#i was telling my partner that a polish curse is not really a curse unless it hits like a triple level

[nanamis-bigtie]

by his face i know exactly what is he thinking, the problem is that all the words are in polish and all of them consist of some mutation of "kurwa"

[mochegato]

Hope on Board

Chapter 7 –  Polished, Public Appropriate First Date

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

“She will like whatever you do with her.  She’s pretty easy going.” Tim advised plopping down on the couch next to an upside Stephanie, poking her in her exposed side and receiving a warning kick to the head as a result.

Dick gave Tim a cynical look and ran his hands through his hair.  He groaned and ran to the mirror to fix his now messed up hair.  

“No cologne tonight?” Stephanie asked sniffing the air.

“No.  She asked if I would hold off on it for a few weeks until her stomach settles a bit more.”  He turned to look at Tim.  “And I want it to be special.  I want her to feel special.”  His anxiety apparent in his every fidget, hesitation, and tap of his foot.

“What, you don’t think making her feel constant nausea is special?” Stephanie asked with a smirk.

Dick threw his comb at her which she caught easily.  “No, I think I have to make up for making her feel like that.  She’s been miserable constantly.  I want her to feel good.”

“You think stuffy and pretentious is the way to go if she’s feeling miserable?” Stephanie asked curiously, trying to cock her head closer to right side up in order to see him better.

“It’ll be something nice for her.  This is going to work.  She’s going to love it,” he said more to reassure himself than convince the others. “She’ll get to dress up.  Get really nice food.  Everything she needs to feel better.”

“She told you she’s been miserable?” Damian asked suspiciously.  “Seems manipulative.  If she’s even really feeling sick at all.”  He batted away the pillow Stephanie threw at him without bothering to look up from his homework.

“She isn’t like that. And she’s pregnant you tiny gremlin, with your niece or nephew, if you remember.” Tim hissed.  “And she doesn’t need to latch onto anyone.  Give her ten years and she will be one of the leading names in fashion in the world.  Why do you think I partnered with her in the first place?  She doesn’t need Dick for money.”

“Enough.  I’m not discussing this tonight,” Dick thundered, scowling at Damian.  “She hasn’t said anything, but I can hear it in her voice whenever we talk and see it in her eyes whenever I see her.  She keeps saying she’s fine and plasters on this fake smile, like she doesn’t want me to worry.”

Damian scoffed, but refrained from continuing.  Tim spoke up instead.  “She didn’t fake the vomit before our meeting earlier today… or after.”

Dick’s head whipped over to him.  “She threw up in your office today?  Twice?”

“In the bathroom, but yeah.” Tim nodded in confirmation.  “I don’t think she expected Tam to see her or tell me about it.  She threw up then went into our meeting like nothing was wrong. As soon as the meeting was over and I’d returned to the office she rushed to the bathroom and Tam said was just heaving that time.”

Steph nodded. “Probably didn’t have anything in her stomach to throw up anymore.  Happens a lot.  I don’t know if it makes it better or worse.  They both really sucked.  It all really sucked actually.  The idea of eating made you unbelievably sick, but not eating made it worse.”  She righted herself on the couch, throwing her legs over Tim’s lap and leaning against the arm rest.  “And don’t even get me started on those bitches who don’t get any morning sickness.”

Dick hummed in consideration. His brow furrowed deeper the more he thought about it.  He really didn’t want her hiding things from him, which admittedly was rather hypocritical of him, but if she was suffering, he wanted to know.  “If it’s as bad as Tim says, maybe you should let her decide where you go instead.  There’s probably food she can’t eat or makes her feel sicker than others and there may be something that her body is craving.  And it may change from moment to moment.  It did for me.”

Dick gave her a small, understanding smile.  “Thanks, Steph.  I’ll think about it.  Now, wish me luck.”  He shot them a nervous smile and left to pick up Marinette for their first date.

<><><><><> 

“Are you sure you’re okay with this,” Marinette asked again.

Dick laughed and shook his head.  “I told you, it’s fine.  I like Batburger.  This is great.”  

“But you put so much effort into something nicer.  And you definitely dressed for something more elegant,” she moaned.

He pulled her into a side hug as he guided her to a place to sit in the park.  “I hate pretentious.  I’d rather just hang around and have fun… I mean, unless you like fancy restaurants, then…”

Marinette cut him off with a laugh.  “No. No, I don’t.  I mean every once in a while is fun and I love the outfits at big events obviously, but I’d rather just do something where we can relax and have fun.  Act like ourselves, not a polished, public appropriate version of ourselves.”

Dick smiled and motioned to a bench with a nice view of the park.  She nodded and sat sideways on the bench so she could talk to him better. “You mean polished, public appropriate like cursing repeatedly at the host’s son at the biggest social event of the year?” He smirked at her.

Marinette groaned and hid her head in her hands.  “Don’t remind me.  I can’t believe I did that.”

Dick laughed and wrapped his arms around her to pull her into a comforting hug.  “It’s fine.  Very justified… considering.”  Marinette made a noncommittal grunt and leaned into his chest, lowering her hands slightly.  “But I agree,” he started slowly, “occasionally is nice, but relaxed is better.  And galas especially are draining.  They’re so boring and annoying.  Maybe next time… we can go together?” he finished quietly. His heart was pounding in his chest as he asked.  Was he being too forward?  Was it too forward to ask the mother of your child to attend a family event?  That wasn’t too forward, right?  He didn’t want to scare her off on their first date.  

Marinette looked up at him in surprise.  “You…” She smiled at him for a few moments.  She turned back to her food and pulled out her batburger.  She looked back at him with a smirk.  “Pretty confident this date’s going to go well, huh?”

Dick blinked a few times. He chuckled and gave her a charming smile, pulling his burger out as well.  “I’m hopeful.”  

Marinette looked at the burger before she took a bite and shook her head.  “I can’t believe you have a restaurant themed after your heroes.”

“Vigilantes,” he corrected her.

“Vigilantes, right. Sorry.  I’m not used to that.  Paris and New York had heroes not vigilantes.”  She moaned happily as she took a bite of her burger.  “Oh my God.  I don’t know if it’s just the pregnancy, but this is the best thing ever.”

Dick laughed and took a bite of his food.  “That’s definitely the pregnancy.”

She hummed again as she rapidly ate her first small burger.  “I don’t care.  This is exactly what I needed.”

Dick watched her for a few moments before taking another bite himself.  “So, how was your day today?  I heard you had a meeting with Tim,” he asked in as casual tone as he could manage.

Marinette’s eyes lit up. She rapidly chewed the bite that was in her mouth before launching into a description.  “It was great!  We finalized the designs today, well as much as we can considering I’m just now seeing the fabrics they designed, which means I can start working on making the designs.  Tim had some really great suggestions and now we’re starting to plan for the show for fashion week.  Thankfully, a team at WE is handling all that so I can focus on the designs.  I have more than enough time for the show, but I’ll need to have options in my store for people to buy once the show is over and that will take time.”

She took another quick bite of her second child sized burger and started bouncing in her seat.  “I’m so excited to get my hands on the textiles. I’d only been briefed on what they were designed to do and felt samples before today.  Next week I’ll get to actually work with them.  Oh, and Tim introduced me to the man who did most of the designing for the textiles.  That was amazing.  I really liked speaking with him.  I’m really looking forward to working with him more.  He was so knowledgeable and had great suggestions and considered my suggestions.  It was really enlightening for both of us, I think.  He might go back and adjust his designs based on my suggestions.  It felt like a really good understanding and respect. I was so nervous about signing the contract considering I am so new and I’ve never done… well anything, and WE is so huge.  But I think this is going to be really great for both of us.”  

Dick felt his chest tighten slightly.  Not that he was jealous.  And there was no reason to be.  This was a work colleague.  It was important that she had a good relationship with her colleagues in order to succeed and he wanted her time at WE to be enjoyable.  But that did nothing to lessen the tightening in his chest. “So, who was the designer?”  Was that nonchalant?  That was totally nonchalant, right?  He was cool.  It was fine. The woman he liked and was carrying his baby was having enlightening, amazing conversations with another man. That was fine.  Good even.  That was ideal for her.  He absolutely did not want to punch the enlightened, amazing man in his amazing, enlightened jaw.

“Lucius Fox.  He’s the sweetest man and so smart.  I don’t know how he thinks of all the things he does but it’s amazing to watch.”

Dick let out the breath he had been holding and gave her a beaming smile.  “Yeah, Lucius is amazing.  We all love him.  He’s a close friend of the family.”

“I can see why.” She nodded taking another bite.

“Anything else happen?” he prompted casually.

She considered his question. “That’s pretty much everything.  I can go into more detail on things if you want me to, but yeah, pretty much.  How was your day?  You never told me what you do.”

“Oh, I… do security with Bruce… in my own division.” He gave her a disarming smile.  It was his standard lie, but for some reason it felt wrong to use it.

“You work at WE, too?” Her eyes lit up with excitement.  “Maybe I’ll bump into you next time!  Or maybe we can get lunch together.”

“We can try.  My hours are odd.” He winced internally.  The lie was going to be harder to maintain if she was going to be there frequently.  He looked up to continue deferring the possibility but got caught in her eyes.  They were so bright and hopeful.  He couldn’t let that fade away.  He was sure she would understand, but he didn’t want her to have to.  He could come into the building more often, make the lie more realistic.  He smiled back at her.  “But I can make sure I’m there for that.  I can pick you up and take you to WE.  I can walk you to Tim’s office and give you a kiss for good luck before you start your day.”

“That sounds like an incredibly lucky start to my day.” She snuggled closer to him and gazed up in his eyes.

“It will definitely make my day better.  Anytime I see you, it makes my day better, happier,” he said earnestly, running his fingers up her arm.

She beamed at him. “Yeah?”

He looked lovingly in her eyes as he traced along her cheeks and jaw, resting his hand gently around her throat.  “Yeah,” he whispered back.

She bit her lip and looked down, a blush settling on her cheeks.  She suddenly swallowed heavily and threaded her fingers through his. She moved their hands to her lap with a reassuring squeeze.  She breathed out slowly a few times before finally looking back up with a strained smile. Dick furrowed his brow.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” She diverted her eyes and took a small bite of her burger.  

He didn’t need to be a trained detective to read the signs she was giving out, the sudden shift from affectionate to slightly closed off.  From leaning into his touch to leaning away from him.  Her soft, warm smile turned tight and strained.  Her breathing had turned labored.  Her relaxed posture was rigid.  He would think he had done something and she was uncomfortable but she was still squeezing his hand.  “Marinette…” he urged her softly.

“Sorry,” she grumbled, looking down with a guilty look on her face.

“Morning sickness?”  She nodded, still not looking him in the eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not going to last forever, just a few more weeks, and… I like you touching me.  It’s just the pressure on my neck triggered a reflex. In a few weeks it’ll be fine and I don’t want you to think you should stop,” she explained, the blush on her cheeks now from embarrassment.

Dick smiled roguishly at her. “You like me touching you, huh?” Marinette rolled her eyes but her deep blush betrayed her pleasure at his comment.  Dick brushed the bangs out of her eyes, and let his fingers linger in her hair, making sure not to put too much pressure on her.  “Marinette, it’s okay to tell me the truth.  I want to know.  It isn’t a burden you’re laying on me by being honest.  You aren’t just complaining.  You’re telling me the truth.  You’re letting me be part of this.  We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yes, of course,” she answered automatically.

“Then I want the truth. You’re not going to scare me off. I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going to be disappointed in you or the baby. I’m not going to get frustrated and pull away.  I’m here for the whole messy, miserable, chaotic, amazing, miraculous process.  I want to support you, both of you.  So if you’re so sick you’re throwing up before and after meetings,” he gave her a pointed look. “I want to help.  I can pick you up or bring you food or interrupt the meeting so it doesn’t go long.”

Marinette looked down guiltily and started fidgeting with her fingers.  “Tim knew about that, huh?”

“Tim knows everything that goes on at WE,” he confirmed.

Marinette let out a long, deep sigh.  “I didn’t want him to know.”

“Why not?”

“I… I can still do my job,” she insisted.  “I don’t want special treatment because I’m carrying his niece or nephew.  I want to get better and make sure this project is successful, not get coddled.”

Dick opened him mouth then shut it again.  “Tim would go soft on you.  So would Lucius,” Dick agreed.  “But only if they thought you were doing your best.  If they thought you were shirking or not putting your best effort in, they would let you know.  But they aren’t going to push you into the hospital.  They wouldn’t do that even if you weren’t pregnant.  Okay?”

Marinette gave him an unconvinced smile but nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.

“Alright.  So, how are you feeling?”

She shrugged.  “Right now, pretty close to okay.”

“So… not good?”

“There is no good. There’s just less terrible.  And this is just the first week of it.  I’m scared I’m going to have to start taking medicine for it and I’d really prefer not to do that.  They say it’s safe but… I don’t want to take anything unless I absolutely have to.  Hey, do you think I can get another burger?”  Dick smiled and started to pull out his second burger for her before Marinette put her hand on his arm to stop him.  “Actually, ignore that.”

He shook his head at her again.  “Marinette, you can have my burger if you want another one.”

She looked at him self-consciously.  “I know. Thank you for that, but if I eat too much it’ll make me feel sick too.  It’s better to maybe come back another time or get something small on the way home.”

Dick nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure.”  She nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out the last item in it.  She giggled and held it up for Dick to see. “Hey, baby’s first toy!” He exclaimed excitedly.

She looked at him with soft eyes and nodded.  “Baby’s first toy,” she repeated dreamily.  

Dick reached out to rub her belly but stopped just short of touching her.  “Is it… is it okay for me to…” he nodded toward his hand and her belly.

Marinette pointedly eyed his arm that were already wound around her waist, but his gaze was so earnest, her teasing comment died on her lips.  “Yeah, yeah it’s okay,” she whispered softly instead.

He ran his hand over her belly reverently.  This was his first time running his hand over the baby.  Her belly was still flat, no external indication there was more developing beneath the surface.  He could feel her lithe muscles through her shirt.  But underneath the muscles was their baby.  Their baby.  Their baby was growing and developing.  And then one day in no time at all the baby would be there, in his arms, looking at him, trusting him, needing him to protect it. And he would do anything he had to in order to make sure his child was safe.

He looked back up at Marinette with a warm smile.  He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him.  She cupped his cheek and stretched up to kiss him.

She hummed contentedly as she pulled away and laid her head on his shoulder.  He laid his head on hers and squeezed her again.  Marinette picked up the figurine to get a better look at it.  “It’s Nightwing!” She held up the small black and blue figurine for Dick to see.

Dick shook his head out of his stupor and sent her a sly smile.  “Yeah, I remember you saying he’s your favorite.”

“Oh my God.  I don’t even remember talking about him.  How embarrassing was I?”

“How embarrassing do you get?”

She stuck her tongue out at him and shoved a few fries in her mouth.  “Sorry can’t,” she motioned to her full mouth, “eating.”

Dick laughed and stole a fry from her.  Marinette gasped in mock outrage.  “You would steal a pregnant woman’s fries?  I think I need to call Nightwing to take you away.”  She winked at him.

“You’re right that was ungentlemanly of me.  Here take my fries in reparation.”  He pushed his fries over to her.

“I was kidding.  I’m not going to steal half your dinner.”

“It just means you have more for me to steal.” He smirked at her as he reached over her and past his fries to steal a few more of her fries.

She giggled and took one of his fries.  “Who’s your favorite?”

“Mine? Oh, um…” he had to think about that.  “Wonder Girl, I guess.”

“Oh I didn’t know we could include heroes.  That changes my answer.  Why is she your favorite?” She turned back to her fries missing the pout that settled on Dick’s face.

“She’s got really good moves in battle.  She uses just enough force, but not too much.  Like she is more concerned about hurting anyone unnecessarily.  But she’s really protective of her team and goes out of her way to help anyone who needs it.  Or maybe I just have a thing for black haired, blue eyed, kickass women.” He smirked at her.  He stared at her for a few moments and he knew he shouldn’t.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself.  “But let’s go back.  Who’s your favorite if you’re including heroes?”

“Chat Noir.”

“Wow no hesitation there at all.  That… that hurts.  I feel betrayed.  And why is he your favorite?”

“That I’m choosing a Parisian hero instead of a Gothamite?” She raised an eyebrow.  Dick mentally cursed himself.  She didn’t know he was Nightwing.  Of course she wouldn’t get the reference.  Marinette missed his grimace as she reached back to grab more fries to eat as she talked.  “He’s a really good guy.  Really sweet and kind.  I guess kind of like Wonder Girl.  He went out of his way to help everyone he came across, though I suppose all the Paris heroes did that.  He had amazing control over his powers and was so compassionate.  Always thinking of others before himself.  He saved me a few times.  Used to stop by my balcony to talk sometimes… eat some free pastries. He was a friend.  We kind of grew up together… I mean… as much as a hero can with a civilian.”

She gave him what she hoped was a convincing smile.  It wasn’t. Dick made a mental note to do some research on Chat Noir and see how close he was to Marinette.  He cringed again.  That sounded pretty creepy.  He couldn’t do that.  “I haven’t even met Nightwing,” Marinette continued oblivious to Dick’s inner turmoil, “so Chat wins by default.”  She looked at the figurine again and cocked her head to the side.  “I need to make some Miraculous team dolls for the baby.”

“Should I be jealous?” Dick raised his brow playfully.

“Over me or the Parisian hero dolls or the pastries?”  Her smile was coy but her eyes were sultry.

“How good were the pastries?” He leaned closer to her.

“Very.” She leaned in closer. “My parents make amazing pastries. So do I.”

“Maybe you can show me sometime.”

She nodded “I’d like to. I just need to know what you like.”

He traced her jaw with his finger. “I like you.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, but moved closer to him with rosy cheeks. “You are so cheesy.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “I haven’t even started yet.  I like your eyes.” He slowly kissed both of her eyes.  “I like your nose.” He kissed the tip of her nose.  “I like your cheeks.” He kissed both cheeks and brushed his thumbs over her cheeks after he kissed them.  “I like your ears.” He gently grazed his teeth over her ear’s shell.  His felt a warming in his chest when her breath hitched. “I like your jaw.” He laid small kisses along her jaw to the other side of her face.  “I like this spot right here a lot.” She sighed happily as he ghosted nose over a spot below her ear and kissed it.  “I like you.” He pulled her in for a passionate kiss.  She whimpered as his tongue slipped between her lips to meet hers.  She trailed her hands across his shoulders and up his neck slowly until she reached his hair.  She pulled gently to pull him closer.  His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

After a few moments she pulled away breathing hard and rested her head on his shoulder, focusing on the ground.  Dick waited for his breath to level back out and leaned close to her ear.  “And chocolate.  I like chocolate.”

She nodded slightly, still not looking at him and breathing deeply.  His brow furrowed in concern.  He gently rubbed her back.  “Marinette?” She hummed quietly and held up a finger to let him know to wait.  He gave her a nervous smile.  “That bad, huh?”

She chuckled lightly and took another deep breath before looking back up at him.  “Maybe we should hold off on tongues for a few weeks too.”

“Ah,” he nodded in understanding and cringed.  “Gag reflex.”

Marinette hummed and settled back against his shoulder again.  “And everything triggers it right now.  Breathing triggers it.  Thinking triggers it.  Ugh.  I can’t wait for this part to be over.”

Dick wrapped his arms tighter around her, but made sure to leave them light enough not to put too much pressure on her stomach.  “Sorry you have to go through this.  I promise to work on making my kissing less gag inducing.”

She giggled into his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his chest shaking with laughter as well.  She pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes and rested her arms around his shoulders.  “Chocolate.  I can make that happen.”

Dick frowned at her.  “You just almost threw up again.  Maybe don’t push yourself.  I’m more worried about you than getting some pastries,” his voice was suddenly tender.

Marinette smiled up at him and ran her fingers along his cheek, settling her hand on his neck.  “I think it’s funny that you think I’m going to wait to start baking things for you or designing things for you.  I’ve already started making plans and coming up with ideas.”

“I’m not going to convince you to take it easy am I?”  She gave a resolute shake of her head.  Dick shook his head and gave a defeated sigh. “Then, I’m sure I’ll love whatever you come up with.” He leaned down to give her a chaste kiss.

Chapter 8

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182

[angeli-marco-writes]

Elizabeth Debicki - Gorgeous

A/N & WC - Back again with Elizabeth and Taylor Swift. Reputation is my favourite album currently, with evermore as a close second. Two incredible women in one yes please. Listen to 'Gorgeous' while reading for the feel of it. 2.8k exactly.

Warnings - Legal alcohol consumption, mild cursing once.

Summary - Elizabeth is gorgeous, just look at her, the world can see it. A drunken night leads to some tipsy confessions, but does Elizabeth feel the same?

“YOU'RE SO GORGEOUS…”

“What was that?” Elizabeth swiftly cuts in.

Your eyes grow wide in an instant, looking down intensely at the black table, sticky with spilt drinks, and turn your attention away.

“Nothing…” you trail off. Frankly, you hadn’t realised you were thinking aloud, but if you said what you were thinking, then tonight's girls night out with your best friend is gonna be a whole lot harder.

“So as I was saying, this guy from Bumble, he comes and he looks nothing like his profile picture, right?” Her eyes are so animated when she speaks, her jaw agog in a remembering shock, she taps at her glass with ebony painted fingernails. “Like his picture was a solid eight outta ten, but in person, not even a four. But there was something about him, you know? That little twinkle in his eye, so I gave him more of a fair shot than I do other catfishes.” You hum noncommittally, not necessarily listening to the words, but the soft undulating animation in her beautiful accent is worth listening to any day, even if just hearing about her going on a date with someone riles you up intensely. “No personality,” she gapes, smacking her lissom hands down on the table with a slight thump, causing some of her wine to spill. “Absolutely none! It was like talking to a brick wall for half an hour. Can you believe it? And he asked what part of Australia I was from, and when I said Melbourne, you know what he said? ‘Is that in New Zealand.’”

She scoffs, and downs the last of her wine. Her magnetic field is so strong, so alluring, you can’t help but feel drawn to her even more. She really should think about the consequences of her charisma or else you might snog her and ruin everything before the nights even over.

“What a dick,” you play along.

“Ugh, I know. Refill?”

“Please. Whiskey—”

“On ice. I know, hon.”

She smirks, shooting you a wink before standing up and practically gliding across the room to the bar. Your eyes twinkle with hope, with sinful want, as you watch her, and you’re sure that with your wistful expression and flushed cheeks and the way your mouth suddenly goes dry the second she says or does anything that could be construed in the least bit flirtatious that she knows how much you like her. Your whole body tingles, your words and sense swallowed up by an intense fire the second she touches you, it’s beginning to make you furious that she’s able to make you feel this way and still acts so coy about it if she even does have the first clue how utterly besotted you are with everything she does.

Over at the bar, Liz has to hunch to lean her forearms on the countertop, kicking her feet back a little, her short dress showing off her long, shapely legs with grace. She looks so sultry, with her leather jacket shrugged so casually over her pale shoulders. But your mind and illicit thoughts plummet and die the second you peer around her and capture a look at the bartender she’s talking to. Tall and that muscular build of slim that only comes from years of sport, a pinched waist and full chest, tanned skin—perhaps of Filipina descent, dark inky hair falling in tendrils from her work ponytail, no makeup and she still looks stunning. And exactly like Shay Mitchell. And she's flirting with your Elizabeth. Not that she’s yours or anything, that would be absurd, unless…

This woman is gorgeous, and you’re already jealous of her, of the attention she’s receiving from Elizabeth; the suggestive touches, the coy laughs, the revealing tug of her dress, the tentative tilt of her head, the run of her slender hand through her choppy blonde locks. But because Liz is single, it’s actually worse, because she’s been a lot more open and experimental with her sexuality recently, not labelling it but trying more out, trying more partners out. And you don’t fault her for that for even a moment, but why she can’t experiment with you, a raging queer, is beyond your grasp. It’s almost undoubted that she’s going to be taking this incredibly scorching hot bartender home at the end of the night, and if you weren’t out with Elizabeth, you’d be making the same move. But Liz… she desperately needs to think of the consequences of her touching this romans hand in a darkened room. That should be you.

You can’t get too possessive, though, as Liz has done her fair amount of touching you all night on this signature girls pub crawl, but it’s not the same, it’s not… enough. She’s been holding your hand, hooking her arm through yours to do shots, hugging you with her lithe arm around your waist as you totter down the high street in heels too high. It’s all been too friendly, though. And now it’s getting late, your final destination of the night. You’re practically the only patrons with a conscience at this point. You’ll be turning in soon, the bar will be closing soon, it’s inevitable. Liz will have a warm bed, and you’ll be left to go home alone to your cats. She’s so gorgeous, you can't blame the bartender, but she can’t blame you wither; love made you crazy.

You’re busy brooding over the ice slowly melting at the bottom of your glass, condensation forming in droplets on the rim when Liz casts a glance over her shoulder, a bright beaming smile etched upon her face, every line drawn up to match her glee. She points a long raven-painted digit at you, and prompts you to smile back, which you do—without even half as much fervour—and ensure you incline your head towards the bartender, whose dark hazel eyes are now fixed on you, before turning back, pretending to have found something of interest on the table.

“That’s y/n,” she says in a happy, furtive whisper, “my best friend.”

With her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, your mind is all scrambled, and with the intense feeling you might sink and drown and die, you know you need to get it in order before she returns, so you push your own stool out and head to stand in the doorway, fresh air hitting you like a brick wall.

The smell of the city instantly prevents it being worthwhile.

The sun set long ago, and you can see vines crawling up the building across the road from you, even in the dim street light and shadows. Even in a tucked away corner of the city, down back streets in a quiet quarter, the incessant incense of exhaust fumes and chippy food and pigeon shit never quite leaves one alone.

Everything’s winding down, quietening, muffled by an indelible blanket of night. A soft mist fills the air, an impending storm infiltrating your senses, roiling you a little. The walk home will be made worse by the rain soon to fall, ire digging at you for more reasons than one.

Elizabeth… She can make you so happy with one simple look that it turns back to sadness the moment you see the flicker of friendliness in her eyes, never anything more, never anything deeper, not once. What can you say? She’s gorgeous, she’s everyone else's for the taking, whoever she deems rakish enough to take home for the night.

The silence of the night, of your thoughts, is hewn by a sharp siren whizzing past you, so you push your pain away, and sidle back through the doors, shutting the slow drizzle of rain out as you close the door behind you.

Once you return inside, your thoughts slightly more reordered, you see her back at the table, fiddling idly with the hem of her dress, her cheeks tinted a soft red.

“So?”

“I got her number,” she confesses, barely able to bite back a smile, even as her perfect white teeth graze her lower lip. “She gets off shift in an hour.”

You were right, then.

“That’s nice. She’s hot.”

“I know,” she replies dreamily, “and looks exactly like Shay Mitchell, can you believe it? I fancied her so much when Pretty Little Liars first came out.”

“Yeah, I did too.” you admit quietly, clasping your hands around your fresh whiskey.

“You okay? It’s getting late, we can head off now.”

“Nope, absolutely fine. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Tell me something.”

“But we haven’t talked about you all night, I wanna know how your life is going. Love life too.” she protests.

What, your life with the monotonous job and the zero romantic prospects so you spend all your free time sitting at home reading and the nights with your vibrator and Liz in your head? How the hell are you supposed to tell her that.

You simply shrug, and keep a mask of cold, hard resolve in place. “You know my life. I’m interested in yours. Go on.”

So she does. And you do order another whiskey after your first, to the point where you’re verging on the highest restraints of merely tipsy and if you have another you’re heading fast for straight out drunk, which you shan’t do. But you’re merry, and Liz’s words all sound weird, slurred a little from the alcohol, her Australian accent bending to accommodate the vowel sounds she’s making with the occasional slip of a Polish or French word in there. She gets like this when she’s drinking, and it’s one of her most endearing qualities very few are able to see.

“Your voice sounds really weird,” you chuckle, leaning back in your chair, “you’re talkin’ all funny.”

“No I’m not!”

“You are.”

“Am so not!” She’s persistent, she never did back down easy.

You half heartedly shrug, knocking your glasses into one another on the table. You tug your jacket further around you, and purse your lips readying for battle.

“You know, you really should take it as a compliment that I’ve got drunk and I’m making fun of the way you talk.”

She allows her precisely plucked brows to dance over her face in surprise, though quickly schools her features into a plain mask.

“Alright, what’s up?”

“Nothing, Liz. I’m fine.” you say adamantly, and take another swig from your drink, savouring the tang on your tongue. Your glass makes another thud when you slam it down with unplanned and unnecessary force.

“You see, your mouth says that, but your… mouth is telling me something else?”

Before you can help it, your fingers are clutching the edge of the table, your cheeks heating softly, “I haven’t kissed you yet, how can that be?”

A chill slithers down your skin as her eyes grow wide, her pale skin blanching a shade further. “I didn’t mean, um, what? I—” she breaks off with a cough. “I ju— just meant that, um, you’re… sulking.”

“Oh.”

You can’t ignore the way your stomach plummets into the core of the earth, embarrassment taking over every other rational thought within your mind and body. Your soul is already brittle, but this? Your pride has certainly taken a knock enough for you to down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp.

“I’m gonna take off,” you say at last, across the curious blanket of silence, ignoring the way her angular face—limned with hope—falls a fraction.

“Please stay.”

You don’t think you hear her correctly, if at all. For all you know, her words could just be a whisper in the blustering breeze beating outside, the storm you predicted arriving early. In the dim bar, you’re away from it all, sage, until the bartender gets off shift and snatches Liz away for yet another night.

“Beg pardon?”

“Please stay,” she repeats, louder this time, but her blue eyes don’t meet yours across the table. “Tell me what’s up.”

She’s not backing down, so you brace yourself, allowing brazenness to fill you with courage, allowing your alcohol to eddie around you, summoning the words at long last.

“Nothing…” you say at first, because really, it is nothing, but she cocks her head at you that authoritative way. God, she should be a teacher with her assertive glances. “Just that you‘re so gorgeous I can’t say anything to your face…” you snatch her cup across the table, and take a deep swallow before shrugging and casting your gaze outside to spare yourself the mortification of being rejected. “Sober at least.”

You’re met with a beat of silence, “Why?”

“Look at your face!” you shout, utterly exasperated. You’ve got a good mind to pull a compact mirror to remind her how drop-dead stunning she is. “I’m so furious at you for making me feel this way.”

“Why, baby? What way?” she croons.

Too caught up in your momentary lapse of judgement and rant, you fail to notice her edging closer to you, moving your glasses out the way, letting her forearms rest on the sticky table just so she can watch the way you lick your lips with nerves.

“Crazy, because you’re so gorgeous it actually hurts.”

“R—really?” she stammers.

You turn back to her, all thoughts evaporating with her ocean blue eyes looking in yours, driving you insane. Her pretty lips are all parted and awaiting, how much you want to kiss her… So instead, you pout, and begin to throw a strop in your tipsy state.

“Tell me more.”

“No.”

“C’mon,” she teases, a smirk toying at her mouth, giving her cheeks subtle dimples. “Don’t leave me hanging. “Tell me what you really think. How I make you feel. I wanna hear,” her voice drops to a purr, leaning over the table to husk in your ear, “every little thing.”

“Ok then,” you concede. “You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much.”

“I don’t see how,” she snorts, “but continue.”

Her attention never once fails you or turns away, enamoured with your every mere breath.

“You’re gorgeous. Your magnetic field is too strong for me to cope. Your energy draws me in. You’re all I want.”

“More.” she coaxes, a single word, but a whisper, and yet it stokes the embers of desire in the pit of your stomach, your forehead creasing to attempt to draw some concentration back from the depths of your mind where your fantasies about her saying that exact word in that exact breathy way linger.

Perhaps your adulation is excessive, but you don't miss the sparkle in her eyes at each compliment you dole. This is your final card, though, and you’re going to play it right, so you forget about the consequences of touching her hand in a darkness room, and simply intertwine your fingers, drawing your noses to meet over the table.

“You've ruined my life, by not being mine,” you profess, ensuring that your hot breath fans over her lips. You can feel her shudder. “And you know there’s nothing I hate more than what I can’t have.”

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

And just like that, the world stops turning around you. Your heart lilts, your mind prattles on about all you want to say, all you want to do. But then it stops. And all of a sudden, you’re intrepid, desperate to ravish her and ruin her for all other women, eager to kiss her voraciously until you can scarcely breathe, yearning to feel her words of reassurance wrap around you, if only she agrees to your proposal over that of the hot bartender.

“Well, I’ve told you what's up, so I guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats. Alone... unless you wanna come along.”

You push away from the table and stand with a slight shrug, turning your back on her, making strides for the door and the storm bristling outside. Only, you barely make it to the door before Liz’s slender hand is wrapped around your arm, and is turning you back to her, tugging you closer, chest to chest, nose to nose.

“Fuck yes, księżniczka. After that, of course I’m coming.”

Your lips meet in a fiery kiss, a desperate battle of will, and her tongue slides over the seam of your lips. You grant her entry with an open mouth, heat skittering over your skin as she holds you tighter, closer, with a deeper urgency you don’t hesitate to match.

Her crystal eyes simmer as she withdraws, her forehead on yours. Her lips brush yours as she breathes, and she grabs your hand, heading out into the night with Liz, at long last.

“For the record, you’re gorgeous and perfect and drive me crazy too. Everything you said tonight, I echo. What can I say?”

You’re gorgeous.

[darkmindsotome]

Tempting Thought

Fandom: Tears of Themis 

Pairing: Artem Wing x (non gender specific) MC

Word count: 1,783

Warning: Light angst, pining, lovesick.

Written by: darkmindsotome

Fantasies. Exploring the unknown through the ability to apply imagination to a situation or thought. The children around him growing up certainly had a firm hold on the idea and the ability to put it into practice. It was an ability he envied in a way. When others could escape using nothing but their imagination he could not without the aid of a book.

His mother had encouraged him to try to join in which he did, but found it hard. How were you supposed to play along with someone else’s game if they were the only ones able to see it? Eventually, she gave up and had to agree with his teachers when they said he showed no signs of childhood imagination.

It hampered his ability to bond with others slightly in early years but later on he found it easier to utilise his social skills on children that were older than him. The ones that had passed the age of playing games based solely in realms of non-reality.

Fantasy N. (pl. ies) 1. The faculty of inventing images, esp. extravagant or visionary ones. 2. A fanciful mental image; a daydream 3. A whimsical speculation 4. A fantastic invention or composition; a fantasia…

He was familiar with the term. It had been written in many of the pages he had seen over the years both in his beloved science fiction and in court. The fiction was always something glorified, it was pleasant. The reality of the court had fantasy as a basis for eliminating testimonies and claiming false evidence.

It wasn’t a big thing it certainly didn’t hold him back. So why now was he plagued with fantasy?

He was not oblivious to his attraction. It was something he was more than aware of, just had no experience in how to do anything about it. He thought he could be happy simply being near the object of his desire. Gaining precious minutes alone with them during a case or on a weekend when he finally worked up the nerve to invite them to see a movie.

A wonderful idea… until recently. The close proximity to them alone in the dark did reward him with what he thought he wanted. The chance to be alone with them. But it also gave him something he hadn’t predicted, fantasy.

The fantasy of what it might be like if he had less resolve. If he allowed his instincts to take over. How it would play out if they shared his feelings and allowed him to continue. Would their perfume wrap around him like a blanket and stain him in their scent or would he cover theirs instead?

Would the warmth he felt from them by just sitting next to each other in the dark become a burning fire, melting his moral compass and allowing him to finally show them the full force of his love?

This was something that had become a familiar issue when watching movies together. He frequently had to watch the movie before they even planned their nights in or out. Attempting to do otherwise resulted in a one-sided conversation where he had little to say. His minds focus had scattered far from the plot on the screen leaving him lost for opinion. He didn't want to ruin their private after-party Q&A session.

What started as a small thought developed into what others could call a deviant fantasy. He inwardly winced at the idea that Vyn might latch on to such a thing and make him the focus of some sort of therapy.

The issues on the weekend during private moments alone began seeping into work hours. He had always been aware of them and the little changes during work. How he seemed to be able to tell when it was laundry day by the familiar suit that showed itself once a week. When they changed their shoes because they had grown a half-inch taller.

Now those same things inspired new fantasies. The idea they might hurt their foot and require him to find a new pair of shoes to place on their feet. How when he lowered himself to rest at their feet, he might be the happiest he ever was if he looked up and saw them focused on only him. How that extra bit of height placed their lips at the perfect position for stealing a kiss.

Thoughts of that familiar suit ending up damaged and him coming to their aid supplying a perfectly tailored suit that proved how reliable he was. How he might be called upon to help with a stubborn zipper and be part of a heated office encounter as both their suits are turned into a crumpled heap on the floor.

It was a fantasy he knew to be far fetched as much as it made his heart race imagining it. He felt guilty, even though he would never act on such things without consent. He also knew imagining his work partner in such a way was inappropriate. He was caught between the devil on his shoulder pointing out and threatening to unlock all his hidden attraction and the angel on the other telling him to ignore all that. To focus on the pure feelings behind the fantasy, the desire to want to be with his partner. To be with them and cherish them. Not to continually act on the impulse to give in to carnal acts.

5:45 pm

The firm was only open until five and yet here they both still were. Cooped up in his office pouring over paperwork and details, polishing up their defence for a court hearing in the morning. It was quiet, the only noise in the room was their breathing and the sound of the clicking of keyboards and scratching of pens on paper.

He looked up from his desk and caught the sight of them diligently working. Their hands flipping through and reordering the papers at the workstation in his office. Their meticulous actions were mesmerising as he lost himself in the thought of those hands deftly working the knot of his tie loose. How they could nimbly travel the fabric of his shirt detaching the buttons exposing his skin to the lights in the room…

“Mr Wing was there anything else? … Mr Wing?”

Their question had him flustering and he only hoped his face was not on fire in the same way as the rest of his body. Seriously why develop an imagination now?

“No that is all. I looked at your report and marked a few areas for your attention moving forward.” He kept his voice calm and level even though his mouth was turning dry.

Removing themself from the sofa his partner happily came forward to collect the file. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, they had done this countless times in the past but right now he was acutely aware of every sway from their body. The click of shoes on the floor felt like a hammer in his chest.

“Thank you. I’ll get them corrected now.” Elegant fingers wrapped around the binder for the files plucking it from his desk.

“No. It’s late you should go home.” He didn’t want to see them leave but he wanted even less for them to see him like this. He was struggling to keep himself in check and cursing his own mind for its torturous fantasies.

“Alright… You should go home too. There’s nothing else to be done now, right? Just showing up to court and winning the case.” They tilted their head and their hair slipped away from their neck on one side. A beautifully bare path under thin cotton fabric laid out before his eyes from their ear to their shoulder.

Turning to his computer to avoid the dangerous path his mind was travelling he nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’ll be going after I send some emails.”

Satisfied with this they gave a smile that felt like it had sucked all the air from his lungs. Holding the file close to their chest they issued one last farewell and left. Their voice lingered in his ears as a feeling of loneliness washed over him.

Sighing he realised how laboured his breathing was. The collar of his shirt felt tight causing him to remove his tie and undo the top buttons of the shirt to gain some freedom. He took a mouthful of his now cold coffee. When making it he did so focusing on producing a bitter blend, an idea he had so he could use it to refocus his mind and suppress those troublesome fantasies.

“That’s enough now. No more foolishness.” He muttered to himself as he pushed aside the vivid imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.

A knock on the door made him jump.

“Yes?”

The head of his partner appeared through the gap as the door opened. A sheepish look on their face as they failed to make complete eye contact.

“Sorry, Artem. Erm… are we still on for watching those old movies this weekend?” Their question was adorable and the uncertainty in their voice only endeared them to him more.

“We are unless you have other plans. Don’t force yourself to attend if-”

“Oh! No, I was just worried you might be too busy and forgotten. I’ll bring some snacks with me this time so you don’t have to cook. Bye!”

The whirlwind that was his love swept through his office and left just as quickly. Their concern that he had lost interest or forgotten their date felt impossible but was so like them. He shook his head and laughed. He really had it bad. To compound the issue and make it worse the one he liked was oblivious to his affection.

He thought about the ingredients sitting in his kitchen at home and how his plans to make something special were once more dashed by his partner’s thoughtfulness.

“One step forward three steps back…” His eyes fell on the book that had become something of a talisman to him since he had been given it. All its insight and helpful steps to acquiring love and making his feelings clear were so easily mapped out in its pages but in reality, it was not so easy. "If only everything could follow the plot of a book." He picked up the self-help guide to love and flipped it open at his bookmark. "Then again... if it were that simple could I really claim they are my chance encounter?" 

He leaned back into his desk chair the leather of it creaking under him as he began to read the next section of the book. How to plan the perfect confession.

---

[zwiezraczek]

6 + 1 Underground [Four x OC/reader] Chapter 5

SUMMARY: Sasha is a Polish girl, with a strange past. She has various skills, driving amongst others. So she becomes Eight. And you know that Four plus Four is Eight…

CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5: Eight’s Mission CHAPTER 6

Sasha lives her first mission as the Ghost of Kubica. Adrenaline is there.

WORDS: 2.4k

TAGLIST (if you want to be part of it, leave a comment! ^^) : @kingniazx @imjustboredso @pandamanda99 @mustbeaweasleyginger @cooliosmosh @lillymitl 

Sasha's hands covered in white gloves wandered on the steering wheel. She had waited for this moment since she joined the team, and here it came: she was in Paris, waiting for One and Two to come out of the Villa Saïd in the 16th Arrondissement in Paris to step on it. This was the adrenaline rush she needed right here and right now, and nothing else. Five sat by her side, nervously checking the entrance of the Villa, expensive cars going in and out every few minutes, minutes nearer to the moment Sasha could drive as she always did: Kubica had to be awaken. She sat in a nice black car, a black Renault RS, slender and not very noticeable, nothing too flashy as she was once told by Piotr and from then stuck to that rule. Unless told otherwise. But now, they had to blend in, as rich tourists waiting for anything, their husbands, their friends, girlfriends? Who cared as long as Kubica sat behind the steering wheel.

Three proudly called the two of them “bonitas” as he picked their disguises, flowery dresses and satin shawls on their hair, glasses for Five and none for Eight. They looked adorable, nothing suspicious in this chic district, and that was the whole point. Sitting in the front seat, nobody remarked them as they seemed to carelessly chat about the new Louis Vuitton's collection, the one with red scarves and leather bags, whereas Eight asked Five if she had any new information coming from Two. But still nothing. No blond head in sight, nor One's face, no running, no people covered in blood. As a small talk, Five told her how Two got injured in Florence, and what a bitchy patient she was moving around and even going out as she lost a shit ton of blood to shoot some of the guys: this women was unbelievable. Sasha smiled, hands stiff. She could feel the leather under her palms, she felt the engine, this clean machine only waiting to go faster and faster. She could sense it.

“Bonjour demoiselles,” Eight heard in her ear along with Five: Three's voice from the car parked near the Place de l'Etoile.

“Something wrong,” Sasha asked, ready to speed up at any moment.

“Twenty one still inside,” he asked.

“Yes, they are,” Five replied looking at Eight, a bit nervous. “This shouldn't take too long if... Mierda, here they are,” she shouted as she saw from the corner of her eye One, covered with blood and Two having his back as they advanced towards the car. Five went to the backseat, already taking her medical supplies as Sasha had her hand on the lever, ready to go.

“What the hell you did,” Sasha asked, as One was put into the car by Two before she shot some bullets towards the villa and making her way next to Eight.

“He fucked up,” Seven's voice resonated in her ear. He stayed on the top of the building facing the villa, ready to snipe, and apparently he saw the whole scene.

“Go,” Two shouted, as Sasha put her foot down, wheels screeching, One's head bumping on the door as Five tried to make him stay still, him and his bleeding arm.

“Gentle millenial,” he screamed, all painful and fussy.

“Fasten your fucking seat belt, you” Sasha yelled as she sped up on the Avenue Foch.

“Idiot,” Two completed calmly. “To the Place de l'Etoile. He got fucking shot as I tried to gently talk with the man hiding his stick. And this idiot out there threatened him.”

“Three, path's clear,” Sasha's voice was strong, waiting for a reply.

“For the moment yes, staying here until Seven joins me,” he confirmed as she heard a car following them on the avenue.

“I'm not an idiot,” One protested, wiggling and Five had no other choice than slapping his head. “What was that for,” he exclaimed.

“Don't move or I'll be obliged to cut your arm off or take you to a hospital,” Five seemed stressed, as sweat drops appeared on her forehead, but she didn't lose cool.

Sasha drove, wheels screeching, the engine roaring under her control, One cursing along with Five and Two looking peacefully at the road. Three made a good job, she heard him faking a foreign delivering some stuff to the souvenir shop around there, the mafia men weren't pleased at all as they cursed him, making Two smile under her breath. But Sasha had no time to laugh, focused and tense: everything she loved in this job. She remembered perfectly the ways she had to take to reach the Quartier Latin – without Two's help – to reach Four, waiting for them on an old building. A grand finale, he said to her with a huge grin. Nothing good, absolutely nothing good.

“Where are you,” she heard Four's voice inside her head now, as she tried to avoid the cars in front of them and not get caught by the guys behind as Two was ready to shoot some of them.

“Not so fucking far from Notre Dame with dogs... Pigs behind me, three cars for the moment” she correcter herself, One's cursing distracting her from talking as Five scolded him endlessly. “And the mafia of course, five cars. Hope your plan is bomb or I'll have to speed my way to the 91 as soon as I can!”

“We'll be able to lose half of them, pigs and mafia, so be ready to drive fast: trust me!”

“Do I have a fucking other option,” she yelled, a little smirk on her face as she avoided another car while turning next to the BVH Marais, feeling alive and ready. “I guess I have to trust the Eastern guy!”

“Hey, lovey dovey Eastern people,” One interrupted as he laid on the backseat, trying his best to not move as Five tried to get the bullet out of his arm, “we're not on a love mission, you're not Three and Two, so fucking do your thing before I lose my fucking arm,” he yelled, Two rolled her eyes, before looking at One who just mouthed yes I know.

“Coming to you,” Sasha replied, ignoring One's whining, focused on the mission, and the grand finale.

She turned down the road after the bridge, arriving until one of the universities, this was the old building Four talked about, ready to be destroyed it seemed. She sped up, as the cops and the mafia were trying to catch them. She prayed for Four's plan to work out, truly. And if not, improvisation. She improvised many times, in a city she knew but here she felt like in a damn maze, and was still impressed by her ability to find her way out there. As she entered the large street next the building, she felt gas. No way. She sped up, fingers crossed, hoping they wouldn't get injured even more. A great noise, dirt all around, the building fell. Right on the road, right on the cars following them. And now, she couldn't tell how many of them followed them, but she had a moment to lose them, taking another path, and fitting in the flow of the cars. To Corbeil-Essonnes. The place police feared and French mafia too, because these people were something. And luckily, they loved the ones messing with Frenchies.

“Four, do you copy,” Sasha asked, as the adrenaline rush came down. On the road around Paris, she almost lost all of them. Almost. “Four, do you copy,” she insisted, as Two looked at her, intrigued. “Three, you're still in Paris?”

“Oui, mes beautés,” he replied as she could almost imagine Seven rolling his eyes as Three spoke.

“Four went mia,” Sasha said, focused on the road between One's groans.

“We leave the kid behind, he'll be fine,” she heard. One's voice. She tightened her grip around the steering wheel. No, she wouldn't lose her Eastern partner in crime. She gave him a dark look through the mirror before addressing Five.

“Five, if he says that again don't you fucking dare taking that bullet off his arm, and if you do I'll fucking kill him myself,” she threatened as Two chuckled under her breath, nodding as she looked at Eight, before turning her head back abruptly at the window.

“Don't worry Eight, we won't leave him again, as One wanted,” Seven said through the device.

“Again,” Sasha exclaimed, her voice full of reproach. “You're a sick team, and a sick man One!”

“Stop talking and drive,” he retorted, hissing between his teeth as Five still tried to get that bullet off his arm.

“We're not leaving until we find this problematic boy of ours,” Seven said and Sasha could hear Three's humming.

“You see these guys, you see them,” One shouted, moving all around,as a car sped up until reaching them and Two grabbed her gun and pulled the trigger. One less. Five just sighed.

“We need to lose them, you can do this,” Two asked and Eight looked at them, smirking.

“I absolutely can,” Sasha replied. Speeding up? She was born to do this.

~~~

Pretty quickly, Sasha managed to lose them all, with Two's help and her knowledge of the roads here – something Sasha missed truly to master this evasion properly. On the backseat, Five managed to get the bullet out of One's arm, not without him cursing for many, many long minutes as her and Two were trying to totally lose these guys. And they succeeded. And so did Seven and Three, finding Four.

“Good news,” Seven's voice almost blasted in everyone's ears, “Four's alive, his mic went off during the explosion.”

“Great,” One groaned, as Sasha sighed in relief. She grew close to all of them, but him and Five especially, and she dreaded the moment she would lose them under any circumstances. She already lost Piotr and Magda. “See, Eight? Nothing to be worried about with Four, he's a grown boy!”

“Yeah, thought you were too but you screamed during the whole thing as Five was trying to get that bullet out your arm,” she replied, driving calmly as Two just nodded. Eight made her laugh, sharp remarks, really nice to hear.

“... You have the right to remain silent,” he pursued and looked at Two to change the subject. “So, the usb key?”

“I have it, don't worry One.”

“I do worry, we never know with you,” he complained as Two rolled her eyes.

As Sasha drove towards the hotel they were staying in, Two and One discussed about the usb key, some details about what they needed there and how to get round the CIA's protections against intruders on their files. Three and One would certainly work on that.

They arrived in the hotel almost forty minutes before the others. Sasha was amazed by the calm of the man at the reception desk when he saw One's arm covered with blood, cursing as he held it. Two spoke to him in French, explaining some things Sasha had no idea about, as she looked at Five who just looked helplessly at her to escape One's ramblings. A sound, the doors of the elevator opened and two men with two massive guns came out, not even casting a look at the small group gathered around the desk. Two told them that this place was safe for any criminal, and that here having a gun was nothing abnormal, but seeing it with her own eyes, as she was accustomed to hide her weapons in Poland, made it look even more surreal than it actually was.

They had three rooms to share, Eight with Five, Two with Three and the rest of the group together. As soon as the group arrived to the room where the three men were about to stay, One decided to display all his electronic devices in order to begin to hack the whole key, with Two's knowledge. Five was still searching through the medical bag they carried in the car for some medicine for One, and trying to stitch his wound, as he typed on the keyboard. And Sasha, Eight, stood next to the large window from where she could see the parking lot, looking for the boys to arrive. And she saw them, her face lightened up instantly. Four was the first one to jump out the car, his hoodie on his blond locks and all covered with dust, she could see it distinctly from there. Seven carried his gun in one hand, not seeming to care too much about people who could see him – he must have noticed some men carrying weapons here – and Three had his sunglasses on, and walked confidently towards the entrance. Sasha told to the group that they arrived. A dozen of minutes later, Three opened the door, carrying a bag with him, followed by Seven and Four.

“Was it all worth it,” Seven asked as he put his gun on the bed that was his now.

“One says it is,” Two replied, looking over One's shoulder. “The man we got had many information, I worked with him in the CIA, and that key is our key to some true good information,” she continued, putting her hand on her hip.

“So what's the status of the research,” Three asked, standing next to Two.

“Either you fucking let me work this out, or you go fuck in the elevator or whatever,” One snapped, and Five put some medicine next to his left hand with a glass of water. She took a deep breath.

“Nasty move,” Seven commented. Four, who remained silent until now, leaning against the wall, only nodded with a hum.

“So sorry I'm not a romantic,” One ironically apologized, “but either you two move your asses and help me a bit with this or this mission will me meaningless!”

“I'm out,” Seven said, standing up to avoid the argument or the tension between the three of them.

“Coming with you,” Four stated, following him.

“I'm staying here Eight,” Five said to you, as you gave her a look. “Need to watch this bad boy right here,” she precised, pointing One's arm.

“Joining you guys,” Sasha finally said, Four still holding the door for her.

[nextgensquad]

i really love your writing! pearl, could you tell us more about your dominique? maybe the first time she falls in love or perhaps what she does after hogwarts?

dominique weasley doesn’t fall in love.

it’s not that she doesn’t believe in it or anything. she believes very strongly in love (it’s hard not to, when you grow up with parents like bill and fleur, who are so disgustingly in love that they managed to put their own kids off kissing for several years). it’s just that, well, when you grow up best friends with lily luna potter, some things have to go on the backburner.

lily is a whirlwind, a tornado, a hurricane, or any other natural disaster you might name. dominique hitched herself to lily’s ride when they were five and she’s not the kind to give up on something halfway. some people think she shouldn’t have been in gryffindor (too weird, too dreamy, too head-in-the-clouds, should’ve been a ravenclaw, should’ve been a hufflepuff) but the truth is that nobody but a gryffindor could ever keep up with lily luna potter.

(the first time dominique ever had a crush on a boy, it was alexander abbott in the year above, and he asked her out to hogsmeade when she was a second year, and they were sitting in madame puddifoot’s when he confided in her that he thought lily was “kind of a bitch.”

she walked out of madame puddifoot’s only after hexing his chair to fall apart.)

so it’s not that dominique weasley doesn’t believe in love. it’s just that, when you love lily, it’s impossible to let anyone else in. she takes up so much space, she’s like a whole solar system and the people who love her are moons in her orbit.

james and albus get it the best. hugo doesn’t get it at all.

“why do you let her drag you around to all her stupid shit?” he demands of dominique when they get partnered for a potions project in their fifth year. “you could be friends with other people, you know.”

dominique tilts her head, watching hugo as he chops up their mice tails. hugo with his ravenclaw tie and his ever-present scowl, hugo who’s the best student in their grade but never truly seems to enjoy magic. hugo, who barely even talks to his own sister in the halls, let alone his cousins.

“i don’t want other friends,” she explains. “and lily needs me.”

the truth of it is that lily needs dominique and dominique needs lily. it’s not about being cousins; it’s about being best friends. lily needs someone to enable her, someone to believe in her, someone to call her out when she gets toowild, too manic, too full of storms to see the sky. dominique needs someone to pull her out of the stars to see the earth, someone to push her, someone to understand why she spends so much time with tarot cards and crystals.

people think divination is about telling the future. dominique has been hanging aroundlily long enough to know that the future doesn’t matter one whit unless you’ve got a present worth fighting for.

the thing is, everything with lily is a fight—a fight for attention, a fight for space, a fight to prove her worth, a fight to prove that somebody else is worthless. a fight for love, a fight for hate. lily luna potter was born to fight the world; dominique was born to be a mediator. so it’s her who follows lily to all the parties she sneaks out to and makes sure she doesn’t drink herself into oblivion (again). it’s her who pleads with teachers on lily’s behalf to give her an extra extension on homework that’s already late. and it’s her who finds out which students have been selling stories about lily to the tabloids, and it’s her who finds a way to hex them so hard they’ll never speak lily’s name again.

“sometimes, i think you’re better at being lily’s older brother than i am,” al tells her ruefully. he offers her a cigarette, and she shakes her head. “she just makes it so hard sometimes.”

“she does that on purpose.” dominique watches al inhale, exhale, watches the smoke ribbon out in plumes of gray. lily smokes, too—a bad habit, just like all her other habits. “she wants to make it hard to love her, so nobody can.”

“we still do.” al waits a moment, then crushes his cigarette beneath his fingers. “have you ever thought about it? just… leaving her. cutting her off. finding your own friends. don’t tell me you’ve never considered it, dom.”

(has she ever considered it? has she watched the other girls in their dorm gathered around someone else’s bed, trading lipsticks and nail polishes and telling stories that lily and dominique aren’t invited to hear? has she felt her heart flutter when a cute boy from ravenclaw smiles at her, and then never spoken to him again because lily picked a fight with him over quidditch try-outs or potions homework or a girl she was feuding with who happened to be his sister? has she wanted to step out of the charybdis of lily luna potter and breathe, for once in her life?)

“i don’t give up on people,” dominique says. “especially not lily.”

(of course she’s considered it.

but there’s a reason she’s in gryffindor, isn’t there?)

in the end, lily runs away from hogwarts on a tuesday partway through their seventh year and upsets the whole balance of things on her own. no less than five of dominique’s cousins storm into gryffindor common room to demand answers from her that she won’t give.

james looks wrecked, when he gets there close to midnight.

“please,” he whispers. “dom, please, if you know anything… please tell me.”

dominique thinks of the note she found stickied to her tarot deck that morning, the trembling handwriting, pink ink, lily’s unmistakable scrawl—don’t tell anyone. please. she thinks of the set of numbers beneath it, so tiny like they had snuck their way out of lily’s pen unknowingly, a phone number for her to call. she thinks of lily’s voice over the phone, smaller than she’s everheard it, whispering to her as her train rumbles on in the background.

she looks at james, heartbroken, desperate james. she’s only seen him like this twice before: once, when al nearly killed himself in his sixth year, and the second time, when he’d found out he was going to be a father at twenty-one. there are very, very few things that can make james sirius potter rip his heart outof his sleeve. one is al, one is lily, and one is his unborn child.

she wants to tell him. she wants to tell him more than she’s ever wanted to tell anyone a secret before.

“i’m sorry,” she says. “i promised lily.”

james leaves without a word. all this time, dominique had thought she hadn’t got much of a heart left to break but clearly, she’d been wrong.

al is the only cousin who will talk to her after, when lily’s been missing through christmas holidays. victoire is disappointed, louis is ragingly mad, and james still won’t speak to her. she doesn’t even want to face uncle harry and aunt ginny, so she lies to her parents that she’s been invited to a friend’s vacation trip and sneaks away to al’s flat instead.

“will you tell me one thing, at least?” al asks when she’s curled up on his sofa with a mug of bitter, black coffee steaming in her hands, withdrawn and miserable and unwilling to break a promise. “it’s not about where she is.”

“what is it about?”

al looks at her with those green, green eyes, so bright like the killing curse. impossible to look away from. she thinks it’s lucky lily didn’t get those eyes. she would have been unstoppable with them.

“does she hate us?”

“no,” says dominique as fast and immediately as possible. this one isn’t a secret she has to keep. “no, she could never hate you.”

that, at least, is true. lily hates a lot of people, but she could never, ever hate her family, no matter how much she might want to, no matter how much al and james drive her crazy. she’s surprised al even has to ask, but if victoire hadup and vanished into thin air without so much as a goodbye note, dominique supposes she’d be paranoid, too.

it mollifies al enough, but when he leaves for his night shift, she’s left with scorpius malfoy sitting in the living room, studying her like she’s an art piece, or a puzzle cube. dominique is almost finished with her whole mug of coffee when he finally breaks the silence.

“is she knocked up?”

“what?”

scorpius shrugs, a malfoy shrug of carelessness and apathy. “lily. is she knocked up? is that why she left?”

“no,” says dominique, too forcefully, and realizes too late that he’s grinning at her.

“so you do know why she left.”

dominique rolls her eyes and stays quiet. practiced indifference, that’s what lily had always told her. just because we’re gryffindors doesn’t mean we have to wear every emotion on our faces. especially not to slytherins.

“you wanna know what i think?” scorpius continues seamlessly, as if he hadn’t been waiting for her to reply. “i think she just wanted more attention. she wasn’t getting enough at hogwarts, so she decided to make it the whole ministry’s problem.”

dominique has to carefully unclench her jaw. “and what if she did?”

“well, it’s awfully selfish,” says scorpius, as if surprised she even has to ask. “putting her whole family through this. putting you through this.”

“me?”

“you,” he confirms. “you’re the one who’s getting punished in her place, since she’s not here. your siblings will barely talk to you. i heard mr. and mrs. potter didn’t even get you a christmas present this year.”

he’s goading her, she realizes. it’s such an old slytherin tactic, she almost wants to laugh at him. but the truth in his words keeps her pinned to her seat, keeps her heart wrenched like a corkscrew in her chest.

“just say it,” dominique says, and pushes the pillows and the plush throw off her lap, scrambling up to her feet. scorpius rises, too, and he’s a good head taller than her, but she’s never been afraid of a fight with people bigger than her. “say that you think i’m lily’s bitch. that i let her push me around. that she’s ruining my life. it’s nothing everyone else hasn’t alreadysaid about me.”

scorpius looks down at her, dominique simmering with fury, her head a million miles away with lily on a bus. he looks at her, and looks and looks, and somewhere in the middle of the space between them, she realizes she’s not so used to people looking at her for so long.

(see, dominique had realized a long, long time ago that the best way to shove her veela sparkle down as far as it will go is to surround herself with someone who blazes so bright, she’s impossible to ignore. lily’s so beautiful, sodangerous, that nobody even notices that one-eighth of dominique’s heritage burning in her chest like a secret candle, like a light she never wants anyone to notice.)

“i don’t think that,” scorpius says, very slowly, like he’s trying to imprint his words onto her heart. “i think you’re very brave.”

dominique freezes. “what?”

scorpius shrugs again, but this one isn’t a malfoy shrug. it’s honest and helpless andhe tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling of his flat and exhales so slowly she can track the movement in his chest underneath his black t-shirt.

“if it were al…” he hesitates for a long moment. “if it were al, i would want to do the same thing. and if james or lily had come after me, i would have broken. i know i would have. i’ve never seen anyone stand up to al like you did the dayshe ran away. even i can’t do that, most days. not rose, not anyone.”

dominique blinks and feels, to her horror, the beginning of tears flickering in her eyes. she dashes them away, furious and wrecked all of a sudden, all at once.

“you’re braver than i am, dominique weasley,” scorpius tells her, his mouth set in a rueful, wistful line. “i guess that’s not much of a surprise. you are a gryffindor.”

“it’s not because i’m a gryffindor,” dominique blurts out without thinking. scorpius raises an eyebrow at her. “it’s… it’s because she’s lily. and i’m not much without her.”

scorpius breathes out a laugh, and for a second she thinks he’s going to try to comfort her, to say of course she’s something, she’s dominique weasley, she’s the daughter of curse-breakers, she’s going to be something great. all the things her parents and her sister and her brother have tried telling her over and over, trying to push her away from lily.

but he doesn’t. what he says is: “well, i’m not much without al, so i guess that’s one thing we have in common.”

dominique stares at him, at scorpius malfoy in all his sharp lines, all his pureblood grace. looks at the cut of his jaw and the lines of his shoulders. the ghost of a smile on his face, the way his gray eyes rest upon her so steadily. looks at him without al at his side and wonders how she looks without lily at hers.

“what a pair we make,” she says finally, feels something lift in her chest when he laughs for real.

“what a pair,” he agrees, and lifts his mug of coffee to toast hers.

(this is, although she doesn’t realize it then, the first time she falls in love for real. standing in her cousin’s messy flat, wearing her pink pygmy-spotted socks, listening to scorpius malfoy tell her that she’s brave. this is the first time she’s not thinking about the future. not thinking about her family. not thinking about the secrets she has to keep and the promises she has to break.

scorpius turns on the muggle radio and makes her another cup of coffee and this, dominique realizes with sudden clarity, is what lily was talking about: a present worth fighting for.)

[bnhascribbles]

Partner

Bakugo x Reader

Angst, Humor, Dialogue Prompts (22, 47, 62)

I took artistic liberties lol.  EDIT: Also may have forgotten one of the quotes...

Words: 4.4K

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Mentions of death

Hair, once light, is dark, matted with blood and sweat. Bakugo’s costume is in similar condition, still caked in a thick layer of grime from his last rescue. But he can’t stop, not yet. His practiced gaze scans over the rest of the debris, searching. Shattered windows, overturned cars, crumbling buildings–it was all the same stuff he’d expected to see in the aftermath of such a large attack. His heart races, nonetheless. Shit, shit, shit. Curses pour from his lips like prayers, uttered between bouts of panting. He focuses on getting his breathing under control before he moves on, planting a steadying palm against the wall of the alleyway. When he drags it down along the red brick, his gauntlet leaves a smokey trail in its wake. Memories flood in, even as he does his best to shove them back.

The scorch marks marring the dorm wall are obvious, to say the least. Faded grey rings branch out along the white plaster, all stemming from a single, intense patch of soot. One that, suspiciously enough, resembles a handprint,

“You’ve really done it this time, matchstick.” You lean in close, using your fingernail to scratch at the stain. Some of it flakes off, but there’s an obvious film of residue left in the blast zone. “Aizawa is gonna straight-up murder you when he finds out.”

To his credit, Bakugo at least has the sense to look a little nervous, one hand shoved deep into his pocket, the other tucked firmly beneath his armpit. Trying to avoid having another “misfire.”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” He grumbles. “Just tell me if you can fix it.”

You scratch at your chin, seeming all pensive. But it was bullshit. Really, it was an easy fix–he already knew that, considering the fact that he’d come straight to you after his squabble with Midoriya escalated into a full-fledged explosion. But he also knew that you were going to try and draw this out; You had this thing about “leaving a lesson,” and this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make sure he learned a thing or two about dialing down his bloodlust.

“It’s gonna cost you.”

Bakugo’s mouth pulls off to one side of his face. “How much?”

“A month of cleaning my room–sweeping, dusting, polishing, and mopping. Plus an apology to Midoriya.”

He wants to argue, to barter. But he doesn’t–he doesn’t have the time or the patience to spend trying to convince anyone else to help him. So Bakugo just stands there, chewing on his lip and shifting his weight between his legs.

“Fine.” He sighs, bouncing on his heels. “Just fix it before anyone else sees.”

“What’s the magic word?” You ask, grinning wide and having way too much fun with the whole situation.

“Fix the damn wall before I–” A loud click from the double doors leading into the common area makes Bakugo flinch, twisting wildly, like some prey animal that’s about to be snatched up. When the knob twists, his eyes dart back to you, looking positively wild. You’re still grinning, thrumming your fingers against the stain. Waiting.

Your fingers tap, tap, tap against the plaster.  Repetitive and rhythmic.  And irritating–like Iida’s pencil sharpener whirring every evening at the same time.  Or shitty-hair hitting his fucking punching bag at 3 am when the blonde trying to sleep.

As much as he wants to burn your hand to a crisp–to stop that grating sound–now wasn’t the time to go ape-shit.  Bakugo couldn’t risk the consequences of pissing off Aizawa (again).

“Please!” He swallows his pride and hisses the word, even though it feels like it’s burning on his tongue.

Without another moment of hesitation, you tap the wall. It’s like hitting an imaginary rewind button–Bakugo can see the progression of the damage being played out in reverse. Rings sink back into the palm print until even that begins to fade. Within a second, all signs of his outburst have been erased. Dusting off your hands, you turn just in time to wave at Kirishima as he pushes open the common room door, strolling towards you. His lips twist upward when he sees a very relieved-looking Bakugo clutching at his chest.

“Was he being an idiot again?”

Bakugo barks out an irritated curse at his friend and stomps off into the hallway, never once peering back over his shoulder. Even so, your boisterous laughter bounces off the walls, reaching his ears as he turns the corner into the stairwell.

“Yeah, he was. But don’t worry about it; I’ve got him covered.”

The throbbing in his chest doesn’t subside, even after a minute of that “deep breathing” crap, so Bakugo decides to move on anyway. He scales the fire escape up to the roof, anxious to get a better idea of his surroundings. He already knew the area well–he spent more time patrolling the streets than he spent in his own damn home–but knowing where the corner store was wouldn’t help him find what he was looking for. People never stuck around in one place for too long during disasters like this. Not unless they were–

No, Bakugo shakes off the thought as he climbs the final step. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and an alert banner drifts across his screen, screaming at him with bold, obnoxious text.

...mass civilian casualties reported. Additionally, over two dozen individuals are unaccounted for in the Dagobah district alone. Counted among the missing is pro-hero, Retrograde, who was last spotted leading rescue efforts in...

Bakugo locks the screen before he has to read any more, running a shaky hand over the bottom half of his face. Reporters didn’t know shit anyway.

You step into the agency training room, following close behind Bakugo. Once the door shuts, you twist the lock to the right. Your partner scowls, folding his arms across his chest in a frustrated gesture.

“What the hell is this about?” He growls, looking down his nose at you.

You inhale deeply, staring into blazing red eyes, unfazed. There’s not an ounce of your usual, goofy self left to be found. He’s grateful.

“This is gonna hurt.”

He blinks, gritting his teeth. “What–”

Before Bakugo can even get a word in, your fist is slamming into his jaw. He stumbles backward, thrown off balance by the force of the impact. Once he regains his footing, it’s less than a second before he’s pouncing towards you. His teeth are bared, his lips pulled back in a tight, animalistic snarl. You hop left, avoiding a full-on hit by a centimeter. Still, Bakugo’s reflexes get the better of you; He throws out an arm at the last second and catches your ankle as he passes, dragging you down with him. You hit the floor hard, landing on your back. Groaning, you fling out your other leg, shoving it into his ribs (too conveniently, in the same side he’d bruised just last week). Bakugo winces, releasing his hold, and after a complicated moment, you’ve got him pinned–held down by his chest and wrists.

“You know why you’ll never be number one?” You pant, pressing more of your weight into him when he struggles.

He growls, feral. “Get the fuck off of me.”

You don’t.

“It’s not ‘cause you’re a terrible hero. Hell, you’re brilliant–everyone agrees on that much.” You lean in close, speaking slowly. “It’s because your image is shit, Katsuki. And it’s shit because every time you do something good, you manage to screw it up by losing your cool and doing something stupid.”

You continue, paying no heed to Bakugo’s eyes as they narrow, murderous. “Silverfish is a hero. He worked his ass off helping us clear out that warehouse, but the second he makes one comment about your way of doing things, you go apeshit. You get in his face and scream and throw a hissy fit right in from of the reporters.” Shaking your head, you stand. “Like they need any other reason to rip into you.”

It takes every ounce of restraint in him, but Bakugo doesn’t lunge at you the instant you give him the opportunity (even though he really wants to). He settles for watching you rub your knuckles as you stare down at him. He hopes they hurt–he hopes you’d shattered every damn bone in them when you’d punched him. People needed to stop telling him how to do his job–how to act, how to be “nice” and pretend that he was some happy-go-lucky do-gooder. He wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be.

Bakugo sits up, scowling. “Reporters don’t know shit. I don’t care what any of those dumbasses say about me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Yeah? Then you’re a bigger fucking idiot than I thought.�� When Bakugo jolts up, you move in close to him. Too close. “The press can make or break you. Give ‘em an opening and they’ll take it–they won’t hesitate to make you into their seven o’clock special. ‘Breaking news: Hero Ground Zero threatens violence against critics.’ Does that sound like the sort of headline that helps you move up the rankings?”

“It’s a fucking lie.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie or not! It’s what they’ll say!” You’re shouting now. Red seeps up to your face, coloring your cheeks and ears. “And what they say is what the public will believe.”

You stop and breathe, shallow and ragged, through your nose. Tracing small circles over your temples, you shut your eyes and hum to yourself. Your shoulders slow, their quick rise and fall, melting into something more controlled. Bakugo half thinks you’ve finally snapped–that the pressure of dealing with hero work and him and the media has finally made you lose it. He’s about to shove past you when you finally open your eyes. The intensity is still there, but your breathing has calmed down substantially.

“That’s why,” you begin, holding up your hands in a placating gesture, “If you’ve got a problem with someone, you find me. If I’m not around, you breathe and wait it out.” The words are soft. But they’re also firm. Rational.

Bakugo wonders if you’re still angry. He is. Then again, he can’t think of the last time that he wasn’t pissed off at something. He stares at you, grinding his teeth. He’s surprised to find that the urge to pay you back for the cheap shot you landed on him has faded. Just a little, though.  

You click your fingers against your wrist guard, thinking.  After what feels like a century of the nothing but tapping, you finally speak.

“We’re partners, Katsuki. If we don’t watch each other’s backs, then nobody will.” You hold out your hand. “Think we can agree on that much?”

He glances down at your outstretched fingers, then up at your face. If he’d really wanted to, he could’ve knocked you flat on your ass.

But there would be opportunities for that later.

Barely even realizing it, he takes your hand in his own.

Bakugo meets up with one of his sidekicks on what used to be a commercial street–the sort of place that vendors sold overpriced knick-knacks to tourists that didn’t know any better. Now, it looked like a fucking mess, with stalls overturned in the panic to evacuate and banners burned in the blaze that everyone had been running away from. Bakugo lifts the remains of a larger display, peeking under it. To anyone that didn’t know him, it might’ve looked like he was searching for civilians that’d been left behind.

His sidekick knows better. Bakugo doesn’t even have to ask the question burning in his mind before the young woman shakes her head.

“No sign of ‘em. We ripped apart the whole street and found nothing.”

Bakugo clenches his jaw, chokes down the acidic taste in his throat. No news was good news; He tries to convince himself that those words you liked to repeat over and over again have some truth to them. It’s hard to do that when he knows the actual numbers–when he has facts to refute the hopeful little figure of speech. The truth was that with every moment he waited around, the chances of finding you alive decreased. Drastically.

“Clear out these buildings the second you’re sure they’re not going to collapse.” Bakugo commands. “There could be survivors hiding out in there. And don’t move on until you check everywhere.”

He fiddles with his gauntlet, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady–like you’d showed him. In and out. In and out. No need to lose his cool. Yet.

“Rip out the ceiling tiles if you have to. People get creative when they’re desperate.”

“Where the fuck were you?!” Bakugo nearly loses it when he sees you hobbling towards the ambulances, coated in dust and nursing more than a few nasty cuts.

“Sipping piña coladas down at the beach.” You shout with a shit-eating grin that doesn’t seem to fit the situation. “Where do you think I was? I was hiding, Katsuki. That’s what you do when you’re hurt and there’s a baddie trying to murder you.”

Seeing you standing there, hearing the playful tone of your voice–it isn’t enough to convince him. Bakugo pushes past the paramedics, the news crews, his sidekicks. He doesn’t stop until he’s standing right in front of you, grabbing your shoulders and looking over you from head to toe.

Real. Ironically enough, the word doesn’t seem... well, real.

“How?” Bakugo demands as he runs his hands down your arms.

Feeling for broken bones, he convinces himself, even though that wasn’t something he usually did. Usually, he let paramedics handle checking for injuries. But right here, right now, he feels this compulsive need to check you out for himself–to make sure you’re as alive as you seem.

“Everyone was sure you were dead. How the hell did you get out of that tower?”

“Did you know,” you muse, still smiling, “That those old buildings have this space right above the–” You hiss, obviously in pain when Bakugo pokes at a spot between your side and your stomach.

“I climbed into the ceiling and waited around until things got quiet. Then I just scurried out the service entrance.” You admit shakily. “I didn’t think I’d be of much help like this, so I decided to play it safe.”

Bakugo stops his fussing for long enough to peer up and meet your eyes. You looked coherent enough. Tired, but sane–well, as sane as you could be. He remains quiet for a moment, then sighs.

“Good. That’s probably the smartest thing you could’ve done.”

You quirk up an eyebrow. “Wow, ‘smart.’ Don’t make a habit of complimenting me, now, or I’ll start to think I’m actually having a positive influence on you.”

Bakugo groans. “I didn’t say it was a smart decision, I said it was the smart-est given the situation.” Despite his protests, he kneels down to examine your ankles, spending extra time checking the side you’d avoided putting weight on. Not that he’d been paying attention.

“Same, difference. The point is, you were a decent human for about five seconds. That’s progress.”

He doesn’t respond, pretending to be too be too engrossed in his search for injuries. What was he supposed to say? “Thank you?” Was he supposed to hurl an insult back at you?

What if he didn’t feel like doing that right now?

“Does this hurt?” Bakugo asks, pressing on a spot that looks a little questionable.

“No.” You answer without hesitation. But your expression looks odd, strained.

“Are you lying?” He makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. He was trying to help, dammit. “Why are you making that face?”

“Not lying. It’s just,” your voice is thin–from what, he can’t decide, “You’re being so careful, and I couldn’t help but imagine ‘what if he was a nurse instead of a hero?’ Then I imagined you in one of those old, stereotypical nurse uniforms and I–” Whatever self-control you had disappears and you erupt into a fit of laughter. “I’m sorry, I just–”

You flinch, face contorted in pain and hand clutching at your side.

“Ow, ow, ow. Okay, it hurts to laugh.”

Bakugo stands, rolling his eyes. “That’s because you probably cracked a rib, weirdo.”

“And he’s back to being a jerk.” You groan, but a hint of a smirk lingers on your lips. “Then again, ‘weirdo’ sounds much nicer than ‘dumbass.’ So maybe you’re learning a thing or two, after all.”

Gingerly, without saying anything, he loops your arm over his shoulder. Bakugo could’ve used the opportunity to make some snarky remark about you being “dead weight” or “useless,” but he doesn’t.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” Bakugo mutters under his breath. He doesn’t mean to say it–it just sort of slips out as the two of you trudge along your way.

You don’t reply; You don’t give any sort of indication that this was anything out of the ordinary. Still, Bakugo wonders–if he glanced over at you, would you roll your eyes? Would you think he was being insincere? Or would you look surprised? Happy, even?

“Even though you’re a dumbass.” He tacks it on before he can overthink things too much.

Bakugo kicks over a trashcan, pissed and exhausted and anxious. Nothing even vaguely human-shaped rolls out–just candy wrappers and soda cans. A deep sound bubbles in his throat, growing until it evolves into a full-scale shout. Your name.

Nobody shouts back. Bakugo hears ambulance sirens echoing in the distance, the low groan and clunk of machinery as crews come in to clear out heavy debris, maybe even the creaking of some buildings that had yet to crumble beneath their own weight. Whenever he stops focusing on them for just a moment, they become less industrial sounding–more human. His hyper-focused mind makes it into something it’s not. He hears sobbing, distant and choked, but so familiar it almost kills him to ignore. Throwing his hands over his ears, he shuts his eyes tight and tries to block the sounds out–tries focus and force down the memories they bring.

“Please, don’t cry.” Bakugo pleads even though he knows it won’t do any good.

He’s terrible at comforting people–that wasn’t a surprise–but even that isn’t the reason why your sobs continue to rip through the eerie silence of the alleyway.

Every hero had to go through this at some point–had to grapple with the fact that they couldn’t save everyone.

His had come early on, during his third-year internship nonetheless. An old man, trapped beneath rubble from a roof cave-in. It hadn’t even been a villain attack that did him in, just a sorry excuse for a supermarket and an ill-timed tremor. Bakugo remembers the rush to carry him out to the ambulances, the head-pounding, gut-wrenching feeling of being fucking useless as the paramedics looked over the man. Then, the sinking doubt that crept in, long after the techs shook their heads and made their pronouncements. It was a silent beast that told him he hadn’t been fast enough. Smart enough. Good enough.

Now, it was your turn to deal with the same thing. Months–almost a year–into your career, and you still weren’t any more prepared for it than he’d been. Hearing about casualties was one thing. Looking people in the face, promising them you’d save them, then watching as the light faded from their eyes was something entirely different–something you couldn’t ever be ready for. He knew that as well as anyone else.

“It’s my fault.” You whimper into his shoulder. “My god, Katsuki. It’s all my fault.”

Bakugo tightens his grip on you. His dry cheek presses against your wet one, your hair ticking the edge of his nose as he grumbles into your ear.

“No it isn’t. You did what you could.”

You inhale once, then twice, then a third time, your entire body trembling. “And it wasn’t–”.

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Bakugo warns, leaving no room for argument.

And you don’t. You stand there, clinging to him, sniffling into his costume. When the brunt of it passes, neither of you move for a long time. He keeps his arms around your middle while you cling desperately to his neck.

Bakugo isn’t sure why he pulls his head back, but when he does, you do the same, staring up at him with puffy eyes. He breathes, long and drawn-out. His mind races.

Then, his lips are pressed to your forehead. He doesn’t know why the hell he does it–why he leans forward and kisses your skin like that. You were just standing there, looking upset and it felt like the right thing to do.

That’s what he tells himself.

But it was wrong. Bakugo knows that the moment he takes another look at your face. Your eyes have gone wide. Still wet with unshed tears, they watch him without blinking. Your lips trace imaginary words–probably questions. What was he doing? Why was he being so sweet? Where was the matchstick with the temper that tried your patience nearly every day?

He tries to look away, but your fingers tap at his neck, three times, demanding that he turn his attention back to you.  You’re staring, insistent.  Demanding answers.

This wasn’t right–now wasn’t the time. Not when you were a mess like this. The thought isn’t enough to keep him from hunching over again, stilling the frantic movement of your lips with his own. You gasp against his mouth, but don’t push him away. In fact, your arms constrict around him, pulling him in closer.

He’s not entirely sure how that makes him feel.

Phone call after phone call buzzes at his side, but Bakugo ignores all of them. Maybe it was one of his sidekicks checking in on him. Maybe it was the agency trying to convince him to do a press briefing. Maybe it was Kirishima, just making sure he wasn’t dead. Either way, answering would be a waste of what precious little time he had left.

Three hours–that’s how long it’d been since your phone started dropping calls. It’d been at least four hours since he’d heard from you last and six since he’d seen you with his own two eyes. If you’d been a civilian, he would’ve told anyone searching for you to go home–let the heroes handle it. Which was code for “they’re probably gone for good.” But you weren’t a civilian, and you couldn’t be gone. That wasn’t how this whole shit-show was supposed to go down. The two of you were partners, dammit. You were supposed to stick together–watch each other's backs. One of you couldn’t just go off and get killed without the other.

Right?

The thought makes Bakugo’s anxiety spike again, his hyperventilation returning. He braces himself against the first wall he finds. It belongs to some sort of warehouse, but he barely even notices. His main concern is calming the fuck down–trying to inhale and exhale without focusing on the fact that he might already be too late. He’s terrible at it.

Everything aches. His arms, his legs, his back, even his fucking mind. It’s a dull feeling, lingering. Agonizing and persistent. Not like a punch to the jaw, where you focus on it for a second then move on. With the added pressure of breathing, it’s almost too much.

Bakugo rams his fist into the wall, harder than he should. He can feel his knuckles crack on impact with the cement or concrete or whatever it was they used in buildings nowadays, but the sting that shoots through his fingers is welcome, a distraction from the rest of the pain and, more importantly, from his own morbid thoughts. It fades soon though.

He’s about to do it again–sacrifice more of his fingers to his own, temporary relief–then there’s a sound. It’s soft, like a pin dropping in a loud room. But something about it is familiar–too familiar.

Bakugo freezes, suddenly capable of holding his breath. He catches the back half of something–he can’t decide what–as it fades off into the ambient noise of the street. When he waits for a while and it doesn’t start back up, he smacks the wall again, sparing his fingers by using his palm this time.

Then, he presses his ear to the wall and listens. It begins again and his breath hitches involuntarily.  He was right–he knows this sound.

Tap, tap, tap.  Groups of three.  Faint and weaker than ever before, but unmistakable all the same.

The wall crumbles away with a couple hard hits.  Buildings weren’t supposed to do that–to splinter and crack like chalk.  No doubt your quirk had some part to play there.

Knowing that doesn’t stop heat from pulsing in his skull when he finds your heaving, broken body nestled into a spot that should’ve been filled with concrete.  Your limbs twisted at the wrong angles, eyes glazed over–open, but staring at nothing.  Even as he lifts you out of your hiding place, you barely react.  Quiet.  No wincing, no witty remarks.  Just shallow wheezing that grows weaker by the second.

“Breathe, dammit.”  Bakugo commands, grabbing you and sprinting towards the triage area.  “Come on, you need to breathe. In and out, remember?”

Each time your body stills–every moment your breathing falters for just a second–he finds himself holding his breath with you.  Counting the seconds, making sure you’re actually listening when he tells you to inhale. He wishes that were enough, wishes that staying alive was something you could just decide to do–like rewinding damage on an old wall or fixing a bad attitude with a well-timed right hook.

It wasn’t that easy; Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was.  Still, even if it means babying you, monitoring each breath like he’s some sort of fucking life-support machine, he refuses to let you die.  Not now, not ever.  

You weren’t getting out of this gig that easily.  You were stuck–his partner for life, whether you wanted to be or not.

Sweat pours down his face as he ups his pace.

“I’ve got you–same as always.  Just keep breathing with me, okay?”

[spartan2545]

Happily Ever After?

White Rose Week Day 5: Loss

General Audience

2050 Words

Links: AO3, FF 

Link includes 2 other short one-shots

She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t since it happened.

So much blood

Because every time she closed her eyes she relieved that horrible day.

Polished steel stained crimson and black

Three screams: An unholy, deafening wail. Her own cry of tortured agony.

And a muffled, pained yell.  

A sound that would always haunt her. It still rang in her ears.

The piece fabric she clutched tightly in her arms the only small comfort she had on night such as this. But even this, most of it dyed a different hue than she knew it used to be, served as a dark reminder. A reminder of why she had it now at all.

“Please don’t go! Don’t leave me!”

“At least you're safe now. . .”

She would never forget the way tears mixed with blood.

The princess sat up in her dark room, only one candle driving away some of the shadows. Were it not for the walls being painted as white as her hair it would have still been too inky to see.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, again she felt the pull she had felt before. And again not sure if she was imagining that it felt like something else was pulling at her soul. She couldn’t convince herself it wasn’t her imagination; an excuse so she could cope with what she had done.

She tried to fight the urge, fight what she saw as her own selfishness. But she had tried before, so she knew she would lose and gave in quickly. The princess held out a shaking hand to the floor in front of her.

Magic lit the room in a pale glow, a large rune danced along the floor directly in front of her. A power she had once seen as a gift, but now it was a curse.

And from it arose a human figure, slightly larger and taller than herself, quickly taking form. Around its shoulders she gingerly placed the cloak she had been holding.

This was where it belonged anyway.

Now in front of her, all stained a light blue was something very familiar. Something that should have never been that color.

Someone she knew very well, and cared very dearly for.

And she could hardly bare to look upon what she had done.

The first time this had happened, she had wondered if it was really the woman she knew. Or if it a figment of her powers, imagination, and guilt. A mere copy like all of her other summons.

But when Blanche looked in to those silver eyes. Eyes that should have been blue, like on her and everything she created, she knew.

She knew that Garnet really was there.

Or part of her. . .

Her soul was at least. . . .

There had been no other way, she knew that.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

They had done it, completed their quest, but it was a terrible price to pay.

Even with all this, the smile looking back at her said that it was going to be okay.

But she couldn’t keep Garnet here. She shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, it wasn’t right.

That smile that Blanche knew she didn’t deserve.

It hurt to look at Garnet like this. A shadow of who she used to be.

The princess put on a soft smile, banishing the remorse and pain, instead letting show through the happiness she always felt seeing this woman, even now. It was so Garnet wouldn’t worry. She had hurt her enough already.

“H-hello Garnet,” She tried to keep her voice steady, to hide the sorrow.

Garnet smiled, and held up one finger. She was gone for a split second, but quickly found what she wanted; a quill and parchment.

Her voice was a privilege that Garnet no longer had.

Just one of so many things ripped away.

The quill moved as she wrote her reply.

Hey Blanche! How are you?

The penmanship was atrocious as always, but Blanche had long learned how to interpret those marks and had substantial practice doing so. Those little things brought back memories, memories now held even more dear now that they hurt.

“I’m fine,” She lied, though Blanche knew that the Garnet would be able to tell that it was, both because of how well they knew one another and Garnet’s condition. “How are you doing?” Blanche asked timidly, fearing the worst answer.

I’m doing okay. It still feels a little weird but I’m used to it. Was written in front of her.

You shouldn’t have to get used to this Blanche thought, guilt  further seeping in to her. Loud scribbling pull her from those thoughts.

How’s your kingdom doing? The smile had never Garnet’s face, a sight that still brought more joy than pain. But the pain still came.

“It’s not my kingdom yet, the Queen is very much still alive and mother does plan to keep it that way for a while. Though it’s doing great,” Blanche said, thankful she didn’t have to lie this time, “With the evil gone, its prospering again. And everyone in the kingdom has you to thank for that.” Her eyes started to water, her mind drawn once again back to that day.

We did it together! You, me, Noir, Yin, and the others, none of us could have fought Salem alone.

But we all made it back. Blanche thought for a second before seeing Garnet write something else.

How is Yin doing?

That was the first time that Garnet looked concerned that day, a different sparkle in those silver eyes.

“It's been hard, but your sister’s doing okay,” That was an overstatement. Yin had taken this all as hard as Blanche had. If she didn’t have Noir to help her through it, they all may have lost two friends that day. She had made a promise, to herself and their mother, that she would protect Garnet. And at least to Yin, she had failed.

No thanks to me Seeing what it had done to Yin was terrible. Yet she had never blamed Blanche, saying that she understood there wasn’t a choice. Yin only sought fit to condemn herself, that she should have been able to do something.  

“She and Noir are still the best guards and friends I could ever have.”  

They were the only other people who knew about how Garnet was now. Though they hadn’t talked to or seen her. Unless garnet wanted to say goodbye, they didn’t want to make it any harder for her.

And Yin trusted Blanche with her sister, to do what Garnet wanted and what was best for her. The princess knew that even as a queen, she could never be given a higher honor.

Garnet again looked more at ease after hearing her sister was fine. But then she noticed Blanche.

The princess had tears running down her face, despite making an effort to stop them. A few fell to the paper below.

What’s wrong?

“I-. . I need to let you go.” Blanche was able to choke out, “You deserve to finally rest.” There lives had been hard, now at least one of them could stop fighting.

And so she put her head down and Blanche started to weep, now not an uncommon sight like it use to be.

For a moment the woman before her took a hold of her hands.

Every other summon felt cold, eternally frozen ice molded by the sorceress.

But Garnet was warm, like she had always been.

Hands again held hands when the quill stilled.

Do you want me here?

Blanche lifted her head to read those words, made difficult by her tears, the gloom, and the handwriting.

And the message made it all hurt even more. What could she say? What should she say?

On the face in front of her was only care and concern.

Garnet knew nothing else to feel for her friend, someone more than a friend, so clearly in need.

Blanche could always lie. She had many times before. But that never made anything better, so with what little strength she had she replied.

“I do.” Voice shaking, tears still falling, “But you shouldn’t stay here just for me. Not in this world that has already taken so much. You would never have to hurt again. Never have to fight again. You can be at peace.”

I made a promise didn’t I? The characters were bold, the smiling face adamant.

But it only served as another bittersweet reminder.

“We both did.” They had made that promise just before the end, just in case anything happened. But this wasn’t part of it.

I’ll stay with you as long as you need me.

And once again the words stung deeper than any wound she had received. And again she thought to lie; lies that Blanche didn’t were either selfish or selfless, but one that might make some of the guilt go away.

But Garnet deserved better than that.

Garnet’s face showed the unwavering conviction that she almost always had, especially now when she had to be strong for someone she cared for. It was one of the things Blanche adored about her so much.

“I-I. . . I think I always will.”

And Blanche looked into to silver once more, scared of any answer she might find. But their softness and the smile not far beneath revealed what Garnet was writing before the quill even stopped.

Then I’ll never leave you.

And the blue woman wrapped her arms around the princess, a warm embrace that they had both once feared they would never share again. Garnet freed one hand for a moment;

I love you.

How could so few words make so much torment go away?

“I love you too.”

And they had their happily ever after, not the one they had hoped, but they were happy.

After all, they had each other.

The Queendom would learn to live with one of their queens being blue.

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

Ruby found herself a bit teary-eyed when she finished the story and closed her little story book.

The two children in front of her were still in a slight trance after having listened to intently.

And then she looked up for the first time in what was probably many minutes; to see her wife had returned from her errands with the amount of groceries one would expect for Ruby Rose and her offspring. Which meant it was a good thing she had the strength of a trained huntress.

How long she had been standing there, Ruby did not know.

“So you turned my worst nightmare about us in to a story for our kids?” Weiss asked somewhat amused.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. Neither of us are even in the story at all.” Ruby responded sheepishly, clearly not telling the whole truth, arms folded across her chest.

“The white-haired princess-sorceress ‘Blanche’ together with her partner turned girlfriend, a huntress named ‘Garnet’ go off and fight to save the world. Of course together with the huntress’s sister, a blonde brawler named ‘Yin’, and her eventual girlfriend, the cat faunus assassin Noir. Among many other things.” Apparently she had been standing there long enough. Weiss raised her eyebrow and looked inquisitively at her spouse.

Admittedly, it had not been hard to figure out. The children probably recognized it.

Still, Ruby grinned and blushed, looked somewhat embarrassed at having been found out.

“Well I still liked it,” Weiss said with a smile, “But it still is a school night,” looking to her now evidently sleepy children between the two of them “so you are both going to bed.” Turning her attention back to Ruby, “I’ll tuck them in while you put away the groceries”

The children made their complaints to going to sleep now, but they knew that it almost never worked so the whining was merely a token resistance. Weiss picked up the younger Wilda while Summer followed close behind up stairs. They were both in their pajamas already, so they just needed to be put to bed.

As Ruby listened to her wife whom she loved so dearly singing one of her lullabies in that sweet voice she loved so much, to their little whiterosebuds that she also loved with all her heart, Ruby wondered:

What had they done to deserve such a happily ever after?

Hope Y’all liked it! This is my first time posting so I hoped I did it right! :)

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Second Chance at Forever - Chapter 14

Chapter 14 of this year’s entry for the @dwsecretsanta, my present to @wordsintimeandspace!  Beta’d by the always-kind @stupidsatsuma​.  Thank you!

@doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ as an AU fic

General warnings for: alcohol use, cursing, discussions of sexual activities and mature situations.  No explicit love scenes.

Masterlist

AO3

Summary

Once upon a time, a boy and girl met at a bar and fell in love - until he ghosted her.

Five years later Rose Tyler’s best friend Mickey is getting married, and arranges a dinner for her to meet the groomsman she’ll be walking with - unaware that the two already know each other.

John Noble’s not sure how his friend and mentee managed to connive with the Universe to bring the One Who Got Away back into his life; all he knows it carefully built and maintained walls are crashing to the ground with no warning.

At first, John’s few functioning brain cells assumed the noise was his pulse beating in his ears.  He and Rose were tangled on the couch, her hand in his pants while his were occupied at her chest. They were kissing frantically, sloppily, too focused on the pleasure they were bringing their partner to concentrate properly.

Then he heard his name.  Not just the sexy way Rose was whispering it, but his sister’s obnoxious loudmouth calling for him.

Reluctantly tearing his mouth away from hers, he propped himself up slightly and strained to listen.

“No, shh, John,” Rose pleaded, and the way she said it meant he wasn’t imagining things.

“Please tell me my sister’s not outside our door.”

She pulled him back to her by his half-undone tie, mouth latching onto his adam’s apple.  “She’ll go away.  Don’t stop.”

The choice was taken away from him by the door slamming open, and they both moaned in regret.  With no time to hide what they’d been up to, John just shifted higher to cover Rose’s bare chest as Donna stalked in.

“Oh, you have got to be shitting me,” the redhead fumed as she came around the couch and found them lying together.  “I’ve been calling for an hour!”

“Go away,” John said firmly, knowing if she had gone to the effort of showing up something was seriously wrong but wanting to hold onto denial a few moments longer.  “We’re busy.”

“You have the rest of your lives to shag,” Donna was unsympathetically blunt.  “But I need Rose, now.”

“So do I,” he muttered before her words processed.  “Wait, what?”

Rose wriggled beneath him, achieving nothing more than torturing him.  “Donna, can you give us a minute?  Maybe wait in the kitchen?”

Standing above them with her arms crossed, lit by the moonlight coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, Donna cut an imposing figure.  “I’ll be at the window.  Don’t you dare do anything but stand up and put yourself back together.”  She spun on her heel, walking the few yards to stare out at the city.

Glancing down at Rose, he held her eye for a moment before she pinched his side.  Sighing heavily he stood, offering Rose a hand up.  It didn’t take them long to make themselves presentable, though John winced as his zipper made a loud noise in the otherwise quiet room.

Once they were ready Rose turned on the light on the end table, bathing the room in a soft glow.  “Sorry, Donna.  What’s going on?”

Donna returned to them, and the two women sat gingerly.  Not quite ready to meet his sister’s eye and needing time to get himself under control, John busied himself in the kitchen preparing tea.  He couldn’t hear much of what was being said, but didn’t need to; he knew his sister, and it would have to be an absolute crisis at work to show up at Rose’s door unannounced at midnight.

Fetching Rose’s purse from where it had dropped by the door, he fished out her phone and plugged it into the charger on the counter.  Sure enough the screen showed more than a dozen missed texts and calls from Donna. Fixing each a cuppa to taste, he brought them back to the sitting area just as Rose buried her head in her hands.

“Here, love.”  He would be lying to say he wasn’t irritated at the interruption, but made a conscious effort to clear his expression before she looked up.  Whatever was wrong wasn’t her fault, or at least not deliberately with the intention of ruining their night.  She had been plenty understanding the few times he’d been called away for a medical emergency, not least of which being his month-long trip to Haiti; now it was his turn.

A relationship, a marriage, like the one they were building would only succeed with equality.  Support went both ways, and he would be damned before he gave her any reason to hesitate about his commitment.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly, settling one palm on Rose’s back as she sank into his side, blowing gently on her tea.

“This morning Rose presented a new spread to our- her biggest client, and the meeting went well, they loved it,” Donna sighed, watching Rose with sympathy.  “But… the meeting was with the number two guy.  Apparently when he presented it to his boss, at ten o’clock tonight no less, she flipped her shit.  We’ll lose the account if it’s not redone to new specs by eight Friday morning.  It took more than an hour to negotiate them down to that, if you can believe.  The owner wanted it Monday morning, but Harriet – the owner of our firm convinced her that was unreasonable.  If they like what we come up with by Friday, they’ll pay for both sets of designs and stay clients; if Yvonne doesn’t, she won’t pay a penny and will pull her business.”

“And she’s an important client?” John gathered.

Rose moaned.  “Millions of pounds a year.  We’ve been working on this for months, it was perfect.  Witch.”

“What can I do to help?”

His girlfriend straightened up with a pout.  “Not much, I’m afraid.  I’m going to have to work pretty much straight through to get this done in time, even with the extra help Harriet’s promised me.”

“Then you’ll do that,” he said brusquely, already formulating and discarding half a dozen plans.  “I’ll handle everything else.  Take a shower, wash your face.  I’ll have some war supplies ready for you by the time you’re done.  Go, go.”

Rose stood, taking the time to lean down and kiss him.  “We really will have to wait for after the wedding now,” she whispered, but he just shook his head, pressing his lips to hers.

“Don’t worry about that.  Do what you need to.”  As soon as she disappeared down the hall he went into crisis mode, heading for the kitchen and pulling out canvas bags, his sister trailing behind.

“So, sorry for interrupting what I walked in on,” Donna mentioned, leaning against the countertop.

“Me too,” was all he said, focusing on his plan.  Grabbing down every insulated travel mug they had, he started filling them with tea before refilling the kettle for more.  Opening the snack cabinet, he pulled out everything relatively healthy and started throwing it in a bag.  “Can you...”  Gesturing towards the whistling kettle he didn’t wait for a response, heading for the bedroom.

Locating her overnight bag in the back of her closet, he efficiently packed two changes of clothes and comfortable shoes.  A quick raid of her gym bag produced on-the-go toiletries, which got tossed in as well. Returning to the kitchen with a detour to drop the bag by the door, he took over the tea-making, tightly closing the lid of the last travel mug by the time Rose reappeared in yoga pants and a tee, one it took him a moment to realize came from his own drawer unless she’d gone to Cambridge Med School without telling him.

“Right, I’ll head in and get started, Donna, go home and get some rest.  I’ll need you first thing,” she started, before stopping to stare at the now-cluttered counter.  “What’s all this?”

“Supplies,” John shrugged, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter.  Donna’s gaze was burning a hole in the side of his head, making him flush, but he refused to feel ashamed of showing how much he loved Rose.

She slowly shook her head, expression softening.  “I know you said… thank you, John.”

“Anything for you.  There’s also a bag by the door.”

Padding up to him, she tugged him down for a firm kiss, momentarily sucking at his bottom lip before releasing him.  “I love you.”

“Love you too.  You’re taking a cab, yeah?”

Rose nodded.  “I’ll text you, but probably won’t be home before tomorrow night.  Er, tonight, I guess,” she corrected herself, seeing the time. “Don’t forget to feed the cat.”

“I won’t.  Now, shoo.  The sooner you go the sooner you can come back.”

With one last kiss for her and a wave to his sister, the girls were gone in a whirlwind, leaving him alone in the kitchen.

Tardis came barreling in then, jumping up onto the counter and nosing around some of the food he’d left out.  John sighed, pushing her away and starting to restore the room to normalcy.

“Guess it’s you and me now, girl.”

The next day was Saturday, and he puttered around the flat for part of the morning before deciding to unpack some of the boxes sitting around.  Most of them were books, cds, and knickknacks, and he took his time arranging them just so.  Rose had cleared some space for his things, and he killed some time reorganizing for fun.

He spent the afternoon polishing the finals for his various classes, drawing up study guides and planning the last week of lessons.  By teatime he was bored and lonely, unable to remember how he’d survived on his own for so many years.  The cat was somewhat of a comfort, having a living creature there to talk to instead of thin air.

Rose appeared around nine, taking a shower and scarfing down a salad before collapsing into bed.  Despite the early hour he went with her at her request, holding her close in the dark as she slept.  When he woke at dawn she was already gone, and he trudged through most of the day in a grumpy mood.

When five rolled around and he didn’t hear from her he texted her himself.

How’s it going?

She responded almost instantly.  Ugh.  Ok, I guess, but UGH, with an angry person emoji attached for good measure.

Dinner?

Probably takeaway in a few hours.  Too busy.  Sorry.  This time, the tiny face was pouting.

Tapping the phone against his thigh as he debated, he ran his idea past Tardis.  “What do you think, girl?”

He took the meowing for a yes.

“Ugh, that’s not going to work,” Rose groaned, throwing her pen on the table in front of her and closing her eyes in frustration.  The office was empty on a Sunday evening except for them, so they’d taken over the main conference room to make use of the large whiteboards.  She was incredibly grateful to the ragtag team Harriet had scrambled together for her, but so far all they had to show was a lot of terrible ideas and a few with potential.  The idea was out there, just waiting to be had, but they were running on fumes at this point.  “Let’s… let’s take a break for a few minutes, order some dinner.  Yeah?”

There were five of them; Rose and Donna of course, and to her surprise Harriet as well.  Her boss and mentor had roped in one of the more junior girls, a lovely if too-perky woman named Mel, and an intern named Bill, who had lots of brilliant out-of-the-box ideas that would work for any other client, but not Yvonne.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Donna commented, staring behind her.  “Look.”

Rose looked over her shoulder, gasping when she realized her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.  Jumping from her chair, she hurried to the door and threw it open to let John and two other men in.  She didn’t know who they were, but one carried pizza boxes and the other a bag of chips and pop, so she didn’t care.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked in delight, throwing her arms around John.  He hugged her back, the bags he carried thumping against her spine but she didn’t care, too happy to see him.

“I brought reinforcements and some temporary help, hope that’s all right.”

Mindful of the glass walls of the conference room she didn’t snog the daylights out of him like she wanted to, merely squeezed tighter.  “Thank you.”

Taking one of the bags from him they walked in together to find one of the two men already regaling the women with a lively story.

“Jack,” John said in a warning tone, and the man turned with a smile.  He was handsome, tall and broad shoulders, and if she didn’t have John he would’ve been just her type.

“What?  Trying to lighten the mood!”

“That’s what the food is for.”  The other man was dressed in a three-piece suit, and said it with such a resigned, fond air that said maybe Rose wasn’t Jack’s type after all.  “You all look like you need a break, come eat.”

“Thanks, Yan.”  Donna was first to the food, the other three exchanging bewildered looks as they followed her.

“Yes, thank you…” Harriet trailed off expectantly, raising an eyebrow at Rose as she put some salad on a paper plate.

“Oh!  Of course.  Um, Harriet, this is my boyfriend John, and… I honestly have no idea.”

Donna snorted.  “Pretty boy is Jack, he’s a friend of ours, and this is Ianto.  Hopefully here to be our barista?” she smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes up at Ianto and making him laugh.

“Certainly.”

Everyone filled a plate, relaxing at the conference table to eat and chat.  Settling down with John next to her, Rose grinned to see her team come alive again.  Using her left hand to eat, she laid her right on his thigh under the table, squeezing in thanks.  Glancing at her he grinned, taking her hand with his as they ate.

After an hour Jack cleared his throat, smiling as the laughter from his last story died down.  “Now, I believe we’ve taken up enough of your time and recharged your batteries.  We can go if you’d like to get back to work.”

Donna bolted upright, eyes going wide.  “Jack!”

“Donna!”

“I’m an idiot!” she gushed.  “You used to work for Yvonne Hartman, didn’t you?”

Jack and Ianto exchanged glances.  “We both did, why?”

Rose followed Donna’s train of thought.  “Oh, perfect!  We can’t confirm or deny if she’s a client of ours, but would you mind if we bounced some ideas off you that she might like?”

Jack’s eyebrow raised, but he nodded.  “Absolutely.  What’s going on?”

The week passed slowly, Rose spending the majority of her time at the office and coming home only to sleep.  John took the opportunity to greatly extend his office hours, and was pleased that most of his students stopped by at least once.

When he would finally pack up he’d call for takeaway, stopping by Rose’s office so she could take a break and they could eat together.  The team had been good for brainstorming, but Rose was handling most of the work to keep consistency.  He would fill their dinner hour with teaching anecdotes and stories from his travels, doing his best to keep Rose laughing and at ease.

Once she’d get back to work he would pull out his laptop, sometimes taking up her couch or working at Donna’s desk if she needed the room to herself.  He had plenty of his own work to keep busy with, and the hours would pass quickly until she was ready to call it a night.

When her alarm went off at five on Friday morning, he wrapped his arm around her waist to keep her against him.

“Jo-ohn, I’ve gotta go,” she whined, nonetheless happily rolling into his chest and burrowing down.

“In a minute,” he promised, “just need a morning cuddle.  And to talk to you.”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you come home after your presentation?”

Rose tensed in his arms for a minute, before sighing.  “Depends on what Yvonne decides.”

“You’ve had a long week, and you need a break,” he said firmly.  “The rehearsal’s tonight, the wedding tomorrow, and you should decompress first.  Even if it’s to come home and nap.”

“Is that your suggestion as a doctor?” she teased, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.

“Yep.”  He patted her bum before releasing her.  “Think about it, I’ll be here all day unless a crisis comes up.”

Rose rolled out of bed, stretching her arms above her head before moving towards the shower.  “I’ll text you one way or another.”

Watching her bum sway as she moved, he wished the wedding would be over soon so he could finally follow her in.

Two more days.

John looked up from the textbook he was reading, brow furrowed.  Music was coming from the hall, but before he could go see what it was, the song coalesced into We Are the Champions, and he stood grinning as Rose burst into the flat.

“-keep on fighting, til the end!”  Kicking off her heels and dropping her purse at the door, she sprinted towards him and leapt into his arms, laughing.

“I take it the presentation went well?” he rumbled, holding her tighter as she sprinkled kisses over his face.

“It went perfectly,” she gushed, wrapping her legs around his waist.  “She loved it!  She’s still a bitch for making us redo it all at the last minute, but honestly this was even better than the original and she’s going to keep us and I got a raise and I love you so much!”

John laughed, returning to the couch and settling down with her in his lap.  “That’s amazing, love.  Congratulations.”

“Mhmm.”  She kissed him leisurely.  “And I know I’ve already got next week off but Harriet’s going to give it to me without using my time, so I am all. yours.”

“You weren’t already?”

“Oh, shut up.”  Rose was smiling too hard for him to take her seriously though.  “All we need to do is get through tonight and tomorrow, then we are off to Bermuda for a week.”

John hummed.  “Sand, sun…”

“Sex,” she corrected sternly.  “Play your cards right, and I’ll let you out of bed to eat.  Maybe.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They snogged, hands roaming and clutching long enough to be breathing hard when they finally pulled away.  “What do you say we head to the hotel early?”

John smiled and pointed at the bags waiting by the door.  “Say the word, my love.”

They were able to check in when they got there, and Rose threw herself onto the bed with a laugh, pleased when she bounced.  “We’ve got four hours before we’re supposed to meet, whatever shall we do?” she teased, giving him her best ‘come hither’ look.

John joined her on the bed, stretching out next to her with an amused smile.  “You were asleep in the taxi, love,” he said gently, putting his hand on her hip.  “I think a nap’s in order.”

She pouted, sticking out her lower lip.  “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He groaned, leaning forward to capture it between his own.  “Temptress. A little longer won’t kill us. Let’s get through the rehearsal dinner, yeah?  Then see what happens tonight.”

“Mhkay.”  Cradling the back of his head with her hand, she pulled him with her as she lay down.  “Kiss me to sleep?”

The last thing she remembered was his tongue in her mouth and hand on her bum.

They walked into the ballroom arm in arm, stopping just inside the doors as Rose gasped.  “This is beautiful!”  Nearly all the decorations were up except the flowers, which were due for delivery the following morning.

The wide aisle was marked with three sets of three-foot high pillars, waiting for vases of white roses.  Candles lined the space between the pillars; for safety reasons they were battery-operated candles, but Rose suspected the visual would be no less stunning because of that.  At the end of the aisle stood a dais with a frame, sheer white drapes drawn back and secured with ribbons.

They were still early despite being the last ones there, and her brother was the first to notice them.

“Rosie!” he shrieked from the front row, racing down the aisle to fling himself at her.  “You’re here!”

“Of course I’m here, silly, I’m in the wedding too,” she teased, swinging him up into her arms as they moved towards the rest of the group.  “You remember John.”

“Hi.”  Tony waved with a grin.

John smiled.  “How’s it going?”

“Good!  My Rosie’s here now.”  The boy nodded seriously, and Rose coughed to hide a laugh as John winked at her.

“I know exactly how you feel, mate.”

The rehearsal seemed to take forever, though Rose didn’t know if that was because of the wait for dinner or the expectation of what might happen with John when they were finally alone again.

They spent most of the practice sharing smiles, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.  Being the lowest ranking members of the wedding party worked in their favor; they walked first, stood at the end of their respective lines, and had zero responsibilities during the ceremony itself.  A few times Rose caught glares from her mother, but she ignored them in favor of making faces at John in a bid to get him to laugh.

When the rehearsal was finally over and it was time for the dinner, they held tightly to each other as they followed the group to the hotel’s restaurant.  They were in a private room, still a rather intimate group at fourteen around a single, long table.

Once they ordered came the toasts.  As the hosts of the dinner, Rose’s father stood and said a few kind words about Mickey, and by some miracle managed to keep her mother from speaking as well.

Mickey’s toast was funny and poignant, and Rose leaned into John’s side as she blotted away tears while they raised their glasses.

“All right?” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her closer.

She nodded, smiling up at him.  “I’m just so damn happy for him.  He deserves the world, and I think Martha’s the answer to that.”

“Agreed.”

The dinner went quickly, jokes and personal stories flying from every corner.  Rose spoke about when she and Mickey were children, while John shared stories from trips he and Martha had taken with Doctors Overseas, highlighting her bravery and calmness under pressure.

Due to the early morning the group split not long after dessert, though by mutual agreement John and Rose headed for the hotel bar instead.  Settling together at a table near the edge of the dance floor, they ordered wine.

“To the happy couple,” John toasted, holding up his glass.

“May they have a long and happy life together,” she added, clinking their glasses before sipping.  “I still find it a little hard to believe, Mickey getting married.  I think I half expected him to be a perennial bachelor.”

“That’s what Donna’s always said about me,” he snorted, leaning closer.  “Look at us.”

“Mhmm.”  Rose slid her chair a little closer, tangling her legs with his under the table.  “Not planning on permanent bachelor-hood, then?”

“I think I found an acceptable alternative.”  His palm was warm on her knee, thumb rubbing back and forth at the inner crease of the joint and making warmth pool low in her gut that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Is that so?” she murmured, and they met in the middle for a chaste kiss.  When they pulled apart a band was setting up on the small stage, a singer dressed in forties garb talking to the bartender.  “Looks like there’s about to be music.”

John merely took her hand, waiting until the singer introduced herself and the first strands of music began to play to say, “May I have this dance?”

“Of course.”  Rose let him pull her to her feet, stepping into his arms just as she recognized the song, smiling.  “At last,” she sang softly in his ear as they swayed, “my love has come along.”

“My lonely days are over,” he took it up, “and life is like a song.”

Rose let herself sink deeper in his arms until they were pressed tightly together, barely moving to the music.  The song felt like the sign she hadn’t known she’d been waiting for, but nothing had ever felt more right than this moment.

She loved this man with all her heart, trusted him without hesitation.  He’d long since proved himself to her, shown the true depth of character she’d seen hints of the first time they were together.  Her doubts were gone, having evaporated months ago, and any last stubborn spots were wiped clean by how he’d handled the previous week.  Never pressuring her in any way, never suggesting she do anything other than what she needed with the exception of getting more sleep, he took care of her, being there when she needed him and waiting patiently in the wings if she didn’t.

This was it; this was their moment.

At last.

As the final strains of the song faded out, she went up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.  “John?”

“Yes love?”

“Take me to bed.”

[aerialsquid]

Things That Are Broken

Found some old robot shipping from Transformers: Cybertron era on my hard drive and posted it up. Contains robot makeouts but doesn’t go over PG-13 by whatever metrics we’re measuring robot sex.

Original Synopsis: There are a lot of things Crumplezone doesn’t understand, and most of them involve Ransack. Contains slash and het, but no spoilers.

Ransack could taste dust and cheap motor oil on Rallygate's neck. His thin glossa found small pockets of congealed grease, thinned by the heat of what was a sizzling day even by Velocitron standards, that came off with a single lick as Ransack worked his way up to his girlfriend’s jawline and discreetly spit the black glop over her shoulder. Rallygate moaned softly, her small orange fingers wandering over Ransack’s breastplate. The dim light from the one window let in just enough light to illuminate the dirt and clutter of their love nest of the moment, a storage room with graffiti on the walls and a pair of mechs on the grimy floor in the most compromising of positions. Ransack gasped as the scooter femme started working on his front axel, pulling her down and kissing her as she giggled.

Rallygate was smooth, not as clean or polished as some of the fancier femmes, but she took care of herself. Her paint job was light green and bright orange, although it had been light purple less than a month ago before pastels went out of fashion. Not that Ransack cared about fashion, but it was always good to have a femme who cared about her appearance as long as she didn’t care that Ransack himself rarely got a full cleaning more than twice a year.

And on top of being reasonably good-looking, Rallygate was a short, curvy femme who was currently lying on top of him and running her fingers over his back with her lips against his chest and you couldn't really ask for more, could you?

Crumplezone peered through the crack in the wall, watching as the pair stroked and moaned, their arms and legs twining together in an odd combination of clashing colors. He wasn't quite sure what was going on the other side of his peephole, or why he felt that odd twinge at seeing them together like that. It was like the twinge he got when Rallygate tweaked Ransack's wheel or kissed him, but more so. Crumplezone had never felt the twinge before they’d parked themselves in the small city of Rust Valley for a few months and Ransack had started dating Rallygate. After that, he’d had it almost every time Ransack looked at her. And he didn’t like it.

Rallygate was a nice enough scooter, as city-bots went. She worked the counter at the general store and while she was a little on the ditzy side, she lacked the typical arrogant attitude of the mechs who lived in the more populated areas. In general Rallygate was pretty good to Crumplezone, giving him tools and such to play with when he and Ransack came in to visit. If she ever made fun of his lack of intelligence (and lots of people did that to him when they thought he couldn’t tell they were laughing at him, not with him), she had the courtesy to do it when he couldn’t hear it. Most of the time, Crumplezone liked her. And Ransack thought she was great, so she couldn't be that bad.

So why did he sometimes feel like breaking Rallygate in half with his bare hands and throwing her off a high bridge, not necessarily in that order? Crumplezone didn't quite know, nor did he know why the urge was the strongest when they went in the back room and started stroking each other, not knowing about the hole in the wall next to the shelves of paint cans. He didn't like the feeling, because he liked Rallygate all the other times when she wasn't in the back room or touching Ransack. Crumplezone was usually a pretty peaceful mech when he didn’t have reason to slam someone into the wall at speeds matched only by large trains. And besides his lack of violent tendencies, it might make Ransack upset, and Crumplezone hated it when his friend yelled at him.

Ransack and Rallygate were being louder now and talking about Primus, which meant they were almost done. Crumplezone quickly went out into the main part of the shop, where he sat down and started stacking the oil cans into interesting patterns. They’d be out soon enough, and Crumplezone didn’t want to be caught watching them. He had a feeling that the stroking wasn’t something that you were supposed to look at when it wasn’t you doing the stroking.

In the storage room, Ransack panted to cool his systems off as Rallygate collapsed on top of him, the faint light giving her heated body a dim, dingy glow. This was the good thing about short, curvy femmes. They wouldn't crush you when they were on top. And they were also more interested in a mech or femme that wouldn’t crush them should they choose to change positions, which made Ransack more appealing to them then he would be to taller transformers. For some reason, a motorcycle just wasn’t as attractive to most people as a larger mech with an extra pair of wheels. The world was cruel that way.

"Ransack?" asked Rallygate as she stroked the brim of his helmet, smiling shyly in that way she always did that drove Ransack absolutely nuts. Maybe she wasn’t skinny or tall like the people you normally saw in compromising positions on the datapads found on the top shelf of the periodical rack with titles like “Hot Wheels”, but she was a great gal and she knew how to use her hands in more ways than one. Ransack was pretty damn lucky to have someone like her around to be with on hot days and cold nights.

"Yeah, Rally?" the cycle replied torpidly, grinning back at her and putting his hands behind his head. His happy afterglow haze was brutally shattered a moment later by the five words no mech or femme needs to hear right after swapping kisses and paint with their girlfriend.

"Baby, we need to talk."

Ransack came stomping out the door ten minutes later, slamming it behind him as he stalked into the front of the shop. "Fine! There's plenty of scooters out there for me!" Crumplezone's elegant palace of polish tins, complete with a racetrack made of a fanbelt and a hot tub symbolized by a blue shammy cloth, collapsed as Ransack tugged on his arm with the insistence of a bulldog and the effectiveness of a chihuahua.

Crumplezone mourned the loss of his castle for all of one second before looking up with confusion in his large blue optics. "Ransack, what’s going on?" This didn't make sense; Ransack was usually very happy after the stroking. Maybe something had gone wrong this time.

Ransack tugged harder and Crumplezone obligingly got to his feet, "C’mon, CZ. We're leaving this dump."

Crumplezone allowed himself to be towed out the door by the angry cycle, assuming Ransack would explain it all later. Rallygate poked her head out the door as they left, a look of worry on her face. Crumplezone felt a mild flare of anger at the femme; why, he wasn’t sure. Somehow this was all her fault.

"Ransack, baby,” she pleaded, reaching out to him. “Don’t go-"

Ransack spun and pointed an accusing finger at her, his emerald optics flaring with a rage Crumplezone hadn’t seen since…well, actually Crumplezone had never seen him look like that. It was scary.

"Don't ‘baby’ me, you piece of slag!" he shouted, transforming and speeding off with Crumplezone close behind and still very confused.

Ransack went fast, very fast, the way he did when he was upset. Crumplezone easily kept up with him, but said nothing, letting Ransack deal with whatever it was in his own fashion. The rust-orange mountains that gave the city its name rushed past in a craggy blur as Ransack pushed himself as hard as he could, trying to burn the anger and pain out of his systems. He dodged the rocks on the road without even noticing them, his body acting mostly by reflex now.

Crumplezone made sure to stay a couple yards behind his friend, effortlessly crushing most of the rocks under his heavy wheels and rolling over the largest ones with quick jolts. They were leaving the city limits now and heading out of the valley, and judging by Ransack’s current mood they wouldn’t be back for a while.

Ransack stopped under an underpass, transforming and sitting down heavily. Crumplezone stopped a few feet ahead, skidded, and then backed up to meet the motorcycle. He also transformed and sat quietly beside him.

Ransack put his head in his hands, the burning rage rushing out of him like oil from a burst pipeline. "Where'd I screw up, CZ?" he groaned. “We were getting on so well.”

Crumplezone sat beside him and patted his back. He didn't like to see Ransack sad, which was why he'd never hurt Rallygate no matter how much he felt like catching her alone sometime and blasting her off the face of the planet.

"What happened?" Crumplezone asked, more trying to comfort his partner than actually figure out what was going on. Odds were that it was probably above him, like a lot of things Ransack did.

Ransack raised his head to look at Crumplezone, a mournful expression on his face. “Piece of…she broke up with me, CZ. Probably for some hot rod or other, femmes always go for the cars." He contemplated the ground again, muttering various curses directed at Rallygate and scooters in general.

“Oh," said Crumplezone, unsure of what that meant. Ransack didn't look broken, unless you counted the anguish in his face and voice that made it seem as if some part of his internal wiring had snapped, giving him an injury that he couldn’t get at without the help of a medic. But Crumplezone could tell that it wasn’t that. Ransack always whined when something like that happened until Crumplezone fixed him.

"Maybe you should stay away from femmes if they're gonna break you for hot rods." He patted Ransack's back more, not quite noticing how with every pat his hand stayed there longer and longer.

“Can't help it, CZ. I'm a sucker for curvy types." Ransack prodded a small rock with his foot, then kicked it away. "Stupid scooter."

"Stupid scooter," Crumplezone echoed, with feeling. So Rallygate had broken Ransack’s happiness, that was it. Now that sort of damage, Crumplezone was familiar with. He got that every time he screwed something up so badly that Ransack ranted for a full five minutes about how stupid he was, or when people called him a dimwit halfclocked clunker. It was internal damage, true, but you couldn’t really fix it with an arc welder. It had to fix itself.

Crumplezone gave up patting and left his hand to sit lightly on Ransack's back. Ransack shrugged and moved a little closer to the large secure green thing that wouldn't ever go breaking up with him for a hot rod. CZ, he could rely on to cover his back. CZ, he could trust.

Funny, how now that Ransack was really mad at Rallygate, Crumplezone didn’t feel like hurting her. What replaced that urge was an odd desire to pull Ransack into his lap and just hold him in his big arms until the motorcycle felt better and his happiness was fixed by his self-repair systems. He couldn’t, of course; Ransack had a strict “no hugging” rule that apparently Rallygate was no longer exempt from. He settled for curling his arm around Ransack as the smaller mech continued to rant about life in general,

Mine, thought Crumplezone. And he wasn't quite sure why.

[fandom-trash-xl]

One-Shot: Light in a Wicked Heart (200 Followers Special)

I've decided to bring out another fanfiction, this time focusing on Frost. I made use of some Universe 6 Saga dialogue about Frost's past and decide to incorporate it into a larger story.

Time Placement: Age 777 (3 years prior to the Tournament of Destroyers)

OCs:

- Lord Shiver: Frost's father, 2nd form Icejin with blue-gray and light gray colorations

- Kossetsu: Young child of the Planet Mayonnai

- Kensa: Young adult of the Planet Mayonnai

- Bruselle: Young female Saiyan of the Sadalan Defense Force, a member of Cabba's squadron

- Carotine: Young male Saiyan of the Sadalan Defense Force, a member of Cabba's squadron

- Rhubar: Young male Saiyan of the Sadalan Defense Force, a member of Cabba's squadron

(AGE 777, GALACTIC DAY 295)

The small overseer ship floated gently in the thin stratosphere of the planet Mayonnai, a planet known for... well, no one was particularly sure. But, two space pirates knew that this planet was sure to bring results.

A young blue two-horned lizard, known by many as an Icejin, or Ice Demon, eagerly peered through the massive observation deck window at the dust-colored planet below. This was Frost, the single son of the once-famed crime lord Shiver. Obviously, Shiver's ways had rubbed off on him, as he spent his days travelling the galaxy with his father and pillaging planets.

"Quite the divine pearl, isn't it, boy?" Shiver spoke from behind him, casting a large shadow. "What did the reports say it was called again?"

"I believe it's called Mayonnai, father. Supposedly, asking prices are up to 40,000 Galactic Zen per acre." Frost replied.

"Rather large price for a planet that seems to have no culture to speak of."

"One shouldn't judge a book by its cover, or more precisely, a planet by its surface." The younger Icejin removed his glance from the window and turned to grab a solid black cape from a small metal rack. He pinned it to the shoulder plates of his dark blue armor. "I suppose you want me to go down there? Assess the situation from up close?"

Shiver laughed, teeth gritted in a smile. "Obviously, I can't. Too many people know my name. Go nuts, kid. Just don't do anything you might regret."

The surface of Mayonnai was as dust-colored as the view from space. It was littered with bustling marketplaces. It didn't seem like an ideal place to live, but the consumerism may have been the reason for high demand in land.

Frost had been indecisive on tactics on how to conquer such a busy place, so he had chosen to stay for awhile to plan his troops' approach. He had helped himself to some of the planet's local wares, particularly some baked confections.

And he could finally understand why people wanted to purchase stock in this planet. It was to die for!

Frost had found himself in the middle of the marketplace square and was preparing to report back to his father when he noticed... him.

He was a rather petite creature that seemed to be made entirely of shadows. He had teeny horns, a spiked tail, and torn-up wings. The only bright part of his body was a pair of glowing yellow eyes. He seemed rather malnourished, but was still at a small working post, shining a much larger gentlemen's boots. The creature seemed to have been keeled over for quite some time. He finished his polishing job with a heavy sigh, only for the man to leave ungrateful and flick him a small silver coin. He caught it eagerly as if his life depended on it.

"Another step forward," The creature looked at his reflection in the coin with the simultaneous feelings of worry and hope. "Soon, I'll have enough to be free of this place..." As he turned to add his silver coin to a bucket of change, a slim tall figure, who seemed to be of the same species as the young child, approached.

"Alright, Kossetsu. Let's see what you made this shift."

"I made enough." Kossetsu held his bucket of change close. "Now, go away,  Kensa!"

Kensa swiped the bucket from Kossetsu despite his refusal. "Don't be difficult!" He began to rifle through the coins. "Ah, you've made quite a lot for a polisher. Now, how shall we divide this up today? For your split, let's say..." He looked down at the young Mayonnai child. "What you've got in your claws should suffice. Rest goes to the boss." Kossetsu looked at the lone coin before he started to snarl and his beady eyes filled with tears.

"That's not fair! I worked my arse off for all that!" He jumped onto Kensa and tried to pull the bucket back. 

The latter struggled against him. "Listen, it's not my job to go against the boss's order-"

"Hey!"

Kensa and Kossetsu both turned to see Frost, who was none too pleased. "Let that kid alone, unless you intend to deal with me."

Kensa dropped the child and spread his wings. "Really? What could a common tourist do to one of the strongest of Planet Mayon-"

A red blast struck Kensa in the shoulder, causing him to tense up in major pain. "Sorry, I wasn't trying that time. Shall I try again, seriously this time?" Frost's tail swished, anticipating a challenge. The pained creature ran away in a panic, coins fluttering out of the bucket. 

Kossetsu stumbled to his feet and started to scrounge for the dropped money. "T-thank you, m-mister..."

"Frost. And it was no trouble." He helped him scrape the coins into a small pile.

"Oh. It's nice to meet you. My name's Kossetsu. That was just my caretaker, Kensa."

"Caretaker, hm? Then why does he try to hurt you?"

"The man in charge of us orphans is a heartless scumbag. Kensa doesn't want to hurt me, but the boss tells him the only important thing is money. If I could actually keep most of mine, I could probably buy my way out of here."

Frost frowned. He was a profit-seeking criminal as well, but... not to such a cruel extent. "Listen here a sec." He pulled a confection out of his back and handed it to Kossetsu. "I don't have much to offer on my person at the moment, but this should tide you over. At least until tomorrow." He muttered under his breath. "I can probably pull a few strings..."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just rest well this evening. Let's just say that your tomorrow looks prosperous."

(GALACTIC DAY 296) 

Frost stood in a shaded corner of the Mayonnai marketplace, trying to stay out of sight. His cape blew in the slow wind. His troops had been put into place and it was almost their cue to strike. Three things were on the Ice Demon's mind: combat, profit...

...and the young boy. 

Meanwhile, four Saiyan scouts of the Planet Sadala were scouring the marketplace. As a protectorate of the Saiyan homeworld, Mayonnai had small troops of watchful Saiyan eyes, scanning the perimeter, ready to defend.

The lone female Saiyan of the group, dressed in green, gold, and pink and wearing her spiked hair in a messy bun, sighed heavily. "Cabba, I don't see any threats in sight. Tell me again why we're still scouring?"

"I understand why you're getting antsy over this, Bruselle, but the Captain said there were reports of Lord Shiver's band of space pirates in the stratosphere." Cabba, a young Saiyan teen in blue, replied. He was somewhat anxious of the situation. If the villains were to strike, wouldn't they have done it already? 

As the elite continued along the line of vendors, a sudden and echoing blast came from a small section of houses. 

"They're here..." Cabba jolted at the sound, then turned to his two other teammates, one in orange and the other in burgundy. "Carotine, you take the east. Rhubar, you take west. Bruselle and I will take the square." The Saiyan pressed a button on his temple, activating a full blue visor. 

"Let's show these punks what for!"

The attack was right on schedule. Frost lept in from the shadows, appearing in front of the troops, right in sight of several Mayonnai children working, most likely the mistreated orphans of the plan. "Children! Inside! All of you!" He commanded. The beings did as told and herded into an empty building. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." He had to make sure they were all alright. He couldn't have his father's plan ruin his own plan to save Kossetsu. "Now, punks, prepare yourself to face the storm..."

Suddenly, a spiky-haired girl slipped into the group and knocked down some of the grunts with a savage low kick.

"Sh-t, no one told me the Sadalan Saiyan Squadrons would be here." The Ice Demon cursed under his breath. A second Saiyan leaped into battle, performing a barrage of ki blast spin kicks. 

"Tch, out of my way, Saiyans! I can handle this!" Frost tripped a soldier with his tail, then grabbed his neck with his legs, flipping him over in a somersault. He tumbled into a row of remaining troops, creating a domino effect. 

"He's good." Bruselle snarled. "But, we don't take orders from hopeless vigilantes. Right, Cabba?" Cabba was standing stunned in awe. "Cabba?!"

"I-I can't believe it- It's him!" Cabba's knees were shaking. "It's the planetary hero, Frost. From all the magazines!"

"I don't care who it is!" His partner barked. "We can't let this punk steal our thunder. Snap out of it, Cabba!"

Cabba nodded. "Yes. Of course." He rushed back into fight, swiftly bashing in a few villains' heads with a kick. He attempted to recreate Frost's grab, only to stumble and knock over only one. 

"Nice attempt, but I'll show you how a real fighter handles this." Frost propelled himself off of one of the grunts' heads and hooked his feet to loose bricks on the corner of a nearby building. A barrage of red Death Beams came from his outstretched finger. He laughed maniacally as the foes were struck. A beam barely missed Bruselle.

"The hell?! It's like the bastard is trying to kill me!"

"Never mind that, Bruselle! We're all clear in this sector!"

"Yeah, thanks to Mister Showoff here." Bruselle grumbled.

Cabba turned to look over at Frost, who was brushing the dust off his armor and cape. He was much more impressive than the articles had described him as. He was stunning, eye-catching... and pretty darn attractive.

"Bruselle, if you don't mind, I-I think I'm going to talk to him." Cabba stuttered.

"Sure thing, give him a piece of my mind."

The young Saiyan approached the Icejin with hesitancy. "Um, sir, would you happen to be Frost? The famed planetary protector?"

"Ah, I see I'm well known even amongst the Saiyans." Frost laughed a little and extended his hand. "It's a pleasure meeting a fan!"

"Uh, y-yes, a pleasure to meet you too. I-I'm Cabba." Cabba grabbed Frost's hand and felt his face glowing with heat. "I must say, compared to in the magazines, you're a lot more handsome in real life-" He panicked. "I-I mean, more heroic- Just forget I said anything!"

"No problem, good sir." Frost let go. "I must being going anyways. It's been a pleasure, Cabba!" He turned to enter the building containing the young Mayonnai children.

All of the young creatures flocked around the heroic Ice Demon. One in particular with ripped wings came to the front. Kossetsu. 

"Mister Frost, I knew you'd come back!"

"Yes, and I've come for an important reason. I'm here to set you all free."

The children cheered in excitement over being freed from the tyranny. "Now, let's get-"

"Hey! Punk!" 

Frost turned to see another Mayonnai being. He was rather short, but seemed to an adult. He was standing on a chair to gain some height. "What do you think you're doing with my workers?"

"It's called liberation, wise guy. It is my duty to free these innocents from oppression."

"Not if I have anything to say about it. These little workers have made me a fortune, and you can't take them from me!" The older man pulled a taser from his desk. "Leave this planet now or I'll be forced to use this."

"I see you're well armed. But, I am too." A small needle extended from Frost's wrist.

"Heh, you intend to defeat me with a pin? Think again, bud."

"I could tell you the same thing."

The Ice Demon lunged at the boss, who promptly activated the electric taser. Before the sparks could reach him, Frost managed to shoot the thorn from his wrist. It implanted itself in the boss's neck. The weapon flickered off and the villain began to feel faint.

"W-what did you d-do to me? W-why are y-you s-sideways?" Shortly after, the boss fell to the ground. He could have been unconscious, he could have been dead. Frost didn't care which. 

"Now, where were we?" Frost turned to the children. "Oh, that's right. Freedom." All of them cheered. "Now before I depart, I'll give you the best advice I can offer. Whatever happens, never give up. Always get back on your feet. Farewell children of Mayonnai." 

"Thank you for all you help Mister Frost." Kossetsu spoke to the Ice Demon as he prepared to depart through the back door. "I'll never forget you."

Frost paused. Something inside him was telling him he couldn't leave Kossetsu here. "Oh, I just remembered." He turned back. "I have to make an adoption first." He lowered to face the torn-winged creature. "Kossetsu, how would you like to come with me?"

The creature eagerly spread out his wings, small tears forming in his neon yellow eyes. "Yes. Yes, I will."

"Frost, what did you bring back?" Shiver asked with confusion. "Some sort of animal?"

"No, father. It's a person."

"You took a hostage? Impressive, son!"

"No!" He set down Kossetsu. "He's not a hostage, and his name is Kossetsu."

"Oh Champa almighty, you gave it a name?!" Shiver held his head. "You're not supposed to get attached to these creatures. They don't live as long as us. It's going to die one day and you'll regret ever naming it in the first place."

"I don't care that I'll outlive him. I'm keeping him. Now, if you don't mind, Kossetsu needs some food. He's been starving for some time now."

"Son, we do not waste our food on the peasants."

"Well, maybe you don't, but I'm not as heartless as you, father." Frost led Kossetsu into another room. "Come on, kid. Let's go somewhere with less scumbags."

(GALACTIC DAY 303)

It had been a week since Frost had brought in Kossetsu. The Ice Demon had kept a watchful eye on the child and had him accompany him on various conquests.

Today was another one of those conquests and Frost was in search of his small companion. He was a bit panicked. He hoped that he wasn't in danger. He felt responsible for his well-being.

"Father, Kossetsu isn't anywhere in the ship."

"That is correct, son." Shiver replied.

"What do you mean by that?" Frost's eyes narrowed.

"I let that wretched thing free this morning."

"You WHAT?!"

"Set it free. It's gone. You have to let things go eventually. I sent it to the ice moon of Kadaver, into the wild where it belongs."

"He can't survive there!" Frost rushed to grab his cloak. "I'm going after him."

"You can't, Frost." Shiver turned to his son. "You'll freeze to death down there!"

"Better me than him." The younger Icejin put the hood up on his cloak and determinedly open the ship's exit hatch.

The ice moon of Kadaver was a barren wasteland of snow. Thankfully, Kossetsu's dark figure would easily stand out in the blizzard. 

On the down side, Frost realized his father was right. He'd have to find him quickly, or he'd probably be an ice block.

Out of the snow came a small shadowy figure, its wings spread. Kossetsu, no doubt.

"Kossetsu, I'm here! Don't panic!" Frost rushed to the child through the tundra. He was in high pursuit, until...

A much larger creature, almost wolf-like swooped in, grabbing the Mayonnai child in its maw. "No!" 

Kossetsu tried to wriggle out of the wolf being's jaws to no avail. "Help me!"

"Let him go, you beast!"

The creature started to form a more humanoid bipedal shape. "Hmph, this is my prey. What makes you think you can take it from me, tiny?"

Frost snarled. "Because no one hurts Kossetsu and gets away with it!"  He rushed into the wolf beast, feeling his entire body engulfed with an unusual energy. He seemed to change further the closer he got. When he finally made contact, he was entirely different. His armor had broken off, he was much slimmer, and he no longer had horns. It must have been a strong new form, as he had managed to send the creature flying and free Kossetsu from its jaws.

The wolf was crippled from the impact and was coughing blood. Despite its already major injuries, Frost still felt an instinct to continue fighting it. He kicked the beast skyward and swiftly punched it straight through the gut, impaling it. Blood was spread on his arm. So much damage through his fury  had been done, though he felt  as if he hadn't put much effort into his attacks. Was this the might of his new form? It was... 

...terrifying.

He removed his fist from the deceased beast and tried to clean the wolf blood from his body with his tattered cloak.

Kossetsu rushed up to the newly transformed Ice Demon. "M-Mister Frost, are you alright?" His voice was growing weak, probably from the cold. "I-I wanna go home. I'm c-cold..."

"Kossetsu, I was so worried!" He grabbed his tiny friend in a frenzied hug. "I thought I'd lose you! Please tell me you're okay, Kosse-" The creature was silent. He looked at the child. He was paralyzed, his breathing had stopped.

"Kossetsu..." 

His neck had been snapped. 

And it was because of Frost's own uncontrollable strength.

"No...

No...

No....!"

(GALACTIC DAY 304)

Frost woke up within his father's ship, facing the ceiling.  His breathing was being paced by a oxygen mask. Had he passed out?

"Sir, he's awake."

Shiver entered his sight. "Son, are you alright? You were out cold. Quite literally might I add."

Frost pulled the oxygen mask off of his face and began to position himself upright. "I... had the strangest dream..."

"Hm. In said dream, were you in a different form, perhaps?"

The younger Icejin paused. "How did you know the very specific part of my dream?"

"Because it wasn't a dream, son." Shiver passed him a hand mirror. Frost's eyes widened. It was the form... The form of uncontrollable strength. There were even still a few droplets of wolf blood on his face. The mirror snapped in his hand almost immediately. "You unlocked your final form, Frost. I'm proud of you."

However, instead of pride or joy, Frost felt two different emotions. Fury and pain. Tears came from his eyes as he sat in silence. 

"Why aren't you happy about this, kid? Reaching the final form is a pivotal point in every young Icejin's life."

"Because...." Frost snarled. "I don't want to be in this form anymore. Tell me how to transform back."

"Why would you want to go back, son? If it's the whole 'breaking things in your hands' thing, that'll stop soon once your power settles."

"It's not that! This uncontrollable might... it kills. This form is the reason why Kossetsu is dead! Tell me how to transform back, now!"

"Well, that's no big deal. The thing was going to die anyway-"

Shiver was interrupted by his son's hand around his throat.

"F-Frost! What the hell are you doing?!" He managed to croak.

"Now, do you see why I want to go back?! All this form does is hurt people!"

"Frost, you have to give your newfound power a chance!"

"Tell me how to transform back, now!" Frost turned to put his other hand around Shiver's neck until the older Icejin finally kneed him in the stomach, sending him backward. 

"Fine, kid. I'll tell you, once you calm down."

Frost simply stood up and walked off. "Tch." He scoffed, thinking back to the time when there was light in his wicked heart.

[kfawkes]

Forget Me Not (Part 2) - [Eggsy Unwin x Reader]

[HELLO AGAIN! This is part 2 of Forget Me Not :D Part 3 will be out tomorrow :) Hope you enjoy!!! <3 @zestygingergirl requested a tag, so here you go, love! :3

Paring: Eggsy x Reader (and also lots go Harry Hart because I LOVE HIM!!!

Words: 2K oops!! :)

Warnings: Cursing, duh.

[Part 1]

When the door closed your eyes lingered on it far longer than they should have… the moments before were spent tracing along the lines of the broad shoulders that slunk out heavily with defeat, and you couldn’t help but feel responsible for their weight.

You didn’t know him, but he sure looked at you like you did… so who was he? Eggy, or something the man had called him, right? You’d have to ask. Have to apologize for offending him, too— for hurting his feelings, or whatever it was you did to chase him off.

Okay, maybe you did know why he’d run off, but why would asking him who he was upset him so much? Unless he thought you were someone else…

Were you?

When you couldn’t figure it out you rubbed your forehead, releasing the breath you’d apparently been holding. Today was sure turning out to be one massive fucking headache, but even with that dull throbbing between your temples growing with each second, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you HAD seen him before.

It was so faint, just like a dream… but it was there. Maybe if you focused really hard you could…

“My name is Harry Hart.” the man said with a soft smile breaking your concentration. To be fair though, you really hadn’t made any progress, and when you looked to him the previous sadness behind his gaze was erased almost completely.

His new face was happier in a way, but not so convincing that you believed it. For some reason you knew better. He stepped forward offering a friendly hand to you. He was wearing a light gray suit, and looked just as posh as the other one.

You took his hand after a second with a shallow nod and an even shallower smile; but your grip was firm and your eye contact unwavering. “Y/n.” you replied even though both men had clearly already known it. You wondered if maybe Ginger told them… but somehow knew that wouldn’t be it.

“If you’ll excuse my partner, Eggsy— he’s had a rather long day, or I suppose… a very long few months.” Harry stepped closer, his eyes scanning the walls of your room.

“W-what happened to him?” you asked curiously, crossing your arms and shifting your gaze to the mirror. You couldn’t see a thing besides your own reflection and the room staring back at you, but you knew somehow that he was on the other side of it. You also knew your question was downright nosey… that he’d likely heard you ask it too — but you suddenly needed to know more about him, and you really didn’t care who was watching.

“He lost someone close to him. Someone he loved very dearly.” Harry smiled thoughtfully, softer this time and you could tell by his voice that he cared for the man a great deal.

The initial feeling you got at that was soft and warm, and made you instantly happier. You were just so damn glad that he had someone.

But… why?

You slid your eyes from the mirror and back to this Harry Hart, shoving that biting thought of familiarity away because you weren't sure you liked how it felt. When you looked back to him his posture was straight and professional, yet his eyes were full of that same familiarity you felt. Only he did a better job at keeping it hidden behind that mask of polished skill he wore so well.

You bit your lip anxiously, pulling your arms closer to your bust as a frown spread. “I didn’t mean to upset him… I just— he sorta freaked me out.”

“Having two men you’ve never seen before entering your room and coming towards you out of nowhere? Yes, I think that is grounds for being a bit ‘freaked out’.” he replied kindly, and from what you could tell— honestly.

The smile you released came more naturally now as you glanced back to the mirror. You pulled a fist to your tired eyes, rubbing them as you sat heavily to your bed. You watched Harry’s reflection carefully as he stroll the outskirts of your room, admiring the books lining the walls, lingering longer on the sketches you hadn’t touched in ages at your desk. He was taking everything in carefully... like he was studying you, and your surroundings but for some reason it didn’t seem to bother you.

For some reason all you could do was think about that Eggy— no, Eggsy, and the face he made before leaving your room. You pulled your fingers to your lip, pressing one between your teeth as you fixated on that delicate curve of his frown, and the bright shade of his eyes... Then suddenly there was nothing you needed more than answers, and you needed them right fucking now.

“I realize my saying this risks you running out of here too. But, why exactly are you here?” you asked finally looking to the man parading your space like you were a science experiment.

Harry smiled again, with a certain affection behind his eyes as he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Unfortunately Y/n, we don't exactly know. I can tell by your face that that is not the answer you wanted... but sadly, that is the only one I have for you. But I can assure you that once we do know, we will tell you." he paused to smile softly before continuing. "Would it be alright with you if my partner and I were to came back at a later time?”

You nodded a silent reply of acceptance, as your brows lifted slightly. You somehow knew he was being honest, but you weren’t any closer to an answer and that didn’t sit very well in your stomach or your face apparently. But he was right, and it would have to do because with that he smiled then made his way out of the room with an accepting nod of his own.

You didn’t see where he was going, as you never did when anyone left— and it wasn’t until this moment that you realized you never thought to ask why.

Whatever the reason you’d been perfectly content in spending your time here under lock and key. You hadn’t even questioned it, actually... but now that you’d met these men things just felt wrong. If only you could figure out why...

When Harry reached the adjacent room again, Eggsy was staring at you through the mirror. He had one arm spread across his chest, the other hand resting timidly over his chin and mouth. He wore the most stern set of eyes Harry had ever seen, and he really didn't like it.

Eggsy meant a great deal to Harry, and seeing how he’d been the last year pained him more than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t even imagine what he was going through, because Harry himself had never been in love. Not the way Eggsy loved you... no that was something else. Something no one in the entire world had, and it was beautiful.

It was completely shit because Harry was Kingsman’s finest but he hadn’t the slightest idea how to help one of his closest friends in their time of need. He didn't know how to promise there would be a better world for him later, because Harry had been doing this a long time... and he wasn't sure it was even true. He may have believed in that world once upon a time, but every day it seemed a little further away.

But he had to try, didn't he? Just because he was being a cynical old man didn't mean Eggsy had to be one too. No, what Eggsy needed was hope.

“I’m not sure what’s going on with Y/n, Eggsy… but we will figure it out. Perhaps Merlin will know something more useful.” Harry smiled warmly with hope ringing off his voice as he step closer.

Eggsy didn’t look to him though, or respond in the slightest. No, his eyes were glued to you. Watching you carefully while you sat there staring right back at him, with that same face you wore when you were trying to remember a word, or the name of a song. And they both knew you weren’t really looking back at him, but no one needed to say that.

Harry joined Eggsy at the mirror after a moment, drawing in a slow breath before he attempted any form of consolation. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

“T’be perfectly honest with ya, Harry… ain’t sure what I’m feeling no more.” a long sigh slipped as his frown sunk deeper than before. Those dark burdened eyes seemed heavier now as he watch you bite at your nail completely lost in thought. "Feels bloody pointless tho, don't it? Come all this way, an for what? Buch of fuckin' agents named after booze that don't know shit, an someone that looks like my Y/n, but ain't. We're completely fucked... I'm completely fucked."

Harry lifted a heavy hand to his back, offering what he hoped was a soft comforting rub. He wasn’t the best with words—never had been, but he hoped that Eggsy would understand what he was trying to say. He hoped it would be enough to at least let him know that he wasn’t alone in all of this, even if he felt like it. “I know this isn't what we expected. In fact it's quite literally a mess— but Y/n is alive, Eggsy. You can’t give up now.”

“What if I already did that...” his lips trembled lightly as his voice broke in defeat. This was a new low for Eggsy, and for someone that hit rock bottom long ago, this was a new level of calamity. “What if it’s jus too late?”

“It’s never too late, Eggsy. You of all people should know that.”

“Y/n don’t know me, Harry.” Eggsy finally pulled his gaze from you, sending an unbelieving one Harry’s way instead. It was screaming so loudly… and it was so full of pain. It rang in disappointment and dripped with failure. “What d’you expect me t’do?”

Harry pulled in a deep breath, glancing around the room you sat as he scan his mind for the right words. But did he even have them— would he ever have them? Harry wasn’t sure but he had to try because he could see Eggsy slipping further and further away with each passing second. "I expect you to take this for the blessing that it is. You've been given a very rare opportunity here, Eggsy. Don't fuck it up by thinking it's already passed you by. Because if you aren't careful, it will."

Eggsy didn't say anything back to that, he just scoffed slightly but not in retaliation as he pulled his eyes back to where you stood in the corner.

“There are drawings of you in there… I saw them on the desk.” he paused momentarily to gage Eggsy’s reaction before continuing. “Y/n might not remember what you had, might not remember you, or the way things were before—but s/he hasn’t forgotten you. At least not entirely... Y/n's not lost, Eggsy. Not unless you decide to stop looking.”

Eggsy pressed a deep breath through his nose, the apprehension leaving his furrowed expression in cool waves as his eyes softened more. You were standing in the corner still, holding fists full of paper just switching their order in near rapid succession… You looked so damn beautiful, and all he could think about was having the chance to kiss you again… the chance to hold you in his arms again. To tell you how much he loved you, and that he’d never let you go again.

He smiled finally after what seemed like an eternity; swallowing the lump of regret he held at his throat because maybe… just maybe he would.

--Part 3

[rockmiyabideusexmachina]

2018 Megaman Valentine’s Day Contest Results Thread!

Thank you all for your patience this year! I know this is a little later after the holiday than I would like, but one day is simply not enough to contain all this love! Once again, it’s always wonderful to have an assortment of both familiar faces participating, as well as many newcomers. 

As always, this will be a rather massive thread, so bear with me. Most of it will be hidden after the break, so please do take a peek at all these wonderful entries!

Due to the size and sheer quantity of comic entries, there are plenty of images to view. For that reason, I’m sticking to thumbnails for now. Please click to view the entry in it’s full glory!

Also, my thanks to @jaybird-c for the help with judging this year. I’ll have some of his commentary with my own below.

The three raffle prize winners will be noted by their alias, as well. 

For your reminder, there were two categories, broken down into Humor and Talent. There were 6 total Humor entries, and 14 Talent entries. So, to start off, we’ll begin with the category with the least entrants, and to fit with my tie-in promo art.

*EDIT* OK, now I think everything is good. So long thumbnails, to keep this shorter.

Once again, for an easy link to all the images in a single gallery, please go here: https://imgbox.com/g/uAbXkTDaot

Otherwise, I’ve tested it again on both mobile and desktop, and everything should link to a full image. It still does on my end.

*/EDIT*

For Humor, this year’s theme was “Beauty and the Beastman.EXE.” The goal was to illustrate a mismatched Megaman couple, one in a monsterous, beastly form, with another more beautiful character that falls for them. Any allusions to the popular tale of Beauty and the Beast were welcome, but not a requirement.

Here are your top 3, followed by the remaining entries in alphabetical order by alias:

1.) @prar-draws: (*Prar wins $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote: Prar's comic has the absolute best execution of a joke, increasing the tension until the last panel when it masterfully throws the audience for a loop. Prar's style complements the story very well by making each individual moment easy to digest, and the last panel also just happens to be really funny to look at on its own. Just thinking about it makes me crack up.

Miyabi wrote: While this piece really contains more tension and drama until the final panel, I agree that the build is what helps bring the big laugh at the end. You can also see the temperature rising for Ciel, as her cheeks get redder and redder as the panels move along. I felt it tied in to the Beauty and the Beast storyline nicely, and your chosen characters fit well to pull off the connection. Very cute, and well constructed comic!

2.) @amiable-apparition: (*a-a wins $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote: I don't remember this scene from the Star Force anime. Must've been cut from the final release. Clever use of trickery regarding who the real "monster" is; poor Damian appears to have misjudged the situation something fierce. Good idea and use of twist.

Miyabi wrote: I guess Sam was the one who was ‘Hungry Like the Wolf,’ after all! I too enjoyed the spin at the end, it was a funny deviation on how her character was portrayed in the anime. Subject choice was strong here too, connecting the theme with a couple characters who fit well with the concept. Nice work with the variety of panels you created to set things up.

3.) @frankenchio​: (*frankenchio wins $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote:  Ah, the Princess and the Toad Man. Frankenchio's piece is a clever little reference to the classic fable, but most of the humor is in how Roll apparently didn't know what kind of prince was on the other end of that frog. Clever, pretty to look at.

Miyabi wrote: I like that you thought outside of the box with the theme, and used a totally different classic tale, but still connected it very well. Ice Man sure lucked out this time, after whoever cursed him into Toad form. While a simple few panels, your style is just adorable. Those jewels on the crown look really detailed!

Close, but not quite ~

Dark Dullahan:

Jaybird wrote: Dark Dullahan has the idea of recreating an actual Disney scene with Iris and (Zoanoroid?) Zero, which is very sweet. It took me a few repeat looks to digest what was going on here but it's amusing to see Zero protecting his wounds from the fierce and terrible Iris. Because she's obviously the worst thing that can happen to him. Cute, amusing scene.

Miyabi wrote: Sorry, I don’t know why this upload defaults to a side view, when I don’t even have it at that orientation. It automatically glitches that way, no matter how I upload it. :/ Anyhow, a clever spin using the EXE versions of Zero and Iris, living in a world where only reploids...no wait, they don’t exist here. This Beastly ZoanoZero will open up to her over time, I’m sure. But first, he needs to heal up. Again, good use of parodying the scene.

@drewblossom​:

Jaybird wrote:  The sheer concept of Rock-Belle made me wonder if they were going to throw in an FMA reference somewhere, but Drew's picture doesn't need it. They make good use of the Disney-classic-gone-wrong idea -- Oil Man and Time Man as Lumiere and Cogsworth are nearly inspired --though I think they didn't quite go far enough and should have rounded out the piece with a more feminine version of the suit; Rock-Belle changing into Mega *Man* raises questions about whether the main character's an actual girl or just a cross-dresser, which distracts from the joke.

Miyabi wrote: I guess Rock is both the beauty and the beast, for totally destroying those poor innocent talking inanimate object bots! While I had a good laugh at the quick-change blast, the character reactions, and the overall parody of the classic scene, sadly I did feel it just didn’t quite have the couple contrast/Valentine’s theme as well as others. 

@erekisaiko​: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* Captain N Height Chart)

Jaybird wrote:  I feel like I'm missing a reference to something else. As amusing as the concept of JunkMan's and Meddy's unsanitary hospital sounds, the picture doesn't present us with enough information to make sense of what actually happened (i.e. why was JunkMan wearing a cardboard Falzer costume in the first place?), and [=ClockMan's=] joke lacks the punch it ought to have because the punchline has no set up. (Unless of course this is all just an incredibly obvious reference to something I've never been exposed to that would fill in all the missing context). Amusing concept in punchline, it's fun to think about how this situation could've arisen.

Miyabi wrote: Meddy’s not oblivious, she just has a big heart ready to heal any messy, junky slob! Cute and different idea having more of a ‘fake’ beast, although I think Junk still would count as a beastly character on his own, in some respects. Very well-drawn, and appreciate all the detail you put into your internet background.

For the talent category, the theme was “If You Like It, You Should Put a Ring Boomerang On It.” This category was all about proposal scenes. And I am shocked there was not a single Jewel Man! XD

Here are your top 3, followed by the remaining entries in alphabetical order by alias:  

1.) @wintesm​: (*wint wins $100 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote:  Jeez. Unrelenting Style. Your children's book painting is incredible as ever; your figures, your colors, your atmosphere, just about everything.  I ran into a problem with your composition, though; the stark black page divider clashes with the predominantly horizontal-mirror structure and makes it hard to wrap your head around the story as its meant to be told. It was less of a problem once I trained myself to ignore it, and you use the divider very effectively in the second-to-last section, but it still made it harder to enjoy the work. Masterful technique, colors, perspective, expression.

Miyabi wrote: With your subjects, I felt this composition was a very clever way to tell the story, and kinda mirror their separate, but similar tales side-by side. As mentioned, you have such a fitting children’s storybook style, from colors to shapes, that shines once again! It’s a cute tale for such evil characters!

2.) @peach35​: (*peach wins $50 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote:  Peach deserves a lot of credit for her mastery of figure-drawing and perspective. That's something a lot of people struggle with, and accomplishment in these matters should be recognized. Another good choice of simple background to highlight the main moment, and awesome use of colors and lighting to suggest 3D -- I'm far more fascinated by Gate's nose than I should be. Incredible faces, hands, colors, and general shading.

Miyabi wrote: The sense of confused shock on Alia’s face is a different reaction that most, as it’s apparent Gate is slipping that ring on in total surprise. Clean lines and soft lighting helped this piece stand out.

3.) @tianura​: (*tianura wins $25 USD or an item(s) up to that value.)

Jaybird wrote: Tianura's style is difficult to read; the line quality can be inconsistent from panel to panel, some attempts to convey 3D positioning could use polish, and the panels never stray very far from simple torso and head shots. That said, the expressions are exceptionally clear (again, look to the eyes) and convey lots of emotion, and the page-by-page composition is very good. Very expressive faces, judicious use of colors for effect.

Miyabi wrote: I thought this was a creative parallel for life-long partners in using Netto and Enzan. You did a nice job keeping Netto’s goofy charm intact, with quite a few humorous lines. The ending was totally fitting for him, older or not. XD While I’m sure you would have liked to color the whole thing, I liked the differing use of screentone shading. And the watercolor look of the color pieces did give it some storybook charm as well.

Close, but not quite ~

@borockman​:

Jaybird wrote:  It's such a shame this isn't a humor category, because this deserves major points for funny (the Nana-Sigma romance anime that the fandom doesn't want, but nonetheless deserves). The linework itself is pretty good. Expressive, good use of background for mood. Also, Sigma, the ring goes on the ring finger.

Miyabi wrote: It’s a dream. It’s always a dream! Siggy puts the ring on her pinky because Nana’s his ‘lil pinky-poo... ;p With the tears running down her face, I really did like the emotional feel of the moment. 

@digitallyfanged​:

Jaybird wrote: In terms of sheer atmosphere, this is one of the best pieces. It looks like a still from some fairy tale picture-book. The forest scenery, the background, the flower-swing, the misting breath, the quality of the outfits and the details on the dress and sword all make this exquisite. Unfortunately the characters aren't quite as expressive as they ought to be -- this is very clearly a fairy-tale love scene of some kind, but what kind? Laika is clearly being emotional towards the princess, but what is he saying? "Who are you"? "You're beautiful"? "I love you"? "Be mine forever"? It's gorgeous, but it's a little too vague to tell whether it's on topic or not.

Miyabi wrote: Gorgeous scene that felt a bit like another Disney-ish tale, moreso of the Frozen variety. They may just be easy-to-use Clip Studio effects, but I really thought it was quite creative how you pulled off the swing design. The watercolor forest background is beautiful, as is Pride’s snow princess outfit. Pretty, pretty picture!

@drewblossom​:

Jaybird wrote: I'm glad I saw Drew's title, because it took me a minute to figure out exactly what was going on -- for a moment I thought Geminiman was trying to propose to himself with that (fittingly) gaudy diamond. The linework is pretty good, and I like the lighting effects on Gemini's crystals and the translucence of his chest plate. I'll give them points for an ambitious concept, but the best mirror art looks at a scene from two different directions, and Gemini's reflection is simply a reverse of the main view. Good colors and lighting, elegantly simple background that does a good job of highlighting the main action.

Miyabi wrote: No better way to practice a proposal than to recite it in front of your self. Of course, if he is proposing to his clone, then I think with his nonchalant actions, he’s got this down already. XD Clever, and unique!

@hyperbole1729​:

Jaybird wrote: This piece is another mix. It has some very nice things -- the colors are spot on, the composition is very nice (you take cues from the 18th century Romantic movement by having the whole world revolve around the subject), you clearly pay attention to character details, and your field of flowers is great.

Miyabi wrote: Another set of net-battling partners who seem like a great choice for being together forever. The background is a fitting place for Sal to do it, because I don’t quite see Miyu being the one to speak up and propose. That might be more of a frightening proposition. LOL Cute, traditional scene. 

@iris-sempi​: 

Jaybird wrote: Iris-sempi's got style. The colors are interesting, the subject is clear, the linework pops out because it's -also- part of the colors, the cartoony elements fit in very nicely, and the presentation as a literature/manga cover is well-done. The technique is some of the best I've seen. That said, I have to ask, if you were going to go through all the trouble of creating such a cool cover, I think it's only fair to point out the title is blocked by the artwork, which defeats the purpose, especially on something's Volume 1.

Miyabi wrote: Just to clarify for everyone, the Japanese characters for this piece say "Let's Get Married" and "Sea Salt Honey." I thought it was a really clever mag cover format, where the characters really pop out against the pink background. With the waves, it really does feel like Splashy leapt out of the ocean to smack some salty sugar on Honey/Vesper Woman. Her vibrating antennae give some nice movement and comedic effect, too. Love it, but felt it just didn’t quite have the proposal feel as strongly as others.

@jb-artist​: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* - Megaman 8 cel)

Jaybird wrote: JB's picture is very cute, and we don't have much actual oekaki here, so props. While you deserve even more props for how direct you are to get to the point, it's difficult to judge how we're supposed to interpret this -- is Alouette precociously misunderstanding the nature of a marriage proposal or is it an actual proposal to her older sister figure? The perspective rocks, the colors and lighting are good, and there are lots of little details that portray lots of love for the Zero series.

Miyabi wrote: Zero’s such the silent, brooding type, that he sends Alouette to do the proposal for him. I’m just not sure if that will help or hurt his rank in this stage! XD It is honestly really cute, especially when you see her doodles on the resistance base’s wall. I think that makes the piece more than anything, and was a clever callback to the game. I like how you set up the scene with the background, and those are some really nice mountains back there, too. 

@lightlabs​:

Jaybird wrote: Now this is pretty. Great composition to direct us through the piece (-nice touch- on giving the ring some bling) and rocking use of paint swatches for style. The art does a great job of directing us into the center, and the warm colors in the center do a lot to convey mood. Zero, you smug jerk, stop showing the rest of us poor schlubs up.

Miyabi wrote: Yes, this is happening. There is a reason for me to go on. What...what am I using this line foooorr? The warm colors and sparkles give it a unique glow, for what seems to be a night scene. The brush strokes give it a neat paint brush look, for your coloring, too. Nice work conveying their emotions with their expressions as well. 

@pandapanic0:

Jaybird wrote: In terms of actual skill, the coloring is good and clear, the piece is composed well, the lighting effects are fairly elegant. If it were the actual humor category, the Ring Man's appropriately outlandish bid and Mega Man's exceptionally feminine reaction would gain the piece lots of laugh-out-loud points.

Miyabi wrote: Thank you for taking the title of this category literally and going for the humorous visual of a giant ring Ring Boomerang! Even if he says no, once he tries to get rid of that ring, it’ll just come right back. XD Rock’s blushing expression is cute. Nice crisp coloring and bold lines. 

@shikai-the-storyteller​: (*RAFFLE PRIZE WINNER* - Archie Worlds Unite Page)

Jaybird wrote: On a panel-by-panel basis, the art is very good: crisp lines; good color and lighting; good technique with hands and faces; great use of background and expression to convey mood -- you got more mileage out of your backgrounds than probably anyone else here.

Miyabi wrote: Another nice job of mixing humor into your piece, while still keeping it a tender, sweet moment. Nice way of showing that things don’t always go as planned for a proposal, but sometimes it’s the thought and effort that counts. As always, your lines, colors and penmanship are smooth and flawless.

Superbasket5:

Jaybird wrote:  Aww. If I've got this right, it looks like X is so nervous about giving Alia a valentine that he doesn't realize Berkana is giving Alia encouragement as well. I think. I have to wonder what Marty is doing here -- research tells me she has a crush on X, which seems like it would get in the way, and if that's the case, this impending trainwreck will be something worth watching. That said, the piece is still in its rough stages, especially your setting and perspective; I can't really tell where the characters are (outside at a park?), and Alia's hip is in front of X's arm.

Miyabi wrote: Alia has her support group, but I don’t know if she’s going to be able to pop the question to X with a crowd around her, either. XD Cute expressions, showing her nerves, while X is probably not quite expecting what’s hiding behind her back. I kinda wish we would get that visual of what she’s hiding as a cutaway, much like how you gave X a thought bubble for what’s going on in his head. 

@yugiohlesbian​:

Jaybird wrote:  Good job! I'd like to compliment you on how versatile your figures are and how you use that to make them very expressive; your use of perspective and individual panel compositions are both very versatile. While there isn't any color, the nighttime scenes do a good job with the lighting. Your style is pleasantly simple, but sometimes the panels seem to be oversimplified; more developed backgrounds would be welcome in several places.

Miyabi wrote: Totally different subject, but Zero, none of us understand taxes, either. I like how you illustrated the struggle of a reploid trying to understand human logic and traditions, and yet in the end, it still being something Zero didn’t truly need to grasp in that logical sense. While I know you wish you would have had more time to continue perfecting these panels, I agree that the night scenes stand out and give a good contrast between Zero’s computer research scenes. 

Thanks once again to all who participated! I will be contacting the winners soon enough. Work will probably keep me from replying to everyone immediately, but if you don’t hear from me today, I will send a message about prizes hopefully within the next day. 

For those awaiting the secret contest results...sorry, for another slight delay. Between finishing my promo art for this thread, and typing this, it took up too much time and I’ve gotta head to work. I will have those posted overnight, into Sunday morning, as it won’t be quite as intensive to write up. My apologies, but I hope you can all hang on for another 20 hours or less. ^^;

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #119

“she’s the type who likes to leave on all the lights.”

Are you friends with any bands?  No. How do you deal with oppressive heat?  Act like I'm dying because I probably slowly am. What’s one thing that people definitely CAN’T count on you for? Remembering something. What about something they definitely can count on you for?  An open ear. What’s one food that you want to try but haven’t yet?  Hmmmm... I know there's some, just nothing's coming to me. If you’re home alone and someone knocks on the door, what do you do?  I ignore it.  I don't check through windows or anything in fear of the person seeing me.  If you're coming to my house, let me know. Let’s say you received a gift from someone and open it in front of them – and it’s something you absolutely hate. How do you react?  Thank them anyway and act appreciative towards the kindness.  I usually won't actually say "I like it" unless they ask. If a friend suggested that you two were to do something/go somewhere, and you really didn’t want to, would you be more likely to just go along with it anyway or speak up? If I really didn't want to and we were close, I'd say no. What’s one book that you have read that will stick with you forever? "Johnny Got His Gun" by Dalton Trumbo.  I was strictly anti-war beforehand, but that book turned me into a full-blown pacifist. What type of movies do you get into the easiest? Paranormal ones. If you could learn to play any instrument, what would you pick? Guitar or piano or violin, idk. How do you feel upon seeing someone who’s missing an appendage?  I feel pity, but I feel no different towards them as a person. Why is your favorite store your favorite? They have clothing and accessories that best match my aesthetic. Would you let your child have a pet?  Depends on the pet, the child's age, and my faith in their responsibility level. Where were you raised and what’s it like?  I was raised in a bad neighborhood.  Lots of crime, gangs.  It was scary, yet at the same time, it wasn't the worst place in the world.  Good memories, bad memories. Do you get along with your best friend’s parents?  I'll find that out soon. Do you tend to become nervous when you know change is inevitable?  YES.  I don't like change. Are you a patient person when it comes to relationships?  Very. Do you prefer to hang out in groups?  Meh, depends on my mood. Would you ever consider styling your hair as a mohawk? Nope. Assuming you have blown bubbles in your milk before, were you yelled at for doing it as a kid?  No. Have you ever put on or lost a significant amount of weight?  I've done both. On a scale of 1-5, how often do you curse? 5. @_@ How is your posture?  It's fine, but I lean a bit to the right. Have you ever taken an Uber or Lyft? No. Do you shop on Black Friday? Only online. What do you dip chicken nuggets in?  Honey mustard or ketchup. Has your ex ever gone out with someone close to you?  No. Do you pay attention to how much you eat?  I think I'm overly conscious about it by this point. Does your town/city offer a lot of opportunity for your future career, or would you get more out of living somewhere else?  I'd have far more opportunity elsewhere, probably.  Well... maybe not.  I want to be a wedding photographer, and there's not many of those here.  But where I live isn't exactly a gorgeous place to get married. What's more painful: Tattoos or piercings?  Piercings hurt more.  They're super quick, but the pain is definitely more severe. Does your ex live in the same town as you?  None of them do. Do you have any of your teachers on Myspace/Facebook?  Previous teachers, yes. What comes up when you google your name?  The Instant Checkmate site. Where’s the closest church to you? Do you attend it?  Not even a minute away, and no. Dr. Pepper or Root Beer?  I hate root beer, but I'm not big on Dr. Pepper either. Do you have a firepit in your yard?  No. Who do you talk to about personal problems?  Mom or Sara. Have you ever captured a moth?  I had a "pet" caterpillar when I was a kid and it turned into a moth that I released, if that counts. How long have you been dating the person you’re with? A few days from five months. Did you have a tree house when you were a child?  No. What is something that makes you grumpy?  Being really hungry. What school teams or clubs are/were you apart of?  National Honors Society, National Art Honors Society You can get a $1,000 gift card to any store you want, what is it?  Hot Topic. What’s the longest book you’ve ever read? How long did it take you?  I think "Not Without My Daughter."  I was really invested in it, so I doubt less than two weeks. Should a convicted murderer have the same right to be on the organ donor waiting list as anyone else?  I mean I guess?  A valuable organ is a valuable organ. How is your blood pressure?  This may have changed since I've come off many medicines, but mine at least was usually concerningly low.  I always had to explain to doctors it was normal for me. Have you ever stalked or killed a wild animal?  No. Ever had a rumor spread about you?  Yes, that Jason and I had a baby.  Even though I was obviously never pregnant.  His ex started it. What would you want to be written on your tombstone?  Probably "but you took it like a woman," a reference to an Alice Cooper song. Ever kissed someone’s hand?  Yes. Have you ever ran for class president?  No. Are you a rather gullible person?  Not really. If it had to be only daytime or nighttime all day, which would you choose?  As much as I like the night, daytime.  Humans and most animals are diurnal, so it'd be very difficult to adjust to that. When was the last time you went camping?  I've never been properly camping. Did you play with Play-Doh as a kid? Hell yeah dude. Have you ever found a four leaf clover?  True shit, I found a patch of them in our front yard the day after Dad left. Do you own a raincoat?  No. Are you fascinated by outer space?  Yes yes yeees!  I'm scared of it also, though. Is there a tree outside your window?  Yeah. What season would you want to get married in? Autumn. Have you ever tried Akinator? Yeah. Do you swear in front of children? No. Are you good at catching things? NO.  My hand-eye coordination is shit. What’s the biggest bruise you’ve ever had?  I'm not sure... but I'm guessing one of my knees since they've seen some shit. How would you react if you had a particularly unusual pain or ache? Tell my mother.  Although I usually look it up online if she's not home and it's always a bad idea because I'll find something awful, and then my anxiety kicks up lmao. What’s something that you like wearing, but you don’t actually wear it often? Skinny jeans.  I never wear jeans anymore. How often do you paint your nails?  Never. Which one thing made you cry the hardest?  It definitely related to my breakup.  I think that actual night, I didn't cry as much as me being in shock.  Wait... no, pretty sure it was after Mom caught me running for a knife that night.  I sobbed my fucking lungs out. Could you fall in love with someone, despite what they might look like? Yup. If someone was crying to themselves in public, would you ask if they’re OK?  Absolutely.  As socially inept as I am, I'd still feel awful if I didn't. Ever fingered a girl?  No. Do your parents still hide eggs around the house for Easter?  No. Do you wear choker necklaces?  When I wear necklaces, sometimes. When was the last you ran a mile?  High school. Do you have a big butt?  No. Are you pro-life or pro-choice?  I'd say I'm mostly pro-life, but I believe abortion is acceptable in some cases. What color is your phone?  Really dark navy. Do you know more than two digits of pi?  No. Do you have any STDs?  No. Do you have a favorite NASCAR driver?  No. Who’s your celebrity crush?  Mark Fischbach. Have you ever had any article of clothing tailored? What for?  Yes, a prom dress and bridesmaid dress. What are two foods you think taste good with whipped cream?  I HATE WHIPPED CREAM. When you see a feather on the ground, do you ever pick it up?  If it's cool, I'll probably keep it. If you eat it, what is your favorite way to eat beef?  Burgers. When was the last time you had a pet goldfish? What was its name?  I couldn't tell you, dude. What are the three events this year you are looking forward to?  Seeing Sara in literally two days, probs getting a new tattoo, hopefully returning to my healthy weight or get at least close. Do you prefer nail polish with sparkles in it, or matte colors? I don't wear nail polish like ever, but matte. Would you rather hold hands or link arms with your significant other?  Hold hands. Have you ever done something bad but you don’t regret?  Yeah. Do you like getting hurt? Uhhh no I'm not a masochist. Do you believe in destiny?  No, I believe in free will. Do you have any birthmarks?  Yes, on the left side of my left arm. Have you ever watched anyone sleep? There were times where I'd still be up on the laptop at Jason's and look over at him and smile.  But it was never more than just a few seconds. Do you ever go back and read stories or books you read when you were a child?  Not for myself.  The only times I've ever done that is when I'm reading to Aubree. Have you and a partner ever had “a song”? My ex and I had two and Sara and I have about five thousand lmao. Do you think that it is okay for men to cry, or is it only okay under certain circumstances? Of fucking course it's okay. What is one of your favorite movie quotes?  "My mama always said, 'Life was like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you're gonna get.'"  From Forrest Gump. Describe your teeth:  Normal, just wish they were a bit whiter. What is one thing you look forward to every day?  A Markiplier video. What is one thing you dread every day?  Trying to go to sleep at night.  I like sleeping, just not tossing and turning until it happens. When was the last time you cleaned your ears via QTip?  Forever ago because they're the reason I got wax adhered to my eardrum from pushing it back too deep.  I use a different tool now. What's the longest you’ve lived without electricity?  Just like overnight and a few hours. Name all of the alcoholic beverages you have tried:  Daiquiris, sangrias, and margaritas are the only ones I like, but I used to have a sip of wine in Catholic school and also this disgusting coconut thing Nicole had. Name all the types/brands of cigarettes you have tried:  I've never smoked. Do you like to do puzzles (crosswords, word find, Sudoku, etc.)?  Yes. What is the most alcohol you’ve drank in a night?  I think five and a half daiquiris.  New Years 2017. Have you been to see an opera?  No. Have you ever been stung by anything? What?  A bumblebee. Is there anything you dislike about your house?  We don't have two bathrooms. What do you like to put on bagels?  Cream cheese. Do you like orange juice?  So long it doesn't have pulp, I love it. If you had to choose, which bug isn't ugly?  There's a number.  I love butterflies, ladybugs, moths, and caterpillars. Have you ever had an ulcer?  No. Do you have any rare medical conditions?  AvPD and (inactive) MRSA. The first time you remember being hospitalized, what was it for? Being suicidal. What does your favorite necklace look like? It's a spiked choker. If you crack your knuckles, do you crack them one at a time, or all at the same time?  I don't crack my knuckles. Do you sneeze into your hand or into the crook of your arm when you don’t have a tissue? The latter. Do you hate when grapes have seeds in them?  It doesn't bother me. Have you ever heard of Bananas in Pajamas? Yeah, my older sister loved that show.

[maliwarm]

Spiffy

BB Fanfic Jam prompts 3 and 19; gold polish, and unwanted gift, featuring angry son and cyberdad.

-

K’ jabbed the opening panel for Maxima’s room, stalking in the moment the doors whooshed open. His usual scowl looked three times as sour. “What the hell is that crap on my bed?”

“Welcome back, partner,” Maxima greeted drily. He didn’t look up from the buffer he was running over one of his arms. An arm that wasn’t dark and threaded with luminescent blue like usual, but instead white with gold plating that was unnecessarily ornate. K’ stared. “Like the new body? The Doc just finished it up today.”

“… No kidding.” How old man Makishima managed to build his sideburned friend so many spare bodies so quickly, yet still as seamless and advanced as the original, was a marvel. “You still haven’t answered my question though.”

“Mission I’ve been coordinating with Miss Valeria for some time now.” Maxima sent him a brief apologetic look for having kept him out of the loop before returning to his polishing. “An undercover op to investigate some sleazebag in the LLC we suspect is playing a role in keeping some unsavoury element or another well-funded.”

K’s right fist clenched. Sparks flared and danced between his knuckles for the briefest of moments, mirroring the flash of anger he felt. “You mean NESTS.”

A shrug. “Or Rendain. Maybe both. It’s our job to find out, in any case.” Maxima gave the polished gold and white plating of his brand new chassis a once-over in search of imperfections. Apparently satisfied with his work, he put the buffer onto the bedside table then pushed off his bed with a loud creak. “Which reminds me… we head out in a couple of hours. So get cleaned up and dressed.”

Immediate indignation met this statement. “You can’t be serious… I’m not wearing that stuff.”

A shrug. “You’re gonna have to, Dash-man. Both of us are expected to be there; Valkyrie’s orders. And she’s picking us up herself, so don’t think you can weasel your way out of this.”

K’ swore. Kicked his boot against the door frame in frustration. “How am I supposed to fight in a tux, huh? Did you idiots consider that?”

Maxima tried his best not to snort at the temper tantrum. He succeeded. Barely. But he couldn’t quite stop a crooked grin from forming. “Ideally, you won’t. Because as I said before, this is an undercover op. We’re there to nose around discreetly for evidence while mingling with the insanely rich masses, not storm in and break their bones.”

K’s tsk of annoyance spoke volumes of how he wished it was the other way around. “What about my gauntlet?” He thrust his fist up for inspection. The red plating was scuffed and dinged from constant use and numerous battles. Definitely not LLC-worthy, but it wasn’t as though he could take it off for extended periods of time. Not unless he wanted his flames going haywire and possibly turning on him; DNA splicing only worked so well for mystical flame powers that were never his to begin with, and hissed as much at him in his dreams. The gauntlet had to stay. If it couldn’t, then he wouldn’t be able to partake in this mission, as totally heartbreaking that would be for him.

“Ah, that’s the best part.” Maxima, smug smile in place, reached under the bed. When he emerged, he had plucked out a plain black case only slightly bigger than his gigantic metal hand. He flicked open the silver clasps on the case’s front and opened the lid for K’s inspection. Inside was a new gauntlet, it’s plating comprised solely of gold. “Doctor Makishima whipped this beauty up while he was working on my body. What do you think? Pretty cool, right?”

K’ took the case from Maxima’s hand with reluctance. He eyed with gaudy thing nestled within, with its unnecessary etchings and raised carvings, and pulled a face. “Thanks. I fucking hate it.”

Maxima’ eyes rolled towards the ceiling. “That’s shocking. Truly. Well, regardless of clashing aesthetics, it should function just as well as your regular gauntlet does. The gold will make it heavier though.”

“No shit.” K’ sighed, snapping the case of gaudy new gauntlet’s lid shut and flicking the clasps closed. He let it hang loosely from two hooked fingers. “Anything else?”

“Aside from making sure you dial back the grumpiness when we get to our destination, I think that about covers it.”

“Whatever.”

K’ turned on his heel, stalking away out the door and towards the bathroom. His boots clomped loudly through the otherwise quiet halls, transforming into the slap of bare feet when he paused by his room to pull the footwear off and chuck it by the door. While he was there, his sunglasses were pulled from the inside of his jacket and flicked at the bed. They skipped once, settling atop the unwanted, neatly-pressed, white and gold-trimmed gift Maxima had left laying atop his bed. K’s lip curled. He’d love nothing more than to torch the garments and collapse into bed. To tell the Valkyrie to blow off when she showed up and demanded to know why he wasn’t prepped for the mission. But she was his employer, and helping keep NESTS and the Ikari squad off his and Maxima’s backs, in addition to providing them with this ship, besides. It wouldn’t do to bite the hand that fed just because he was tireder and grouchier than usual after completing the bunch of other missions the woman had assigned him that day. Satisfying as it may be in the short term, it just wasn’t worth compromising the faint stability and safety Reyna had granted them.

K’ locked himself in the bathroom, setting the case on the sink to put the contents on later, after he’d showered. Leather was peeled away and chucked into the corner to wash at some later date before he set to the annoying task of removing his gauntlet. For something so breakable (when it came to his own flames, anyway), the thing was the biggest pain in the ass to get off. He dug his nails into the grooved bit around his wrist, probing until he found the deepest bit, then hissed curses under his breath and tugged until a soft click sounded. He groaned as the little needles of the failsafe system pricked him, shooting frigid liquid into his bloodstream that made him sag and clutch the sink for support so he didn’t collapse like a clump of wet noodles. Whatever the formula was, it did a fine job of dulling his flames just long enough to do things like shower, but he seriously wished it didn’t fill him with such bad fatigue. The Doc was constantly fiddling with it to remedy the problem, and it was already less severe than, and didn’t linger as long as, the original that NESTS had concocted… But there was still a long way to go; lots of kinks to iron out, yet.

K’ focused on his own breathing until the wooziness dropped to a more manageable level, straightened, then peeled the gauntlet away. He flexed his hand, taking a good long look at the appendage he rarely ever got to see. It was paler from lack of sun exposure, and covered in a patchwork of burn scars, most of which were old. The newest was mere months old, from when he and Maxima had fought and killed his own deranged clone during their mellpell escape from the Cartel. That had marked the first time in years he’d broken a gauntlet. The fresh punctures in his wrist were adorned with little beads of liquid ruby, which K’ thumbed away before stepping into the shower and letting a cascade of scalding water wash over him.

-

The Valkyrie’s arrival was unannounced. Yet the hover-limo she’d come in had been easy to pick out weaving through the asteroids and into their cargo bay. She emerged from the vehicle with her usual spikes and leather absent. In their place was a suit, a cap perched on her head, and the normally red-tipped crest dyed black and brushed smooth and flat over her right eye, hiding the telltale eyepatch tan. Maxima let out a low whistle.

“You look lovely, Miss Valeria.”

Reyna’s eye trailed up and down Maxima’s body in turn. Painted lips curved up into a coy grin, apparently liking what she saw. “You don’t look so bad yourself, big guy.”

“I’m gonna gag.”

The pair glanced towards the doorway, where K’ had just arrived. His hands were jammed in his pockets and a disgusted sneer had curled his lip in reaction to their mild flirting. Reyna chuckled, striding over with hands on hips to appraise his new getup.

“Well, well, kid… Don’t you clean up nice? Should tone down the scowl a little though. You wanna look haughty, not like you’re gonna gank everyone in the ballroom over a canapé.” She reached out, using her toes to close the height distance some, to push K’s messy fringe up and back, holding it flat against his scalp. A muscle under his eye ticked, and his fingers twitched like they wanted to come up and slap her hand away. Apparently sensing his tension, Reyna released the tuft of hair and stepped back out of his personal space. “I’d gel that back, if I were you. It’ll make you look less, quote-unquote, hobo-y.”

“There should’ve been some gel on your bed,” Maxima added helpfully.

“I’d really rather not.” K’ grumbled. “Can we just get going already?”

“Nuh uh.” Reyna shook her head. Reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a little round tub of gel. As though she’d known this would happen. She held it out at the kid. “You don’t get a say in this case. Got too much riding on this op’s success for shitty hair to throw a wrench into things.”

“My hair’s fine.”

“Any other day, sure. Whatever. But not now.” Reyna pushed the tub into his chest. “Now you can either put this in yourself, or I’ll get your babysitter to pin you down and apply it myself.”

K’ ground his teeth. Snatched the tub from her hand and stalked back towards the bathroom. On the way out of the cargo hold, he shot a glare over his shoulder, mostly directed at Maxima, who was smirking behind his fist. … Asshole. He was so jettisoning the big lug’s icecream stash out the airlock after this.

[tomhollandish]

We Don’t Talk Anymore

Summary: It’s been almost two years since you and Peter Parker parted ways, and you never understood why. Unfortunately, he didn’t either. 

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 5,215

Your nails tapped against the fake wood desk, occasionally snagging on the scratched surface as your chemistry teacher droned on about the elements, hardly looking back at the ocean of inattentive students. If Mr. McKinley wasn’t the oldest and strictest teacher at Midtown, you’d be checking your Instagram feed unabashedly, scrolling through the pictures of yesterday’s party you decided to skip out on.

Your eyes flicked back to the clock, which had moved about a fucking millimeter since the last time you’d checked it. You held back a groan, knowing that somehow McKinley would pick you personally out of the crowd. It was like the old man had a vendetta against you, dubious of your ability to pass his class and maintain a popular social life.

He set his marker down, pristine oxfords clicking against the tile floors as he shuffled back to his desk. He ignored the cacophony of students settling in place, appearing as though they’d been enthralled at his lesson. You gave the man no such grace as you sighed, inspecting your green painted nails once more as the grey-haired man cleared his throat.

“That’s the end of the atoms and elements lecture. You have an assignment, as written in your beginning of the year syllabus, and it’s worth twenty percent of your grade this quarter,” he boomed, making the entire class sag their shoulders at once.

“You will have assigned partners, and I expect a certain degree of work from all of you. You will both do fair amounts of work, and if I hear otherwise both of your grades will be dropped, is that clear?” The class slumped even lower, some students slipping out of their chairs dramatically. You snickered at the classes antics, until you heard your name being called.

“…And Peter Parker,” Mr. McKinley gave you a side glance, milky green eyes watching for any signs of objection, but you gave none.

At least, not outwardly.

Your nail polish chipped when your finger tapped repeatedly and quickly on the desk, urgency filling your brain as you tried to think of a way around this solution. You found that with Mr. McKinley there often wasn’t one, at least not less damaging than partnering with him.

From his spot across the room you caught the brunette bristling, the blonde boy next to him whispering in his ear for a moment, before you were caught in Harry Osborne’s gaze. You waved to him sardonically and he smiled back, nudging Peter in the ribcage. Parker was already packing up, shoving books into his backpack with little to no enthusiasm.

Great, you thought, sliding your own books away. He’s just as annoyed as I am.

It was hard to tell what Peter despised the most about this arrangement: working together, or the idea that McKinley found you two to be intellectual equals.

Whatever the case, the moment the bell rang for your free period you followed that familiar head of brown hair down the hall, to his locker in the loudest part of school. It took some maneuvering, but you wound your way to his side, leaning loudly against the locker to signify your arrival.

“I told you, Harry, I don’t want to talk about—oh jeez,” he jumped as he closed his locker to reveal your face, eyebrow quirked in confusion.

“What don’t you want to talk about?” you ordered, having a strong suspicion that the topic included you. Peter shouldered his bag, head ducked as he tried to get past you. You simply fell into stride beside him.

“It’s nothing, um, what did you,—“

“If we’re going to have to work together on this project, we may as well get started. You and I both know McKinley is expecting a lot from us. We can’t half-ass this.”

“I wasn’t planning on half-assing anything, but thanks for the reminder,” Peter grumbled, taking a left and watching you as you followed. “Besides, it’s not like we’ll fail. Why do you want this done so early anyways?”

You clenched your fists at your sides, biceps shaking as you tried to contain your anger. “Because this is the unluckiest day of my life and I’m sure if this trend continues I’ll be drowning in homework for the next month. Now can you just please talk to me like I’m not the bane of your existence for half a second?”

Peter scowled, looking away from you as he pulled the library doors open. You blinked, realizing that he must have had the same free period as you. You were glad you had never noticed that, however the feeling of relief vanished when you noticed Michelle and Liz waiting for you, history books and encyclopedias open as they settled down with a few other mutual friends.

You silently prayed they wouldn’t notice you walking next to Peter, knowing that with them, too many questions would arise and that study session would never commence.

Peter seemed to follow your gaze and his scowl deepened before he looked down at the floor. “What do you want?” he said, most of the malice missing from his tone, instead quietly mumbling under his breath.

“I’ll come to your place later and we can get started. Unless of course, you prefer meeting somewhere else.”

“My place is fine, as long as it’s after 5.” He argued, and you stepped back when he turned to face you. In the distance you caught a small volley of boys looking in the direction of you two. Wrinkling your nose, you recognized them, focusing back on Peter when you spoke.

“Fine. I’ll text you when I get there,” you told him, turning on your heel to walk back to your corner of the library. You didn’t turn back to see Peter’s lips parted with a question; you only saw Michelle leaning back smugly in her chair.

“What were you talking to Peter Parker for?” she asked, inflection even and free of condescension. You rolled your eyes as you sat down, feeling the pairs of eyes on you, waiting for an answer.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Now, were we talking about the French Revolution, or the French and Indian War?”

“French and Indian War. How do you even know Peter?” Liz asked, opening her binder while looking up at you through her perfect hair “I thought you guys had like, one class?”

“That’s one class too many,” you mumbled, but beside you Gwen gasped.

“Jesus, Y/N, do you hate him or something? What did he ever do to you?” All of the girls at your table seemed a little too intrigued with your relationship to Peter. You heaved a sigh, rubbing your temples as you placed your elbows on the table.

“We used to be friends. We aren’t anymore. It’s that simple. Now can we just talk about this goddamn war?” They seemed taken about by your brash answer, but nonetheless returned to their books, cracking open the spines with minimal chatter. You cracked your neck, ready to dive into something that didn’t require any emotional repression. 

You had texted Peter about fifteen minutes ago, back when you were only four minutes from his place. Walking through the doors of his apartment complex was hard, considering that when the doorman looked at you he pointed, almost as though he remembered who you were.

Ducking your head, you silently hoped it wouldn’t happen again. Punching in Peter’s floor number with your fist, you exhaled, steeling yourself for the inevitable with May, knowing, just knowing she’d pull you onto one of their couches and ask you about the past year and a half.

You paced the length of the hallway, wondering when you would gain the confidence to just knock on Peter’s door. He hadn’t responded to your text, and although you didn’t expect him to, it would have been nice if he had.

It wasn’t like you did anything to him.

There was a sound that made your heart stop, your feet pausing in their tracks as a door clicked shut, the sound of keys jingling as May Parker locked her apartment door. She had just pulled them out as she walked toward you, her eyes on the floor before they picked up and looked you directly in the face.

You wished you could turn invisible, because maybe then May would not have seen the obvious look of embarrassment you wore. She gasped, dramatically so with her hands flying to her mouth. In your shocked state you managed a wave.

“Hey, May,” you winced, hearing the weak rhyme coming out of your mouth.

“Oh my goodness Y/N! You look so good, dear how have you been! What are you doing here?”

You rubbed your forearm nervously as she came closer, taking in your form; much taller, more stylish, and feminine since the last time you’d been here. “Oh, um, Peter and I have a project due, for chemistry, we’re uh, in the same class, and,” you ended the sentence awkwardly, biting your lip and cursing to yourself as May took your shoulders.

“Ugh, Peter is such a mess. He told me he was having someone over. He said ‘just some girl’ but he completely neglected to say that it was you. You, my dear, are not just some girl.”

You frowned, thinking that May was right. You weren’t just some girl. In many ways, it would have been easier for the both of you if you were.

“Ha ha, well, you know Peter, always simplifying things, leaving out details,” you tapered off, having no idea what else to say to the woman. She beamed down at you nonetheless, and for a moment you felt something you hadn’t felt freshman year.

This bubbling guilt welled in your heart, guilt for never really breaking ties with Peter like you should have. You could imagine Peter sulking on the couch, listening as his aunt asked how you were doing, or why you were never around anymore.

Clearly Peter had never mentioned your fallout, because May still believed you two were on good terms. Maybe fading, but at the very least, polite terms. She smiled at you one last time before walking back to her door, unlocking it and ushering you in.

“Peter, I found your chemistry partner outside! You didn’t tell me it was Y/N!” she yelled throughout the apartment. There was a thud, and then the door across from them opened, revealing Peter, hopping on one foot as he looked at his aunt.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I didn’t really think it was, um, important?” he sounded like he was reaching, so you tried not to be offended by what he was implying.

May rolled her eyes, fixing him with a pointed look. “Boys,” she sighed, and you forced a laugh, trying to be as polite as you could with your whole body in a state of panic.

“I’ll see you two later, Peter, be good!” the last sentence was cut short when the door slammed closed, leaving you and Peter alone for the first time in a long time.

You figured screaming would ensue, but Peter was quiet as he stomped back into his room, reemerging with his backpack and chemistry textbook. He dumped it on the coffee table, standing awkwardly on your right side as you put down your own things.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

With the reboot of Star Trek on in the background, you and Peter quietly began your research, mostly mumbling to one another.

You looked up, catching the glint of a lens flare in corner of your eye. Chris Pine’s cotton candy blue eyes trapped you, and you shifted your laptop into the space between your crossed legs, now completely engrossed in the movie.

For the first time since you’d been here you cracked a smile, watching Jim Kirk take his place in the chair. This didn’t go unnoticed by Peter, who looked up, watching your lips curve.

“I didn’t know you still liked Sci-Fi movies,” he muttered quietly, but with the lack of noise in his apartment, you heard him very clearly.

“You don’t just stop liking Sci-Fi,” you reminded him, and eyebrow raised in amusement. “Anyhow, I’m too invested. I’ve seen, like, all the good ones.”

“How many good ones are there?” he questioned, for once sounding genuine and hospitable. You had to glance over at him to make sure you hadn’t accidently travelled back in time two years.

“Well, there’s a lot more than Empire Strikes Back,” you joked, and Peter blinked, trying to detect any malevolent tone in your voice, but there were none. And then, like a mirror image he smiled back, shaking his head as he looked down.

Involuntarily, your lips stretched up even more, revealing the imperfect set of teeth hiding behind your colored lips. You’d forgotten how infectious Peter’s laughs and smiles were, especially to you. Curling some hair behind you ear, you basked in the small moment for a little while longer before Peter spoke once again.

“So what are the good ones? Just so we’re on the same page.” It was a start, something small and the least likely to blow up in his face. You nodded, but kept your gaze level with your screen, in fear that Peter was judging your answers in earnest.  

“Well, there’s obviously Star Wars, but just the original trilogy. And then there’s Back to the Future, both one and two, Interstellar, E.T., Jurassic Park, The Matrix, Terminator, Inception,”

“Whoa whoa whoa, since when have you seen Terminator?” Peter stopped you, leaning forward on the other couch excitedly. His eyes glittered, that warm coppery color that made his whole face light up like Christmas. You hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like years. Maybe it had been that long. “Last time we spoke you didn’t even know what it was, and now it’s one of your favorites?”

“Actually, I only really like the second one. And the last time we spoke was almost two years ago. A lot happens in two years, Peter.”

It wasn’t meant to be harsh, but the mood soured a bit, Peter’s eyes landing to the large gap that resided between you two. You opened your mouth to amend what you’d said, but Peter had beat you to the punch.

“I guess you’re right.” There were too many layers in his voice to decipher his meaning. Once again your gazes didn’t meet, but you found yourself a little upset at what Peter was insinuating. You sighed, understanding the consequences of what you were about to ask, but you forged ahead, already gaining his attention.

“Why do you always let stuff go so easily? Like, maybe if you would just, I don’t know, say what you were really thinking instead of being vague all the time, then things would be better.” You paused after your statement, wanting to add “For us,” but you couldn’t. That ship had long since sailed.

Peter’s downcast eyes hardened into a glare. “Because that’s a really nice theory in practice, but not everyone can pull it off as effortlessly as you.”

Your eyes narrowed as he spoke sarcastically of you. “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Parker?”

“It means, Y/N, that you conveniently gained confidence when we got to high school. You weren’t as outgoing as you are now, just putting that out there,” he held his hands up in defense, but there was no way he could just add a few words in at the end and absolve himself of the false assumptions he was making.

“Just putting it out there,” you mocked, shutting your laptop closed and shoving books back into your bag. “You don’t have the right to judge me just because we used to be friends. Like, congratu-fucking-lations, you stayed the same—a know-it-all who gets slammed into lockers.”

You’d clearly hit a nerve with Peter because he stood, having inches on your height you never noticed before. “You think this is on me? That I go around antagonizing you at every waking moment? Like I lay awake thinking of reasons we don’t talk anymore? You got shallow, and you became one of them,” he yelled, and you were taken aback at how easily he raised his voice at you.

The animosity between you two super-charged the air, making it seem heated and tense in the otherwise still apartment. You swallowed back any fear, reminding yourself that this was Peter Parker, a scrawny brunette who couldn’t even run a lap in gym class.

“See, that’s your damn problem; you always think it’s so black and white between everyone, and you’re so hooked on status, just like everyone else. I used to think you were different, that you understood nuisances, but I guess I was mistaken,” you roared back, turning on your heels to face the boy.

You couldn’t believe those molten, sweet brown eyes you knew as a child were now snarling at you, his cold and hardened stare threatening to ice you over. “I think you and I both know that isn’t what happened,” he said quietly, crossing his arms, not even attempting to patch up the situation. He was letting you leave, just like he had in freshman year. As if he never wanted you in the first place.

“I think you tell yourself that to help you sleep, Parker.” You spat back, wrenching the door open and hauling your ass out of that toxic apartment, before tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You waited outside the door for a minute, wondering (hoping) if Peter would poke his head out to make sure you were okay, or even more miraculously, apologize, for insinuating that you were fake. But the moment never came.

Not quite disappointed, you pounded down the stairs and out of the complex in a tizzy, your whole body shaking in anger. Biting your lip to suppress the oncoming tears, you patted down your pockets to start calling a cab. You suddenly stopped, hands coming up empty, cursing yourself.

You’d left your phone.

You could have screamed. You could’ve had a fit right then and there as you pondered if you should leave it at his place. Standing between the light posts, you looked up at the already blackened sky, hazed over in lights and smog. There was no way you could make it home for the night without your phone, even if it meant swallowing your pride.

Wiping your eyes, you peered into a storefront window, fixing the eyeliner stains that ran down your cheeks. Sucking in a breath, you forced yourself to march back the way you came, cramming your balled fists into the pockets of your jacket. You hoped to God May had come back by now, or else the encounter you’d have at the Parker’s front door would be an awkward one.

You shivered as you entered the warm apartment complex, not picking your head up until you reached his door once again. You paced in front of it, steeling your hands to knock on the door, just once so that you could get your phone, go home, and sleep for the night.

You felt so detached and numb that you didn’t even remember putting your fist to the door, but you watched in heavy anticipation as it opened, revealing a stunned, but beaming May Parker. You felt such relief that you almost cried, and May pouted.

“Oh, honey,” she soothed, pulling you in by your arm. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” you said, a little too loudly, as it had gained the attention of the brunette devil himself. You sniffed back your tears, standing as close to the doorway as possible without seeming rude. “I just, I left my phone here, and I came back to get it. It’s much darker than I had anticipated.”

From behind May, you could see Peter setting up a small table for dinner, putting out plates for the both of them. He looked like he was going to bite back a retort, but he pursed his lips instead, carrying on with his job.

“I thought that was yours,” she muttered, walking back to the table where you’d been not twenty minutes ago. “We were worried that you would walk home without someone to call, or that something might happen,” she said sweetly, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

‘Because Peter seems so worried about me,” you thought, but plastered a sickly smile across your face as you looked up at the woman.

“I’m fine, I should get going though, it’s only going to get darker,” you started, turning on your heels before you felt a hand clasp on your arm.

“Dear!” May called after you, using a nickname you weren’t used to. “You really shouldn’t walk home this late. It’s gotten very dark, maybe you should call you mother and have her pick you up here.”

There was a crash and May spun around, eyes wide as Peter struggled to contain his shock. “It’s fine, everything’s fine,” he mumbled, not looking up at the women. You shook your head, still upset, and started to back out of the room.

“Thank you, for offering Mrs. Parker, but I can just go right now—“

“No. I insist that you stay here and wait for your mother to pick you up. It’s too dangerous!” she shouted, looking towards Peter for backup. The boy kept setting the table, offering no help. Not that you expected any from him.

“May,” you started out, unsure if you permit to use her first name still stood. “I really, really have to get back. I’ll call a cab, it’ll be okay.” You pleaded, trying to stand firm while your fists shook in tension, waiting a minute for the woman’s reply.

She looked between you and Peter, who was conveniently busy with something else in the kitchen, his back towards the two of you. May finally sighed, throwing up her arm in defeat. “Okay fine. Call the cab right here, and have Peter wait with you.”

At the sound of his name, Peter made a sound of disapproval, followed by another clink of the dishes clashing. May whirled, narrowing her eyes as Peter held up the offending ware, showing it whole. “It’s fine,” he meekly answered, and May turned her whole body towards him.

“Are you fine? You two are acting really weird around each other,” she stated, eyes flitting between you and her nephew. “Almost like you’ve never met.”

“I wish that was the case,” you muttered into your phone, hoping May hadn’t heard. When you looked over at Peter you noticed his furrowed brows and the grimace that dipped into a frown. Had he heard you? And what did he care? It wasn’t as though Peter hadn’t casted you aside either.

You tried to rein in your thoughts as you read back the address, shoving your phone in your pocket as the call ended. “It should be here in about five minutes,” you spoke, and May nodded.

“Peter? Get your jacket and walk Y/N outside.” Her voice tapered, as though she wanted to say more. Peter didn’t verbally reply, he just trudged into his room and appeared moments later with Reeboks and a coat that wasn’t nearly substantial for the weather outside, but May didn’t say a word more.

You thanked her once again, walking out the door that Peter held for you. It was odd, seeing his normally bright features appear dark and brooding as the two of you headed for the elevators in silence.

The quiet reminded you of a memory; a small snippet of the times when you, Peter and Harry would run up and down this very apartment complex with boundless energy, playing tag and hide and seek. On Saturday mornings the elevator would be packed with boys, all of them headed towards Peter’s place with broad smiles and excited energy to play their favorite video games, or watch their favorite movies. Almost every weekend since seventh grade you’d all come over, one of you having the honor of being movie or game master that day.

In the middle of eighth grade, the boys stopped letting you be movie master.

A cold shiver ran through your body like a torrent, frying your nerves and bringing tears to your eyes. The doors opened revealing the first floor, and Peter brushed past you like you were just another person, like he hadn’t known you since middle school.

Almost like you’d never met.

You remembered his solemn brown eyes and his almost heartbroken look when you’d mumbled that you’d wished you never known him. You sniffed, wiping the tears from your eyes and following Peter’s figure out into the street, where he stood on diligent watch for your cab.  

You came to stand beside him, shifting your weight as you contemplated talking to him. You found it selfish to bring it up, but you also found it nearly impossible that he’d heard you. You’d be making assumptions that could have potentially been wrong, and this whole situation was stressful enough. You didn’t need to add embarrassing to the list.

You toyed with the idea until your heard Peter move, jamming his fists in his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it shut, making you even more frustrated. “If you have something to say, then say it,” you prompted, your voice coming out harsher than was warranted.

If Peter cared, he didn’t let on. “Do you really wish you’d never met me?”

It was such a simple sentence, but the implications behind it were heavy, the weight of their entire friendship resting on the shoulders of such a weak statement, said at an even weaker moment. But Peter’s question stilled remained unanswered, and you felt your chest tighten as you tried to stammer out an excuse.

You looked over at him, ready to say that it didn’t really matter; that it was just words and that they should just forget it ever happened. But for the second time, Peter’s eyes were shinning with expectance, his glossy brown hues betraying the neutral line his lips sat in.

“No,” you breathed out, releasing the word like it had been trapped in your lungs for hours. “No, I don’t wish that. What I really wish is that we never grew out of each other. That’s all.” You ended the statement passively, as though by saying ‘that’s all’ it would lighten the mood.

It did the opposite. “That’s all” seemed to press the weight down further into your back, pulling you down deeper into this mess you’d made. Peter looked at you up and down as though he’d never seen you before.

“Why did you ask to come here?” he wondered, his voice accusatory. You laughed, the sound coming out more like a humored scoff as you scuffed your feet on the sidewalk. You knew the answer to this question, you just didn’t expect him to ask it. You thought about lying, but there was really no use in that. Not anymore.

“I thought that if I came to your house I’d remember why we were friends in the first place. Maybe after a year and a half, I could fix this. I don’t know, I guess I just wanted it to be like before, but I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

You two stayed quiet, the air a little more bearable. The silence was almost comforting; in the silence you could think before you blurted out something harsh and derailed all the progress you had made.

And then, almost like a whisper, you heard, “Why?”

Peter’s voice was so small, reminiscent of the little boy you’d met in sixth grade with thick black glasses and band-aids on his knees. When you looked at him now, he was unwavering against the freezing winds and golden, even in the ugly lighting that surrounded him. The memory of Peter and the present him where two completely different boys, separate from one another.

“We’re just…we’re not those people anymore, Peter. I’m sorry if you don’t like that idea.”  Saying it out loud was painful, but it didn’t hurt as much as you’d thought. Probably because you’d known it for so long.

Peter pouted, eyes cast on the pavement. You brought your hand to his shoulder, inching a little closer. “We grow up and we change. You did, I did, Harry did. Ned’s still kinda the same but-“

“Yeah, I get it.” He muttered, and you dropped your hand back to your side. “I guess I just miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

For moment you forgot what you were doing outside with Peter, the setting and situation slipped from your mind. All you could think was the words, “miss you,” and how they’d come from his mouth and from your head and your chest. You swelled, your entire body eclipsed in a breath you didn’t want to let go of.

And then the horn honked, ripping you from yourself and Peter stared, eyes wide with concern. You weren’t sure what to tell him; if you should have just said that you missed him back, or that missing each other wasn’t enough. You wanted to say something cool and reassuring, but the horn once again shook you from your thoughts.

“Y/N you have to go,” he stated, a slight laugh in his voice as he watched you bumble into the car. You wanted to scream for him to wait, but it seemed dramatic. And you hadn’t enough thought of what to tell him yet.

His expression was soft when he closed your door, smiling a little and waving goodbye. You weren’t sure whether he’d see you off or not, but that question was answered when you watched him walk back into his building, disappearing into an elevator.

“Hey kid. Kid!” the driver demanded, his voice deep and accented. “What’s the matter, he your boyfriend or somethin?” You shook your head, giving the man your address and he went off with a huff, complaining about youths.

You thought to put your phone back in your pocket and forget about tonight, knowing that tomorrow in school would be no different than it had been before. But the thought of that scared you, making you bite your lip in thought.

Your fingers hovered over Peter’s name for a good ten seconds, then they hovered over the keyboard for another fifteen. It felt like agony trying to come up with something witty and smart before you brushed away the idea. Peter missed you right? Hopefully he’d miss how stupid your conversation starters were.

Hey, this is Y/N. We went to middle school together?

You immediately shut your phone, tapping it on your chin to calm yourself down. It was stupid, cheesy, and probably a little too late. But it was much better than saying “hey, I’m Y/N, I think we have chemistry together?”

The phone buzzed against your teeth and you bristled, not really wanting to see his reply. You peeked anyways, reading his text while a smile grew on your face.

Oh yeah, I remember you! I’m Peter Parker. Nice to see you again