shoulder, Kamekichi had taken the guide role seriously. The bird had been talking non-stop, pointing with his beak different places and random objects you two found on the way.

…There was an insanely big amount of triangle objects laying around, now that you noticed.

“Mmm?” reaching one of the benches, you found what seemed to be a script. Not surprising, taking into account there was always supposed to be a few plays in motion.

You hesitated, but in the end, you couldn’t help but want to take a short look. You had read such great comments about Mankai, it had been a pity you lived so far to make it between your classes and works “Oh… this is pretty interesting?” flipping the pages, you found yourself needing to know more about how that play would turn out. The characters' dialogues were really good and, at some point, unconsciously, you found yourself reciting the lines out loud, enthusiastically.

So enthusiastically, that you had effectively caught the attention of the few dormant that hadn’t noticed a new person from inside their rooms.

                                          ..................................

“Thank god we are finally here!” Izumi left the bags on the entrance as Tsumugi held the door so Tasuku could bring some boxes inside “Matsukawa-san…?” she hummed as she opened again her phone. 

“Something wrong?” Tsumugi walked next to her as they both headed towards the living room.

Izumi frowned, her fingers moving around the screen “Yeah, looks like he mistook another… Uh, guys? What are you…? Banri-kun, what are you doing here?!”

The autumn leader rolled his eyes while Citron greeted them with a whisper and Azuma smiled. All three of them were looking at the courtyard in silence.

“We were enjoying the performance. Cute, right?” Azuma pointed at you, moving around in the garden “She has been reading out loud the script someone from the summer troupe must have left. I have to say, I’m impressed”

“Yeah, don’t know who she is but she sure has some freakin’ skills man”

Izumi’s eyes opened wide when she heard your voice. No way that was you. When...?

“Yes, she is very amazing! No matter how much noise Banri or me made when we left the rooms, she did not get distracted!”

It was true. You were so immersed in the script that you had barely paid attention to what surrounded you. That’s how good you thought the script was. You were just about to turn when something grabbed you, making you scream.

“Y/N!”

“I-Izumi?”

“Why are you here? Wait, I’m confused, did we arrange anything? Sorry not being here! I’m usually around the dorm but a fellow theatre asked us to help carry some props and they usually help us so much that-“

You smiled. Your sister was one hell of a bouncing ball since you had memory “We didn’t decide anything! I just really missed you so I decided to drop by”

Izumi gasped and tightened the hug, saying over and over how happy she was to finally see you again and how much she had missed you too. You laughed, squeezing her too and enjoying her warmth and familiar smell.

“Were you here long?”

“For a bit. I think it was the manager who let me in and, uh, the bird showed me around?” 

She nodded, understanding the confusion in your voice “Yes, they are… anyway” releasing you, she looked at you up and down “You look great! I’m so happy you are here. Come, let me present you some of the actors. Others are working and the youngest in high school… well, at least all were supposed too” she glared at Banri.

The crowd that had awaited watching the sibling exchange approached you, still shocked by finding out you two were related.

“So you are director’s sister?”

“Pleased to meet you, Y/N-san”

“It is so happy to meet you, yes! Let us hear stories from young times later!“

“Yo, little director, not bad”

You now understood why Izumi said they had a vast variety of personalities within the dorm “Nice to meet you!” 

“These are Citron, Azuma-san, Banri-kun and… Tsumugi, where’s Tasuku?”

“Was she the one acting?” a man the age of Izumi, pretty well built, had appeared from inside, eyeing you with an intense look in his eyes “I could hear from the entrance. Good voice projection”

“This is Y/N, my sister”

“That delivery was indeed really beautiful” the young man with light blue hair smiled at you and you couldn’t help but blush at the compliment “I’m assuming it’s not your first time”

“Fufu we did have fun seeing your acting”

“After deciding you were not a spy, of course!”

��You wanted to hide embarrassed. Just how many people had been watching you? “I’m so sorry! I took this script and read it out loud” you held the script and gave it to Izumi.

Banri whistled, hands inside his pocket “You gave it a good read too. So that’s where all the actin’ from Yukio-san went to, uh”

“We will have a talk later about you being here on a school day, Banri-kun… I wouldn’t be speaking so cheekily”

Tsumugi laughed nervously at the exchange, turning again to you “Do you act, perhaps?”

You considered it “I’m doing theatre but it’s a small club. It’s a hobby rather than the passion Izumi and our father had”

“Don’t say that, you guys are great! You really need to rethink about doing theatre, I could help you with…”

Every one of the actors could already picture just how many times you two must have had that same conversation, judging by your face. Tasuku decided to interfere.

“You know, I wasn’t able to watch you, care if we do an improv here?”

“Ah, as expected of one of our biggest acting addicts” 

“I too want to perform the improv!”

Azuma looked at you, smiling softly when he noticed you fidgeting. Before you could reject anything though, Izumi answered for you “That’s such a great idea!”

Guess you didn’t have a choice.

                                         …………………………………….

“We’re back!”

“I can smell curry even from here…”

“Masumi-kun, stop! I’m sure director will be there even if you…!”

“F in the chat, I’m so tired, Tenten…!”

“Why are you looking at me like I should do something about it?!”

“You guys tell me, I still need to get to my part-time job as soon as we finish lunch…”

The summer and spring members entered the dorm chatting with each other, as always, when Sakuya stopped and headed to the garden, hearing the noise “Why is everyone outside?”

The rest followed. There you stood facing Tasuku with a Citron hiding behind in the middle of the courtyard. The others were sitting on the benches listening to you three.

You kicked the floor “What do you mean we can’t go?!” you pointed to yourself and Citron “You promised us!”

“I’m not repeating myself. Work piled up”

“But…!”

The green-haired designer of Mankai raised his eyebrows “Who’s that?” 

“Are they doing a skit?”

“Looks like it”

Tenma crossed his arms, watching your movements… you were actually pretty good.

“...Is it me or she looks like director?”

                                                   …………………….

“That wasn’t half bad” Tasuku smiled when you all finished.  

“I too did enjoy it in the performance of us siblings against a strict father!”

“You are even better than I remembered, Y/N!” you couldn’t help but chuckle when you saw your sister’s happy face. Opening your mouth to call her out, applause followed behind you.

“That was so amazing!!”

When did all those people come from?! You turned to see more actors watching you from the lounge. You glanced at your sister and she smiled “I guess we could take a break and have lunch together, you all deserve it!”

You nodded, entering inside to introduce yourself to the rest of them. You couldn’t wait to see what else was to find out about Mankai.

EXTRA:

“So you two are sister...?”

“Yup!”

“Never would have guessed it, acting-wise”

“Same! Your acting skills were EPIC! Do you have instablam?” 

“Sister-in-law... need to get her blessing- muhpm!”

“Masumi, don’t!” both Sakuma and Tsuzuru shut him up covering his mouth before you heard anything. You narrowed your eyes, letting it be.

“....anyway, I saw there’s curry? I’m so excited!” you mentioned as you all entered inside.

Izumi gasped beaming as she grabbed your arm “Oh, you just wait to try it, Y/N! I found these spices the other day that…!

You two chatted heatedly about new recipes you both had created as the actors looked at each other with entertained expressions. Maybe you two didn’t share acting genes… but it looked like the curry obsession really ran in your family’s blood. 

___________________________________________________________

Have a wonderful day! 💕

Edit: If interested, here is a kind of sequel to this Sister! reader with the autumn troupe

[terror-that-flaps-in-the-evening]

Words and Scribbles

The first time Launchpad had to go out on an adventure with Mr. McDuck and the kids after he and Drake started dating, he left Drake a coloring book and asked him to do his daily colorings for him. Drake had really done his best before that to shrug his shoulders and say, “Oh, yeah, I’ll be fine here alone.” He’d been so nonchalant about it - telling everyone who asked that yea, he’d miss his boyfriend, but he’d be fine. He wouldn’t worry.

The coloring book was the straw the broke the camel’s back, however. Drake, despite telling everyone who asked him that, no, of course he wasn’t going to cry when Launchpad went out of town indefinitely on one of Mr. McDuck’s crazy, life-threatening, potentially world-ending adventures. He was a grown adult, and he could handle being alone for a few days, weeks, months, whatever it took. 

He was a grown adult who was trusted by his boyfriend with his coloring book for the duration of an indefinite trip. Drake knew that Launchpad loved relaxing at the end of the day by scribbling away at the pictures inside - he knew the weight that was being handed to him in between the covers of such a simple and childish gesture.

So, yeah, Drake Mallard was a little bit of a sobbing mess the first time his boyfriend left home to go out on an adventure with his other family. For an hour after Launchpad left, Drake lay curled up on the floor in his living room, clutching at the coloring book that was left to him and wishing that he could call Launchpad. 

He was pretty sure there was some sort of rule on airplanes that all cell-phones had to be turned off, though. At least on the commercial flights he’d taken. He wasn’t entirely sure if Della and Launchpad followed those same customs, but he certainly wasn’t going to endanger quite literally everyone he really knew just for a phone call to a duck that had only been gone for an hour.

Drake wasn’t completely useless, however. So, after only a few hours of moping about, Drake managed to drag himself off the floor and into the kitchen, where he promptly started tearing up again as he realized that he was making himself a dinner for one. Sure, he’d gotten a lot of his cooking out of his system when he was meal-prepping for Launchpad, the kids, Mr. McDuck, and Mr. McDuck’s niece and nephew, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have it in his heart that he should be cooking for at the very least himself and his boyfriend.

Drake ended up making himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and practically throwing himself in one of the dining room chairs - which gave a dangerous creak from the force of which he plopped down. New dining room furniture, he noted, was something he needed to work on once S.H.U.S.H. started paying him…

Once he had devoured his childish dinner, he realized that he had a much more childish task to attend to. Drake flipped open the coloring book, tracing the crayon lines that had already been colored in by his boyfriend with his fingers, letting his mind drift to all the times that they’d been laying on the couch together, watching Darkwing Duck while Launchpad scribbled away.

He flipped through the pages slowly, admiring each and every page, despite the ultimate simplicity that the nature of the activity dictated. It wasn’t until he got to the first uncolored page that his heart dropped out of his chest once again as a piece of paper floated down out of the coloring book. He picked it up and read,

“Heya, Drake! This is Launchpad, obviously. I am writing here as instructions. You have to follow them. That’s the rules. They’re easy, because I don’t like hard games. Just color for me, like I said before I left (Thanks past Launchpad!). Then after you color, you get another paper. From me. Launchpad. Get coloring!”

The note was written in crayon, with alternating colors featuring some of their favorites and some random splashes of color. There were little scribbles and doodles all around the note, some of which looked vaguely like hearts that had been half scribbled out, then redone. A few of the longer words had a few crossed out versions in front of them, but no matter because in Drake’s heart, it was the world’s best piece of literature. Drake took the note over to the fridge, placing a Darkwing Duck magnet over it to hold it in place. 

As childish as he felt doing it, Drake grabbed Launchpad’s box of crayons, curiously labeled “Launchpad’s! Do not eat!” Drake made a mental note to ask Launchpad if someone else had tried to eat his crayons before. Drake picked out a plum purple and began to darkly color the outline of the train that was sprawled out on the page in front of him. Once he’d finished his dark outline, he lightly colored in the body with varying shades of purple, creating what he’d call a work of art compared to Launchpad’s wild scribbles - not that he disliked the fact that Launchpad just went wild on the page with the pack of crayons. It was cathartic to watch his boyfriend do, and it was comforting to have that piece of him here now that he was out in the air somewhere, on the way to adventure.

The first day after Launchpad left, Drake went to the coloring book as soon as he woke up, very tempted to unfold the note that lay on the next page (Labeled, “No peeking!”) before he finished the coloring of the lion that lay on that page, but Drake knew that Launchpad’s first question would be whether or not he followed the rules, so he managed to hold back his eagerness to hear from his boyfriend.

Once he finally finished coloring the lion with an unfortunate thorn in its paw (Drake had added the splinter and a tear to the drawing - for dramatic effect!), Drake eagerly slipped his finger under the fold in the paper and flipped it open.

“Day one of no Launchpad. You must be sad. I know I am. In between being scared for my life, that is! Adventures are crazy. I am probably being very brave right now. You are probably being very brave too - being Darkwing alone. I am going to buy you a sooveneer.” 

Drake made a mental note to tell Launchpad how to spell souvenir. He also made a mental note to tell Launchpad just how much this entire thing meant to him. It felt like he might not be entirely alone, what with Launchpad’s good natured-ness still there to envelop his heart in warmth. Reading the note, he could hear his boyfriend’s voice echoing through his head, and he could practically picture him laying on the floor in the McDuck manor garage, tongue stuck half out as he scribbled away notes and carefully folded them into little origami triangles to hide in the coloring book. 

Each day only made Drake appreciate the gesture more and more. On day three (After coloring a picture of a pond full of fish, to which Drake drew in a shark), the letter read, “Things are probably getting rough on my end. I say they’ve gotten in three arguments by now! I’ll keep count and we can see when I get home! Have you caught any good bad guys? By good, I mean bad. By bad I mean extra bad. Extra bad-baddies. The mean kind. Answer here _______________. Tell me about it when I’m home.”

Drake scribbled away his answer in the small space provided, telling a story about a particularly rude villain that he arrested - he had gotten called a creepy cosplayer while he was in the process of tying up the guy. Drake drew a little picture of him, taking the liberty of adding devil horns. He made sure to leave the picture colorless, so Launchpad had something to do when he got back. Drake added the note and his own addition to his fridge collection. Another day closer to having his boyfriend back.

Day four was a coloring sheet of a small duck strumming away at a guitar. Drake wrote the notes for the Darkwing Duck intro above the guitar and drew a little smiley face. “Let’s Get Dangerous,” he wrote above the picture after he finished coloring it, proud of his handiwork for the day. He’d earned the next note.

“Heya! It’s LP again. I’d hope you know that by now. Today is a scavenger hunt. Or, sort of. Just go to the bedroom, and go under the bed. Or, look under the bed. There is a box that says, ‘Launchpad’s Do not Eat,’ on it. It has something for you. Miss you.”

Drake resisted the urge to run to the room immediately - instead he took the time to pin up the note alongside the first three. By the time he made it to the bedroom and dug the little shoebox out, he was shaking with anticipation. He opened the lid, and his jaw dropped. Within the shoe box was one of the few pieces of Darkwing Duck memorabilia that he had not managed to obtain yet - the classic Darkwing Duck slippers that went for hundreds online. Drake felt himself tearing up again as he put his feet into the cute little cartoony versions of his childhood hero.

On day five, Drake woke up with his entire body aching from the fight with a few of the Beagle Boys he’d had the night before. Usually when they woke up after a rough fight, Launchpad would massage his back for a while, he’d massage Launchpad’s back, and then they’d make breakfast together. Instead, he hobbled out of bed and made himself some toast. He immediately got to coloring, eager to see what awaited inside. He took his time filling the drawing of two ducks riding a tandem bicycle, trying to add features to the two to make them look more like him and Launchpad. He wasn’t sure how successful he was, so he ended up just labeling them in the end. He eagerly unfolded that day’s note, ready to hear it sounding out to him in his boyfriend’s voice in his brain.

“LP here! Mr. McDee said it’d only take a little bit, so maybe I’ll be home soon. Here’s a Hamburger Hippo coupon I saved for you. Get yourself dinner! I miss you. Or, I will miss you. I am Launchpad from the past. OooooOOOooooOoooo, spooky!”

The entire letter was surrounded in drawings of clocks and little ghosts. There were also a few of what Drake could only assume were supposed to be ghost clocks. Drake’s fridge was starting to look more like an art museum than a fridge, but he wasn’t complaining. Each time he saw the letters that peppered his fridge, his heart started fluttering all over again. He couldn’t wait to see Launchpad again - the second his boyfriend came knocking on his door, he’d get attacked with the full force of a flying, climbing, scaling hug that would no doubt end up with Drake clinging to Launchpad for hours.

Day six was laundry day. Usually they’d end up having a sock fight when they were trying to fold the clothes. Instead, Drake folded the clothes in record time with a sagging heart. His heart fell even further when he saw the coloring scene he had for the day - it was a sock. Who puts a sock in a coloring book? Drake made a mental note to look up who in the world designated the drawings that went into this coloring book so he could have a word with them. Once he finished, he eagerly grabbed the note that was stuck in that page, unfolding it to see,

“Laundry day. I probably need laundry day. Jungles don’t have washing machines. Fun fact. From Launchpad. Your boyfriend. I will throw a sock to say I miss you. In the future, not now. I am past Launchpad. Throw a sock for me too. Miss you,” Drake grabbed one of the pairs of socks he’d just folded, ripped the two socks from each other, and hurled one of them as far as he could. Somehow, it landed on top of the fridge. At least when he would have to ask Launchpad to get it down, he’d have proof that he was following the rules… Drake pinned the note up on the fridge, and continued on with his day.

Day seven. A week had passed. Drake found it hard to believe that he hadn’t heard Launchpad for a week. He hadn’t seen him for a week. He saved the coloring and note for that day until right before bed - wanting to cherish each second that he could of looking forward to it. As he was coloring away at the picture of the day - a monkey hanging from a tree (Drake was adding bananas to make it more fun), he heard a knock at the door. 

Drake thought he must be hearing things - no way was Launchpad back so soon! He carefully closed the coloring book and lay it on his bed, somehow managing to fight the urge to just toss it and sprint to the door. He felt his legs turning to jelly as he walked to the door, wearing the slippers that his amazing boyfriend had somehow acquired for him.

Drake just knew that the moment he opened the door, it would turn out to be the mailman, someone who had the wrong door, an assassin sent to kill him, anyone but --

He swung the door open and felt his heart stop. There he was. Launchpad McQuack, in the flesh. Drake ran full force into the mountain of a man, who immediately picked him up to swing him around. “Don’t ever leave again,” Drake mumbled through his tears into Launchpad’s chest. He took in the scent of the man - how he’d missed that strange combination of baby shampoo, oil, leather, mustard, and a slight cologne-y smell. 

“I missed you,” Launchpad squeezed the air out of Drake’s lungs, but it wasn’t something Drake was going to complain about - on the contrary. He didn’t want this hug to ever end, because it felt like the second the hug was over he might lose his boyfriend to adventure again. He couldn’t let that happen again, he loved every second he had with Launchpad. He--

“Launchpad?” Drake pulled his head back just enough to give his boyfriend a quick peck before burying his face in Launchpad’s chest and saying, “I’m in love with you.” 

Maybe it wasn’t quite the opportune time for his first confession of love, but damn if it didn’t feel right. He felt Launchpad’s hug increase in power to a dangerous, spine-cracking level, and he felt like he was hugging just as hard back.

“I love you too, Drake,” Launchpad said, with tears in his eyes, “I love you so much.”

“I hope you know that you’re bringing me along on your next adventure,” Drake said, nuzzling into Launchpad’s chest. “I mean, what adventure wouldn’t benefit from famed superhero Darkwing Duck. And what day wouldn’t be better with the man I love?” Drake felt his heart skip a beat as he said those magical words again. Who knew that seven days without the man he loved would really awaken the awareness of that love in him?

[avengerscompound]

Pickup Lines

Pickup Lines: A Captain America Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count:  1713

Warnings:  Smut (oral and vaginal sex)

Synopsis:   You think it’s funny to use terrible pickup lines on Steve. Lucky for you, he’s already a sure thing.

A/N:  For my #Happy Steve Bingo Fill: Bad Flirting.

Pickup Lines

“Do you have a mirror in your pocket?” You asked sidling up to Steve at the bar.  He looked at you with his head tilted to the side and a confused puppy dog expression on his face.

“What? No.  Nat might have one.  Why what’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing, I just can see myself in your pants.”

Bucky snorted beside him and covered his mouth so he didn’t spot beer everywhere while Steve flushed pink.

“That was so bad.  Good god, woman.” Sam laughed.

“Yeah.  I know but Steve hasn’t heard any of them.  It’s kind of amazing.”  You said.  “Hey Steve, if we are what we eat you can be me by the morning.”

Steve chuckled.  “Whatever happened to just asking to buy someone a drink?”

“Oh sure.  Do you like cocktails? I can give you an orgasm.”  You said, making Sam roar with laughter but Steve just blinked at you confused.

“That’s the name of a drink, Steve.” You said.

“It is not!” He argued.

You got up and kissed him on the cheek.  “Yeah, it is.  I’ll make you one.”

“Right here in front of us? That’s pretty kinky.” Bucky teased as you moved to the other side of the bar.

You winked at Bucky and started mixing Steve his drink.  “It seems a little wrong to be going straight to the orgasm though.  I should be starting with a blow job.”

“That is not also a drink!”  Steve said sounding askance.

“It most certainly is!  How dare you doubt me!  I take these things very seriously!”  You teased.

“Okay, sweetheart.  Whatever you say.”  Steve sighed, though the smile on his face showed that he was really enjoying this.

You finished mixing the drink and sidled back to the counter.  “Can you give me some directions?”  You asked as you slid the drink over to him.  “Because I seem to have gotten lost in your eyes.”

“Oh smooth.”  Sam teased even as the blush returned to Steve’s cheeks.  “I’ve got a good one for Steve.  Hey, Steve, did it hurt?”

“When he fell from heaven?”  You asked.

Sam laughed.  “No, when he jumped out of the top floor of that building and slammed in the ground because he’s a fucking idiot.”

You and Bucky burst out laughing and Steve shook his head.  “Right.  Should have seen that coming.”  He said.

“Maybe, you can see me coming if you like.”  You teased making everyone roar with laughter.  You moved back around the bar and Steve wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his side.  “Are you a light switch?”  You asked.  “Because I’d love to turn you on.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”  Steve teased.

You hopped up in his lap and wriggled a little.  “I was thinking about asking if you had any ideas of things we can do, but maybe I should stay here and wait for something to pop up.”

“Oooh…”  Sam catcalled.  “These aren’t so much pickup lines as sex puns now.”

“Okay, so what about… you must be a triangle because you’re acute.”  You said.

“I think that’s quite obtuse,”  Bucky said.  You raised your hand and he slapped it with his.

“How about… if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber.”  You said tapping Steve on the tip of his nose.

“I think you should go back to the dirty ones,”  Sam said with a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, they’re sweet,”  Steve said.

“They’re totally corny,”  Bucky said.

“Alright, alright, one more dirty one and then I’m stopping.”  You said.  “How about you be an iceberg and I’ll be the Titanic and I’ll go down on you?”

All three men laughed.  “Oh god,”  Steve said, shaking his head.  “Alright.  I have one.”

You looked at him and grinned.  “Oh, go on.”

He blushed again and his fingers drew circles on your thigh.  “Do you have any Irish in you?”  He asked.  “If not, would you like some?”

“I would.”  You teased.

He patted your thigh and brought his lips to your ear.  “Then let’s go.”

You jumped up off of Steve’s lap.  “Have nice night boys.  I’m sure going to.”  You said giving them the finger guns.

“Gross, I didn’t need to be witness to that.”  Bucky teased.

“Have fun you two,”  Sam added.

“We sure will!”  You called back.

When you got to the elevator, Steve wrapped his arms around your waist and pushed you back against the wall.  “Well, well, well,”  He said, in his very best ‘you’re grounded’ voice.  “You’ve been writing a lot of checks tonight.  Gonna pay up?”

“You know I’m good for it.”  You purred, kissing his neck slowly.

He made a deep rumble in his chest and leaned down, capturing your lips.  The elevator stopped and he scooped you up into his arms without breaking the kiss.  He carried you to your room and kicked the door closed behind him before setting you back on your feet.

“Now, who was going down on who again?”  He asked.

You sank to your knees in front of him and unfastened his fly.  His hands went to your hair as you nuzzled at his crotch.  Each flick of your tongue up his shaft made his cock harden more.  Until it stood straight and twitched like he was aching for more.  You took the end into your mouth and sucked on it.  He groaned and his hands opened and closed in your hair like he was torn between trying to take control and give over all control to you.

You dropped your head lower, taking more of him deeper into your mouth before pulling back and dropping down further still.  Steve’s hips began to roll against you.  Never forcing him too far down your throat, but adding to your own movements.  You rolled your tongue and used it to massage his shaft.  Each movement from each of you made Steve groan and the salty tang of his precome leaked from his cock onto your tongue making you moan as well.

His hips snapped back, making his cock fall from your mouth with a pop and you almost fall forward into him.

“I believe it might be my turn to eat.”  He teased.

He helped you back to your feet and the two of you stripped off your clothes as you made your way to the bed.  When you were completely naked except for your socks, Steve picked you up and tossed you on the bed, before climbing up between your legs.  The way he looked as he stalked up between them was like a hungry lion coming in for the kill.

He went straight for your pussy, placing a large open-mouthed kiss on it and swirling his tongue over your labia. You spread your legs wider and put your feet on his shoulders.  A smile spread over his face even as his tongue flicked out a random pattern over your clit.  “Enjoying yourself down there?”  You asked.

“Mm-hmm…”  He hummed and sucked your clit into his mouth.  It sent a jolt through you, making you moan.  Your hand moved to his hair automatically and you tugged on it.

The pleasant warmth spread through your body, radiating out from your cunt and making your skin prickle.  Steve pushed his middle finger inside of you and when he touched your g-spot you bucked up under him as a strong jolted passed through you.  He focused his fingers on that spot, curling and stroking his fingers over your g-spot. Calling your orgasm to him.

It crashed down on you and passed through you like a wave.  Your whole body shuddering with it as you cried out in ecstasy.

Steve lapped you through it and crawled up between your legs.  “Man, my flirting is so on point,”  You joked as he began teasing the head of his cock up and down your folds.

“Oh yes, that’s exactly how we got here.”  He said, smiling broadly and bringing his lips to yours.  As the two of you kiss he entered you.  Pushing in just as far as you could take it before bottoming out.

He began to roll his hips, pushing himself up so that the base of his cock rubbed against your clit with every thrust.   You moaned against his lips and clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

The sounds of your moans mingled together as sweat coated your bodies and you moved together.  A second orgasm hit you and then a third.  Your body arched back and Steve’s mouth moved from your lips to your throat.  His teeth grazed over your skin and he thrust slow and deep.  When your fourth orgasm crashed through you it dragged Steve over with you, and he spilled inside of you, his cock pulsing as it emptied.

He slipped from within you and collapsed on his back.  You curled into his side resting your head on his chest.  As the two of you lay panting, coming down from your orgasm highs you ran your fingers in circles on his chest.  “Hey, Steve?”  You said.

He looked down at you suspiciously.  “Yes?”

You smirked up at him and quirked an eyebrow.  “Do you come here often?”

Steve shook his head and broke down into laughter.