#i play rhythm games i have training in tapping fast
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selfspinninglies ¡ 8 months ago
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137 times
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wrenfxrever ¡ 4 months ago
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coraline au | not my au | radioapple
creds to @deadspaceguy for coming up with this! <3
The other papa leaped on the piano seat as he readied his hands, raising them up above the keys. Finally, he slammed them down, the notes ringing out around the house.
  “Making up a song about Charlie…she’s a peach, she’s a doll, she’s a pal of miiine…” Lucifer grinned, his grin almost resembling the other father’s.
  “She’s as cute as a button, in the eyes of everyone who ever laid their eyes on Char-a-lieee…”
Charlie’s mouth hung in awe, her eyes shining with amazement. She hadn’t seen Lucifer this joyful since his and Alastor’s wedding, which was many years ago. After their honeymoon Lucifer had always been busy with work. Not to mention, her papa couldn’t even play piano.
  All of the sudden two gloved hands sprung up from the piano, the violin matching the piano’s rhythm.
  “When she comes around exploring, me and dad will never make it boring, our eyes will be on Char-a-lie-”
  “I, uh…sorry, but Al told me to tell you that the food is ready…erm.”
Lucifer spun around, the smile from earlier still plastered across his face.
  “Mmm…who’s starving, raise your hand?” Lucifer lightly grabbed Charlie’s wrist, raising it into the air. Charlie giggled, a smile forming on her own lips.
  “Well we should give our thanks to your lovely father, who cooked us this delicious deer. You really didn’t have to go hunting today, Al.”
  “I know how much our little Charlotte loves roasted deer, mon ange…” Alastor directed his gaze to Charlie, who rolled her eyes at the nickname. Lucifer giggled, leaning across the table to kiss Alastor’s cheek. “Oh, hush up now…you know Char-Char hates that.” Alastor blushed and gripped his fork, ringing the bell across from him. Charlie’s smirk widened as she immediately grabbed a part of the venison, taking a healthy bite from the thickest part.
  “Mmm! This is really good!”
  Alastor laughed. “Hungry, are we?”
  “Yeah,” Charlie replied, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. “But do we have any gravy?”
Lucifer gave her a loving smile, tapping his fingers on the table while staring intently at her.
  “Well I’m glad you asked! Here comes the gravy train…choo choo!”
At that moment a train made its way around the table, stopping in front of Charlie to pour a generous amount of gravy onto her plate.
  “Another roll? Sweet peas? Corn on the cob?” Alastor questioned, growing closer to Charlie with each listing.
  “I’m, like, really thirsty,” Charlie responded, leaning back in her chair haphazardly.
  “Of course, dear!” Alastor shot back. “Any requests?”
Charlie thought for a moment. “Strawberry milkshake?” Vaggie had told her strawberry milkshakes were her favorite, causing her to blush a little. The chandelier above her lowered, the spout pouring out a lovely blush-pink mixture. Charlie gulped it down, savoring the sweet taste. It smelled just like Vaggie too, Charlie thought.
  Suddenly her papa set out a delicious-looking pink frosted cake in front of her, the hot pink words spelling out “Welcome home!”.
  Charlie’s smile disappeared as fast as it came.
  “H-home?”
Alastor got up behind Lucifer’s chair, rubbing his shoulders rhythmically.
  “We’ve been waiting for you, Char.” Lucifer smiled warmly, his big black buttons becoming very apparent to Charlie.
  “For…me?”
  “Yes! Isn’t quite the same here without you…Charlie.”
Charlie wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a little uneasy. “I didn’t know I had an other father.”
  “Of course you do, darling! Everyone does,” Alastor butt in, his eyes too, gleaming.
  “Really?”
  “Uh-huh! Now once you’re done eating, I thought we could play a game! You know how much papa loves games,” Lucifer spoke. He tapped his fingers faster on the table.
this is just part one !! stay tuned :)
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bluejayblueskies ¡ 4 years ago
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seven for jontim? <3
jontim + things you said while we were driving
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The tension in the car on the way to Great Yarmouth is so thick Jon could cut it with a knife. He’s not really sure how he ended up carpooling with Tim—something about old habits and the Archers and ‘time to think’ that has Basira and Daisy sharing a car—but they’re an hour in and Jon can count the number of words Tim’s said to him on one hand.
 Jon wants to break the silence. He doesn’t know if they’ll get another chance to talk, if he’ll get another chance to say everything he wants to say. To apologize, to try to make amends, to tell Tim that he still—
 Jon sucks in a breath and looks out the window, at the sprawling countryside as it whisks by. Once upon a time, his hand would be clasped with Tim’s on the center console and Tim would be telling him some elaborate story about his latest camping trip or the case he’d been working on that had taken a dramatic turn or the latest office gossip and his own rather strong opinions about it. That’s one of the things he’d liked about Tim—the fact that Tim could talk, and Jon could listen, and when Jon got excited about something and interrupted Tim’s story, Tim would take it in stride and listen with a smile.
 God, it had been so easy, and now it’s not, and that more than anything makes Jon ache like his heart has been torn free from his rib cage.
Jon doesn’t realize he’s been tapping his fingers in a nervous rhythm on the center console until Tim lets out a labored sigh and breaks the silence as gracelessly as a bullet through a glass house. “Just say it.”
 It’s too loud after so long with only the noise of the road and the low murmur of the radio, and Jon startles, his hand retreating back to his lap reflexively. “What?”
 Tim’s eyes remain on the road, but Jon can see the tension in him, in the way his hands grip the wheel firmly and his mouth flattens into a thin line. “Just say whatever it is you need to say. Might as well. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
 Jon winces slightly at the flatness in Tim’s voice, at the way he sounds just- just indifferent. It cuts worse than any anger or frustration. At least those meant that Tim was still feeling something toward him, no matter how negative. Now, Tim just sounds tired. Resigned.
 “I was…” Jon swallows and looks down at his hands so he doesn’t have to see Tim’s face. “I was thinking about the time we went to the coast together, to follow up on that case about the mermaid.”
 Tim makes a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so humorless. “Yeah, I remember,” he says, and maybe Jon’s imagining the hint of wistfulness in his voice, looking for something that isn’t there. “Turned out to be nonsense, but it…”
 Tim’s hands tighten on the wheel for a moment before going slack, his face twisting into something pained. “It was nice,” he says, so quietly Jon almost doesn’t catch it. “You, er. You had a lot to say about harbor seals.”
 Jon flushes and rubs one thumb over the other—a nervous tic of his, one that leads to dry and cracked skin if he isn’t careful. “Yes, well. Growing up by the sea tends to foster an interest in marine wildlife. And, er. Well. Nobody else ever seemed interested, in- in the topic.” A pause. Jon worries his bottom lip between his teeth and says, “I miss our conversations.”
 “Jon,” Tim says. It’s a warning and a plea and a refusal all wrapped into a single word. And Jon should just leave it at that—let them pass the rest of the time in silence, like they’ve been doing for months.
 Instead, he says, “I’m sorry, Tim. For- for everything.”
 “Please, just- not now,” Tim says, his voice growing sharp around the edges even as the core retains that same weariness Jon’s grown accustomed to.
 He hates it. He hates that Tim doesn’t tell jokes anymore, that Tim doesn’t smile wide and easy and greet Jon with a ghosting hand across Jon’s upper back, that Tim’s shoulders sag ever so slightly as he walks like he’s bearing the weight of the world. He hates that it’s his fault.
 “Then when?” Jon says, that same sharpness bleeding into the words against his will. “After this is all over? We might not—”
 We might not make it out alive, his mind supplies. But the words stick in his throat. Instead, he says, “Just. You don’t have to say anything, just- just listen. I- I don’t expect forgiveness.” Jon pauses, then says, softer, “It’s not my right to ask for it.”
 Tim’s quiet for a long moment. The radio is playing something upbeat, a pop song that Jon’s never heard but that sounds exactly like the rest of the music the station has been supplying. Jon wants to turn it off; it grates on his nerves, makes every second feel like an eternity.
 He doesn’t. Somehow, he thinks silence—true silence���might be worse.
 “Okay,” Tim says finally, his eyes still fixed on the road. “Just- just please don’t say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it anymore.”
 “Right,” Jon says. His fingers go to the hem of his shirt, fiddling with the fabric. There’s a loose thread there, and without thinking, he pulls it. It spirals out, making a neat line in the fabric where the weave falls out of line that Jon won’t be able to smooth out again.
 He doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? He can’t mend what’s broken, can’t unpull the thread that’s tugged them out of sync. In less than a day, they’ll be in the museum, and Jon’s skin will be crawling with the memory of ropes tight around his wrists and plastic fingers coated with lotion touching him over and over and over, and they’ll be executing a plan that Jon can’t shake the feeling will go horribly, terribly wrong. They have so little time. Never enough time.
 So, Jon says instead, “I remember when we first met. I- I don’t know if you do, it- it was very brief, and you seemed quite occupied with whatever case you were researching, but I- I remember. You were, uh. You were wearing that olive green shirt you like, the- the one with the buttons that look like flowers. You were distraught when you ripped the sleeve on that barbed wire fence when we, uh, broke into the—”
 Jon cuts off with a small laugh. “I suppose our research tactics were quite unorthodox. And more than a little illegal at times. But when I got excited about a case and decided to pursue it in a more, er, thorough capacity, you were always there. I- I don’t think I ever told you, but that was the first time I realized how much I’d grown to like you. You, lamenting about how you’d had that shirt for years, so- so dramatic about the whole situation. And I spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time finding another one just like it, an even more embarrassing amount of time figuring out how to give it to you without coming across as- as weird or what have you. But you just smiled and took it, and- and maybe it’s silly, but I think that’s when I…”
 Jon doesn’t say when I started to fall in love with you. But from the pinched look on Tim’s face, he knows he doesn’t have to.
 It’s like Jon’s there again, the weight of Tim’s smile making his pulse flutter hummingbird-fast in his throat, his voice slipping into the stutter he tried so hard to hide at work so that he came across as professional. He practically thrust the shirt into Tim’s hands, his cheeks burning as he did so. And Tim’s thank you, so genuine and surprised and happy, had dragged a smile of Jon’s own to his face.
 Tim had liked making Jon flustered—had made it a game, figuring out what he could say to make Jon smile or laugh or flush so deeply it was visible against his skin. Jon didn’t understand why some of the things he said made Tim smile in return or press a quick kiss to Jon’s lips or give Jon a soft I love you that still made Jon’s pulse quicken no matter how many times Tim said it. But it didn’t matter, because Tim understood him.
 Jon misses Tim so much he can hardly breathe, even after everything. His words come out slightly choked when he says, “I remember when you would bring me lunches because you knew I would forget to eat sometimes if I got caught up in my work. And- and when you went to that shop that had a cat and you sent me- Christ, so many pictures, it- it was really quite excessive.” Quieter, Jon says, “And when you brought me to that park with the lights, and- and you told me that you loved me.”
 “Jon,” Tim says. It comes out tense, like somebody who’s trying very hard to keep their emotions in check.
 “I know,” Jon says, pulling and pulling at the thread on his shirt until the fabric is bunched up completely and utterly ruined. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. “I… I know.”
 Tim’s quiet for another long moment. Then, he exhales heavily, like he’d been holding his breath, and moves one hand from the wheel to the center console, palm up.
 Tim’s hand is warm in his. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes trained on the road, even as his fingers twine with Jon’s in a practiced motion that’s still as easy as breathing.
 Jon spends the rest of the car ride memorizing the feel of Tim’s hand in his, the shape of his fingers and the soft skin of his palm, and tries very hard not to think about the way it feels like a goodbye.
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ddarker-dreams ¡ 4 years ago
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Pandora’s Box. Yan Chrollo x Reader
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Warnings: Medicine mention, descriptions of anxiety, and implied minor character death. Word count: 2.7k.
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A simple plan is the best kind to have. 
The less variables at play, the higher your rates of success are. You’ve anticipated some margin of error, a safety net of sorts, to be used if necessary. Everything within your realm of influence has been taken into account. Your friend in a car meeting you at a dead spot, a train ticket purchased with a prepaid visa card on a VPN, and a few precious pieces of jewelry to be pawned off at a later time. Scraping these assets together is a commendable feat, having to skulk around to make it this far.
Nothing feels out of the ordinary, you think. Your preparations are almost complete. All that’s left is to wait to ensure the beast in hiding cannot come for you.
Prayer doesn’t traditionally feel worth the effort -- any god that’d allow you to be subjugated to a hell such as this is no god worth pleading to -- but tonight is different. Tonight you pray to any deity that may spare you some pity, that this plan may succeed without a hitch. The time signals the beginning of the next phase, the most vital aspect. 
Tonight’s soup had an additional ingredient, a generous helping of sleep inducing pills. To avoid suspicion, you partook in the meal as usual, hoping to cancel out the effects later by ingesting a gratuitous amount of energy drinks. It served the original purpose of fending off fatigue, but not without presenting a unique set of problems of its own. The caffeine has served to heighten your anxiety, upping what was already a nerve-wracking experience to a new level. 
Your guts feeling like they’re rearranging themselves, your body not capable of forgoing fidgeting a single moment. No longer can you tell if it’s nausea, stomach pain, or hyperventilation. Maybe it’s everything at once. All you know is that you’ve never had your body working against you more than now. Every nerve is frayed, your senses on high alert to any shadow or noise.
Deep breaths no longer bring you reprieve. Each raggedy breath you manage to squeeze out is an accomplishment, overshadowed by the fear that he might hear you. How irrational a thought, that Chrollo would be capable of picking up on the differences in your breathing from afar. It doesn’t matter how illogical the worry may be. With Chrollo, you’ve learned that nothing is impossible. To expect the unexpected has been the mantra of your mind these past few months. 
Just a bit longer... I need to know he’s asleep for sure. Or else it’s over.
Your foot taps against the ground in a frantic rhythm, ears ringing like funeral tolls. The last time you dared peak into your shared room with Chrollo, he was supposedly fast asleep, out like a light. What should’ve been a cause for victory brought nothing but a fresh wave of dread. A guessing game ensues. Trying to decipher his body language from earlier for hints only serves to make you feel worse. You’ve been so cautious, walking on sheets of thin ice at every move. Chrollo hadn’t acted out of the ordinary to your knowledge. Not that he has a way of acting ‘ordinary’ anyways, your limited understanding of his person having to suffice. 
Should everything be going according to your design, your friend will be in position to pick you up. There’s no more stalling, the point of return ahead of you.
It’s time.
You do a final check over your mental checklist. Your backpack is stocked with the necessities: toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a filtered hydro flask, non perishable foods and your train ticket. To any onlooker it might look like you’re going hiking. Sporting worn sneakers, loose-fitting clothes, and having your hair pulled away from your face. This is really it. The culmination of sneaking around behind Chrollo’s back for months, unfolding before your very eyes. Everything is falling into place as it’s meant to.
You walk to the door. 
Each step you take is quiet as can be. Every shuffle of clothes, or the slightest of creaks from the floorboards, causes you to wince and pause. This penthouse has served as your personal circle of hell for months on end, the walls absorbing your cries and screams. You despise this place with every fiber of your being. The antique dÊcor, the ancient texts that lay strewn about, the scent of sandalwood that you find nauseating. 
Ghosts of the past return to haunt you as you walk through different areas. Swirling around your head, they threaten to consume you, chipping away at your resolve. His hypnotic voice resonates in your mind like whispers of the serpent in the garden, tempting you. Weighing you down. Not even your own mind is a safe haven from his speech that disguises itself as flowery, when the reality is far more sinister. Chrollo’s words are constricting vines, lined with thorns, embedding themselves deeper into your flesh the harder you try to pry them out. 
“Don’t you remember how difficult your life was before me?” 
Another step.
“All those people who left you, who took advantage of you?” 
Your hands shake around your small, homemade EMP. It’s made from spare parts you managed to find around the penthouse, clumsily assembled through trial and error. The pulse it emits is next to nothing. Copper coils threaten to fall loose at any second when you raise it to the security system by the door. Holding your breath, you press down on the trigger. The device lets out rapid clicking sounds, the security monitor flickering before going blank. 
“I know you’ll come around.” 
Finally, come the excessive locks on the door. The compressed air you said you needed for cleaning is next up. The can is cool against your trembling fingers, white specs decorating the locks as you spray them over. With some persistence, they come undone, one after the other. Unshackling you from the depths. You open the door that’s mocked you relentlessly for months, withholding your prized freedom. 
“But even in the event that you don’t...” 
The surrounding world is a blur of colors. Your eyes don’t focus on any object for too long, scanning your surroundings for potential threats. It feels as if your stomach is in your throat when the elevator starts its descent. He had you up on the fiftieth floor? 
You fixate on the screen, numbers not flashing by fast enough for your liking.
40. 
20.
5. 
1.
“Well. There are always ways of overcoming inconveniences such as that.” 
It’s an extravagant lobby. Far more luxurious than you could ever have hoped to afford, this building being one of the most exclusive in Yorknew. The person at the front desk calls out and you ignore it. You must look mighty suspicious, not that you care. The priority now is escape. Running out the revolving door, crisp autumn air greets you. You’ve never felt more grateful for the bustling streets of the city. Even at night the city remains awake, making it easier to blend in. No one out here spares you a second glance as you weave in and out of fast paced crowds. 
23rd street. That’s where you’ll meet up with your friend, who will then transport you to the subway. Glancing up at the signposts, you realize you’ll be in for some walking. There’s no letting your guard down. Constantly looking over your shoulder, all you see are the faces of strangers. You’ve never felt so grateful to be a part of a crowd. 
Finally, after walking for what feels like an eternity, you spot your beacon of hope. A clothing store’s bright neon sign, which your friend sits parked in front of. Since these stores are closed this time of day, the crowd that once surrounded you have thinned out, yet you try not to fixate on the lack of cover. Jay walking across the street doesn’t prove to be an issue. The pollution from the city hides the stars behind a layer of smog, streetlamps your lone source of light.
Heart hammering in your chest, you tap on the window of her car with urgency. “Amelia, it’s me. [First].” 
You hear the doors unlock. 
Taking it as a sign she heard you, you waste no time swinging into the passenger seat of the car. Amelia immediately turns the keys, car humming to life. Your chest heaves with exhaustion from the draining events. This is it. The second to last step before you reclaim your freedom. It’s almost like a dream, the light at the end of a long tunnel. Amelia’s appearance is just as you recalled it. Hazel eyes, tan skin, long black hair, and an average build. Your heart leaps at the sight of her.
“I’ve been so worried about you,” your friend confesses in a hushed whisper. “[First], what... what happened? You completely fell off the face of the Earth for months. Then you contact me out of nowhere? What’s going on?” 
It isn’t easy meeting her eyes, so you don’t. “I... I don’t know if it’s safe to talk about it. The less you know, the better.”
She takes a moment to assess you before sighing. “Alright, I can tell this is serious. Just... I’m glad you’re alright.” 
Amelia begins driving without another word. Silence hangs in the air, offering a time to reflect. Your plan, Chrollo, what you’ll do next... it whirls around your head like a vortex. A gut feeling refuses to leave you alone whenever you picture his face. A dreadful thought that this entire escapade was too easy. Is it just your paranoia? It could very well be. Hugging your backpack closer to you for comfort, you’re startled by Amelia suddenly speaking up.
“The subway station, huh,” she reminiscences aloud, eyes flickering from the road to you. “So you’re leaving Yorknew?” 
There’s no way to continue dodging her questions. “... Yeah, I am.” 
“Where are you going?” 
It’s natural she’d have lots of questions. Had the situation been reversed, you’d have plenty of your own. For her wellbeing you don’t want to indulge more than necessary. Lying to someone who is helping you lives a sour taste in your mouth. It’s for her sake, you remind yourself. Having to involve Amelia in this at all was the last thing you wanted to do. 
“I’m going to Zaban City. I have some extended family there.” 
Amelia hums in confirmation to your story. “Your cousin, right?” 
“Right.” 
She stops pressing that particular subject, likely sensing your apprehension. You take advantage of the peaceful atmosphere and close your eyes. The sleeping pills from earlier are starting to grow more prominent. Losing consciousness is the last thing you need right now, but indulging in some much needed rest sounds too inviting. 
“There was something else I was wondering about.” Amelia starts, earning your attention. Looks like sleep will have to wait for later. You yawn, stretching your weary limbs, and wait for her to continue. She smiles, dark eyelashes fluttering shut in deep thought.
“Oh, sweet [First],” she whispers your name in the gentlest of tones, and looks over at you. “Why are you so selfish?” 
You blink, the words not settling in immediately. “What...?” 
She continues without missing a beat. “You used to be so envious of me. Always pretending to play nice, because you were too passive to say how you really felt. How you hated me.” 
“Amelia? What are you talking about? I... I never hated you, what--” 
“Even now you can’t bring yourself to admit the truth,” she sighs. “Not that I’m surprised. You’ve always cared way too much about what people think. Why would now be any different?” 
Her unexpected attack on your character has you shifting in your seat. Every word that leaves her lips is in her voice, yet feels so different than her normal character. Did something happen in the time Chrollo took you away? Anxiety rears its ugly head at the line of questioning. You take a sudden interest in your fingers, playing with them on your lap. 
“I don’t understand where any of this is coming from.” You admit, eyebrows furrowing together. The shift in atmosphere is tangible. What was once a warm reunion under stressful times has corrupted into a frosty confrontation. These insecurities of hers that laid dormant in your heart... why is she bringing this up now? In your most vulnerable hour? Nothing is making sense. These ugly feelings of yours were only ever confided in one person. 
“You knew it’d be a danger to my life to contact me. You knew that, and still you did it all the same. I wonder why that is. Could it be... that you wouldn’t care if I died? If I was tortured for aiding your escape?” 
Your heart drops. This knowledge... how can she know any of this? Amelia used the word escape, clear as day. Is that a coincidence? You look over at the car door, seeing it’s locked. Something’s not right here, you deduce. I don’t know what it is exactly, but something is very wrong...! 
She continues on. “I really do want to know what your justification for this is. Out of everyone you could’ve picked for help, you specifically chose me, knowing the danger it’d bring. Did you think I’d be spared in some sort of miracle?” 
The spare moonlight streaming in illuminates Amelia’s face, highlighting how pale her skin looks. Veins that would normally not have been so prominent have a blue tint, her lips a similar shade. Your eyes drop to the unnaturally large scarf that surrounds her neck. It’s not that cold out yet, why is she wearing something so cumbersome? Reaching out with unsteady hands, you pull the fabric back. Your gut feels like it’s been punched at the sight, eyes widening in horror. 
On the back of her neck is an antenna, with bat wings on the end. 
Shit! Shit, shit, shit-- 
In a frenzy, you stretch forward, searching for the button to unlock the car door. The second you find it, it’s pressed, and you unbuckle your seatbelt. You hear her speaking up again. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst from your chest as you jump out the car, grateful it isn’t going too fast. Skin meeting asphalt, you hiss at the pain, rolling onto your side. None of that matters now. How did he do it? He has to be nearby, maybe you can still make it to the station in time. Your head hurts from the impact, legs wobbling like jelly. 
It’s difficult to focus. You grit your teeth, utilizing the remnants of your strength to get to your knees. Why did the caffeine have to wear off so soon...? It was going so well. You finally had your chance, your time to take back your life. To go back to how things were. Struggling to get to your feet, you throw your backpack off, praying the lost weight will help you get up. 
“You never answered my questions,” calls a deeper voice. You gulp back acidic bile as a hand is extended in front of you. “I was hoping you would.” 
Your head hangs down. It’s over. For a transgression such as this, you imagine you’re in for quite the punishment. How funny a thing fate is. Similar to streams of rushing water, there are many twists and turns, leading you down paths you never wanted to go. Fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh of your palms, the pain anchoring your wandering mind to reality. All other parts of your body have lost feeling. Numbness is what you’ve come to know. 
The devil incarnate bends over, taking your tearstained face into his fingers, and lifting it to meet his eyes. An abyss of grey stares back at you, devoid of humanity. Taking pleasure in besting you yet again. Disappointment is mixed within an interest to see what you’ll do next. There’s no smile on his face as you’ve come to expect. You see an empty shell of a man glowering down at you, from a place just out of reach. 
“I can’t say I’m too pleased about this, [First]. We’ll need to have a long discussion, don’t you think?” 
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activechataclysme ¡ 4 years ago
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TITLE: two truths and a lie.
Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Ship: The Love Square - SnekMouse Rating: T [ AO3 ]
Summary:
“For the, uh, game. You said two things,” he said, holding up two fingers. He wiggled one finger.  “That there was a, uh, boy you’ve been in love with for years,” then the other. “And that you want to get over him.”
“I get that,” he said quietly, tapping a rhythm against her shoulder with his fingers. “Do you, uh, do you see him everyday?”
“More than he knows, I think,” she said, her tone a little sly, as if she was sharing an inside joke with herself. “He sits right in front of me in class, actually.”
-o-
“I realised I’m in love with this girl recently, I’m scared to ask her out. She, um, sits in front of me, an-and…” he floundered before finally tacking on a lie. “She knows exactly how I feel.”
... Or in which warm feelings flare in chests, soft gazes are exchanged, blushes are blushed and confessions are made without even intending to.
One of their evening patrols ended with the two of them after patrol on a secluded rooftop, with beer in cheap plastic cups in each of their hands, and two half empty bottles of it between the two of them. They sat on the balustrade, feet swinging as they looked out at the city, chuckling as they played a game of Two Truths and a Lie.
Aspik found that beer, if had in, er, generous amounts , could in fact make one tipsy, as well as loose-lipped. He was sure Multimouse would’ve figured him out if she hadn’t been a little tipsy and out of it herself...
People love photographing me, I hate that they do ( She had looked at him somewhat sadly at that ) and I love shopping for my own clothes.  
My dad’s a dick, Ladybug is the uh worst and my bestfriend is a superhero. ( She had giggled uncontrollably. )
Modelling is my dream job, I enjoy piano and I love our patrols together. ( He suspected, in a very self-satisfied manner, that the flaming of her cheeks didn’t have much to do with the cold. )
…And well, If he didn’t already know Multimouse’s identity, after tonight he definitely would have....
My parents are bakers, I have a DJ friend and I’ve never dated a musician.  
I have a journalist friend, I want to be a… singer and all walls in my room are pink
Chat Noir’s hair is as soft as it looks but don’t tell him I said that ( If Multimouse wondered why Aspik was blushing, she didn’t voice that ) . I like wearing my hair in pigtails and I’m allergic to marigolds. (Hard, because Aspik couldn’t possibly say that he’d seen her eat marigolds; he never questioned it of course.)
“Your previous suit design was awful, I love rose macarons and Chat Noir’s puns are amazing,” she giggled.
Aspike let out an amused snort. “You love rose macarons. And you love Chat Noir’s puns. So the lie obviously, is about my suit. My suit was the best .”
Multinouse giggled harder, cheeks flushed pink under her mask. The beer must be really getting to her, he thoughts, watching as she took another sip. “ False ,” she declared. “Chat Noir’s puns are awful .”
Aspik huffed. “My suit was just fine , little mouse.”
“Sure, snake boy,” she snorted.
“I’ll have you know I’m an expert on fashion,” he sniffed.
“I’m sure you are, Mr. Celebrity,” she laughed.
Multimouse reached over to ruffle his hair, laughing harder at his petulant look as he attempted to flatten his hair. Just as he was attempting to straighten his bangs, he caught her soft blue gaze on him. She was smiling at him warmly, almost a wistful expression on her face.
“What is it?” he asked, tilting his head.
She shook her head, almost as if she was snapping herself out of something. The softness left her face and she gave him a weak smile. “Your turn,” she said, downing her cup.
He watched quietly for a few moments, as she hastily refilled her cup. He cleared his throat and looked away, training his eyes on the city lights.
“I’m thankful to have you in my life and that we’re friends, your suit is super cute, grey and pink? Very you . And uh…” he floundered, when he sensed her wide-eyed blue gaze. “I… Uh, hate passionfruit?”
He heard her let out laughter, and he couldn’t help but turn to look at her. “You don’t hate passion fruit,” she giggled.
He snorted. “Well, how would you know? Maybe your suit is not cute. Maybe you’re not my friend.”
“You’re so silly,” she laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you scarf down the passion fruit macarons I bring occasionally…”
“Well, only a fool would dislike those,” he said petulantly. “I can tell they’re baked with love,” he added teasingly, wagging his eyebrows at her.
She blushed and looked away, nervously patting one of her space buns. “...Er, well, m-my suit is amazing . I only ever wear top notch fashion, th-thank you very much.”
He grinned. “I’m sure you do.”
“And I… We’re…” She seemed to inhale deeply, before her gaze flickered over to his, a little wistful. “Friends. I know we are. You make sure to let me know.” She laughed, though it sounded a little hollow to his ears. “Everyday.”
Her eyes widened a fraction and she chuckled nervously. “I mean, everytime we patrol.”
Aspik frowned at the distant look in her eyes and the nervous fidgeting of her hands. He scooted a little closer to her and hesitantly took her hand in his. She stiffened, but only for a moment before relaxing again with a gentle sigh. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’m glad we’re friends,” she said softly, and added almost as if to herself. “I’m happy we’re at least that.”
“Me too,” he said, before adding gently. “Your turn.”
“What? Oh, um right,” she said, and he felt her fidget lightly before settling down.
“I’ve been crazy in love with a boy for years,” she started, and Adrien froze. How had he forgotten about that . “I need to get over him, because I know he doesn’t see me that way...”
“He’s an idiot,” huffed Aspik, illiciting a startled laugh out of her.
“He’s not,” she said. “He’s the smartest, sweetest and kindest person I’ve met. Second only to maybe Chat Noir.”
“So Chat Noir is first , huh?” preened Adrien.
“Don’t tell him I said that,” she laughed. “It won’t do his ego any good.”
“Pfft,” said Aspik dismissively. “He’s the humblest hero of them all.”
“Sure,” said Multimouse, rolling her eyes.
“But we digress,” said Aspike. “This debate is on hold until further notice.”
“Whatever you say, li’l snek.”
They were silent for a few minutes before Aspik finally cracked. “You only said two things.”
“What?” she asked, lifting her head off his shoulder to look at him.
“For the, uh, game. You said two things,” he said, holding up two fingers. He wiggled one finger.  “That there was a, uh, boy you’ve been in love with for years,” then the other. “And that you want to get over him.”
“Hm,” she hummed, looking away again before letting out a soft self-depriciating laugh. “It’s going to be so easy to?”
Aspik wrapped a hand around her shoulder to tuck her further into his side, because what an idiot of a guy.
“I get that,” he said quietly, tapping a rhythm against her shoulder with his fingers. “Do you, uh, do you see him everyday?”
“More than he knows, I think,” she said, her tone a little sly, as if she was sharing an inside joke with herself. “He sits right in front of me in class, actually.”
Adrien felt his breath rush out of his lungs, as the world shifted in his mind’s eye. Like a fast replay of everything with a new filter, and he felt his chest start to warm. He tightened his grip around her and pulled her tighter against him.
He cleared his throat. “Have you, um, tried asking him out?”
“Only a hundred times,” she laughed. “It’s always gone wrong. Maybe that was for the best anyway. He doesn’t… He doesn’t see me like that.”
“And how do you know that? If you haven’t asked him out?”
“He says that we’re “just friends” at least once a week.” Marinette snorted. “I am starting to think that’s his way of gently letting me down without really having to reject me. He values friendships too much for that, I think.”
“You should really not make presumptions,” he said nervously, heart racing.
“Pretty sure I know what I’m talking about, Aspik. I’m sure I know what I’m talking about.”
“Including his feelings?”
“Feelings he’s made pretty clear,” she said as she drew circles on the back of his hand.
Aspik sighed, feeling like he was on the precipice of losing something he hadn’t even known he had. He really, really did not want to let go.
“My turn,” he said quietly. “I… There’s this… girl.”
Multimouse seemed to deflate a little next to him, which he couldn’t help but find a little perplexing. But he trudged forth.
“I realised I’m in love with this girl recently, I’m scared to ask her out and…” he floundered before finally tacking on a lie. “She knows exactly how I feel.”
“Well, that’s kind of obvious, snake boy,” she sighed. “I don’t see what you have to be scared about…”
“She… I found out only today that she’s trying hard to move on from me.”
“That means she still does have feelings for you.” Her voice was smaller than he’d like, almost a breathy resignation to it. “You should ask her anyway. I can’t imagine anyone saying no to you.”
“Yeah?”
She lifted her head off his shoulder, her gaze warm, smile fond. “Yeah.”
Aspik hummed. “Even you?”
“Of course! I just told you I- Well, I- I mean, if-if it weren’t for that guy I told you about, then um, yes. Definitely. For sure. Yep.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I’ll leave a note on her desk when school re-opens after Winter Break. With a bunch of flowers.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she’d like that,” sighed Multimouse.
“Actually, maybe not,” he amended thoughtfully. “She sits right behind me, so it’ll be hard for me to see her reaction. And she’s a little prone to easily freaking out,” he chuckled fondly. “Maybe I should enlist my bestfriend’s girlfriend for help. Those two are bestfriends, you know, and she’s a schemer, that one. What do you think I should-”
He stopped when he realised Multimouse’s head wasn’t against his shoulder anymore. He turned to see that she was staring at him with wide eyes, head tilted curiously
“Did you say that she sits behind you? Like right behind you?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” she muttered. “Y-You said that she has feelings for you. And that you found out she was trying to get over them.”
Adrien unfortunately had always been just a little slow on the uptake. So he chuckled a little. “Yeah, found out today, in fact.”
“ Today ?”
“Yep, today.”
“She told you herself, did she?”
He really should have noticed the careful neutrality in her tone.  
“Yes, actually,” he nodded vigorously. “But you seem to think there’s still hope, so I… Wait a second .”
He whirled on her, eyes narrowed, to find that she was studying him too.
“Do you…. Know ?” she asked first, eyebrows set in a wary pinch.
Aspik hesitated before leaning closer to her, almost nose to nose now bodies twisted to face each other. He turned completely to her in a moment, one leg folded, the other hanging off the ledge of the roof.
“Do… you know?”
“I asked first, mon é cailles .” The slight twitch of her eye gave away her faux serious facade though.
He smirked as he wrapped a hand under her knee to tug her closer, while her hands came up to hold his shoulders so she could stabilize herself. “Can’t argue with that logic ma petite souris ,” he chuckled, face towering over hers. “But I’m afraid I have the upper hand here.”
With that he kissed the corner of her lips ( Her. Lips. ), just as he decided to hell with it and tugged her onto his lap ( Oh, my god! ) fully.
“A-Aspik!” she squeaked as he looked up at her affectionately, before pressing a kiss to the other corner of her mouth.
“Multimouse,” he said, now his hands wrapped around her hips, zero room between them.
She was watching him with parted lips, face flaming, while her expression was of utter disbelief. Hesitantly, her hand went up to trace his mask, before it settled on cupping his cheek. Blushing, she looked at him with soft eyes before leaning slightly and kissing the apple of his cheek.
“How… How did you find out?” he asked quietly, as she started to draw back.
She looked panicked for a moment before relief seemed to wash over her.
“The game sort of gave you away,” she admitted, not meeting his eyes as one of her hands snaked ( snaked , heh) over his chest and over his shoulder so she could play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Um, so what gave me away?” she asked shyly.
He froze for only a second before thanking the gods for having Marinette herself present the answer to him.
“The game,” he grinned.
She groaned before deflating in his arms ( In. His. Arms!!! ), forehead resting against his shoulder.
“I knew the beer was a terrible idea,” she whined. “It made us too loose-lipped!”
“Beg to differ,” said Aspik. “Best idea you’ve had, I think.”
Multimouse giggled. “Maybe.”
“Hey, Marinette?”
“Hm?”
“I do love you, you know. I meant that.”
She was quiet for some time before she finally drew away from him to look him in the face. She brushed his hair out of his eyes, dancing with a pure sort of happiness that made his heart burst with joy. She kissed his forehead, and then the tip of his nose, making his face heat up with anticipation.
As he watched, her eyes flickered to his lips, before she looked away nervously, biting her lower lip with worry. Adrien’s heart warmed - what, was this the hundredth time just that night? - and he brushed the tip of his nose against her chin.
“You know, you keep doing that and I might just kiss you,” he said teasingly.
He laughed softly as the tips of her ears turned red. “Well, you won’t hear me complain, mon écaille irisée ,” she muttered.
And well, so he kissed her. She seemed frozen in shock for a fleeting second before melting against him. Her hands locked around the nape of his neck as she pulled him closer, an almost mind-numbing tug at the base of his skull as she tilted his head back to get a better angle. He decided then and there that he wouldn't complain if they never stopped. He tried his best to cull the purr building in his throat because that would be dead giveaway, and wondered briefly if he'd develop snake-like tendencies as well if he wore the miraculous long enough. His teeth grazed her lower lip, where hers had been less than thirty seconds ago, and he bit it gently, greedily swallowing the moan she let out.
They finally parted for breath, and her buns sat skewed on the top of her head, messed up and unkempt, some strands straying loose and falling on her as she stared at him.
“You know, no one’s ever called me iridiscent before,” he said, eyes dancing with mirth as he swept back some of the loose hair off her face.
“Shut up, nicknames aren’t really my forte,” she pouted, leaning into give him another peck against his lips.
“No, I love it,” he assured her, making her look down at him again. “Will you promise to call me that forever?” he asked teasingly, an eyebrow quirked with mirth.
Everytime he thought she couldn’t turn any redder, she proved him wrong. And he loved her for it.
“You’re too much,” she complained. “You and Chat have been spending too much time together!
Adrien only laughed. “But you looooooove me.”
“Yeah I do.”
“I’m glad you didn’t get over me,” he said quietly.
Her smile faded and she looked at him fondly. “Thanks to you, you don’t make it easy, you know.”
“So I’ve heard,” he chuckled.
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prettyyyboyluke ¡ 4 years ago
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Captain
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hard volleyball coach!luke 
~ 
this was going to be one of the biggest games of our entire season. we had to win at least three games in regionals in order to make it to the championships. and luke was being way tougher than he needs to be. he always made a jab at me any chance he got, if i missed a dig, if my serve didn’t go over the net or into the net, anything that i did wrong, he made sure to let me know. it was making me so mad to the point where i would mess up everything i did. it didn’t help that there was this awkward tension between us. ever since he decided to make me captain, it was like a constant battle between us to see who the girls would listen to more. i also had to stay with him for a few days since my whole apartment building had to be renovated for some reason, and that wasn’t helping one bit.
“alright girls, wrap it up! practice is over!” luke shouted over the music. everyone stopped and began to take down the nets and shag the balls. once everything was done, we huddled in a circle so i could tell them about this weekend. “okay, we have to win at three games if we wanna make it to the championships. i’m not worried about our bracket, it’s just the last game we play is against red rocks, and you know they like to play dirty. we just need to be on our toes and ready for whatever they plan, alright?” they all agreed and began to leave the gym one by one.
i walked over to luke, he was looking over the stats and our formations. he looked down at me before speaking, “you need to get your serves under control if you want to beat red rocks, they can’t keep going out.” i rolled my eyes before responding, “it didn’t help that you kept yelling at me while i was mid-air. if you even paid attention, you’d know that only two of my serves went out.” “and how many went into the net?” luke asks, raising a brow. i didn’t respond. “that’s what i thought, now let’s go.”
we walked to his car and got in without saying another word to each other. “i’ve been thinking, since you can’t seem to wrap your head around that your serving needs improvement, that tomorrow morning i’m waking you up and we’re going to practice.” he finally speaks. i turn and look at him, “you’re kidding right? my serving needs improvement? have you seen reagan’s? she needs help! not me!” i argue. “don’t talk back to me.” luke turns and gives me a harsh glare. “no! it’s not fair to me that you call me out on this bullshit! i wasn’t doing anything wrong, my form is perfectly fine.” i argued back.
i crossed my arms and turned to look out the window. he couldn’t be serious. the amount of unnecessary training he makes me do just because i had one bad practice is not fair. if luke actually paid attention to his team, he would know that some of the other girls need his help way more than i do. “i’m not training in the morning. i have plans and i’m not cancelling them just because you think they’re bad serves.” i tell him. i could tell he was ready to explode with the way i was talking. luke was not one to take disrespectful tone, and if you talked back, you were doing the worst drills you could think of.
luke takes a deep breath and finally looks over at me, “i expect more out of you. i made you captain for a reason, but if you can’t handle it, maybe you don’t deserve it.” my mouth drops and my brows raise. “i can definitely handle it! what i can’t handle is you having a pissy attitude with me for no fucking reason!” i screamed back at him. luke’s knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel so hard, and he quickly pulls over into a dark and empty parking lot. “get in the back.” he demands. “what? no, you’re just in a shitty mood because your poor ego got damaged.” i say, crossing my arms again. “did i fucking stutter? get in the back before i make you.” he bellows.
i unbuckle my seat belt and climb over the console to the back seat. luke unbuckles his seat belt and the door on his side opens as he slides in before closing it. he moves both of the front seats up for he has more room to move. luke take’s two of the seat belts that are hanging from the ceiling and grabs my wrists before wrapping the belts around them. “i’m sick of this fucking attitude you’ve gotten recently. you’ve been nothing but disrespectful to me this past week, i might just have to bench you for the first game.” he grunts through his teeth. “you can’t do that!” i practically spit back at him.
luke raises a brow at me, “i can do whatever i fucking please, little girl. i make the rules, i run the team, do you understand me?” one of his hands grabs my throat, squeezing the sides of it lightly. i nod my head at his statement. “you better fucking answer me, with that attitude, you don’t want to piss me off even more.” “i-i understand!” i answered quickly. he takes my answer as an opportunity to start rubbing my heat with his free hand, “address me properly, and i’ll consider letting you cum.” “i understand, sir.”
luke has a satisfied smile on his face. his lips are threatening to run themselves up my neck, his breath is hot on my ear lobe when i hear him speak, “you know, you act so tough in front of everyone else, but when you’re under my touch, you’re nothing but a whiney little brat.” i buck my hips up to meet his hand once they make their way inside my spandex. he traces the band of my panties, avoiding specific areas that he knows will make me beg. “please, sir, take them off,” i whisper.
luke hums in response, “and why should i do that? go on and tell me, angel, wanna hear you beg for it.” i push my hips against his hand again, moving as much as i could for him to just brush his fingers against me. “i want them inside, please!” “don’t think you deserve it, angel, you really don’t. but, fuck, it’s so wet. why is it so wet?” he growls into my ear. “b-because of you, sir.” i stammer, arching into him. both of luke’s hands loop themselves onto the band of my spandex and slide them down my leg, leaving me exposed and ready for his use.
he takes his middle and ring finger and taps it against my lips. i gladly take them in my mouth, sucking and swirling them while maintaining eye contact. he takes them out and starts to rub generous circles on my clit. he finally slides his fingers straight into my heat, not wasting a second before he starts pumping it in and out, reaching further and further inside with each thrust. he finally hits that spot, and i let out a small little whimper, and you could practically hear his smirk on his face.
i close my eyes and let my head lean on one of my arms that are above my head. luke stops for a moment, “uh-uh, watch.” is all he says before carrying on. my eyes open and i look down to see the erotic scene happening. luke’s fingers are gliding so smoothly inside and out of me, you could practically see how soaked they were. he continues to hit the spot that makes me want to close everything around him. “please, sir, please, i’m so close,” i whisper.
luke doesn’t answer, he just carries on, adding his thumb into the mixture of things. my back arches into the air, my heat clenching down around luke’s fingers making it harder for him to move them. “right there! right there, sir. fuck, please, please, am i allowed to cum?” i whine, rolling my hips into the rhythm of his fingers. “no.” he simply answers, and then takes his fingers out. my hips buck up into the air, trying to chase that high i was feeling.
luke delivers a harsh slap on top of clit causing my legs to close. “like i said, i’d consider it. now open them back up, i’m not done with you.” luke carries on this process four more times. my cheeks are stained with tears and are crimson red. my wrists are burning from tugging them against the buckles. his fingers are constantly driving so hard and so fast into me, i could feel a bubble in my stomach that was going to burst within the next few seconds.
my legs begin to shake around his hand, hoping he can see how desperate i am for my release. i could feel that bubble start to burst, but just as it’s about to, luke removes his fingers from me, again. luke licks his fingers clean before getting back into the drivers seat and carry on driving, leaving me in the back, restrained and unable to finish myself off. “you’re fucking kidding me,” i grunt. i’m met with a harsh glare in the rear view mirror.
“every single noise that comes past those lips, i’ll be coming up with more punishments, don’t push me.”
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miss-dr-reid ¡ 4 years ago
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This is calm, and it's, Doctor #3
TW -mention of case and bodily torture etc.
The Unsub was targeting red-heads. They were bound and kept for a week and then murdered in what seemed to be the messiest way possible.
"One girl every week. As soon as he dumps one, he already has another," JJ spoke, showing photos of victims and crime scenes on the big screen, "this is week four, and this week has only just started for our unsub." She finished, looking around the table.
"judging by how fast the unsub replaces these girls, I feel like it's safe to assume that he felt he was easily replaced, most likely by a former girlfriend and now feels like he is getting some sort of revenge on her with these innocent ladies." I chimed in. Everyone nodding in agreement, continuing to add their own theories.
It felt like the side of my head was burning. I turned to the direction the sensation was coming from, my eyes averted the gaze of Spencer, who quickly looked away, playing coy and shuffling in his seat. The meeting finished and Hotch turned to me,
"Got your go-bag?" His face still stern.
"In the car, Sir." I replied, he barely reacted, but I could tell he was a little surprised for me to be prepared to go on my first day.
"Good. Wheels up in thirty." And with that, he took his file and left the room.
"So, JJ showed us your resume, and I think it's fair to say that you and pretty boy will be quite close competition." Derek teased while propping himself on the desk next to me. Confused I asked him,
"Competition for what?" Seeing as we're supposed to be a team and all.
"Who's got the biggest brains!" He replied, almost shocked that I didn't know the answer.
"Oh..." I trailed off, looking quickly at Spencer who was watching our conversation, "I guess we'll see. I gotta get my go-bag, it's in the car-"
Derek leaned in towards me, "Take him with you. He needs some decent company." I nodded and stood up. I waved at Spencer to follow me.
He hesitated at first, but Derek and everyone else ushered him to follow. We grabbed our files and headed out of the conference room, hearing giggles as we left, Spencer looked back for a second, causing me to as well.
Nearing the elevator, no words were spoken, the silence wasn't awkward, but it felt like he wanted to say something. We got in the elevator and I thanked him for buying my coffee this morning.
He let out a small sigh and a light laugh,
"Yeah, well, not that were knew you were going to be there, BUT, seeing as you were and U recognised you from your file...I heard you mention how nervous you were and I wanted to help, it seems like I didn't help, instead threw you off even more. You were so flustered, I felt so bad. You reminded me of myself when I first started. That's why I didn't say anything else until Morgan showed up..." His head lowered as if he was talking to the ground.
"Oh, no, please don't feel bad. I was mostly confused at the gesture of a stranger buying me something, even if it was just coffee." I reassured him. The elevator doors opened and we stepped out, Reid following me to my car, he asked me what Morgan had whispered in my ear earlier.
"He just said you needed company, and I'm also in need of company, so I was happy to take the offer." I told him, leaning into the boot of my car to grab my bag.
I shut the boot and looked up at him, his face sceptical of what I'd just said.
"I'm happy to have the company. I'll take all the company I can get right now." I confirmed with him. Seeming satisfied with my answer, we headed back.
Once we got back to the bullpen, the team all came over to us and we all started talking. After a while of small talk, we all drifted toward where I assumed the jet would be. I was trailing at the back, following the group, enjoying myself, feeling very happy that everyone was so accepting.
Walking into the jet, everyone seemed to have their own seats. Hotch at the front, Rossi across the table in the same booth. JJ across the small Hall from them. Emily and Derek sharing a booth behind JJ, and Spencer, at a table by himself toward the back. The only seat available was the one at the table with Spencer. I sat down and he pulled out a chess set.
"Do you play?" He looked over expectantly.
"Not competitively." I said, adjusting myself in my seat.
The game lasted what seemed like forever. I played along with him, amusing him and testing the waters, but I could see his moves before he was even thinking about them. I made my final move, pinning his King into a check mate.
"No way!" He whined, his voice almost a squeak, throwing his hands in the air. He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest, falling back in to his chair.
"Next time." I giggled at him.
Hotch called for everyone's attention, discussing the case and delegating roles. Being told that I would be out in the field while Reid was to stay at the local station caused a tiny sick feeling in my stomach v unsure why, I distracted myself by getting up to get a coffee. I walked into the smaller room in the back and grabbed a cup.
Derek popped in, offering some help with the coffee machine.
"You're doing good with him." He nodded towards Spencer who was looking over the cheese board, I assume replaying in his head.
"I'm just treating him like a person. I rather enjoy his company." I said, studying Spencer, sadness beginning to creep in me, knowing what is like to be the outcast.
We finished making my coffee and I settled down on the chair in front of Sidney. Watching his facial expressions as he replayed the game, occasionally moving and replacing pieces. I stopped my coffee in amusement. I helped him out, by putting pieces back to the move before his last fatal move was. He focused, his eyes flicking between pieces over the board. He made a nice and looked up at me and nodded towards the board.
I saw that his move was different than the game we just played, so I adjusted him and made my own move. It was over in 5, Reid's face following ad he realised he got me. He not-so-subtly chicken to himself, interlacing his fingers, sitting back with the biggest smile across his lips. I sipped my coffee, smiling at the beautifully wholesome scene unfolding in front of me.
"You're good." I praised, taking another sip of coffee, watching him silently accept the compliment, nodding in agreement.
We landed and everyone went their separate ways, to their assigned locations. Emily and I were together. We went to the most recent crime scene. When we arrived, I got my gloves out and ready.
"The lack of blood staining indicates that the victims were definitely killed elsewhere and this is purely a dump site." I trailed off, remembering the pictures of the victims, "He also took their hearts, right. That fits in with him being replaced. He must have given his all to this girl, so when she moved on, she took his heart with her, leaving him empty. More he's getting his revenge how he sees fit." Emily nodded, agreeing with what I was saying.
We looked around a bit more, not finding much. Emily got a call from Hotch, calling us back to the station. We got back in the car and drove off, Emily driving.
"Crazy first day, hey?" She questioned, glancing my way for a second.
"It's gone. I was packed ready. Not that I was expecting to get the job, but I was just so excited. I had to be ready for anything, you know?" My voice light as I recounted this morning's events and how everyone had been so nice.
"You're doing great!" She chimed, "And... having two brainiacs on the team will make it interesting..." Her voice trailed off.
"He's good at chess." I remarked, smiling at the thought of playing him again.
"Three PHD's means you're fierce competition, y/n. He hasn't had that yet. As long as you don't go too crazy with showing off, I think you two will get along great. He loves being challenged and using his brain...." She continued to list a few things that she's learnt about Sidney, making a mental Lyst, I thanked her for letting me know as we were pulling up to the station car park.
She smiled at me as we entered the building. Opening up the door, we went in. We found Reid hovering over a board-map set up with markers in hand. Watching him work was almost relaxing. He had a rhythm, almost, in the way he measured distances, made his marks on the map and the occasional tapping of the markers on his chin as he quietly thought to himself.
I didn't want to interrupt his train of thought, so I stood off to the side, I could see the board clearly at I leaned against a nearby desk b Emily joining me, offering me a cup of coffee she had just made. Her and I watched Reid as he worked.
Soon enough the rest of the team arrived. There wasn't many leads and it was getting late. Hotch dismissed everyone and we went across the road to the hotel. Everyone went their separate ways and went to bed.
This is part #3.
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foramomentonly ¡ 4 years ago
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could you do #13 of the meet ugly prompts? your one with michael as the tennis player was so good I wish you could do all of them! thanks!
Author’s Note: Have a whole damn fic, I guess. lol  And thank you for the compliment. I so appreciate it!
Is my whole memory of my childhood a lie or did a few American school buses have the seats I’m describing here? Help an ancient remember!
Prompt: we make contact before trying to steal the last seat on the subway/bus/train and I end up in your lap and fuck you, I’m going to stay here because I’ve had a really long day and this seat was mine
Fuck the motherfucking desert.
Alex shifts restlessly from one foot to the other, grimacing as a fat bead of sweat charts a slow, inevitable path down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. He’s been out in the desert all day on a school trip—the class’s fifth of the semester; this time they visited a geological field study site in the desert forty-five minutes out of town. And Alex is wearing all black. And skinny jeans. And forced to spend the day with his peers.  
The class mills around the rest area, waiting on the bus driver to return and drive them, blissfully, home. Alex squints against the harsh, mid-afternoon sun at his teacher, clipboard in hand and preparing for his final head count of the day. Alex scowls. Every time, every time he does this: calls roll alphabetically and heards each student one-by-one onto the bus; which means that nearly every field trip for the entire year Alex Manes has lost the coveted single seat to Michael fucking Guerin. 
There’s one individual seat on each of the Roswell Independent School District's sorry fleet of buses. It’s in the way, way back, almost hidden from view, stuffed in the far corner of each bus’s left side, a glorious twenty inches of nothing between it and the aisle. Most other students avoid it in favor of nearly an hour of uninterrupted social time with friends and partners. Alex might, too, if Liz or Maria or even Rosa were with him. But Alex Manes is cursed with both a second-half-of-the-alphabet surname and a shitty class schedule. All year he’s been stuck on a bus with Kyle Valenti, half the football team, and Guerin.
Guerin’s a cool guy. A deliberate loner, like Alex; he exists either in solitude or as an object orbiting the Evans twins, arm linked snugly with Isobel—though it doesn’t seem romantic—or body bouncing restlessly off Max—definitely not romantic. But for the past semester he’s heaved himself onto the bus and planted himself in the single seat, opening a thick, battered notebook and scribbling furiously with a worn down pencil. Alex doubts that Guerin even realizes anyone else would want that seat, which is why, this time, he has a plan. Alex is going to approach Guerin calmly, amiably, and ask that he cede the seat to Alex for the rest of the semester. And if Alex happens to be wearing his tightest jeans and the tee-shirt that went through the dryer on high and now fits snug around his biceps and broadening chest, well. In war you use every tool at your disposal. And the way Guerin’s gaze lingers on Alex’s ass as he bends over his backpack and flits from his arms to his shoulders to his pecs in gym has Alex thinking his body might be his secret weapon. He tries not to think about how Guerin’s eyes on him makes his pulse quicken and all the blood rush from his head, leaving him dizzy and, regrettably, half-hard in the hallway or the locker room.
The driver returns and their teacher begins roll as students shove the remnants of lunches into their backpacks and pull out earbuds. Alex scans the area, seeking out Guerin where he’s hunched over his notebook, curl hanging heavy over one eye. He looks up when his name is called, catches Alex’s eye and, to Alex’s surprise, shoots him a knowing grin and a wink, ambling onto the bus and heading straight for the back. Alex is briefly stunned, but he passes quickly to rage.
Oh, game on, motherfucker.
He practically vibrates with indignation as he waits for his name to be called and, when his disinterested instructor finally calls “Manes,” Alex stalks on the bus and heads straight for Guerin. When he catches sight of Alex striding single-mindedly towards him, Guerin’s eyes widen and he presses himself back against the dirty vinyl cushion, tense for a moment as though preparing to be bodily removed from his seat. Instead, Alex casually tosses his bag on the ground, spins on the balls of his feet, and drops heavily into Guerin’s lap.
“Uh, hi,” Guerin says with a laugh, arms raised in the air helplessly around Alex’s body. “Make yourself comfortable, I guess?”
 Alex pulls his iPod and earbuds out of his pocket.
“Guerin,” he greets him disinterestedly, scrolling for his favorite band and turning up the volume, effectively ending the conversation before it begins. He feels rather than hears Guerin chuckle against his back, and a moment later Guerin’s hands fall lightly to Alex’s hips, fingers digging in when the bus lurches into motion and Alex bounces unexpectedly. 
Half the ride passes uneventfully. Everyone is exhausted from a full day baking in the sun, most of all the two adults forced to keep a group of bored and under-supervised teens in check for four hours; half the bus is dozing, the other half whispering and laughing quietly, heads pressed close together in their seats. No one so much as spares them a glance. Alex closes his eyes and lets his music insulate him, shivering as the cool blast of the bus’s air conditioning chills his damp skin. Guerin’s fingers on his hips ground Alex, and when they begin tapping in what he recognizes as the rhythm of the song blasting through his buds, he pulls one out of his ear, wipes it on his tee shirt, and passes it wordlessly back to Guerin, who takes it with a low murmur of thanks. Alex shifts on his lap, hoping to redistribute his weight so Guerin’s leg doesn’t fall asleep, but he freezes when he presses inadvertently on the other boy’s very hard cock. Guerin groans quietly, fingers gripping Alex’s hips hard enough to bruise.
“‘m sorry,” he grunts, shifting away quickly.
“I-is that cuz of me?” Alex asks softly. He’s a teenage boy, too, he is not unfamiliar with inconvenient and completely unsolicited boners.
Guerin huffs a laugh.
“Yeah, man,” he breathes. “That’s all you.”
Alex’s eyes dart across the bus. The bench across the aisle is empty, a hand-written “Do not sit” sign taped to the backrest, and pretty much everyone in their immediate vicinity is asleep, Kyle snuffling in a way Alex remembers finding endearing as a 13 year-old. He breathes deep, presses himself closer to Guerin, and snakes his right hand behind him to cup Guerin's bulge through his jeans.
"Fuck," Guerin moans, and Alex squeezes him in warning.
"Shhh," he whispers, turning his head briefly to breathe low into his ear. "Quiet, Guerin."
 The other boy settles, rolling his hips subtly into Alex's hand as he strokes Guerin's length and presses the heel of his palm roughly against the bite of his zipper. Guerin's forehead tips forward to rest against the back of Alex's neck, his breath hot on Alex's back. He slides his palms up and down the tops of Alex's thighs, slipping his fingers into a rip in the denim near Alex's knee to rub circles on his skin with the pads of his fingers.
"Don't stop," he pleads softly, and in response Alex works the button and zipper of his jeans open, wrapping his fingers around the silky, hot skin of his cock.
"Commando?" he huffs in surprise, voice rough with his own arousal, and he feels Guerin shrug helplessly.
Their bodies find a shared rhythm, Alex’s wrist pumping in time with the fluid roll of Guerin’s hips. It's quick and quiet and so insanely hot. Alex squeezes the head of Guerin's cock between his fingers, rolling it firmly in his palm and spreading the pre-cum leaking from the tip. Guerin gasps and scratches blunt nails up Alex's thighs, and Alex does it again, drunk on the heady power of being desired, of playing Guerin's body like an instrument he's mastered on instinct alone. Methodically he scans the bodies at rest around him, on guard for an intrusive eye; Guerin, meanwhile, is oblivious, soft whimpers escaping his lips and palms roaming Alex's chest and arms, fingers curling around his biceps as Alex works him steadily faster.
“Alex, Alex,” Guerin hisses, grip tightening on Alex’s arms, and Alex knows he’s close by the need in his voice, the squeeze of his hands, and the way his cock weeps, liquid tacky between Alex’s fingers.
 Beneath his haze of desire, Alex is suddenly hit with the very real logistical concerns of giving a hand job to completion in the back of a school bus, and he makes a split-second decision. He twists off Guerin’s lap to kneel in front of him, encouraging him to slide forward with strong hands on Guerin's hips, and takes him deep into his mouth all at once, curling his tongue around the shaft of Guerin's cock and sucking hard and fast. Guerin's fingers are in his hair, scratching and squeezing the back of his neck, and he manages to come silently in Alex's mouth, a choked off moan all that escapes his lips. The taste and feel of Guerin's cum in his mouth is an entirely new sensation, and Alex swallows with a giddy sense of pride, the salty aftertaste heavy on his tongue.
Guerin's insistent fingers under his chin guide his gaze upward, and Alex tilts his head back to smile at him, biting his lip at Guerin's dazed expression as Alex fastens the other boy’s jeans. His gaze flits past Guerin and out the rear windows of the bus, and Alex’s heart seizes when he sees the “Thanks for visiting Roswell!” sign in the distance. They’re ten minutes from the school. He panics, using Guerin’s thighs for leverage as his pushes himself to his feet and flings himself across the aisle, perching on the end of the “Do Not Sit” bench. He glances over to Guerin, who looks at him with wide, pleading eyes, gaze traveling pointedly down to where Alex is still hard in his jeans. He licks his lips, eyes stuck on the outline of Alex’s cock against his thigh. Alex shakes his head, grabbing his backpack from the floor and dropping it on top of his lap. Guerin whines.
“All right, people,” their instructor calls, and Guerin jumps in surprise. “We’re unloading at the back of the school. If your parents are picking you up…”
Alex lets the bustle of students waking, calling out to friends, and collecting their belongings drown out the teacher’s droning. He dips in and out of different conversations, listening for a hint that they were overheard or even suspected. But most of his classmates are chatting about after-school and weekend plans, the football guys ribbing Kyle about having dinner with Liz’s dad on Friday. Alex lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing, and turns to find Guerin staring at him, a small, private smile on his lips.
“Can I help you?” Alex asks, his voice light with amusement.
“I think you just did,” Guerin murmurs, and Alex grins wickedly. “What are you doing after this?”
“I have a shift at the museum.”
Guerin’s face falls.
“You know,” Alex offers, “it’s pretty slow on weekdays. Especially outside of tourist season. Practically no one’s around.”
“Really?” Guerin drawls. “Cuz I’ve always wanted to visit the museum.”
“You should stop by,” Alex says, biting his lip to suppress a giddy grin. “You know, while there aren’t any crowds.”
“Yeah, think I will,” Guerin replies. “I don’t really like people.”
Alex grins.
“I noticed,” he deadpans. “I don’t, either.” 
“Just a few,” Guerin adds softly.
“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “One or two.”
121 notes ¡ View notes
gamersonthego ¡ 4 years ago
Text
Matt Giguere’s Top 25 DS Games
It’s strange to think Nintendo, once again, had to prove themselves in the handheld space after the Game Boy and Game Boy Advance handily served every bit of competition it faced. Yet in 2004, the Nintendo DS faced an uphill battle to show that having the best and fastest hardware wouldn’t necessarily result in the best sales. 16 years and 154 million units later, the legacy of the DS is strong, evident in the deluge of smartphone and mobile games that rely on a touch interface. It’s a shame Nintendo and other publishers are not being better stewards to their catalogues of games as there are still many that are only playable on the original hardware, and few seem to make the jump to the current set of consoles and computers. Still, it is easy to find an original DS that works and there are still plenty of cheap titles to pick up. Here’s a selection of my favorite games to hit the handheld.
1. Meteos
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Can a puzzle game top Tetris?  Honestly, thanks to the minds of Tetsuya Mizuguchi and Masahiro Sakurai, Meteos manages to blast past the mesosphere and comes the closest to a space rendezvous with the original falling brick puzzler. What makes it fun to play? While it can get rather hectic and fast paced, the touch screen makes matching three or more pieces a cinch. Blasting off these little “meteos” using rocket propulsion and fighting against the forces of gravity creates a very addictive hook with some variety that keeps it from being stale. It is a simple and effective puzzle game that showcases why a touch-based interface can work for some games better than what button presses can do. Add in easy to use single cart multiplayer and the single-player Star Trip mode to keep you sharp, and you have a puzzle game for the ages.  
2. Elite Beat Agents
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Imagine being stuck in an impossible situation, like having to face down a runaway golem, or sneak into a corporate office using your ninja powers? Who do you call to help in this situation? This is a job for the Elite Beat Agents: A government agency that cheers you on to the grooves of radio hits from the ’70s to the ’00s. The idea of playing a rhythm game where you have to tap and slide didn’t sit well with my snobbish DDR and Guitar Hero ways. Why tap a screen when I can “dance” and “rock out?” Little did I know this was just as valid a way to feel the music and beat out a jam, and soon after I was feeling the hand cramps of too much furious tapping while I carefully made sure I didn't “Ouendan” the bottom screen. There’s a very strange energy to this game that permeates from the different scenarios to the beat of the soundtrack. I might not dig every song served in the playlist, but I can’t help but try and top my score on Sk8er Boi for the 100th time! With all the trouble in the world, maybe we need more games (and people) like EBA these days.
3. Advance Wars: Dual Strike
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Oh Advance Wars, your time was too short over here. But hey! At least we were given a great first outing on the DS, and all these years later, it is still a blast to play. Using the second screen to quickly glance at unit and area information is a welcomed addition, but Second Front battles add a new dimension to the core strategy game that really sells the top screen. Throw in all the CO Tag Powers and a map editor built for a touch interface, and it’s hard to see how anything can top this release of Advance Wars. But seriously Intelligent Systems and Nintendo, please give the franchise one more shot!  
4. Tetris DS
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Yeah, it's Tetris. But also, it’s Tetris! Maybe it is one of those “skips a generation” thing, as you can kind of plot the best versions of portable Tetris are on the GameBoy, the DS, and the Switch. Tetris DS may be sacrilegious to some with its hold options and infinity spin technique, but this is what I think makes this version unique beyond the various modes and dual screen support. To me it creates a faster version of Tetris that is easy to get into, but can be a fun challenge to master. The addition of Nintendo-themed boards to go with the different modes of play not seen in other versions also adds to this unique addition to the Tetris line. Looking for a version of Tetris with more to do than just the base game? Tetris DS has the most to offer.  
5. Grand Theft Auto: Chinatown Wars
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This game should have been a hit. Maybe the marketing hyped this game up too much? Maybe more people were spoiled by the full 3D realization of the GTA formula with GTA 3? Maybe the music wasn’t the same without the radio hits? Maybe if the synthwave revival had hit the scene sooner it would’ve helped? Whatever the case, this is a gem of a GTA game. While it misses out on the full production of the home console and PSP “Stories” line (I think full voice acting would have helped this version of the game immensely,) just about every aspect of the big brother version is here in this miniature version of Liberty City. From hijacking cars to outrunning the fuzz, this top-down 3D GTA gives a full helping of the open world mayhem the series is known for. The bottom screen minigames can get a touch annoying, but they hardly get in the way like many other games on the DS. Rounding out this game is the drug peddling economy minigame. Not only does it fit the setting and overall style of the game, but  it enables a great opportunity for emergent gameplay to unfold with big risks and big gains. It baffles me* how Rockstar won’t develop this further in their games’ single player campaigns. Check it out, as it’s still rather cheap on the DS and is also available on the PSP and most modern mobile devices. *I’m clearly ignoring the real money cash flow of online microtransactions. 6. Kirby: Canvas Curse
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7. Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin
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8. Mario Kart DS
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9. Looney Tunes: Duck Amuck
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10. Castlevania: Order of Ecclesia
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11. WarioWare Touched!
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12. Star Fox Command
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13. Mario and Luigi: Bowser’s Inside Story
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14. 999: Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors
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15. Final Fantasy IV
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16. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
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17. Brain Age: Train Your Brain in Minutes a Day!
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18. The World Ends with You
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19. Professor Layton and the Curious Village
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20. Mega Man XZ
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21. Pokemon Black/White
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22. Photo Dojo
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23. Style Savvy
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24. New Super Mario Bros
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25. The Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass
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8 notes ¡ View notes
thanatosangels ¡ 4 years ago
Note
CONGRATS ON 100 MAE!!! i love your writing, so can i get a 🥰 for kitty?
THANK YOU SO MUCH OMGGG!! <333  this is way longer than i meant it to be but i had so much to say hahhaha
~~~~~
I shouldn't have come.
It was Kit’s first thought as soon as he stepped through the portal. 
Holy shit, its hot. That was the second.
Despite growing up in LA, the three years he’d spent in the English rain had clearly changed his body’s temperature regulations. He was used to all encompassing grey dampness - seriously, how can one country have four seasons but they’re all just different variations of rain? - and the scorching sun hurt his eyes and made him sweat uncomfortably. 
He took a deep breath, remembered all the advice about ‘just being himself’ that his dad had given him, and made his way up the path.
Inside the LA Institute was much the same hustle and bustle as before. It was like stepping into one of his dreams. Kit was greeted with a whirlwind of kind words and hugs, swiftly chased into the kitchen and handed a steaming cup of tea - “because, you know, you're English now!” Dru smiled brightly - and a chocolate chip cookie. Everybody was asking how he was, what he’d been up to, how were Mina, and Jem, and Tessa, how was his training going. Emma was particularly interested in the answer to that last question, and pulled him aside later to suggest training together so she could give him all kinds of tips and tricks. He realised, with a jolt, that he was slightly taller than her now. 
The only person who didn’t greet him was Ty.
As he absentmindedly answered everybody’s questions, he glanced around the kitchen anxiously. Ty was the reason he was here. Maybe not officially, and maybe it wasn't something Kit wanted to tell everyone, but it was the truth regardless. After everyone was finished, and people began to wander away to get back to their day, Kit pulled Julian aside.
“Hey, do you... uhm...,” He ran a worried hand through his hair. “Have you seen Ty?”
Julian gave him a sad sort of half smile. “I think he went down the beach.”
----------- 
The water was even bluer than he remembered, and the sand was warm between his toes. He made his way along the beach, trainers and t-shirt in hand. It was too hot for either of them. He was glamoured, so he wasn't worried about mundanes seeing the Marks that now twined their way along his strong arms and chiseled stomach. Sometimes, he had to do a double take when he looked in the mirror because he still didn’t recognise himself, even now. He still thought of himself as the scrawny, lanky, awkward-looking boy of years past.
He kept scanning the beach over and over again, looking for any sign of Ty. There were none.
He kept walking.
He kept walking until he recognised the cave that Ty and he had met with Shade - well, Ragnor Fell - in and a sudden pang shot through his heart at the memory. He walked in slowly, automatically reaching for the witchlight Ty had given him, when he realised he didn’t need it. The cave was already lit.
Kit froze in the small, corridor like hollow at the front of the cave. He stared, wide eyed, at various candles that were littered around the room, the books that were stacked neatly in the corner, and the small, wooden table and camping chair that sat in its centre. But mostly, he stared at the figure sitting at the table. Beautiful. His head was bent over a small gaming console, the Herondale necklace hanging next to Livvy’s locket at his throat, long fingers moving rapidly, black hair curtaining his face, headphones over his ears. Kit blinked, sure he was seeing things, but no.
He’d found Ty. 
He drank in the image of him in the dim light. He was taller now, his legs longer, but he had the same slender build. Kit saw the small muscles rippling in his arms under the grey t-shirt he was wearing as his fingers worked. He nearly collapsed. It had been so long, so long since he'd held him on the roof of the London Institute, so long since he’d told him that he loved him, so long since he’d watched him from afar on the beach for the final time, and yet he still felt his heart rate increase and he still wanted to run his hands through the muddle of black hair on his head and he still wanted to part his lips with his own. He still felt the same.
Ty must have sensed the fact he was being watched then, because he turned his head and looked at Kit. His grey eyes, shining like two silver rings in the candlelight, widened in surprise and he stopped playing his game. He was staring at Kit’s chest. 
Kit was suddenly acutely aware of the fact he didn’t have a top on. He felt himself flush.
Ty pulled his headphones off, putting them around his neck. The inside of Kit’s wrist throbbed at the sight.
The silence was deafening. They were both just staring; Kit at Ty’s earphones, Ty at Kit’s chest. 
Finally, after what was probably seconds but felt like hours, Kit had to say something.
“Uhm.... hey.” He gave a small, awkward wave. Smooth, dumbass. 
Ty flicked his eyes away and stared fixedly at the cave wall directly ahead of him. His mouth was in a hard line, and his right hand was tapping out a fast rhythm on the arm of his chair. Kit swallowed hard. 
“Why did you leave me?” Ty said, his voice barely above a whisper
Kit felt his heart break in two, right then and there. Tears welled up in his eyes. It took everything in him not to go over and put his arms around Ty, but he knew he wouldn't want that. He dropped to his knees instead, bending his head so his blonde hair would hide his face.
“Because,” his ragged voice caught in his throat. “Because I loved you. Because I still love you, even now. Because you're the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. Because I want to be near you all the time.” Every thought, every word, he’d been holding in for three years seemed to be tumbling out. He didn’t stop them. “Because you make me laugh. Because I want to be there for you. Because i dream about you. Because i need you.” He put his head in his hands as a sobbed racked his body. He could feel Ty looking at him.
“You left because you love me?” The confusion was clear in Ty’s voice.
Kit took a deep, shaky breath. “Yes. But I mainly left because you don’t love me.” It was not accusatory: his voice was hollow and tinny in his own ears. 
“But Kit, I do love you.”
Kit snapped his head up. 
“What?” 
“I do love you.” Ty got up, placed his console on the table and came to sit cross legged in front of Kit, looking directly into his eyes. “Why do you think I’m in this cave? Why do you think I’m wearing this necklace?” He pointed at the Heron. Kit shrugged. “I’m here because this is a place we were together. I come here when i want to be with you. And I wear this because it’s the closest thing I have to being yours. It makes me feel closer to you.” Ty looked down at his hands then, and even in the dim light, Kit could see he was blushing. 
“But... but....” It was Kit’s turn to be confused now. “Why didn’t you come to see me today? I had to come and find you. You weren’t there.” He was aware he sounded like a whining child, but he couldn't help it.
"I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to say, and i didn’t know want to say anything in front of the others, and i thought you might...” His voice wavered. “I thought you hated me.”
“Oh, Ty,” Kit reached out for his hand, instinctively, and Ty let him take it. “I could never hate you, not ever.” 
Kit turned his own wrist over to show the small outline of Ty’s headphones he had tattooed there. Ty traced it with his finger wonderingly. His touch sent chills all the way through Kit’s body. 
“I have spent the last three years waking up every morning and loving you even more than i did the day before, even when i didn’t think that was possible.” Kit’s voice was low and steady. Ty laced their fingers together. “I have spent the last three years dreaming about you, and crying when i realise you're not there.” Kit leaned forward, putting his face level with Ty’s. “I have spent the last three years running away from the best person i’ve ever met,” he dropped his voice to a low whisper. “But i don’t I don’t want to run anymore.”
And then his lips were on Ty’s, and everything in the world made sense.
55 notes ¡ View notes
the-mic-drop ¡ 4 years ago
Audio
Straw Hat Pirates Rap Cypher by Rustage
Never really seen One Piece, but this alone kinda makes me want to dive in.
Lyrics under the cut
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Monkey D. Luffy (Performed by Rustage)
Straight out the
East Blue, call me Luffy, I’m a beast too
Anybody you speak to will tell you what I’ve been through
I’m as fast as a pistol, blastin you suckers
I reckon that now I’m steppin up, gettin rough gear second
I’m the captain
Activating Haki, I’m cracking knuckles, attacking so buckle up if you’re lacking
Watch my bounty as it’s racking up
You ain’t ever stacking up
I will fucking end you if you ever hurt my Nakama
It doesn’t matter if you’re navy,
you’re crazy to face me
The aura of a conqueror, even Kaido is shaky
I’m breaking in
cause I’m made to win
I may be rubber, but you’ll need protection from this pirate king
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Roronoa Zoro (Performed by None Like Joshua)
Yo it’s Roronoa Zoro, yeah my swords overkill
With a blade in my mouth, so my word flow spills
more blood from a pirate, marine, or fishman with gills
I’ll cut your verse in half
Mihawk givin me the skills
Scars all on my body?
But I’ll leave one on your brain
Just ask Kuma when I took in all of Luffy’s pain
I don’t need a Devil Fruit if you want to see my strength
Hard work, yeah I trained to take Pica to the grave
Slicing back and forth
you know I got a stick for playing Haki
with my Wado Ichimonji
While Sanji sponsored by Nike
Lost my left eye from the waterfalls I chased, but you forgot me?
I’m the greatest swordsman
even after my days I’ll be there on top
while I sleep
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Nami (Performed by Savvy Hyuga)
Third memeber of the Straw Hats, but call me Nami
Luffy set me free now I’m navigating him to the One Piece
No need to judge me, it’s just a little pickpocketing
But let me give you a lesson here on some chemistry
Usin’ gusts to make you fall back
Do you want a taste of my staff before you see the lightning flash
n’ hear the thunder crash from my climatact
leave you shakin’ from my thunder lance, can you dodge a weather based attack?
Go ahead and come at me, I’ll watch you pass through
Tell me which tempo that you want me to use
So many combinations, I don’t know which one to choose
Let’s get this over with so I can collect all your revenue
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Usopp (Performed by Nux Taku)
Now you’re messing with a veteran
I’m better than anybody
I got an army, crushing all your skeletons
I head up into battle, leave you rattled with my squad
Pray to me, a deity, a sniper
God (Ay)
I’m a sharpshooter so I can’t miss (Ay)
Over longer distance with advantage (Ay)
Got the craftsmanship that is demanded (Woo!)
Your small IQ won’t even understand it
They say I’m lying, but honestly it’s all trickery
Literally, I’m just carrying this crew with my abilities
Hitting me? It’s unlikely.
Come on try to fight me
May have had my issues but I’ve put all that behind me
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Sanji (Performed by Eddie Rath)
It all started on a ship in the North Blue
A protĂŠgĂŠ to the Zeff, what a cool dude
Cut off his leg tryna save and preserve food
Suddenly now you got a friend to preserve you
We all tried to survive from the violence
as we march in an army of pirates
The ocean is a grave full of silence
Enemies wonder, where the time went
I remember I was nothing but a thin joke
My calves on fire, get your face broke
As you sleeping the chef will remain woke
They want beef but they don’t want the Vinsmoke
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Tony Tony Chopper (Performed by GameboyJones)
Everybody get to the Chopper
If you got a bounty on your head, Imma pop ya
Girlies think I’m cute
‘Bout to make it reindeer
All about the money, so the enemies should stay clear
Now I joined in with this great little group of pirates
Don’t mess with the squad or we will get violent
Isn’t it ironic I bring pain as the doctor
I could save your life when I drop ya
Now, watch your tone with Tony
or I’ll fold you phonies
Every line’s ginuwine like I rode the pony
and you acting folly
when you saying we don’t run streets
Straw Hat crew and we coming for that One Piece
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Nico Robin (Performed by DaisyBanaisy)
Last survivor of my home town
Persecuted for my knowledge
so I’m on my own now
We about to go down,
chilling with tea or we get wild
The name is Nico Robin and I am the Devil Child
Crew archaeologist, information I’m logging it
I got in with the Straw Hats, now I’m reading Poneglyphs
Haven’t you forgotten this girl is straight power
See my hands sprouting and blossom like a flower
Intelligence is unmatched
Show me where the fun’s at
Coming in clutch with these hands growing out ya back
Enies Lobby finding out I have more to give
My crew by my side, so you know that I want to live!
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Franky (Performed by Dreaded Yasuke)
Here comes the tank worth 94 bills
Can adapt to any environment like Bear Grylls
Biased when it comes to the Straw Hats, they can chill
Applying a pressure on your endeavors whenever it gets real
That’s the best that you got, probably need to drop
Modifications from my cannon take off a mountain top
My Franky Radical Beam shooting just like a stream,
whizzing right by your head to mess with your self-esteem
Better start counting your bread when you see my team,
accumulating lot of cred gonna need the marines
If you ain’t got the berries get off the Thousand Sunny,
playing like it’s imaginary and get the real Cutty
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Brook (Performed by Connor Rapper)
The musician of the Straw Hats
Munificent? Of course, that’s a given
My dynamic riffs are gift-wrapped in ribbon
Every hit exact and honed, like my slashes and my blows
Every note composed appropriately, rhythm’s in my bones
The devil in I is why I never did die
I was revived with twice the undeniable splendour
If stealing the show was seen as a crime then I’m a prime offender
My attacks are so precise although I lack sight receptors
Picked off one by one when I strum with a boney thumb
those opponents with loaded guns are too slow for my frozen lunge
On that boat got pretty lonely wrote odes to my blubbery chum
Though the ocean temp was low I felt so comfortably numb
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Jinbei (Performed by DizzyEight)
It’s Jinbei the sensei with my fist I’m ruthless
One swing will leave you stretched out like you’re Luffy,
that’s one piece, but you can get two if you don’t want peace
I’m a fish man, but it’s my hook that make em sleep
You don’t wanna spar, you don’t want the fade
He claim he got heart so I double tap his face
If I gotta go to war I just do it for a change
I live the way I’m living for my brother in the grave
It’s the Straw Hats, I roll with a clique full of warriors
This is not a game, we are not the ones to toy with
All about peace, but if you push us we destroy ya
Big man, but the move smooth like the water
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thegrimmrwbyfanblog ¡ 5 years ago
Text
Sundays Are the Best
Fandom: RWBY
Characters: Pyrrha Nikos, Reader
Words: 2,330
Commissioned by: lugnut420
Content warnings: Love, shameless indulgence,
You were always looking forward to Sundays. Some people looked forward to Fridays for the end of the work week, some towards Saturdays for their first real day off, and even a few who loved their jobs and were excited for Mondays to roll back around.
Really, you were just happy for Sundays because it's the only day of the week where both you and Pyrrha have the day off and could just cuddle in bed. You enjoyed the sensation of her soft, warm body pressed against yours, your arms wrapped around her and the flat, toned muscles of her stomach and brushing gently against the underside of her breasts with every shift the two of you make.
Waking up is always a treat, your nose buried in the nape of her neck, smelling her earthy shampoo and pressing the occasional soft kiss against the line where her crimson hair meets the delicious skin of her neck.
"Hmmm, somebody's attentive this morning," Pyrrha murmurs sleepily, a loving lilt in her tone as she pulls one of your hands up and lays a kiss of her own against your palm.
"For you, always," you mumble against her warm skin. You press another sleepy kiss into her hairline, knowing from intimate experience that that was one of her several sweet spots that get her all worked up.
"You keep that up, and one of us is gonna be late for work," Pyrrha comments, reaching behind her, not to push you away but to confirm that she wasn't the only one getting excited from all this attention.
The corners of your mouth turn down at that. "Babe, it's Sunday." You feel her pause for a moment before her response of her knowing that and she was just testing you has you chuckling. "Of course, of course. So what do I win as a prize then?"
She pushes herself against you fully, her ass pressed firmly against your dick, those tight buns rubbing against your hardening shaft. "How about a fun hour in bed before we make breakfast?" your beautiful lover offers playfully as she moves your hand in her grasp down to her bountiful chest.
"What a lovely prize," you agree, placing extra emphasis on compliment, enjoying the way her nipple stiffens under touch. You palm her tit and bounce it a few times, your other hand ghosting down her stomach, over her hip, and finally delving into the junction between her thighs to play with her pearl and those lips that are slowly growing sodden.
Pyrrha's hips buck into your touch, her legs entwining with yours as you bring her to greater heights of pleasure. A low moan tumbles from her mouth as you play with her body, wanting to hear more of that wonderful noise as she breathily whispers your name in a husky voice. Between your playing with her breasts, your fingers pinching and lightly tweaking those stiff nubs adorning her large soft chest, and your
Her hips give a final jerk as she reaches her peak, her pussy gripping at your invading, questing digits as you stroke her inner walls. The invincible girl's (your invincible girl at that) holding onto your arms as she shudders in your embrace. However, all good things must pass, and though you would love Pyrrha to constantly experience an orgasm, she eventually comes down. She turns and repositions herself so that she's facing you, a loving expression on her face as she pulls you closer, your lips meeting hers in a wordless gesture of passion.
Things get more heated, and as the kiss deepens, your lover pushes herself up to rest on top of you, her amazing breasts pressed into your chest, those stiff points almost digging into you. You respond to her new position by latching one hand onto her tight butt and resting the other on the small of her back. She seems to have other plans however as breaks off the kiss briefly to wiggle, her waist grinding against your erection.
Pyrrha's eyes have a smoky glint in them as she pushes you back down with one strong arm as you try to recapture her mouth, her lips laying a trail of gentle kisses down past your jawline, your collarbone, your chest, your stomach, and then finally your waist. She pulls back, tucking a lock of her fiery hair behind one ear as she grips your turgid length, licks her lips, and plants a wet kiss squarely against the base of your shaft.
She holds that kiss there, her visible emerald eye never once leaving yours as your cock rests hotly against her face, until her lips part and her tongue sneaks out quickly to lap at your sack. You give a soft groan as that velvety organ gives a few gentle lashes against the large hefty orbs, Pyrrha being careful to be gentle down there. Even as she lavishes your testes, her hands aren't idle. One petite hand is resting on your stomach, her palms lightly caressing your abdomen, while the other is wrapped around you, lightly slapping her face with your burning flesh.
After a few more smacks, she disengages from your sack, leaning up as she dips a single finger into the precum drooling from your now fully erect shaft. You gulp at the sight of this wonderful woman as gazes at your cock with a lusty look on her face, now adorned with a small smattering of your clear sticky fluid, and, finally, she takes your breath away as your tip vanishes into her hot, wet mouth, her tongue swiping at your head roughly in an attempt to collect all your precum. It's a game between the two of you now, a competition to see who loses control first and give into temptation.
Pyrrha lives up to her reputation as always as your already fraying discipline snaps.
Before you can even realize it, your hand is on the back of her head and pushing, your hips rising to meet that gorgeous face, and you could swear that her eyes are twinkling as she looks up at you, her lips firmly wrapped around the base of your dick. Every inch has been forced into her mouth, and while you're not as big as some of the porn stars you've seen online, a few of your past partners have had difficulty taking you.
Pyrrha, like a true champ, is smiling as best she can around your cock and gives you a teasing suck.
Your fingers curl into and grip into the long locks of her hair as this amazing woman nuzzles her nose into your pubic hair before you pull her up. Pyrrha is a strong woman, and you know that she can kick your ass any day of the week; however, in the bedroom, she is more than happy to let you lead and take charge... most of the time anyways. When she explained to you that she loved the idea of deepthroating you and letting you take control, you were more than happy to help her practice, practice which is now paying off in spades as you push her back down to the root without any difficulty.
You hold her there for a several second, enjoying the way her tongue bathes your cock, before you feel two of her fingers tap against your thigh. You let her come up for just a second to let her catch a few quick breaths, just high enough to breathe through her nose but not enough for you to slip out of her mouth, before you push her back down. After a few moments, she looks back up to you, her eyes a little misty but full of love, and gives you a thumbs up.
Her signal for you to go wild.
Pyrrha's tongue doesn't ever stop as you pull her head up and down relentlessly, those pink lips wrapped around your cock so deliciously. She doesn't gag once, the reflex long since trained out of her by her own volition, the many vivid memories of walking into your home with her practicing with some toys helping you further along. She's skilled enough that on your wilder pulls up, she's able to take a breath and hold it until the next opportunity. While several inches of flesh are the only that push past her lips, words of encouragement and sweet nothings come from yours.
It's only a matter of minutes of this intense treatment that causes you to finally reach your own orgasm, you grunting out a warning to Pyrrha. It honestly feels like her lips are glued to the base of your dick as you push her down as far as possible, her eyes closed and her mouth almost like a vacuum as she sucks at you. The sounds of loud groaning fill the air as you explode down her throat before she pulls back halfway through, her eyelids fluttering open as you finish off in her mouth, several powerful ropes of semen splashing against her tongue.
When you finally finish, she's still sucking, pulling away until only the very tip of your penis is in her mouth. With a small pop, lovely Pyrrha finally pulls away, making sure that your attention is solely on her. When you recover and the multi-colored stars fade from your sight, she gives you a cheeky grin and opens her mouth, showing you the large milky white load in her mouth. Pyrrha closes her mouth, and you can see the sleek muscles of her neck shift before she opens it back up, her mouthful of cum gone.
If you were starting to flag before, that intensely erotic sight instantly cured that.
It's a bit of a blur afterwards, but when you regain control of yourself, you're still on your back. Gazing down at you is Pyrrha as she reaches down and grips you, adjusting you for a brief moment before she descends on your length almost achingly slowly.
Her walls are slick with her own juices, each fold of her pussy clinging to you tightly like you were made for each other, and even after all the sex you two have had, she still bites her lower lip and slumps forward like it's her first time with you. Not that you're complaining, especially since it lets you lean up and finally capture one of her gorgeous pink nipples between your lips.
After a moment, the two of you find your rhythm, her bouncing in your lap as you smoothly thrust up into her tightness with her making the odd squeak and moan as you graze against of her sensitive spots just right. You yourself let out a moan of your own as she squeezes down you extra tight, her bountiful chest bouncing free as you two pick up the pace.
Soon, Pyrrha is rocking her hips as fast as she can, an intense blush on her face as the rapturous pleasure catches up to her. It's all you can do to match her pace, but eventually, she loses control, the loudest moan she's had yet spilling out from her as she plants herself down, her firm ass shivering against your thighs. You can see, and feel, a sudden flood of liquid seep from between her thighs and soak into the sheets underneath you two. You feel pride in your ability to make your amazing partner cum.
However, you have yet to reach that peak with her.
You take advantage of Pyrrha's inability to fight back while she's cumming in your lap, making her squeal and shudder as you shift her around on your bed, your rock hard cock never once leaving its comfy spot inside of her. It's pretty much the same position you two were just in, the only difference now being that the sleek back of your lover and her ponytail takes up most of your vision. Your arms have pulled her knees up so that they're almost pressed against her shoulders, and her arms are grasping onto your own as you thrust up into.
It's evident that Pyrrha is pretty much helpless in this position as she starts to call, saying "W-Wait, hang o-oooooaaahhhh," her plea for you to give her a moment to get a hold of herself and lower her sensitivity quickly devolving into a drawn out moan as you piston up into her.
You force your arms up a little higher, pulling her legs a little higher into the air and against her shoulders, and connect your arms up behind the back of her head. It lets you thrust that much harder and quicker up into her, your world narrowing down from the bedroom down to the amazing girl in your arms and her burning wet hole that envelops you in return.
Finally, release comes to you, and you thrust up into her a few final times, coming to a dead stop as cum blasts up against her innermost parts, the combination of how you're treating her and her heightened sensitivity bringing her to a final orgasm as well. With a shrill yell, Pyrrha announces her orgasm and falls limp as you feel like you've just lost all your strength, the legs you've been holding up falling and bouncing back onto the mattress now that there's nothing keeping them up.
After some time to catch your breath, you shift Pyrrha so that she's resting next to you nestled against your side instead of uncomfortably on your chest. You gently cup her cheek as you look at the blissed out expression on her face, half lidded eyes and an almost goofy smile on her face. You've learned your lesson on calling it that out loud however; even if Pyrrha's look of embarrassed shock was adorable, her not holding back on your joint workouts was decidedly not.
It bears reaffirming to yourself as you gaze down lovingly at the best thing to ever happen to you.
Sundays are the best.
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itwillbeall-dwight ¡ 4 years ago
Text
downtime at dead dawg
zarina kassir/caleb quinn | the deathslinger; just some feel-good friend shit w/ maybe flirting; alc tw; 1825 words
a/n: i’ve had this one sitting in the drafts for about a week, after i impulse bought zarina and having been playing her nonstop. they... are cute. i’ve also been doing really bad mentally so this fic was honestly mostly for me because i just want some... happy, feel-good content where people are friends for once. also, fun game to play; try and guess all the characters i vaguely mentioned. i wanna see how obvious i was.
i might add another few chapters to this?? i have ideas at the very least. i’d love it if u guys let me know if you wanna see that. hope you’re all doing well, and stay safe y’all.
likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated
ao3 mirror in the reblogs!
Preview: “You want a drink, cowboy?” The voice beside him almost startled him, making him jump to look down at the woman in the brown woollen scarf, holding two glasses of whiskey. She held one out to him, and he took it with a quiet thank you, more than expecting to resume people-watching alone and in silence, watching on as killer and survivor alike had raided his realm for a good time - a break from the killing and the madness, if only for a moment or two. But she didn’t. Instead, she moved around him and took his side, resting her elbows on the balcony and joining him. She took a small sip from her glass. “You know, it’s crazy. Soon you’re just going to go back to slaughtering us for fun.” “You assume it’s fun.” He gruffly replied, glancing down at her to meet her eyes. “Are you implying it’s not?” Caleb paused for a moment, almost thinking it over, before he chuckled. “...Yeah, no, it’s real fun.” “Yeah, I thought so.”
It was louder in here than it had been in a long time. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.
 The piano wasn’t being played by ghosts this time. Among the white noise of idle chatter from the saloon floor down below him was the tickling of ivories at a fast pace, courtesy of that Macmillan guy, mask pulled up now as he ran his hand up and down the stained keys with precision, though a bit rusty at times - a well-trained pianist, in whatever past he had. That athletic survivor with the ginger braids stuck close by, clapping along to the rhythm with a smile on her face. There was another survivor on the other side of the killer, the bear on the back of her jersey clearly in view from the balcony as she tried to touch the bottom keys of the piano without getting her wrists slapped. They seemed happy enough. 
 Others were scattered among the odd tables that littered the saloon floor, creating the blanket of white noise that overlaid the music. From one, he saw the snapping movements of the spectral ghostly girl as she sat beside two survivors, a kind man in a trenchcoat and the hardy looking girl with goggles, the two of them talking and occasionally giving the spectre a chance to input - she was laughing, a wide smile distorting her face, occasionally giving the man a soft and thankful glance when she was sure he was paying her no mind. From another, many people surrounded the tough-looking survivor with the undercut and the strong killer with the rabbit mask as they partook in a battle of brute strength - an arm-wrestling match, with support from both sides of the playing field, cheering them on and clapping in glee. At the bar sat a quiet group of four - older men, supposedly wiser, he would have thought, if not for the idiot wearing sunglasses indoors and the man with the metal hand, both clearly drinking more than they could handle. Even from the balcony, the apologetic glances exchanged between the older soldier and the detective were plain as day to see, their companions too delirious from alcohol to pay that much mind.
 “You want a drink, cowboy?”
The voice beside him almost startled him, making him jump to look down at the woman in the brown woollen scarf, holding two glasses of whiskey. She held one out to him, and he took it with a quiet thank you, more than expecting to resume people-watching alone and in silence, watching on as killer and survivor alike had raided his realm for a good time - a break from the killing and the madness, if only for a moment or two.
But she didn’t. Instead, she moved around him and took his side, resting her elbows on the balcony and joining him. She took a small sip from her glass. “You know, it’s crazy. Soon you’re just going to go back to slaughtering us for fun.”
“You assume it’s fun.” He gruffly replied, glancing down at her to meet her eyes.
“Are you implying it’s not?”
Caleb paused for a moment, almost thinking it over, before he chuckled. “...Yeah, no, it’s real fun.”“Yeah, I thought so.”
“Yeah, I thought so.” She returned the laugh in kind, though hers was a lot gentler than his - less rough, less biting. The killer turned his head to look down on her, at the expression on her face as she looked down to her friends and enemies below, a smile on her face. He followed her gaze down to the arm wrestling match, where the undercut survivor was shaking his hand and cursing to himself, his opponent stretching her strong arms above her head and placing a hand on her shoulder, where the infected priestess had placed her own hand in congratulations, whispering blessings in foreign tongues that Caleb didn’t care to understand. 
 The two remained silent and just watched the occurrences on the floor below. The idiot in sunglasses had climbed into the bar counter now, in the process of removing the tan suit jacket he wore with the encouragement of his fellow drunkard before being dragged off of the bar and outside by his sober, bearded compatriot. From underneath the balcony, the quiet boy almost always armed with a toolbox walked out, carrying a large pot of bubbling liquid and placing it on one of the empty tables, the leather-masked fellow and the hunched over swamp witch following behind him excitedly, ready to show off their cooking skills to the rest of the gathering.
 The company at the piano had grown now, Macmillan having moved to let someone else take a seat - one of the survivors, the bigger woman in the pinstripe suit, whose piano playing was delicate, light and slow, accompanied now by the sound of a guitar, as the tattooed blonde survivor sat on its lid and played along and gently plucked the instrument's strings, the third member of their little musical entourage being the sound of a haunting, tolling bell from the tree-like man in the torn cloak, his addition giving the piece a melancholy vibe. Sat on the other side of the piano lid was the floating nurse, and though no expression was visible on her face due to the bag covering her face, the way she relaxed told him she was enthralled with the performance. 
 Caleb looked back down at the woman still by his side, her expression still soft as she looked among the crowd. As if knowing she was being watched, she looked up again, not fearing to stare directly into his eyes as she did. 
“You know… we don’t even know your names. You don’t know ours. Isn’t that crazy?”
He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Why would it? Attachment ‘n that. Makes shit harder.”
“Like you would have sympathy.”
“Some of us have a heart, ma’am.”
She paused. “...Deep down, somewhere. I suppose you’re right. Though, it’s not entirely true. I know who you are. By chance. Maybe that’s why…”
He watched as her hand fell to the flashing device on her belt, a subtle red light blinking on and off. “...Huh. Nosey, aint’cha?”
“It gets me ahead in my line of work, Mr. Quinn.” She looked up as he flinched with a smirk, clearly not bluffing now, before her eyes fell back onto the crowd.
 Following her gaze again, which was once again placed on the arm-wrestling pair, Caleb heard her chuckle, moving her arms again to hang over the balcony in a delicate criss-cross. “Oh, David’s at it again.”
David. Must be the idiot with too little hair. Caleb looked down at him as he pressed his elbow against the table, and flexed his fingers with a pained grin, ready for another round. “...Hardy one, ain’t he?”
“I’d call it stupid. Only Nea would encourage his behaviour, and there she is.”
Sure enough, by the man’s side was the girl in the beanie, almost shouting in his ear as both beratement and encouragement - he swore he could almost see the sweat on David’s brow as she continued on. He hummed, his loose jaw cracking slightly before he snapped it back into place.
“And isn’t Jane’s music lovely?” She continued, a free and open hand signalling back to the piano. “I never expected her to be a pianist, and yet, the way she makes music with Kate is stunning.”
“...Sounds nice.” 
“Kate normally plays for us all, for a morale boost, it’s lovely. ...Ah, and look at that. The Spirit is a little less terrifying-looking like that. I never considered Adam to be the comedian type, he’s much too serious for that, and yet...” A pointed finger lead to the table of three again, where the spectral girl still giggled, her nose shrivelling up and as she tapped out her hand in defeat, the girl in goggles laughing along with her nose pinched between her fingers, a free hand nursing a glass.
 Caleb hummed again in acknowledgement, looking down at the scarved woman again, and her soft features, before nudging her softly with an elbow. “You’re not slick, ya know, missy. Tryna teach me somethin’ new an’ all. Think that’s gonna save ya?”
“Ha, guess not. Just thought I’d give it a shot.” She shrugged, twirling some hair between her fingers as, again, she stared him in the face, with no fear, and even a soft smile on her face. “And my name is Zarina. In case you wanted to know.”
He looked away, back down below - there was a commotion with the dinner plans, it seemed. He didn’t care to get involved. “Well, I didn’t.”
“Well, too bad.” Zarina almost mocked him with her tone, before she took a drink, finishing off the last of her glass as she tipped her head back, and wiping her mouth with the back of her arm in some mock-macho movement.
 There was a beat of silence. “...S’a pretty name, regardless.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me.” Dark eyes looked down at her again, and with another gentle snap of his jaw, Caleb gave her a lopsided grin, to which she gave him a half-hearted shove.
“Now who’s trying to get some sympathy points, huh?”
“Hey, just tellin’ the lady what she already knows.”
The odd pair shared a laugh, before the cowboy too finished off his drink in a movement similar to hers before, then holding out his free hand to take her empty glass. “One more, for the road?”
Zarina looked down at his hand, palm dried and scarred from years of working with his gun, before she placed the bottom of her glass into it. “If you enjoy my company, you can just say so, cowboy.”
“Ha. Keep dreamin’, Princess.” Heavy boots creaked against the wood of the balcony, as he descended down the stairs to the bar. 
 The night carried on, many survivors and killer alike finding it hard to stand after indulging in the rare pleasure that was alcohol in this realm. The darkness grew darker before everyone returned to their own dwellings until the trial resumed. 
Boots on the counter of the bar, Caleb poured himself one final drink, listening to the last of the footsteps behind him. “‘Night, Zarina.”
She looked behind her, finding his eyes on her as she hauled the arm of a barely conscious Dwight over her shoulder, hoping to help their leader back to the campfire in one piece. A small smile fell on her features. “...Goodnight, Caleb.”
He suppressed the small inhale and choke of his drink as she said his name again, for the second time that night, listening to the sound of her footsteps and mumbles back and forth with the messy spectacled boy grew quieter and quieter, leaving him alone again, with the creaking of floorboards and the ghosts on the piano, until the next time he was called to service here again, gun in hand. 
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phantasticworks ¡ 5 years ago
Text
Kickstart My Heart
Hi! I’m back with another little drabble! Credit to fi who tweeted something about parent rights and then directed me to a tweet about a child kicking the back of Phil's seat and him just being sympathetic on the parent's behalf. this kind of spiraled out of my control (sorry lmao) but i really enjoyed finally doing some Parent!Phan so i hope you enjoy reading it! 
read on ao3
Words: 4.8k
Description: Phil is having the worst flight of his life. Until he’s not. 
Warnings: I actually don’t think there are any! let me know if i need to tag anything as a warning!
Kick.
Phil flinches.
Kick, kick.
He glances to his neighbor, a woman in her mid-fifties if he had to guess. She’s fast asleep, her book still open on her lap. Evidently the football game isn’t happening behind her seat.
Kick-kick kick-kick.
Whoever it is certainly has some sort of rhythm, Phil thinks to himself. It’s a silly thought, probably, but he’s trying to give the person a chance to prove themselves as someone who isn’t rude enough to consistently kick the back of the seat of a stranger sat in the seat in front of them.
The kicking halts, and Phil breathes a sigh of relief. He hears quiet voices behind him, and he’s assuming that the culprit has been apprehended. He settles back in his seat, looking down at his iPad where he was previously watching a pre-downloaded episode of Free! before the kicking began.
Assuming he’s safe to resume, he unpauses his show, turning the volume down a tad so as not to wake the sleeping woman next to him. He’s barely fifteen seconds in when there’s a pressure on the back of his seat.
He sighs, closes his eyes, and counts to ten.
As calmly as possible, he pauses his show and slides his headphones off entirely, turning to the aisle to peek behind his seat.
A small child of about five is sat there, his big brown eyes meeting Phil’s in what looks like surprise. At the sight of such a small human, Phil pauses.
“Hello,” the little boy speaks, catching Phil off guard.
“Hi,” he replies, smiling.
Suddenly, a third voice enters the conversation.
“Oliver, leave this nice man alone.” Phil’s eyes flicker over to the man beside the child, his eyes meet a pair identical to the ones the little boy possesses. “I am so, so sorry,” the man says, his eyes panicked. “This is his first plane ride and I swear he’s not usually like this, we’ll leave you alone now, right-“
Phil laughs quietly, interrupting his ramble. A little patch of pink appears right above the man’s jaw, and Phil studies it, deciding it’s rather endearing. “It’s fine, really. You’re not bothering me,” he says, the last part directed at the little boy, who smiles at him shyly.
“Still, I’m sorry. I told him to quit kicking the seat, and I think the last one was just to spite me.” The man sends the little boy a look, one that very clearly says “we will talk about this later.”
“Ah,” Phil says, glancing at the little boy. He tuts at him, and the child hides a grin. “Naughty, naughty, aren’t we?”
The little boy, Oliver, shakes his head. “No!” He protests. “’m just bored! Daddy didn’t bring any games for me to play.” He sends a death glare to the man who is apparently his father, but he seems entirely unphased by this.
“I-“ Before the man can really protest any further, Phil speaks up.
“I have some games on my iPad if you’d like to play them.” He glances at the man to gauge his reaction, which is a stunned, sort of hesitant look.
“Really?” The little boy asks, his whole face lighting up.
Phil shrugs. “Sure, if your dad doesn’t mind.” He shares a look with the brunette.
“Erm, that’s really quite kind of you to offer, but we can’t-“
“Nonsense,” Phil says, waving him off. He unconnects his headphones from the jack and clears his apps before going to a section with mostly kids games he keeps for when he’s around his friend’s kids. “Go wild, kiddo,” he says with a smile, handing the iPad over to the little boy.
Oliver’s eyes are big and round as he takes the device, perusing the selection of games with childlike glee. His father stares at him for a moment before snapping his head up to stare at Phil. He opens his mouth, slowly shaking his head like he’s about to insist he takes it back, but Phil isn’t having that. With a wink and a smile, he turns back around in his seat, listening to the sounds of the little boy playing a game behind him.
~~~
It’s probably twenty minutes later when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He startles, as it comes from his right, where he’s positive his seatmate in the middle is still asleep. The person at the window appears to be conked out as well, so he stares in puzzlement, trying to figure out who, or what, tapped him.
A hand comes up between the seats then, and Phil nearly screams in surprise. He just barely manages to turn it into a surprised gasp, and even then, his neighbor shifts a little, as if she’s privy to his near panic-attack.
“Sorry,” a quiet voice comes from behind his row of seats. Phil shifts a little, turning to peer through the area where there’s a space between the seats at the top. The brunette man is smiling sheepishly at him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t,” Phil lies automatically.
The man smirks. “Right.” They stare at each other for a minute, and Phil’s cataloguing everything about him, from his deep brown eyes, to the concave of a dimple near his mouth, to the way that two strands of his hair are just a bit too short to sweep up into the curly mess waving over his forehead. “I’m Dan,” he says, interrupting Phil’s current attempt at drawing a mental map of the constellation of freckles on his cheek.
“Oh. Phil,” he replies with an awkward smile.
Dan smirks, as if he knows that Phil was just thinking about how cute his little button nose is. “I wanted to say thank you, for being nice to Olly.” His eyes move over to the little boy next to him, staying trained there for several seconds before his gaze flits back to Phil’s. “I really appreciate it.”
Phil waves him off. “It’s not a problem, I promise. I can’t imagine how tough it is being a parent with a small child, especially on a plane. But you’re doing a great job.” He smiles warmly, letting the sincerity seep into his words. He really does mean it, too. Until the kicking had started, Phil hadn’t even realized there was a child so close to him on this flight. This was worlds away from the last flight he took, when all he was aware of was a screaming toddler two rows ahead of him.
There’s a soft smile on Dan’s lips, and the pink patch has made a reappearance. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Daddy, can you help me?” Oliver’s voice punctuates the conversation, and Dan offers Phil an apologetic smile before turning to tend to his son.
Phil has just turned back around, trying to hide his own grin as he hears Dan struggle with understanding the mechanics of whatever game his son has chosen. After a few moments, Dan’s voice drops to a near whisper, and Phil strains to hear what he’s saying. He’s listening so intently, with his head tilted back, that the feeling of a little hand tugging at his shirt makes him yelp.
The lady beside him fully wakes up then, giving him a dirty look before shifting around in her seat, snapping her book shut like she has something to prove.
“I’m so sorry,” Phil says quietly to her. He feels the tug again and turns around to come face to face with the child who was previously sat behind him. “Hey, buddy,” Phil greets him with a smile.
Oliver smiles a little shyly before handing Phil the iPad. “Daddy said to give this back to you because he didn’t know how to play the game.”
“Oh, that’s-“
“Olly!” Dan hisses from the row behind him, his voice pitched high in what sounds like embarrassment.
The child grins cheekily up at Phil, who laughs. “Here, why don’t I try to help you out, okay?”
Oliver’s eyes light up and he nods excitedly. Before Phil has the chance to ask what game he was playing, the child is crawling up into his lap, pulling the iPad in Phil’s hand to his own lap before patiently waiting for him to unlock it.
“Oh,” Phil says dumbly. There is a child in his lap. He’s not sure why, but that’s definitely a thing that is happening. “Well, okay.”
He unlocks the iPad and lets Oliver pick the game he needs help on. Phil’s just walking him through what he needs to do to get to the next level when they hear a throat being cleared. It’s probably comical to an onlooker how both of their heads snap up in surprise at the same time. In Phil’s surprise he nearly drops the iPad but has the sense to hold Oliver to his chest, so he doesn’t slip off his lap.
Dan watches this with something between disapproval and endearment in his eyes. “Oliver, I told you to give it back. Not bother him with it.”
Oliver pouts up at his father. “Daddy, he said he’d help me!”
“I don’t mind, Dan, really.” Phil says with a smile.
Dan studies them for a moment, his arms crossed. Phil takes this chance to take in how tall he is, and how he’s having to bend over a little in order to stand up in the cabin. Phil hates that noticing his height makes him even hotter.
With a sigh of what might be defeat, Dan uncrosses his arms. “Fine. But…” He hesitates then, looking at Phil with what might be embarrassment. “I’d feel a little more comfortable if you maybe moved back to our row? There’s an empty seat, and I’d just prefer to be able to see him.” He looks almost apologetic, but Phil completely understands, and he can feel his own face flood with heat when he realizes how creepy he probably looks, allowing a stranger’s kid to sit in his lap to play games on his iPad.
“Yeah, of course. Let me just grab my stuff,” Phil says quickly, before Dan changes his mind. Because Oliver really is a sweet kid and Phil loves kids. He’s trying to convince himself that his eagerness to sit with them has nothing to do with wanting to look at Dan some more.
“Okay,” Dan smiles, the dimple making a reappearance. “Olly, hop up, Phil will come sit with us, okay?”
The child nods and clambers off Phil’s lap to stand next to his seat, waiting patiently. Phil allows him to carry the iPad, much to the little boy’s glee.
Dan’s already moved back to their row, where he’s shifted over to take the window seat. The shutter is drawn, Phil notices absently. Oliver sits down in the middle seat before turning to look at Phil with wide, expectant eyes. “Sit, sit!” He cheers, tugging on Phil’s sleeve.
“Olly,” Dan says, his voice a warning.
Phil laughs good-naturedly before settling into the seat beside the child. “He’s fine, I promise.” He tilts his head to look at the iPad in Oliver’s lap. “Alrighty, buddy, where were we?”
An hour passes, in which Phil struggles through simplifying explanations to the child, before eventually Oliver hands him the tablet and sits up so he can watch what Phil does over his arm. Eventually Oliver decides to move the seat rest, scooting over so that he’s pressed tight against Phil’s thigh. Phil glances up at Dan in alarm, unsure how to handle it, especially with Dan right there watching.
Dan shrugs, and he appears to be biting back a smile. “He has no personal space,” He explains with a fond roll of his eyes.
“Oh,” Phil says dumbly.
“Phil, look! I did it!” Oliver tilts his head back to grin up at Phil, a toothy smile that shows off his missing left front tooth.
“Way to go, buddy! Click on the green arrow and we can try the next level.”
Oliver nods, scrunching his eyebrows together as he sets to work on trying to figure out the second level. Phil stares down at him, a little burst of something like fondness blooming in his chest when he sees the way a dimple carves into his cheek when he presses his lips together. He giggles to himself, glancing up at Dan, who is tapping away on his phone.
“Dan?” Phil says quietly.
The man turns his head immediately, smiling. “Hm?”
Phil nods to his son. “Make that face?” He requests, holding back a laugh as Dan tilts his head, surveys his son’s expression, and then copies it.
When Phil bursts into laughter, Dan frowns. “What?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Hold on,” Phil gasps, pulling out his phone and looking for the bread meme. He finds it pretty quickly before tilting the phone for Dan to see. “This is what you looked like.”
Dan looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted, but after sneaking a couple glances at Phil, he smiles. “Alright, alright. No need to bully me, Phil.”
Phil holds his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t! You just had a derpy face.”
Oliver, who’s apparently heard this whole conversation, looks up. “What about me? Do I have a derpy face?” He bats his puppy dog eyelashes, and Phil snorts.
“You look just like your dad,” Phil says, trying not to insult the child. He doesn’t even mean it as an insult, anyway. Dan is cute, and so was the face he’d copied from Oliver. It just so happened to be meme worthy, is all.
The child glances up at Dan, who scrunches his nose at him with a smile. Oliver copies the look and Phil is certain is heart is melting. “I don’t see it,” Oliver announces, turning to Phil with a triumphant look.
Phil smiles, ruffling his hair playfully. “Don’t worry, you’re cute, it was a compliment, bubby.”
Oliver nods, then side eyes his dad. Phil barely knows them, but he can feel like he’s about to say something cheeky.
Sure enough, he smirks up at Phil, looking so much like Dan that it’s almost scary. “So, does that mean Daddy is cute?” He looks pleased with himself as soon as he said it.
Dan, however, flushes. “Oliver!”
Phil doesn’t even flinch, staring down at Oliver with a casually vague expression. “Yep, sure does.”
The child at least has the decency to look abashed, but it only lasts a second. “Daddy broke up with my mommy because he doesn’t like girls.”
“Oliver James,” Dan hisses. This time he sounds less amused.
Both Phil and Oliver glance over at him, and Phil cringes when he sees the fury boiling behind his eyes. “Dan-“
“What?” Oliver groans. “He said you’re cute!”
Dan looks on the verge of arguing, so Phil decides to intervene. “You know, Oliver, I don’t like girls either,” He says, with all the casualty in the world.
Oliver looks vaguely surprised. “Not even your mum?”
Phil laughs, gently knocking his elbow against Oliver’s shoulder. “No, you spoon! She doesn’t count. I love my mum.”
The child nods seriously. “My mum moved to ‘Merica. Daddy said she’s gonna eat all the pancakes.”
“Olly,” Dan sighs. He only sounds vaguely defeated now.
“I love pancakes,” Phil tells the child, ignoring Dan completely. “They’re my favorite food.”
Oliver nods along, lacing his fingers together and placing his hands over the iPad on his lap, which has long since turned off. “Daddy says they’re junk food.”
Phil gasps. “Your dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
Dan splutters indignantly. “I- Phil,” He whines. “I had a whole thing going with that. Now I’ll have to make pancakes every day.”
“Oops,” Phil giggles, winking at Oliver. “Guess I ruined that one.”
“Oops,” Oliver parrots, shrugging dramatically.
Dan sighs, shakes his head, and leans back in his seat, his eyes falling shut. “I have lost all control of this situation,” he announces.
Phil shares a look with Oliver, who rolls his eyes, or tries to, at least. “So dramatic,” Phil tuts.
“Drama llama,” Oliver says in a voice dripping with disappointment.
“I can hear you,” Dan mutters.
Oliver pats on Phil’s arm. “Do you make pancakes?”
“Er- sometimes, I guess,” he says, shrugging. The whole changing conversation topics every six and a half minutes is really taking his head for a spin.
The child bounces in his seat excitedly. “You could make us pancakes! Daddy always burns them and scrapes the burn off.”
Phil has a joke on the tip of his tongue but bites it as soon as he sees the death glare Dan sends him. Instead, he smirks. “Maybe your dad just needs someone to teach him how to cook them.”
Oliver nods. “Prolly so.” He glances at Dan, then leans in closer to Phil. In a stage whisper, he says, “Daddy doesn’t let me have whip cream, but he puts it on his. So when he’s not looking, I eat it.” His face is full of glee when he leans away, and Phil can’t help but laugh.
“Well, well, well,” he says, sending Dan a pleased look. Dan narrows his eyes. “I know something you don’t know,” he sing-songs.
Dan rolls his eyes. “You’re a child.”
Phil snorts, gesturing to Oliver. “If he likes me, I reckon I’m doing alright.”
Dan studies him for a long moment, his lip curling up in the hint of a smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He glances down at Oliver, his face shifting into something softer, far more affectionate. “I guess you’re right.”
~~~
When the flight eventually lands, Phil’s pretty sure he’ll never be able to stand again. His legs feel like they’re melded into the shape they’re in, and he’s already dreaming of how great it will be to stand up and stretch. He gathers his things quietly, as Oliver is asleep in the seat next to him. He’d fallen asleep laying against Phil’s arm, and Dan had felt so guilty, apologizing profusely. Phil had said it was fine, that he honestly didn’t mind, but Dan still shifted his child so that he was laying with his head in Dan’s lap.
Now Dan was combing through his son’s hair gently, gazing out the window. He’d opened the blind when Oliver went to sleep, and they’d quietly chatted for the rest of the flight. Phil learned that Dan and Oliver lived in London, about twenty-five minutes away from himself. He learned that they were in Florida to visit Oliver’s mum, who Dan split up with four and a half years ago, when Oliver was only five months old. He also learned that Dan was single.
“It’s so pretty,” Dan says softly, almost to himself.
Phil leans over, looking out the window as well. It really was, in a way. It was breathtaking to see the clouds parting around them as the plane descended, and no matter how many times Phil saw it, he’d still always be amazed by it. “It really is,” he replies quietly.
Dan turns his head to look at him. “I’m sorry for bothering you the whole flight.” He looks bashful.
“You didn’t,” Phil assures him immediately. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with Oliver.” He smiles cheekily when Dan rolls his eyes. “And you’re not bad company, either.”
This has that lovely pink patch reappearing, and Phil marvels at it. “Yeah, well,” Dan mutters. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”
Phil grins triumphantly. He’s about to reply when the wheels of the plane touch down, jostling them. Oliver stirs, but doesn’t wake. Dan cards a hand through his son’s hair, staring down at him with a fond smile.
“Do you want me to help gather your things?” Phil asks quietly.
Dan starts to shake his head, then seems to think better of it. “Actually,” He starts, not meeting Phil’s eyes. “If I wake him up he’ll be a little grumpy, so do you mind holding him while I gather it? He’s less likely to throw a fit since you’re a new person and he’s trying to impress you.”
Phil smiles mischievously. “Is he the only one trying to impress me?”
“Shut up,” Dan says with a blush crawling up his neck. He begins to wake Oliver, probably to avoid confronting Phil’s obvious flirting.
“No,” Oliver whines when Dan shakes him gently awake.
“Shh, I know. Here, Phil wants to see you before we get off the plane.” Dan’s voice is quiet and gentle as he guides Oliver into a sitting position. The child crawls over to Phil’s lap, rubbing his eyes. Phil smiles down at him, but Oliver pays him no attention, snuggling in against Phil’s chest and pressing his face to Phil’s shirt. Phil’s arms automatically go around him, and he feels that same bubble of affection. Children are so sweet, he thinks absently.
Dan takes a moment to stare at them before apparently snapping out of it, quickly and quietly gathering their things into two separate bags. One is clearly Oliver’s, with a dinosaur print on the back, and the other is a black sequined one, likely Dan’s. “Cute bag,” Phil teases.
The brunette sticks his tongue out, and Phil has to bite back his goofy responding smile.
A few moments later everyone is filing out of the plane and Dan looks anxious, constantly glancing up at the overhead bins. “Do you have something you need to get out?” Phil asks.
“Er, yeah. Do you mind grabbing it?” He looks like he hates to ask, but Phil just nods easily.
“Sure.” He starts to stand, then realizes that he kind of has his hands full. “Er…”
“Oh, right.” Dan looks embarrassed. Phil loves the pink patch even more. “Olly, c’mere, Phil’s gonna stand up.”
“No,” Oliver says easily. His little fists dig into Phil’s shirt, and he wraps his legs around him as tightly as he can.
“Oliver, come on.” Dan’s voice is stern.
Oliver shakes his head against Phil’s chest. “No, Daddy.” He doesn’t sound particularly upset or petulant, but his mind is made up.
Phil stares at Dan helplessly. Dan looks right on the cusp of flat out anger, but a voice from the aisle makes them both look up.
“Excuse me, do you two need a hand?” A lady probably not much older than Phil is sat across the aisle, waiting for their row’s turn to stand up and file out the plane.
“Er, we’re fine, thank y-“ Dan starts.
“Yes, actually! Would you mind grabbing the bag above us?” Phil says politely, smiling at the lady gratefully when she nods and stands.
“The blue one?” She asks, already tugging at something.
“Yes,” Dan replies, sounding embarrassed.
Phil glances at him and mouths the word “Sorry.”
Dan shakes his head a little, offering him a half-smile.
“Here you go,” the woman says cheerfully, handing the bag across Phil to Dan.
“Thank you,” They say in almost perfect unison. They glance at each other and snicker, much to the amusement of the good Samaritan who is still standing in the aisle.
“You three are so cute,” She coos.
“Oh, we’re not-“ Dan starts.
“Thank you!” Phil replies, talking over him. She smiles and returns to her own seat, gathering her things. Dan sends Phil a curious look. Phil shrugs. “How weird would it be to say, ‘Oh, sorry, no, this is a stranger! Not the father of my child, we just met today!’”
Dan opens his mouth, then immediately shuts it again. He makes the bread face. “Point taken.” He glances down at the three bags in the chair between them, a sigh escaping his lips.
“Here,” Phil says, reaching out. “I’ll put Oliver’s on his back.”
Dan nods and hands it over, watching as Phil coaxes the child into sitting up enough for the straps to be slid onto his arms. He fusses a little, but Phil shushes him gently, reminding him that good boys on the plane have to wear their own backpacks. Dan rolls his eyes but has a quiver to his lip when he turns away.
It’s finally their row’s turn to exit, and Phil stands carefully, cradling the small child to his chest and slinging his own backpack over his shoulders. He glances back at Dan, raising a brow. “Got everything?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
Phil nods and leads the way, smiling when the flight attendants coo at him. He feels awkward, considering this isn’t his child, but he’s not bothered by their attention. If anything, some sick part of him is thriving off people assuming that he could land someone like Dan and manage to raise a beautiful child with him.
“God, it feels so nice to stand up,” Dan groans behind him when they’re walking through the tunnel back into the airport.
Stopping to allow Dan to walk beside him, Phil grins. “I know, right? I feel like I’m in a little sardine can every time I fly.”
Dan nods, his nose scrunching up in distaste. “I literally hate that description, but that’s exactly what it feels like.”
Phil laughs, slowing to a stop when they’re near some chairs. “Er, I think this belongs to you,” He says as he gently extracts Oliver’s arms from around his neck.
“No!” The little boy cries, hugging him tighter. “No, please don’t leave! We didn’t finish our game!”
“Olly…” Dan sighs. “Phil didn’t come on this flight just to play games with you. He’s got his own life, and we do too.”
“But we could be in it!” He argues. Oliver tucks his face into Phil’s neck and sniffles. He mumbles something that Phil doesn’t catch, but Dan’s face shifts into something like defeat.
“Bub…”
Oliver turns his head a little, glaring at Dan. “You never let me keep anyone. Mummy left, and you sent Ben away, and Uncle Addy doesn’t even come see me!”
Dan’s face crumples, and Phil’s heart splinters. He’s almost positive he’s about to start crying. To save Dan the embarrassment of crying in front of his child or other people, Phil steps closer to him, so Oliver has almost no choice but to tuck his face back against Phil’s chest. “I have an idea, buddy. How about your dad and I exchange phone numbers, that way when you want to see me and play games on my iPad he can let me know? Does that sound like a plan?”
Oliver sniffles, considering it. Phil’s eyes find Dan’s and he watches, his chest aching, as Dan wipes away at a couple tears. He tries to smile at Phil, but it falls a little short, looking more like a grimace.
“I guess… I guess that would be okay,” Oliver mumbles.
Phil smiles, petting his hair. “Okay.” He glances at Dan, allowing his lips to curve up into a smirk. “Your phone number?” He asks, tugging out his own phone and unlocking it.
Dan looks a little speechless but takes the device, creating a contact in Phil’s phone. He taps for a moment, probably sending himself a message so he’d have Phil’s number as well. He hands it back when he’s finished, and Phil tucks it away. “Okay, Oliver, time to go,” Dan says gently.
The child sighs, but slowly detaches himself from Phil, allowing himself to be handed off to his father. He tucks his face into Dan’s neck immediately, and Phil watches with warmth in his chest as Dan nuzzles his cheek against Oliver’s temple.
“Well… I guess we’ll be seeing you soon,” Dan says, his voice bordering on shy.
Phil nods, biting back a smile. “I guess so,” he replies. He lays a hand on Oliver’s head, messing his hair playfully. “Be good, little man. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”
Oliver sits up long enough to wave his little hand. “Bye, Phil, see you later.” He sounds tired, and his eyes are drooping. Phil hopes Dan can handle getting him home before he conks out again.
“Bye, Phil,” Dan says softly. He gives Phil one last lingering look before turning to walk the opposite way. Oliver’s little face peeks up over his shoulder, and he waves one last time before they’re swallowed up by the crowd.
~~~
When Phil gets back to his own flat, he checks his phone for any messages. Seeing his most recent is the text Dan sent himself on his phone, and unable to quell his curiosity, he taps on the chat.
Phil: I was too scared to say it w olly there but u were very lovely to us on the flight and I rly appreciate it. also u r very cute xx
Phil: Is this supposed to be from me to you or you to yourself?
Dan: You spoon Its from me to u
Phil: Oh Well you are very cute too Xx
Dan: U don’t rly have to see us again if u don’t want olly will live I promise
Phil: Ridiculous I want to Does Friday work?
Dan: Friday is perfect x
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gold-from-straw ¡ 6 years ago
Text
‘Til Then I Walk Alone
This is my gift for @bloodamber for the Dirk Gently Holistic Gift Exchange! I hope you like it! Read on for Bart becoming a Rowdy, Amanda becoming Holistic, Priest maybe possibly becoming vapourised, Friedkin becoming frustrated and the team becoming family...
You can also read it on AO3!
Amanda kicked her bare feet up onto the dash and tapped her fingers on her knees. The speakers roared, playing loudly enough that it forced everything else from her ears, just the pure sensation of music taking over her heartbeat. Cross and Vogel were jabbing each other in the ribs in some sort of game where the rules changed every time one of them looked like they were too close to winning, and Gripps was lying flat on the floor, hands clasped over his chest, fast asleep.
She glanced over to Martin and nicked his cigarette, holding his eye as she pulled on the smoke and let it waterfall out between her lips. He kept his face turned towards the road, but his eyes to the side, watching her until she slipped the butt back between his lips.
The windows were down. The air was thin, hot and dry as they drove over the mountains to wherever the universe wanted to take them.
Amanda was the first to spot her, feet dropping to the footwell. “Hey, pull over.”
Martin swerved and the tyres screamed as he pulled off the road onto the dusty verge. He squinted at the figure. “That one’s bad news, Drummer.”
“We’re all bad news,” she said, and jumped out, still barefoot. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
The girl walked towards her. The landscape stretched away from them on both sides, miles of scrubland plateau, dry and rocky, and a young woman covered in blood and an orange jumpsuit.
“Doubt it. Most people that know me’re dead.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes at her. “I’m sure I do… weren’t you involved in that Wendimoor bullshit?”
Her slumped shoulders seemed to slump further and she shrugged sulkily, staring off into the distance.
“You were, weren’t you? You were with that pink haired guy, that--”
“Panto,” she said softly. “He’s dead too. I killed them all.”
Amanda frowned. “No he’s not.”
“What do you know?” She glared at her, yellow teeth bared and eyes shockingly present under her wild mop of bloody hair.
“The boy brought them all back,” Amanda said. “Afterwards, didn’t you meet him? The Cardenas boy? Project Moloch?”
She glared at her, but her eyes flickered from side to side, just a little, like she wanted to believe her.
“Oh, hey, I can show you,” she said, pulling the wand out of the waistband of her jeans. The woman narrowed her eyes at it. “C’mon, I’ll show you what happened, I’m pretty sure there’s a spell to show someone the past… lemme see…” She scrunched her face up and pointed the wand at the side of the van, imaging it lighting up like a movie screen. Her arm moved. She didn’t think too hard about it. That was just how the magic worked. The universe moved her arm for her.
The blue glow hit the side of the van, the scene spreading out like honey dripping on bread. The boy standing there in his nightgown and his crown, the witch being hurled into the train, and everyone coming back. Silas and Panto hand in hand, smiling at each other, kissing as their brother and sister looked on proudly.
“See?”
She dragged her eyes away from the scene. “Don’t mean nothin,” she grunted, her voice like gravel. “You could just be making it up.”
“Yeah, guess so,” Amanda shrugged. “Anyway. You wanna come with us?”
“Why?”
“Cuz there’s nothing else out here. Where else have you got to be?”
“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. “The universe tells me where to go.”
“You Blackwing too?” Martin grunted, one long leg cocked up on the open door of the van, the other kicked out on the dusty ground.
“Blackwing don’t exist anymore,” she said with a casual shrug. “I killed ‘em.”
“What, all two hundred and thirty four of them?” said Cross, head on one side. “Even Priest?”
She shook her head. “Can’t kill Priest, he’s like us.”
Martin dropped his chin, looked over his glasses at her. His eyebrows were high in his hair. “He’s what now?”
“Project Orthrus,” she said, looking out over the plain.
“What, so he’s like… the holistic soldier?” Amanda snorted. “The holistic killer, what?”
She looked up at Amanda slowly. “I’m the killer. Holistic assassin, whatever.”
Amanda pursed her lips and nodded. “Cool. I’m Amanda.”
She blinked at her. “Bart.”
“I’m Vogel!” Vogel yelled, bouncing off the roof of the van and over to Bart. “Cross and Gripps and Martin and me, we’re the Rowdy Three, we trash stuff and make noise!”
Bart cocked her head on one side and gave a crooked smile. “Sounds good.”
“You wanna go set stuff on fire and dance around a bit? Boss says we can if it ain’t raining.”
“I’m Boss,” Amanda grinned.
“Sure, why not?” Bart shrugged. “Don’t think I’ve ever made a fire.”
Martin scooped Amanda up over his shoulder and carried her back to the van while Vogel dragged Bart into the back with him and the others. Gripps set up a beat, stamping on the floor of the van with his heavy boot, and the others joined in, some in the same rhythm, some whooping out of time, and Amanda laughed and threw her head back, drumming on the roof so that the loose interior started to vibrate, dust drifting down slowly on their heads.
They pulled over as the sun started to set, jumping up onto the dented roof, pulling each other up and turning to face the dying rays of light. A hot, dry wind drifted through Amanda’s hair and she tipped her head back, spreading her arms and letting the sunbeams cast their shadows through her fingers.
Vogel, never able to stay still for long, leaped off in a backflip. He cheered, his head thrown back to howl at the crescent moon that rose above the mountains, and climbed back up to do it all over again. Bart sat, dangling her feet off the side of the van, and watched him in quiet interest.
“We got some of that kerosine?” Cross yelled up to Martin.
“Uh-huh,” he said, gesturing to the back, then draping one long arm over her shoulder. She slipped her fingers between his and smiled out at the world.
Gripps and Vogel gathered dry wood and piled them haphazardly into the bare ground. Cross tipped the fuel over it.
“Make a line, make a line!” Vogel yelled, and Cross dripped a snaking line from the pile back to the van. Martin looked down at the damp ground, lit a match and threw it.
The vapours caught with a whomp sound, and the line of flame trickled over to the pile of dry wood as Vogel jumped back and forth over it, shrieking. When the pile went up, the blast of heat knocked him back, and she grinned as Martin threw his head back in a silent laugh.
“Don’t you guys get hurt either?” Bart asked.
“Yeah, we do,” Martin grunted. “We just know our limits.”
“I don’t get hurt,” she said mildly.
“Useful,” Cross said. He bent down over the dying flame near the van and poked at the sandy soil beneath it until it faded away, leaving the bonfire the only light this side of the horizon.
Bart hopped down and walked towards the fire, stepping onto the crackling logs. Wherever her feet touched, the flame faded away, returning to the same spot when she moved on. Vogel laughed and clapped. “Hey, how d’you do that? Teach me!”
“Can’t,” she said. “The universe just don’t want me to get hurt.”
“Cool!” he said. “Hey, can you hug a cactus?”
“What’s a cactus?”
“Spiky plants,” he said, looking around for one.
“There aren’t any cactuses here, Vogel, we’re too far north.”
He frowned. “We should find a bear for her to hug then, they’re north, right?”
Amanda laughed, and Bart gave her crooked smile, softening a little. “If I find a bear, I’ll see if it wants a hug.”
Gripps found a branch with dry leaves and set them alight, waving the branch around to release drifting sparks into the blackness of the night. Cross pulled a pack of squashed marshmallows out of his jacket pocket and handed them to Vogel to poke onto the branch afterwards, and Bart stared, her head cocked on one side.
“You had these before?” Vogel asked, waving one at her.
“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head. “Whaddya do with it?”
“Oh, man, they’re the best thing, the best thing. You burn ‘em, then you eat ‘em, like my two favourite things! Sugar and fire!”
Gripps showed Bart how to push a marshmallow onto a stick, a fond smile on his round face already, and Cross gave her his very serious lecture on how long they should be held in the flame. Vogel never listened to him and just burned them black, then ate them too hot. Amanda crossed her arms and leant into Martin’s side as Bart nodded and counted carefully.
Martin bent to kiss her on the head, rubbing his lips over the buzz of her undercut, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, and felt the warmth sink into her bones, the satisfaction she felt when her boys were together, and safe, and happy. Like something had clicked into place in the universe.
***
The sun burned overhead, too hot and too early to be awake. She groaned and rubbed her eyes and considered going back to sleep, but sunburn was definitely not punk. She shoved Martin in the ribs.
“Mmf?”
“C’mon, let me up.”
He pushed himself up, his white hair scrunched up on one side where it had been pressed onto her sternum half the night. She smirked and ruffled it, and he pulled her into a noogie, then a kiss. And then someone shot the van over their heads.
Amanda yelped and covered her head, rolling over as bullets sent up puffs of dirt around them. She could hear Martin yelling for the others, his arms covering her, muscles tensing in response to each volley of shots.
Somehow they all got behind a boulder. “It’s them… it’s Blackwing,” Vogel yelled over the gunfire, his eyes wide, terrified, and Amanda wanted to scream.
“I thought Bart said she got them all!”
“There must’a been some other soldiers left over, they’re gonna take us back again.”
“Whatcha doing there?” Bart asked at a normal volume.
“Bart!” Amanda yelled. “Get down, they’ll see you, you can’t just stand out in the open like that! Come here!”
Bart frowned around at the soldiers as the hail of bullets continued. “Bullets don’t hit me,” she said, scratching her belly. “Well, there was that one time… but I’ve tested it since. Think it was only ‘cause I was try’na kill another project.” She sniffed and rubbed her nose. “OK, I’ll be back in a sec. Universe’s telling me this lot gotta die.”
“Bart!” Amanda leaped up, but Bart was walking towards the first group of soldiers. As she watched, still flinching from the bullets and shards of stone flying all over the place, Bart ripped a gun from the nearest soldier and fired around, ever shot finding a home in a skull or a chest, blood spraying out and splashing across her face, adding to the rust colour already spread across her jumpsuit. “Holy shit.”
The boys grinned at each other. Martin howled, and they raced out at the nearest group of soldiers, sticks and rocks in hand, vicious snarls and violence, and Amanda left staring in horror, because there was Priest.
He stood at the apex, at the point of the V, with Bart approaching on one side and the Rowdies on the other, and he was smiling. He was always smiling, but he looked prepared. He looked like a man who was going to take everyone important away from her again.
Bart couldn’t kill Priest. She couldn’t kill another project - she’d even been hurt trying. And Priest had captured the boys once before, leaving her and Vogel to run, together and terrified. Well, fuck that. She set her jaw, and pulled the wand out of her pocket, marching directly towards him.
“What’re you gonna do with that kiddie toy Miss Brotzman?” Priest called, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Martin’s head whip around from the soldier he had on the floor, panic in his eyes.
“I have no idea,” she yelled, and let the universe do what it wanted through her.
There was a blinding blue, a lightning strike, and pain screaming through Amanda’s arms where she held onto the wand. She gritted her teeth through what had to be an attack, blue sparks curling over her skin. “I’m a fucking witchakookoo,” she hissed to herself between her teeth, tears squeezed out of her eyes. “Pararibulitis can get fucked!”
She curled her fingers around the wand, embraced the pain, embraced the vision, made the attack real, and the lightning leaped to her will, shooting outwards as she screamed in pain, heading straight for Priest…
...who disappeared.
The thunder cracks died down, her attack faded, and she stood in a blast radius of bubbling sand. The Rowdies and Bart stood and stared around at the absolute lack of soldiers.
“Did you vapourise them?” Bart called, vague interest in her voice.
“I don’t know,” Amanda said, and cleared her throat as it croaked. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Did you get a vision, Boss?” Vogel asked, trotting down to her.
She shook her head. “I dunno… maybe I only get the visions if I’m not making the attacks real. Maybe I can only use them one way.” She lowered her hands and tucked the wand back inside her jacket, shaking her hands out. “Have all of them disappeared?”
Martin nodded, brushing a lock of hair back out of her face and lighting a cigarette. “Even the ones we had on the floor.”
Amanda held up her arms. She could never help it, after an attack. She knew the delusions weren’t real but she could never resist looking for scars or burns or gaping wounds, even though they were never there. Surely this time would be different, if she’d made the attack real like she did in Wendimoor? But no, her bare arms were as pale and freckled as ever, and she ran her fingers along her skin. The ground beneath her feet was crackled and scarred, but she was in the clear, and the hairs along the back of her neck rose. She shook it off, forced the creeps away.
“Let’s get outta here,” Gripps said. “Ain’t right now they’ve been here.”
Martin nodded and Gripps ducked his head to throw Vogel over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, where he whooped and slapped Gripps’ ass. “C’mon then, kids. Back on the road.”
***
The next few days were quieter as they kept their senses open, waiting for another sign of Blackwing. They pretended they weren’t, pretended they were wild and free, but the hackles on the backs of their necks rose more quickly, the stops were quieter. Only Bart seemed unaffected, staring up at the great sky above, smiling at Vogel, chatting to Gripps, laughing loud and raucous. Though Amanda noticed even she would stop herself sometimes, like she was drawing herself back, reminding herself she’d been hurt before and should hold back this time.
The van had a collection of new bullet holes, and Amanda poked her finger through one as they drove late one night, feeling the cold wind whistling over her skin. Martin slowed at a junction, and she sat up, her eyes wide. “Go that way.”
He turned without question, down to the left rather than straight ahead. Amanda sat back and frowned. She didn’t even know where she was, why did she care? It had just felt right. Essential, even.
They came to a small town. Amanda stared blankly ahead, looking hard into her own head for that feeling once more, but it never came. She wasn’t even sure she’d felt it any more. How could she describe it? It had been fleeting and unremarkable, but absolutely insistent.
Cross sat up and sniffed, hard, as they passed a run-down set of concrete buildings. “Smell that?”
Martin puffed on his cigarette, a grin curling up one side of his face. “Yep.” He turned the wheel hard and Amanda’s hand shot out to grip the handle of the van door. The tyres squealed and her heartrate increased as they raced down street after street, past flickering neon lights and grimy shops, burnt out streetlamps and overflowing garbage cans.
Gripps, Cross and Vogel were leaning forward like hounds on a leash, growling and cheering and whooping and yelling in excitement, and Amanda peered ahead, wondering what they were hunting down, wondering where her boys were taking her, and trusting them implicitly.
Martin threw them into a spin and they stopped half on the kerb, the boys leaping from the van and tearing down an alleyway. She scrambled after them, following the smashing and screaming, the squealing of a metal garbage can lid scraped along the brick wall, and then the yelps of someone up ahead, someone they’d caught and were surrounding.
There was blue light, and her glee was muted, because blue light meant someone like them, someone terrified and panicking and the boys were taking it away from them, and rather than the vicious glee of punishing some Blackwing asshole they’d heard of, she just felt a grim satisfaction as she caught up.
And then horror, because there was Todd squirming and screaming and kicking in Cross’ arms, swearing at them. “Leave him alone, you bastards, I’ll fucking kill you, leave him alone!”
“Todd! What are you doing? Let them help him!” she yelled, catching up at last.
He was distraught, tears flooding down his face as he kicked and wriggled, Cross lifting his feet well clear of the floor. “Make them stop! Make them stop, I swear to God!”
She frowned at him. “What the hell? No!”
His face crumpled. “Please, Manda, I know they hate me - and I know I deserve it! But please, they can have me, please leave Dirk alone!”
“What are you talking about, asshole?” she snapped, hiding her confusion behind sharp words like a true Brotzman. “They helping him!”
Just then, they finished feeding, and Cross dropped Todd, who scrambled over to Dirk, grabbing his shoulders. “Are you OK? Are you OK?”
“Yeah,” he groaned.
Todd turned back to them and planted himself in front of Dirk, snarling up at Martin. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just leave him alone?”
Martin lit another cigarette and blew the smoke into his face. “The hell you talking about? He’s scared, we eat the fear.”
“They’re helping him,” Amanda snapped, squaring up to her shithead brother. “You could be a bit more grateful, you know? Or are you just jealous because they won’t help you when you have an attack?”
“Helping?” he yelped, his voice doing that pitchy thing she always mocked him about. “How is chasing him and scaring him half to death helpinghim? What, they want to give him a good cardio workout?”
Martin frowned. “We don’t scare him. Brit’s scared so we find him, that’s what we do. We take the fear away. Ain’t that right?” He turned to Dirk, who was standing and brushing himself off.
Dirk looked up, eyes wide like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “Umm, well, I’d actually… I mean, I was scared before, but…”
“You make it, like, ten times worse when you chase him down like that, what the hell is wrong with you?” Todd snapped, and Amanda rolled her eyes, because Todd might be a cowardly little shit when it came to himself but when he thought he was protecting someone, he was always ready to throw down with the biggest guy in the room. He barely came up to Martin’s collarbone.
“Dirk,” she said. “Come on, doesn’t it help? What they do?”
“Umm… well… I wouldn’t say helped, it’s more - aaah!” He flinched backwards as Gripps moved towards him, and Martin frowned.
“You’re gettin’ scared again, Brit. You need to calm down.”
Dirk actually stamped his foot. “Well, of course I’m getting scared! Todd and I were just investigating here following some very interesting leads, and I got a bit of a fright because a cat jumped out at me from an alleyway and I thought it was a shark, and then you four come howling out of nowhere and chase after me like I’m some… some… some snack for your midnight feast, you smash up all the windows and you throw me on the ground like you’re about to beat the crap out of me, you pick Todd up like you’re going to steal him, of course I’m scared! I thought you didn’t mind me anymore! I thought we’d worked together in Wendimoor and now you didn’t hate me and maybe, just maybe you’d leave me the hell alone!”
Dirk sucked in air, panting and almost sobbing as silence fell. Todd turned to the rest of them with a look of utter loathing on his face, his fists clenching by his side, and Amanda realised that she’d never been on the wrong side of that face, she’d only ever seen his protectiveness from behind.
Martin spat to the side. “Ain’t never hated you, Dirk.”
Dirk laughed and scrubbed his hand over his face. “You have a funny way of showing it.”
He sighed. “Look, kid… you’ve seen how we are… how we treat each other, right?” He gestured at Cross, Gripps and Vogel. Gripps obligingly tackled Cross to the ground with a thump, and Vogel leaped onto his back. “It’s just how we are.”
Dirk looked at the pile of Rowdies on the floor. “Oh…” His lip trembled, and he turned his face away. “You really… I thought it was because of before… back there…”
Martin raised his eyebrow. “Cause Riggins made you join in on our tests?”
Dirk nodded, his shoulders hunching.
Martin shrugged. “Made us join in on each other’s tests too, you know? Made us fight each other. We still know who’s the bad guy.”
“Oh…”
Todd’s face softened and he moved closer, squeezing Dirk’s shoulder, his forehead crinkling up. Something made Amanda frown, because he used to look at her like that, and she’d thought… she’d kinda thought that look was a lie as well, because how could he care about her the way she thought he did, when he’d lied so bad? But it was obvious he cared about Dirk, maybe even loved him. It always had been obvious. She bit her lip and nudged Martin. He looped one long arm around her shoulder, watching Todd and Dirk exchange soft conversation.
Dirk looked up, eyes slightly red-rimmed. “I’m sorry I misunderstood. I thought you wanted to scare me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, kid, I wasn’t trying to not scare you. We’re scary dudes. It’s how we like it.”
Dirk smiled, then frowned and cocked his head on one side. “Is that… Bart?”
“Hey, Dirk,” she said, waving.
“You’re still covered in blood…”
“Oh, yeah, that’s not the same blood,” she said, looking down at her jumpsuit.
“That’s… not reassuring.”
“What are you guys doing in Logan?” Todd asked, placing himself between Dirk and Bart.
“We could ask you the same thing,” Amanda said. “We’re the ones who travel around, last I heard you guys were settled in Seattle, with the agency and everything.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we were given a case out here.”
“Bit of a long way to go,” she frowned.
He shrugged. “Dirk’s cases come from all over, they’re weird. Like, almost without exception they’re weird.” He smiled fondly over at Dirk, and Amanda ignored the strange feeling in her gut, a lot like jealousy. But that was stupid. She didn’t want to be coddled by him anymore. She’d hated it, and though she didn’t hate him, she hated what he’d done to her.
She cleared her throat. “Well, we were just passing through. Picked Bart up on the road out in the mountains, so she’s gonna travel with us for a bit, see how things go.” She crossed her arms. “We should probably be going.”
There was that pull again, as she turned, that feeling that she should definitely not be going this way, she should be going back. She ignored it. Her brother didn’t need her. He’d found some other sucker to take his guilt out on and Amanda had her life and her freedom now. She had the boys, and she didn’t need anyone else. She forced her reaction down, even as she heard his dumb, sad voice saying goodbye. She didn’t need to be near him.
“Oh, my God, what do I have to do here?”
“What the fuck is that?” Bart snarled, and the rest of them leaped back away from the blonde guy who’d appeared, pouting, in midair.
“You,” Martin snarled, and Cross and Gripps growled beside him, Gripps’ lip curling up to show his teeth.
Floaty-man held his hands up, and Amanda blinked to see his eyes, the pupils all distorted and different sizes. She snapped her head to Todd, wondering if he was remembering Wendimoor and the backstage of the universe as well. “Hey, guys, chill,” said Floaty-man.
“He’s Blackwing,” Cross growled.
Bart frowned. “I can kill him if ya like, I mean, I don’t really feel like it, but…” she shrugged.
“Hey, no, that would suck,” he whined. “I’m not Blackwing any more, I’m just me. Just Friedkin. Anyway, I don’t think you can kill me, like… it’s kinda weird here, but I’m pretty sure I’m, like, immortal or something?”
“Oh, fucking hell, another one?” Amanda snapped, pulling her wand out. “I got rid of the last one--”
“Nononono, wait! Oh my God you guys are so damn difficult! I thought it would be easier, you know, being omniscient and stuff - I mean, I even know words like omniscient now? Like, I can use them in context and everything. Oh! Look, I know what context means! But you tools are just… ugh!”
“Who’re you calling a tool?” Todd frowned.
“You guys,” he said, waving his hands. “I mean, not you, you’re just… I don’t know what you are, like, you just hang out with Icarus.”
“Don’t you fucking call him that,” Todd snarled.
“Ugh, Dirk Gently, whatever. But the rest of you… you’re all the tools to fix the broken universe, you know? That’s why you have your powers.”
Amanda frowned and lowered her wand. “What are you then?”
“I’m the co-ordinator - ooh, see? I know another word, man, it’s like I’m a dictionary or something, it’s awesome. If Assistent could see me now! And I gotta say, it is a mess up there. I mean, they gave the power to bring all of you together to Mr Priest? Hoo, boy, bad choice there. Whoever was my predecessor did a shitty job.” He grinned and pointed at his own face. “Predecessor! Look at me go! Anyway, I gave that job to you,” he said, frowning at Amanda, “and you’re still not doing it right! I thought you’d be way better than Priest, that dude was scary but at least he got everyone in the right building. For a little while, you know? But then he kept you all separate and thought it would be fun to like… let Riggins poke you with sticks, and all, so…”
“I seem to remember you doing a certain amount of poking us with sticks,” Dirk said through gritted teeth.
Friedkin waved his hands. “That was before I knew, man.”
“Wait, wait,” Todd said. “What do you mean you gave that job to Amanda?”
“She’s got to bring all the tools together. It’s her power, now, she’s, like, the holistic finder or whatever.”
“Words’ve abandoned you now, huh?” Bart said dryly.
“And now she’s found another one she’s just trying to ignore her powers and leave again, and I’m just fed up of you all being so sucky at this holistic shit! Is it really so hard to just listen when the universe asks you to do something?”
“Yes, it is, actually,” said Dirk, his voice almost trembling with anger. “When the universe tells us to walk out of a diner when we might actually be happy for the first time in our lives and get captured by you arseholes for two months, yes, it’s pretty hard to trust that the universe has our best interests at heart.”
“That’s because it doesn’t,” he said, rolling his weird drugged-out eyes. “The universe doesn’t care about you, it cares about the universe. It needs fixing, and you all need to be together to do that. Blackwing was the best place for that. It isn’t any more, but you still have to get together.”
“So, what, that’s it?” Amanda said as the alley fell silent. “We’re just… fated to go find the others now, and that’s it? No more freedom? We’re stuck with each other, whether we want to be or not?”
Todd looked away, and Amanda tried to tell herself that she didn’t feel guilty.
Bart shrugged. “I mean, I pretty much do that anyway,” she said. “I been following what the universe wants since I got out of Blackwing the first time.” She glanced up at Amanda. “Would be… kinda nice to do that with other people. Maybe who don’t mind if I’m covered in blood and that. Ken was the first one who ever…. and he…” Her voice hitched, and she looked away. “I dunno, you guys might, like, understand for a little longer, you know?”
Amanda smiled, her chest aching a little as she wondered how lonely Bart had been. How lonely they’d all been.
Friedkin clapped his hands. “Awesome, that settles it. I’m off backstage, it’s weird being stuck in just one time. See you guys, stay cool.” And he was gone.
They walked in a trickle out of the alleyway, the sun rising over the mountains casting the clouds in an orange and pink light. Martin waved the boys and Bart into the van, but Todd ran up to Amanda. “Hey… uh, look, I know you don’t want to be stuck with me anymore.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I guess… I mean, I’m not one of the tools or anything, I don’t have any…” he swallowed and looked away towards the sunrise. “I guess I could just… go back to Seattle. Make it easier for everyone.”
She looked at him, his shoulder slumped, offering to give up his only friend, possibly someone he loved, just to make her comfortable, and punched him in the arm. “Shut up, dickhead, and get in the van.”
“Hey!”
She sighed and rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth ready for an actual heartfelt conversation. “Ugh, you know what? I wasn’t talking about you, back there. I just… I don’t want to be told what to do, you know? Not even if it’s the universe doing the telling. I only just got my freedom, and it’s been amazing, driving around with the boys, doing whatever we want, and I don’t want to give that up.”
“You can still do that, I think,” he said earnestly. “Like, we can just drive around and Dirk can get called to solve crimes and the boys can get called to trash whatever needs trashing, and Bart can get called to be a murder gremlin or whatever… and you can get called to the next Blackwing subject who needs help. And if you’re all made to help fix the universe and everything that’s wrong with it, maybe it’d be better to do that all together.” He glanced back at the van, and Dirk, sitting in the back with his shoulders tense. “But I think we’ll drive in our own car behind you, OK?”
She grinned, then pulled him into a hug. “You’re an asshole.”
“You’re a dumbass.” He was grinning as she pulled back, like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders. “I love you, sis.”
“Eww, emotions,” she said, screwing up her nose. “Gross. We’re Brotzmans, we don’t do that.”
“You ready to go, Drummer?” asked Martin, coming up to put his long arm on her shoulder.
“Todd,” said Dirk, grabbing Todd’s arm. “Please tell me I don’t have to ride in the van? Gripps wants to paint my nails green, and he won’t listen when I tell him it’ll clash horribly with my jacket. If he had blue it would be a completely different matter, but green is just wrong.” He pulled a Panic Pete doll out of his pocket. “Also Mona might want to be a tiger again and she’ll need more space, it really makes the most sense to have our own car.”
“Yo, are we gonna get some food before we go hunting? I want Chinese. Have you had Chinese?” Bart said, looking at Cross. He shook his head. “It’s awesome.”
Gripps and Vogel jumped down as well. Vogel jumped onto Gripps’ back, hugging him tight. “What are we looking at?”
“Nothing,” said Amanda, smiling up at him. But she turned back to the road, a long stretch of tarmac leading out into the desert and the mountains. The early morning sunlight poured down the distant slopes, creeping across the road out of town. “OK, guys,” she said, taking a deep breath of the new day. “Let’s go fix the broken universe.”
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winteriron-trash ¡ 6 years ago
Text
The (Un)Wanted Kiss [Chapter 5]
A/N: Oh god, I still feel like shit. My head hurts so bad you’d think Athena was about to come out of it. And I hate this chapter. It didn’t even hit the major plot point it was supposed to, but if I’d written anymore it would’ve been too long and all that stupid shit. Whatever. Ends on another cliffhanger, because I’m an asshole. If you asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t (or haven’t asked and want to be), please lemme know. I’m now juggling two tag lists while Tumblr eats my notifications and it sucks. And people who are on the list aren’t even getting their notifications. Fucking Tumblr.
Summary/Warnings | AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
-
Breaking into HYDRA was about as easy as Bucky had anticipated it would be. The guard count was disgustingly low as if HYDRA couldn’t make it any more obvious they were trying to bait him in. Bucky might’ve ridiculed them for that if it wasn’t working. Bucky was well aware that HYDRA wasn’t the idiot here. He was the one who came to get himself kidnapped.
But it was what it was. Bucky was already in, just waiting to get jumped by a halfway decent agent and not the target dummies they called guards. Once they took him to Tony, Bucky could figure out a plan there, with Tony’s help.
Bucky wasn’t sure what exactly Tony’s reaction was going to be. He assumed there would be an annoyance, he’d probably curse Bucky out, call him all the names Bucky was already calling himself in his head. At least Bucky could say he was mostly positive Tony would help in trying to escape, even if just for the sake of self-preservation. And if he didn’t, Bucky would improvise. He could handle a simple rescue mission, regardless of whether his target was willing or no.
Well, maybe not simple. But it was what it was. Bucky would rescue Tony. He just had to find him first.
Bucky was walking through the hallways, listening closely for Tony’s staccato and out of sync heartbeat when he got jumped.  
Five trained men. All adequately armed. Two in the front, one in the back, one on either side. Non-lethal strikes. Aiming for incapacitation.
Realistically, Bucky could’ve beaten them. Without a doubt, he could’ve. HYDRA didn’t train it’s men the way they’d trained him. Hell, Bucky probably could’ve taken double the number of men with half the weapons he was armed with. But if Bucky beat them, they wouldn’t take him to Tony, and the whole point of going into the HYDRA compound would’ve been voided.
So Bucky put up just enough fight to make it hurt, to show he was still the damned Winter Soldier, but he let the agents win. He let his body fall slack when a needle pricked his neck and the world went dark.
-
Bucky woke up in a cell. Not that he was surprised, really. At least it was better than the Chair.
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
Bucky sat up, blinking. His armour had been stripped, weapons taken away. All Bucky wore were his boxers and a white tank top. He probably looked like shit. Not as shitty as Tony looked, though.
Tony was sitting against the wall, wearing jeans and tank top, elbow propped up on his knee. His hair was a matted mess, clothes and skin grimy. He looked like he’d been through the ringer, covered in bruises and scrapes.
Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get the words out, Tony brought his hand to his chest, pointing diagonally. Bucky followed the line of sight and found himself staring at a camera with a microphone. Right. HYDRA was listening.
Judging by the layout of the cell, Tony was sitting in the only blind spot the camera had. There was a hole in the ground Bucky assumed functioned as a toilet and a single threadbare cot. It was disgusting, even for HYDRA.
Bucky cleared his throat, and Tony arched an eyebrow. The look on Tony’s face was one that was hard to read, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a hard line. He looked exasperated, annoyed, and exhausted all at the same time, with a touch something else Bucky couldn’t quite grasp.
 “I wanted…” Bucky cleared his throat, painfully aware of the camera in the corner of the room. “I wanted to help you.”
Tony rolled his eyes so hard Bucky saw the whites of his eyes. “You did a real nice job of that, snowflake.” The pet name was oddly nice, under the guise of their game of charades.
Bucky scooted over to where Tony was. He was only half obscured by the camera blind spot, but that was good enough. Tony sighed and pulled himself up into Bucky’s lap, dragging them both completely into the blind spot. Well, that worked too.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said. It was easier than he’d thought it be, faking the apologetic tone.
“Yeah, well for what it’s worth, I’m glad they didn’t kill you, snowflake.” Tony put his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky frowned. Tony knew they were in the blind spot, didn’t he? The visual aspect of their fake relationship didn’t matter.
Bucky swallowed, throat clicking. “Yeah. You too.” He wrapped an awkward arm around Tony. The cell was cold, and Tony’s clothing was inadequate. Bucky tried not to think about that too hard. He still hated Tony. For the most part, anyway.
Tony nodded and let out a loud sigh. He idly tapped his finger on Bucky’s thigh, eyes fluttering shut.
Wait. That was Morse code. Bucky focused on the rhythm with a frown.
Two guards patrol every six hours. We’re in the eastern side of the building, likely underground. Most plausible exits on the left. Cell bars are adamantium and electric.
Bucky tilted his head to the side. He couldn’t even begin to think of how Tony managed to figure all that out in the short period of time he’d been in HYDRA’s captivity. A genius would always be a genius, Bucky supposed.
Do you have an escape route planned? Bucky tapped back.
Not yet. Especially not now, considering any of my ideas were reliant on me getting myself out, not two people.
Bucky bit his lip. They haven’t gotten anything out of you, have they?
Haven’t even tried. Just banged me up a bit. Tony shifted a bit, curling his knees in. I’m not their target.
I know.
Then why the hell are you here?
I wanted to help you.
Nice job on that one. You gave HYDRA exactly what they wanted. All they need now is to find someone who knows your codewords.
We’ll figure this out.
We? Tony twisted, giving Bucky a slight glare.
Bucky sighed. Look, I’m sorry.
No, you’re not. You purposely walked into what you knew was a trap. Tony narrowed his eyes.
Was trying to help you, asshole. Bucky tapped so fast he wasn’t even sure if Tony would be able to understand it.
Tony rolled his eyes. You couldn’t even give me a week here to figure it out? I got out of Ten Rings, I can handle HYDRA. Tony shook his head and snorted. There are other ways to get away from Rogers, you know.
Bucky blinked. This isn’t about Steve.
Is it?
Bucky scowled. Well, even a cell couldn’t make Tony Stark less of an asshole. He didn’t tap anything back, just looked away to glare at the floor.
Tony let out another loud sigh. “I’m going to sleep, snowflake. I love you.”
“I love you too.” Bucky forced the words out, even as they were thick in his throat.
Tony nodded, tucking his forehead into the crook of Bucky’s neck. It only took him a few minutes before his heart rate and breathing slowed. Bucky wondered if he’d gotten any sleep since he was taken.
Bucky watched Tony sleep with a tight look. Tony was… peaceful asleep. There wasn’t the stress or tension wearing into features. Bucky’s stomach did a weird little churn, seeing Tony asleep, just because it made it apparent just how tense Tony really was. Bucky felt a bit like an asshole for not noticing before.
All in all, Bucky supposed he did understand Tony, to some extent. Even if he hated the man, he at least understood Tony. Tony was under a lot of pressure, between a rock and a hard place more often than not. He might not have always chosen the options best for Bucky or whoever else, but they always worked, however crude.
Bucky found himself stroking Tony’s hair before he really knew what he was doing. Not that it mattered. Tony was asleep, and they were in the camera’s blind spot. Bucky didn’t have to worry about anyone else seeing. And he tried not to think about why he was doing it.
As much as Bucky wanted Tony to take the reins in planning their escape, he knew he couldn’t sit back and do nothing. It’d be a matter of time before HYDRA found someone who knew the codewords, and then Tony was as good as dead, and Bucky was even worse off. The idea of HYDRA having their poison back in Bucky’s head made him want to cry, scream, and vomit all at the same time. He needed to do something other than sit and wait for hell to come and find him.
Well, there was one thing. One thing Bucky desperately didn’t want to do. Didn’t want to have to explain to Tony why it mattered, why he had to do it. It’d make no sense to someone without extensive HYDRA knowledge. It’d sound absolutely insane. Tony might not even believe him. He could take it the wrong way, and things could go downhill for Bucky fast.
But… it was the best option. All personal feelings aside, it was actually rather brilliant. If the people HYDRA had watching them didn’t know the codewords, they certainly wouldn’t know about… the failsafe. With Tony and Bucky’s fake relationship, it’d actually be easier to play off, if anything, as twisted as that was.
Bucky drummed his fingers on his knee, thinking. It wouldn’t be the worst thing Bucky’d ever had to do. It wouldn’t even make the top ten, really. Bucky could probably make it quick too if Tony cooperated.
Bucky gave Tony’s sleeping figure a final look and let out a resigned sigh. It would work. Now all Bucky had to do was wait for Tony to wake up.
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