#in my heart he just... he would Not win any weight lifting contests

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

in this buff Howdy world i am defending stick man Howdy with my fucking life. fending off all of the ripped pillars with a broom & bug spray

[im-lad-ris]

I Won’t Say I’m in Love : Thranduil X Female! Reader

Prompts: “Hi can I request a Thranduil x elf! reader imagine where he likes her but is too prideful to admit it so the reader & Legolas put on a show to make him jealous?” & “Can you write a Thranduil x fem elf! reader imagine, based on the song I won’t say (i’m in love) from the movie Hercules please??”

Submitted by: @elia-the-bibliophile

Words: 2.5K

A/N: Sorry I’ve been so behind on my writings, so much has been going on and its really been stifling my writing process. But I hope you guys enjoy this, I lost the original draft and completely rewrote it from scratch. Also, this has now become one of my longest ficlets! Also its not edited yet but I will go through soon and fix any errors!  Also will add to masterlist soon!

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

The first time the elf king laid his eyes on you, you had been a force to be reckoned with. Your hands were gripping dual swords, and you had made your way across the battlefield with grace, slicing down any orc that had found itself unlucky enough to be in your path.

He had taken a sharp breath and tried to remember that he was standing in a battlefield, but watching you move he felt a tug at his heartstrings. He could not even bare to tear his eyes away from you as he swung his own blade at an orc that had gotten to close for comfort. The foul things head had come off and landed at his feet, and yet he watched as you jumped up and planted your feet into another elf’s back, sending him flying out of the way of an arrow that surely would have ended his life. You had used the momentum to flip around and land back on your feet just in time to deflect another arrow with one blade, while using the other one to slash at the orc nearest you.

Thranduil’s face remained impassive, after all he was a king and he had some image to uphold, but he was finally able to draw his eyes away from you. He knew he had seen your face in his kingdom before, but now you were on his radar. He moved through the battle with new vigor, intent on being able to look upon your face once every filthy orc on the field had had its life snuffed out.

----

“Legolas, you really should not make bets that you know you cannot win” you stated, as another guard tossed a bag of coin into your waiting hand. You smiled as you waggled the coin bag in front of your friend’s face, and all he could manage in response was an incoherent mumble.

You had just drunk Legolas under the table, which was usually how these sorts of bets with him panned out. You couldn’t help but to laugh at him before you lifted him up, supporting him with your shoulder and following the familiar route to his room. As you passed into the royal suite of rooms, you noticed Legolas had fallen asleep while slung across your shoulder. You sighed before you opened the door to his room and threw him, rather ungracefully, onto his bed.  You shook your head, a smile still gracing your lips, before dusting your hands off on your tunic and heading out the door.

As you closed the door and turned around you were met with the rather imposing figure of the king.

“There must be good reason for you to be sneaking out of my sons room at this time of night” Thranduil said, his gaze sharp as he looked down at you, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes. You were unsure what such a twinkle meant in comparison to the glare he sent down at you. You had always been unsure about the way he saw you.

“Aran nín (my king)” You started, as you dipped your head into a bow, “He decided that he could beat me in a drinking contest. I’m simply doing the right thing by escorting him to his bed when he could not even manage to hold his own weight up.” You replied as you tried to hide your smile from remembering your friend’s antics.

His face remained impassive, although you were sure you saw his lip twitch.

“Well to make up for my sons... disagreeable behavior, it would be my pleasure to escort you back to your room, híril nîn (my lady)” he said as he fell into place next to you, his hand resting on the small of your back as you both trekked to your room. You tried your best to stay calm, but you felt as if your heart was in your throat and you were sure Thranduil could hear it. His hand never moved from your back, and when you reached your door, he took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your palm before bidding you goodnight. You almost squealed with delight but instead you smiled and kept composure, waiting to lose it as you jumped into bed for the night.

You absolutely adored Thranduil. He was by far the handsomest elf you had ever laid your eyes upon, something you had thought even when you were a small elleth who ran around the kingdom. His eyes were an ocean, and you desired nothing more to swim in them everyday for the rest of your life. The way his hand had been on your back, the way his lips had lingered on your palm, all gave you hope that maybe he felt the same, but reality came crashing down every time you met his gaze. He did not smile, and his face was always hardened with a glare. Somedays you wondered if he felt anything at all, while on others you wished that we would gaze upon you as if you were is beloved, his treasure.

 ----

If there's a prize for rotten judgement,

I guess I've already won that

No woman is worth the aggravation,

That's ancient history, been there, done that!

As Thranduil left from your rooms, he had clenched his hand to his side. He should have said something, but what good would that have done. His pride always got the better of him and caused him to hold his tongue. He was the king! How could he bring himself to admit that he was feeling something for you?

The past had not been kind to him in regards to love. He spoke nothing of Elerrian anymore, and although he cared much for her, she had passed long ago, leaving him alone in a cold world. Looking at you, he felt the tug on his emotions he once had with her. To him, it was almost as if a string of fate had been wrapped around both your pinkies, and it was all he could do to ignore the pulling sensation he felt.

He dare not fall into the pits of love once more, as much as he wished he could. He recalls the day he saw you on the battlefield and had to keep himself in check. He cannot... no, he would not allow himself to admit that he felt something for you. He had learned throughout his long life that love was nothing but heartache and pain, and he refused to lose another who was dear to him.

 ----

She's the Earth and heaven to you,

Try to keep it hidden

Honey, we can see right through you

Boy, ya can't conceal it

We know how ya feel and

Who you're thinking of!

He watched as you sat and laughed with his son, his nails digging into the arm of his seat at the head of the table.

After Thranduil’s first encounter with you, he could not help but make it so you were always near him. He found out your name from Legolas, who apparently was your friend and confidant, which is the most likely reason he knew he had seen you before. After this, he assigned you as one of the main commanders of Mirkwood’s forces due to your battle prowess, however, this had allowed you to not only join his council, but also the privilege of being the only elleth on it.

However, this had also led to Legolas being able to spend more time with you. Thranduil refused to admit that he was jealous. He was the ruler of the kingdom, one such as he did not feel such things. But the more he saw you laugh with his son, the more he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from lashing out in an unsavory manner in front of you.

However, he could not stop his glare towards his son as he watched you fling your head back in laughter, your arm on Legolas’s shoulder as you tried to catch your breath. Legolas turned to look him in the eyes, clearly uncertain as to the nature of the glare he was receiving, although his face did light up as he seemed to put the pieces together.

Thranduil gritted his teeth together, his fingernails leaving crescent indents on his palms as he balled his fists, he was feeling as though he would be ground into dust as he watched Legolas lean over and whisper in your ear as you blushed and nodded. He felt as if he was a mortar, with the pestle grinding his very being into dust. Yet, he was still stone, still unwavering and would not yet yield. He refused to speak with you on the matter of his affections, it was unbecoming of a ruler. He would not stand here and declare his feelings for you, and he most likely never would.

He pushed his emotions down and loosened his fists as his knuckles had turn white, he willed his face to once again be completely impassive, even as he felt as if wanted to crush something with his hands as you and Legolas left together.

 ----

Legolas leaned towards you, his hand on your shoulder and a knowing smile on his lips. He turned and met his fathers fiery gaze once more before he spoke.

“Hey, Y/N, remember that crush you have on my ada (father)?” he asked you. Your eyes went wide, and you sputtered before trying to cover the growing blush on your face with your hands.

“Leg! Do you really need to bring that up here?” you whispered back at him through your hands.

“Of course! Any chance to embarrass you Mellon nîn (my friend)!” he laughed for a second, before his face turned deathly serious. “But back to the point, I think I have a plan of sorts, and I very much believe you’d wish you hear it”

 ----

No chance, no way

I won't say it, no, no

You swoon, you sigh

Why deny it, uh-oh

It's too cliche

I won't say I'm in love

The next evening, the pieces of Legolas’s plan had slid together almost seamlessly.

He sat with you at the front of the corridor, so that any who passed could plainly see what was happening between the two of you. This worked in his favor, especially since his ada usually passed the hall around this time in order to reach the royal suites. Plus, any servants who passed were certain to inform him about the goings on they had witnessed, which would most likely prompt him to rush to you both.

Legolas’s arm was slung over your shoulder and your legs were pulled into his lap, He gently rubbed small circles into your thigh with his fingernails.

Soon, he heard the familiar footsteps of his ada, and began to set the plan into motion.

His hand left your knee and he placed his finger under your chin, using it to keep your face level with his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark gray of his ada’s robe as he began to turn into the corridor. Legolas winked at you and pulled you closer, his lips dancing over the shell of your ear. He couldn’t help but whisper softly to you, “I wish I could see the look on his face right now Y/N”, causing you to involuntarily shudder.

After turning the corner, Thranduil was practically seeing red, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His son, his only child, amorously flirting in his hallways, his kingdom. However., when he saw it was you in Legolas’s arms, he forgot how to breathe, and he couldn’t seem to think clearly. His brain had turned to acid in his skull. His face hardened as he stormed over to you both, grabbing you by the wrist harshly and yanking you away from Legolas and down the hall. After a few twists and turns, he had reached the end of a deserted hallway and pushed you up against the wall.

Before you could even gasp at the contact your body had made with the wall behind you, Thranduil’s lips were on yours. You stood still, his hand still grasping your wrist tight. He pulled away from you, and the look on his face seemed dejected, it was unbecoming of his beautiful features to be contorted into such a look of melancholia.

He released the pressure on your wrist and dropped it before turning away and trying to make off down the corridor.

You couldn’t stop yourself by grabbing him by the back of his robe and pushing him against the wall, just as he had done to you. “Where do you think you’re going...” you surged forward, as your lips brushed over his, “Thranduil..”

His eyes widened before you crashed your lips into his, full of fiery passion and spirit, the kind he had seen from you so often. His lips were warm, and he tasted of mint, this moment reminding you of days spent in the forest, nights spent under the stars. He sucked at your bottom lip as your hand wove its way into his hair. You couldn’t help yourself as you grazed your teeth over his lower lip, your hands roaming up to run through his hair and caress his face and neck, everything soft as silk. He let out a low groan before he grabbed you once again and switched positions, your back once again on the wall. He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours and breathing heavily.

“Fuck...” he muttered under his breath, before burying his head in your shoulder.

“Thranduil... Gi melin (I love you)” you whispered from swollen lips “Meleth nîn…(my love)” one of your hands rubbed circles into his low back, the other tucked strands of hair behind his ear.

“Do not forget Y/N,” he started, the shakiness in his voice surprising you “I would pluck every star from the sky and lay them at your feet. I offer you my sword, I offer you my life.” He raised his head from your shoulder before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You are my ithildim (star-light)” he whispered as his thumb ran across your cheek. He offered you a small smile, the first genuine one you had ever seen from him, before he pulled his hand away and walked off down the corridor.

Your fingers ran over your lips, which still tingled, and when you licked at them you could still taste the mint on them. Your skin felt seared where his hands had run across it. As you watched him leave, you could not help but to let out a small laugh. His pride had forbidden him from directly saying he loved you the way you did him, but his actions, his words, they all proved to you the truth. Although he could not say his feelings, he had shown you them plainly enough.

You smacked your hands against your cheeks and shook your head before you made after him, you refused to let your little rendezvous be over so soon, especially after you and Legolas had went through all that effort to make it happen.

 ----------------

Tag List: @writing-fortolkein @saltysalt01​ @your-pixels-are-showing​ @emastrangee 

 Remember to send an ask or message me if you want to be added to the lag list

[omniswords]

chronicles of a parisian dumbass 19

i’m sorry i’ve been MIA ; ; i’ve been up to my ears in streaming and also returning to work in-person. either way, i hope you enjoy this update of chronicles. better late than never right?

strap in 💙💖

If Luka could get at his phone, he wouldn’t know what to type. maybe a vague, oh, fuck. Maybe some long thread about how cryptic conversation starters only ever scared him and ended both of his relationships—only to follow up with silence in the face of a couple of likes, or a reply from a sort-of-stranger that would debilitate him, remind him of his own vulnerability, more than it would reassure him. Hell, maybe even a message to Bubbles about how he was right all along that he’d need the luck. Or how Bubbles was right about how he really was in for it the moment he stepped into the bakery.

It’s just that, with the way Marinette Dupain-Cheng is looking at him on her balcony—all sad, scared softness—he gets the feeling that he’s not meant to repeat whatever she tells him.

Luka steels himself, loosens his death grip on the neck of the guitar, and releases a breath he doesn’t want to hold onto anymore. “Yeah,” he says. “Anything.” It comes out choked from how tight his vocal cords are. The way they get sometimes when he plugs in the microphone and hits RECORD.

She pats the floor in front of her and mumbles something about being on equal ground, and he slides down to meet her, guitar in tow. She looks like she wants to touch it, feel now real it is. Or how real he is. As though that moment with his card wasn’t enough.

“It’s about your sister,” she says, her gaze darting away in shame. “And Adrien. Sort of.”

“Okay,” he says. It’s slow, and uncertain, but he hopes it tells her he’s all ears.

Marinette looks at her lap and draws herself up and in. Like she’s wanted to tell him this for a long time. Like she’s only just found the words for it. “We were pretty close,” she says. “In grade school. Not as close as… Rose, yeah, Rose. But we were in the same class for a couple years. I helped her with some class picture stuff, she listened to me yammer on about Adrien after he joined our class… even helped me come up with some ideas on how to… confess to him? Win him over? I don’t know.” She rubs the back of her neck. “Actually, I think all my girl friends did that.”

Luka nods slowly, thinks of the school photos in the album Juleka bought from the thrift shop, tries to match faces in his head. He thinks he sees pigtails. Or maybe a bun. He could be wrong. “So,” he says, “you had it pretty bad for him, huh.”

“I dunno if I had it bad. Like I said, puppy love. I mean, I thought we were soulmates—God, I even named our kids—and I couldn’t even get out a sentence in front of him. I didn’t even like him at first. Plus, we were like, fourteen. I didn’t know any better.”

He shrugs. “Just cause you were fourteen doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.” He thinks he catches a blush stealing across Marinette’s face then, but maybe it’s just a trick of the lights. “So… what changed?”

“With Juleka? Or Adrien?”

“Both, I guess.”

Marinette turns her head away. “It’s dumb.”

Luka shrugs again, smiling faintly. “So?”

She starts to pick at her nails, like her hands are just looking for something to do. Without thinking, he gives the spinner ring on his index finger a flick to get her attention, then slides it off and hands it to her. She looks at it with questions in her eyes, then slips it on. It barely fits her index finger, and it wobbles when she gives it a curious flick of her own. It seems to get the job done, at least. “He lent me his umbrella,” she mumbles, final but sheepish. Then she follows up, before his brow can so much as furrow, “He was friends with an old bully of mine—Mrs. Bourgeois’s daughter, actually—and I caught him doing something with some gum on my chair. And I… misjudged him. “Another flick. “He was trying to make it up to me. And he said… he didn’t have any friends. He hadn’t even been to school.”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “Rich kids, huh?” And then, at the first sign of her discomfort, “Sorry, I—”

“No,” she says. “It’s okay, I was just thinking…” She presses her thumb into the curve and the aged grooves of the ring more than she actually spins it. Like she cares about losing it more than she cares about comforting herself. “I think everything around me told me that… that was how I was supposed to feel. Unwavering love. Now it’s been years, and I think… I think I just wanted to be that friend for him. I just wanted to be what he was looking for.”

Luka lifts his gaze from the ring to her face. “Who says that’s not love?” He doesn’t know where the words come from. They just feel like the right ones to say.

Marinette freezes, blinking at her hands. She doesn’t say anything; the only sound is the whine of his ring as the metal scrapes together with another flick.

When the silence goes on a bit too long for either of their liking, Luka clears his throat uncertainly. “So, um…”

She speaks so he doesn’t have to. “Juleka,” she murmurs. “Right, um…” It’s hard to tell who’s more uncomfortable between the two of them. Who's really supposed to say what next. “Well, I mean… you can sort of imagine that I wasn’t the only one who wanted to… y’know. Be with Adrien.”

Luka doesn’t have to imagine, but he nods anyway.

“Not”— Marinette hedges—“not that Juleka was competition or anything. I mean, duh. Just… there was this other girl—there were other girls, and…”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” he urges. “If it still hurts.”

She closes her eyes. Hard, and just for a moment. “Please let me tell you this.”

Her voice wavers. That’s all the cue Luka needs to stay quiet. To let her say everything, or nothing, at her pace.

“Her name was Lila,” she says. “She was a new girl. From Italy. Everyone liked her, except… she lied. Like, compulsively. About connections she had, places she’d been, charity work she did. And she did it because she wanted everyone to like her. She was just telling people what they wanted to hear because the attention made her feel important. She thrived on it.” She gets to her feet. “Sorry, I can’t sit still when I get all… agitated. You know?”

Luka gestures vaguely at the balcony space. “That makes two of us.”

Marinette takes that as her cue to start pacing and turning on her heels, only pausing every so often to stare up at the night sky. “I was jealous,” she admits. “I was also our class representative. And I might’ve… used that to my advantage.”

Maybe he shouldn’t say Hell yeah out loud, but he’s definitely thinking it.

“I kept tabs on people’s schedules, you know?” she says. “So we could work on important events and class projects and stuff. There was one we were planning for Adrien, to celebrate that he’d been in school with us for a year and all. And it just so happened that…” she shrugs, feigning apology. “All the days that worked conflicted with all her charity work.”

Luka whistles, half-impressed. “This the part where you tell me she decided to make your life a living hell like some high school drama villain?”

Marinette’s face falls. “Yeah,” she says, and her voice cracks, and he wishes he weren’t right. “But all she did was exactly what I did. Convinced… everybody… that every little thing I did was proof that I wasn’t a real friend. That I couldn't commit to anything because I committed to everything. And especially with how I avoided her… didn’t trust her, treated her cruelly. she turned everyone against me, a little at a time. Even Alya.” She shifts her weight. “Even Juleka.”

Luka’s heart sinks. He almost wants to reach for her hands when she paces toward him. Almost wants to kick himself for asking, “And… then what?”

She lingers at the balcony railing, perhaps preferring to tell the night sky the rest. “She got me expelled.”

Luka tenses.

Marinette doesn’t notice. “I’d been telling myself for months that I deserved it. Eventually I just… believed it. Let it happen. Never talked to my classmates again.” She shrugs. “I cried a lot. Transferred schools. Threw myself into… everything. Because if Lila said that was what I was doing—just over-committing—I might as well own it. And because if I was constantly doing something, then I couldn’t stop to think about all the bad things I deserved. And I couldn’t be paranoid about being judged for every little thing I did.”

“What…” He’s trying, with every fiber in him, to keep his heart from breaking for her. To keep himself from blurting out how well he knows the feeling. “What about Alya? And Adrien, and, uh… Mrs. Bourgeois’s kid?”

Marinette turns to face him, leaning back against the railing, and something in her face—no, everything—changes. There’s a tiredness in her eyes, a twitch in her hands. Lines in her face that shouldn’t be there for decades. As though she’s just lived them all over again. “I didn’t talk to Alya for over a year. I couldn’t be friends with her. I couldn’t even talk to her.” Her gaze lowers. “It was really hard on Nino.”

“Nino?”

“Our friend. well. My friend. Her boyfriend. He’s the one I’ve been helping for that summer project.” She folds her arms tight. “He apologized first. If it weren’t for him, Alya and I still wouldn’t be talking. And Chloé, well… Mrs. Bourgeois’s recommendation letter had nothing to do with her. I entered some contests with my portfolio and won a couple of them.” She flicks her gaze back. “I did run into Chloé once. In New York. I guess she decided to live with her mom for a while. She kind of took the ‘enemy of my enemy is my ally’ approach. Which was… weird. But tolerable.”

Luka searches her face, even at a distance, and settles on the end of the deck chair again. “What about Adrien?”

The pause that follows is heavy. He can’t tell who feels the weight of it more; he just hopes it’s equal. Marinette scrunches up her lips, braces herself on the railing, and all those decades come back. “Well,” she murmurs. “I guess you don’t really realize what you have until it’s gone, huh.”

He sobers. “He felt guilty.”

“I guess we all did.” She scuffs her heel. “I guess we all do.”

Luka waits. There must be more she wants to say.

There is. She even starts pacing again. “My guidance counselor used to tell me that all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing. It was supposed to be comforting.”

He raises an eyebrow. “It doesn’t sound very comforting.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” she says, “He reminded me they were still good people, and good people could do bad things, and even if they were still good, it was okay for me to not want those people in my life anymore. I dunno.” She rocks on her feet. “Maybe someone told Adrien the same thing and he couldn’t stand doing nothing anymore.”

“Did you want him?” he asks. “In your life? Do you still?”

She heaves a laugh like it’s hard to do. “Would you think it was messed up if I said yes?”

“No, of course not.”

“He could see it,” she says. “What Lila was doing. That was why he felt so bad. That was why he convinced her to clear my name. Turns out he knows how to use things to his advantage, too.”

Luka softens and runs his fingers over the body of his guitar. “He must love you a lot,” he says, “if he was willing to do all that for you.”

At first, Marinette doesn’t say anything, only grips the railing tighter. He can see it, how her knuckles go white, as though there’s something she’s trying to forget. Then she murmurs, “She tried to talk to me. Juleka did. To… apologize… I ghosted her. I didn’t want to deal with it anymore. For a while, I didn’t want to deal with anything anymore. I don’t want you to think it didn’t hurt me, because it did. It did hurt.”

Luka’s stomach turns. He puts his guitar down. “That’s why you’ve been so nice to me, huh…” There’s a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow; he only partly succeeds. “You felt guilty about avoiding her and just… wanted to make it up to her.”

Something flashes across Marinette’s face. Horror, maybe. Or shame. “No, I—that’s not what I—”

“I’m not upset.” He’s not. He’s staring at the floor with a pit in his stomach and a shake in his limbs, and his knee is starting to throb again in protest, but he’s not upset. “Really. I get it. If that’s what you needed for your own closure, then…”

A ragged breath and a sniffle cut him off, and he’s barely able to lift his gaze before Marinette kneels in front of him, placing his ring in his palm and closing his fingers around it. He can’t revel in the touch—won’t let himself—because her hands are cold. Trembling. “Don’t go,” she whispers, squeezing his hand tight, and when he looks up there are tears staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t even be asking this of you, just… please, don’t go.”

Luka learned, a long time ago, to look for the things unsaid. when I can’t make it really meant I’m trying to avoid you. when you’re certainly different really meant God, you are a level of fucked-up I can’t put into words. When we need to talk really meant it's over.

He hears, “Please don’t go,” and he thinks he finds, I want you in my life. Don’t you want me in yours?

Or, maybe, I need you.

Or maybe it’s as simple, as desperate, as, Not you, too.

He’s known Juleka, and maybe even himself, long enough to know what that sounds like in other people.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, I’m not going.”

Marinette freezes, still staring at their hands. “Why? You have every reason to.”

“Because I’m not.”

“You’ve known me for like, two months, as what? A baker’s daughter? Overly nice customer service? Someone who just gave you kindness out of some dumb high school guilt?”

“I’m not going,” Luka says again.

“You should.” Marinette rubs her eyes dry. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He coaxes his hand open, slides the ring back onto her finger. “Isn’t that enough?”

Marinette studies the ring, giving it a cautious flick. As though touching it might break it altogether. “It’s too big.”

“Then I’ll trade you.” Luka takes the ring back, digs around in his pocket, and fishes out a couple of guitar picks. “Here. Take one.”

One of them has a picture of Jagged Stone’s face. The other has a Kitty Section logo, crudely painted on with some of Juleka’s old nail polish. Marinette takes the first one almost instantly with another sniffle, examining it from all sides. “He’s… my favorite.”

“Yeah.” Luka smiles, not minding that she can’t see it, and thinks of the album cover. “Mine, too.”

She runs her thumb over the faces and edges, blinking away whatever tears threaten to stick around. “Why?” she asks again.

“To prove it.” He tilts his head. “To prove I’m not going.”

She turns the pick this way and that, but doesn’t put it away just yet. Instead, her eyes drift toward his guitar and the amp, and then up to him. “Hey,” she says. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

“I know,” he tells her. “I won’t tell Jules about any of this. And I won’t make you talk to her if you don’t want to.” And I’ll stay. I swear to God I’ll stay.

“Not that.” Marinette presses her lips together, still sitting on her knees. Still holding on to the pick for dear life. “Can you play it again?”

“What, the song from your playlist?”

“Me.” She looks away, her cheeks flushed and blotchy. “Can you play me. Again.”

Luka’s heart picks up, so loud he can barely hear anything else. Even her. “Yeah,” he says, setting his guitar in his lap, “Yeah, I think I got it this time.”

i guess it’s eleven now.

[thiswasinevitableid]

The Bachelor

A birthday gift for @bellafarallones. Part 3 of the TAZ Amnesty Bachelor AU (sternclay and indruck were the first two) AKA what Vincent was up to. Apollo is from my Amnesty Super Hero fic

The entire United States to choose from and this is the best the producers could find? He’s going to win this thing with his eyes closed. Then it’s a hop, skip, and jump to some endorsement deals, his own spin-off, and then a prime time hosting slot. 

Oh, and a marriage. But that should be easy; any guy would count themselves lucky to have him.

God, that pool will be great for Instagram shots. Luckily the producers knew their biggest draw when they saw him and agreed to let Indrid continue his work as Apollo’s personal photographer and assistant. He may be a disappointment to the Cold name, but he’s good with a camera and has no interest in being recorded for the show. And if, god forbid, Apollo comes down with a cold during filming, someone will be there to bring him Day-Quil. After all, if he lets anyone see Apollo in a vulnerable state, Apollo will just have to send their father an email about Indrid’s latest failure. 

“It’s times like this we should be grateful for our genes. I know I am.” He glances at his twin, pausing his gaze on his silver hair and tattoos.

“You dye yours too. And I think there are more than a few handsome men here, so don’t get cocky.” His attention shifts for a moment as a man dressed like Smokey the Bear passes them.

“Oh come on, even with those pretentious glasses you can see I’m a cut above.”

“If you say so. And if you want to do shots of you in your suit, we need to start soon, so kindly find your room so we can get on with it.”

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

Not only is this easy, it’s fun. The cameras love him, and most of his fellow contestants yield to him after one remark. He’s been watching Vincent, the bachelor for this season, closely during group interactions, and it’s clear he’s already developing favorites. Annoyingly, two in particular--Joseph and Duck--are more inclined to push back at him. But it doesn’t matter; everyone has weaknesses. He’ll find theirs soon. 

Tonight is his first formal date with Vincent. They’re at an Italian place with good lighting, and Vincent is perfectly nice to look at in his lavender dress shirt and silver tie. Apollo’s done his research; Vincent is ten years his senior, took an early retirement from a position in the department of defense and now runs two consulting businesses; one for banks and museums and one for domestic violence shelters, health clinics, and other places where doing good draws enemies. The first business subsidizes the second. Vincent enjoys tennis and running, has no Instagram presence, and is an only child. 

Apollo has his plan of attack; the trouble is, Vincent isn’t interested in sitting there and being flattered (though he does blush when Apollo says the tie makes the grey in his hair look all the more distinguished). He wants to know about Apollo. 

“When you’re not taking photos, what do you like to do?”

He doesn’t correct him about who takes the pictures, smiles, “I, ah, I go to the gym.”

“I have to say it shows.” Vincent winks. It’s so corny, but Apollo can’t find it in him to hate it, “any sports, or just things like weights and cardio?”

‘

“No, but I played football in high school. I was star running back.”

“I played my freshman year, but baseball suited me better. So when you're not ‘pumping iron’, what do you do for fun?”

There is no answer that won’t make him look too shallow or too...no, he can’t even think about that option. Damn it, he must have a normal hobby. He hedges with the truth and hopes the editors cut it for time. 

“I like movies. I, ah, I’ve been working my way through the Criterion Collection of the birth of cinema  and it’s fascinating. Did you know there was a silent film heartthrob who predates Valentino?”

“Sessue Hayakawa?” 

“You know about him?” He leans forward.

“I read a biography of him last year that was riveting. I still have it if you’d like to borrow it.”

“Yes, yes absolutely. We, we could even watch some of his films together, and the ones they inspired, you know they, they…” 

Fuck, he’s acting like Indrid, bumping the table and yammering about things that will get him nowhere. He sits back, grabs his wine and sips to cover his error. 

“I’d like that.” Is all Vincent says as they’re entrees arrive. 

“Enough about me. I was reading about your business and, ah, well, how do you even do something like that?”

Vincent describes his process, how he picks clients and what he considers when evaluating a space. Apollo fully intends to zone out with a smile. 

He hangs on every word. All too soon, Vincent is asking for dessert. 

“Is your meal okay?”

Apollo looks at the plate of spaghetti carbonara he’s been poking at, not wanting to be caught in an ugly expression while eating, “Yes, it’s delicious.”

Dessert arrives in the shape of a chocolate lava cake with sparklers, a detail which delights Vincent. It’s such a ridiculous thing to smile over. Apollo smiles back, and let’s his date feed him a bite of cake. 

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

Was the beach trip self-serving on Vincent’s part? Indeed. Has it also given him valuable intel? Yes, yes it has.

He now knows who’s going home next; Nico is such a fraternity-bred asshole that he should have sent him packing weeks ago. Honestly, all his comments about Barclay this morning were awful. Barclay is masculine and sweet in a way Vincent adores. He even helped Joseph during the cliff dive, which bumps him even higher in Vincent’s eyes. 

Joseph stealthily knocking Nico’s hat from his head with a frisbee was also a high point; goodness, Joseph reminds him of men he used to work with who he never, ever, admitted his feelings for (they were often his subordinates, and he prided himself on keeping a safe department). 

Then there’s Duck. Vincent would like an award for not spending the morning asking to rub sunblock on those arms. He’s been treated to a closer view of them the last half-hour, Duck sitting next to him in a Hawaiin shirt that shows off his biceps. The ranger just now excused himself (“gotta give the other fellas a chance to impress”) to go keep Indrid company during dinner. Polite and friendly to the core, that’s his favorite bear. 

And then there’s-

“Hiiii Vincent.” Apollo slides into the spot closest to him on the restaurant deck. 

Were Vincent choosing for an evening, Apollo would edge out even Duck. He suspects getting the younger man under some comfortable sheets to praise and fuss over him would be very nice indeed. Apollo may posture and insist to the others that he’s the dominant one in the bedroom, but this isn’t Vincent’s first go around; he knows someone who longs to be spoiled and submissive when he sees one.

But he’s here to choose his husband, not a hook-up. 

He initially assumed he’d send Apollo home after their first formal date. He knows these shows sometimes attract people who want their fifteen minutes of fame, and Apollo is one of them. But then his meticulously built image cracked, just a little, as they talked, and Vincent is so taken by what he saw that he can’t bring himself to send him home yet.

The older man slides the younger one an oyster, “try one, they’re local.”

There’s no appealing way to eat an oyster on camera, but Apollo lifts a shell and downs one. He does an excellent job masking his grimace.

“Another? Or would you like one of the grilled scallops instead?”

He watches him run a calculus. Then he slides his sunglasses down, “Scallop, please.”

Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

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

“Indrid, Vincent hates me!”

Indrid blinks at him.

“One of the other contestants got them to show him a bunch of footage of me putting the other men in their place and now he hates me.” Genuine panic rises in his chest as Indrid gives him absolutely no expression to work from. 

“What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to him, tell him that I’m not-”

“What you actually are? Vincent is here to choose a spouse; he has a right to not choose you.”

“Fix. It.” Apollo snarls.

His twin stands, regarding him from across the rug, “I will speak to Vincent, on one condition; you do not go after Duck ever again.”

“Traitor, you should be on my side, not his.”

Indrid shrugs, sits back down and picks up his book. 

“I’ll, I’ll tell father you’re sabotaging me.”

“You think he’ll like to hear you’re being out done by his inferior son?”

“....Damn it. Fine, fine. I’ll leave Newton alone. Now go.”

His brother has the audacity to grin at him, “I will, right after I finish this chapter.”

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

He’s sitting with Duck and Joseph, asking their opinion, when Indrid enters the living room.

“Did Apollo send you?” Vincent picks lint from his cardigan. 

“Yes. He’s asking me to intercede on his behalf since he thinks you hate him.”

“Oh dear, I don’t hate him. I just said I was disappointed in him.”

“Ah” Indrid perches on the arm of Duck’s chair, “That’s our father’s code for ‘I hate you.”

“Jesus.” Duck mutters.

“I suspected he was exaggerating. That’s why I agreed to talk to you; I’ve learned it’s best to verify anything  he tells me. In truth, I can’t do much for him.  If it’s not obvious, he takes after our father and our father is...not a good man. We each survive him in our own way; Apollo chose to mold himself into what he demanded we be. That does not excuse him. But perhaps it puts him into perspective.”

Vincent knows he’s not sending Apollo home this week; it’s still Nico’s turn. And his heart that taps his chest to ask, “Do you think he could change?”

Indrid says nothing. Duck is keeping his mouth shut, but his frown suggests his answer.

“This is not to defend him but” Joseph looks at Indrid, “you grew up under the same conditions and chose not to replicate them. That suggests it’s possible.”

“I just didn’t want to end up like him.” Indrid murmurs.

“And ‘possible’ don’t mean probable.” Duck adds.

Vincent rubs his temples, “You’re right. All of you. I...I think I need some time to decide how many chances to be the person I think he can be I ought to give him.”

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

Apollo isn’t sure what to expect. The last time Vincent asked to see him, it was to scold him. Three guys have gone home since then, and he’s been fighting back his impulses to torment and gloat, focusing instead on  making Vincent like him instead of undermining the competition. 

The door opens on a room with a bed, lots of candles, and…

“Is that whale song?”

“Yes. I picked a ‘soothing’ playlist to fit the mood.” Vincent is in linen pants and a button up short sleeve, pats the bed with a smile, “I thought a nice massage might do you good. Non-sexual, of course” he tips his head at the camera.

Apollo isn’t shy. His thirst traps are legendary. But he lays on his stomach the instant he’s down to his underwear. Vincent hums as he starts on his shoulders, checking in now and then about pressure. It would be nice if Apollo’s skin weren’t starving for gentle touches. He keeps letting out pathetic sounds, almost like chirps, as Vincent rubs him down. 

Then the worst thing happens; he gets hard. At first he tries just keeping his hips still but no, just Vincent’s touch is enough. So he tenses in hopes of not giving it away.

“Is it too hard?”

“No, I’m fine.”

The hands leave his skin and he whines like a kicked dog. 

“Would you gentlemen let us do the rest in private? I’m sure the viewers get the point.”

There’s shuffling feet and shutting doors, and then a gentle hand rolling him onto his back.

“Apollo, what’s really--oh. That explains it.” 

He scrambles to sit up, tucking his knees to his chest, “I’m sorry, you said you didn’t want it to be sexual, I didn’t do this on purpose, I swear-”

The bed squeaks along with him as Vincent sits, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to get angry with you for this. If, um, if it helps to know, the feeling is very much mutual.”

It should feel like a triumph, but his cheeks burn and he hides his face against his knees. 

“Does that bother you?”

“No! No, not at all. I wouldn’t be wooing you on T.V if I didn’t think you were attractive. Blech, I sound like one of Indrid’s romance novels. Not, not that there’s anything wrong with Indrid...liking...silly things.”

Vincent cups his face and he leans into it, wants to glue his cheek there, “Apollo, I’ve noticed you’re trying to be less...unkind since our little talk.”

“I’m trying. It’s just so very, very hard.”

“I’ve also noticed you’re letting your persona go now and then. That means a lot to me. I’m not interested in the man you think you should be; I’m interested in the man you might become, the man you are when you stop trying to be better than everyone. I like that man, I’d like to get to know him more.”

Apollo shivers as Vincent kisses his forehead, “I’ll do my best.”

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

“The nerve of Joseph to say things like that to me!”

Indrid doesn’t look up, “It’s a genuine concern; Vincent is older, there will likely come a time when you’ll be the one caring for him. Are you certain you’ll have the patience for that? Be willing to put your needs and wants on hold for the sake of someone else?”

That’s really what would happen? He, he could do it for Vincent, he’s certain. But could he? What if it’s hard, without glory or gain, does that make it foolish?

He chases those thoughts in dizzying circles for fifteen minutes until they crash into the solution.

“I solved it! I don't have to worry about taking care of Vincent as he ages because he'll divorce me once I reach thirty-two.”

“That is the bleakest possible conclusion.” Indrid flips his sketchbook closed. 

“Just let me have this!”

“I hate that I even have to say this but Vincent is not our father.”

“Father said he was doing what any sensible man would do.”

Indrid levels him with an unusually firm stare, “Do you not want Vincent just because he’s over thirty-two?”

“Of course not! He’s great! I, brother for goodness sake just tell me how to care for him.”

“I literally cannot do that. You have to figure it out for yourself what care looks like for you.”

He’s about to repeat his demand when his phone rings. 

“Hi, Vincent.”

“I'm so sorry, but I have to break our date tonight. I was out for a run and twisted my ankle. I just got back from the doctor; he says I sprained it, so I might be on bed rest a few days.”

Perfect. 

“Oh no, I’m glad it’s not too serious. Would, ah, would it be alright if I came to see you?”

They agree on a time. Then he remembers the problem that preceded the phone call.

“What do I do?”

“What do you want to do for him? Or, if your positions were reversed, him to do for you?” Indrid asks flatly. 

“Call you so he doesn’t see me looking frail.”

“assume I am dead and thus no longer dealing with your nonsense”

“That’s not fair.”

Indrid flops on the bed, “I'm dead, Vincent is the only one who is coming to take care of you, what do you want him to do?”

“Tell me it’s okay and spend time with me and…”

Indrid grins, “And?”

“And watch PBS in bed.”

“It’s a start. Now please get out of my room.”

An hour later he pokes his head into Vincent’s bedroom; the older man is reclining, reading a John Grisham paperback in a robe that makes him look very suave

“How are you feeling?” He sits next to him, rubs his knee. .

 “Oh, I'm fine, just feel a little silly. It used to be I could twist an ankle and come up fine. Aging is quite the adventure.”

“I, um, I'm glad it wasn't too bad. I, I don't like the thought of you getting hurt. Bot that you'd be bad if you did! I accept that we are all very fragile beings trying not to die.

(Too dark, Cold,  pull it back).

“I mean, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“I'd be happy to have you stay awhile.” Vincent takes his hand, let’s him lean on his shoulder as they talk. They’re midway through a discussion of famous film disasters when a small burst of black and red lands on the windowsill. He doesn’t catch his excitement in time and Vincent asks him what made him perk up. 

With a courage he did not know he possessed, he points to the bird.

“Oh! How beautiful. What kind is it?”

“Scarlet Tanager” he mumbles, “they’re not common here.”

“Do you know a lot about birds?”

He nods. 

“There are some feeders just on that balcony. And I think the binoculars a friend gave me last Christmas are still in the closet, if you’d like to use them.”

“I would” he stands, heart bubbling with terrifying warmth, “thank you, da--ah, dear.”

Mischief sweeps across Vincent’s face, “Is this where you tell me you’ve had lots of older boyfriends?”

“No. I, ah, I’ve made out some but I never dated.”

“Not even a highschool sweetheart?”

“My father made it so no teenager wanted to go near our house. Or us.” The binoculars are magnificent, the best money can buy, “I always wished I had a date to homecoming. It looked so fun, asking someone or getting asked and then having matching outfits and going out to dinner and taking pictures together. I even picked out an outfit just in case someone asked.  I think Indrid snuck out to meet his burnout--, um, meet his friends. I just sat in my room.”

“You could have asked someone yourself, couldn’t you?” Vincent makes room for him on the bed once more. 

 “And risk getting rejected in front of the whole school? No thank you.” He stares at the binoculars, afraid of what he might see if he turns, “I'm sorry, you don't need to hear all this. I’m supposed to be here taking care of you.”

Vincent opens his arms, pulling Apollo into a hug, “You know care can go two ways at once, right?”

“Not really” he mumbles into silver silk.

“Oh, sweetheart.” A kiss on his cheek, hands running soothingly up his sides, and those weak, silly noises slipping from his mouth. 

“I want it to be, I’ll be so good, I’ll take care of you, just please...please say you’d do the same?”

“Of course. That’s what love is.”

He tucks his face against Vincent’s neck, “Will you make fun of me if I say I’m frightened?”

“Never.”

“I don’t know how to do so much of this. I don’t know how much of me can change.”

“Are you willing to try?” Vincent kisses the shell of his ear.

“For you? Yes.”

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

“I choose…” Vincent looks between Apollo and Jonathan. Apollo cannot wait to spring into his arms. 

“I choose neither.”

“What!” Ned yells off camera.

“I’m sorry to both of you but I simply can’t. Jonathan, you’re a very nice man, but our connection is ultimately lacking. Apollo” Vincent meets his eyes and he forces his gaze to stay placid, “I care for you more than words can say. I know you’ve worked so very hard to change. I also know that people can easily revert to their old, cruel ways under pressure or difficulty. Marriage often involves those things, and I’m not sure you can be the man I need you to be. With those misgivings,  it wouldn’t be fair to propose to either of you. I hope you understand.”

They both say the do, shake hands, give hugs. And he does, he truly does understand. He understands that Vincent made the choice he had to, that even though he got better he is still a rotten, cruel creature who doesn’t deserve him. He was taught he deserved the world; some good that did him. It lost him the only person who might make the world a less miserable place. 

“Apollo!” Vincent jogs after him, catches up to him in an empty hall, “Apollo I-”

His heart is breaking; his old ways twine like vipers around it, “I, I’m glad you didn’t choose me you, you boring, pathetic man. No wonder you have to pay people to go on dates with you! I don’t need anyone, least of all you!”

Vincent steps back, face falling as Apollo storms off. The last thing he hears is, “And here I thought I made the wrong choice.”

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

He deletes his Instagram. Gets a job as a personal shopper. Goes to therapy because he will not let Indrid outshine him when it comes to unlearning how they were raised. 

It helps. Three months after the disastrous finale (for him, not for the network) he’s feeling, if not better, like he might actually try dating someone soon. He also writes two apology letters; one to Indrid and one to Vincent. Then he tears them both up and just tells Indrid that he’s trying to be less of an asshole and that he’s sorry for all the time he was one. He leaves Vincent alone; if he doesn’t want to see him, the least he can do is respect that.

It’s migration season, so he’s hiding in his favorite, super-secret birdwatching spot. It’s near a pond, so lots of birds come to drink and bathe, and he’s seen several on his list. 

Branches crack, sending nearby jays into a flap. Damn it, he’s never seen someone else here; the only person he ever told about it was-

“Hi, Apollo.”

“Vincent!” He almost falls off his stump, “how, why?”

“I’d been meaning to explore this spot ever since you spoke about it. But I, um, was also hoping I might see you in the process. Pathetic, as you might say.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Apollo stares up at him, clutching his binoculars so hard they might become disparate spyglasses, “Vincent, I am so, so, so very sorry for how I acted when we last saw each other. I was hurt, all I want is to make someone else hurt more so I stop feeling so vulnerable and powerless. I, I’ve been working on it in, in” he winces “therapy. You said once that you wanted to meet the man I might be. I realized I wanted to meet him to, to be him, not to win some show or even to get you to like me but just because I don’t want to be the other Apollo anymore.”

Vincent sits next to him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

“I, I just want to un-fuck what I can. I, how have you been?”

“Doing lots of thinking. I still know I made the right call not proposing during the finale. And that I’m ready to start dating again.”

“I hope whoever you go out with knows how lucky they are.” He says without any motive but the truth.

Vincent plucks a late-blooming wildflower and offers it to him, “It’s not a rose, but then again, this isn’t a proposal. It’s just a date, if you still want one.”

“So badly.” 

The older man leans in, kissing him softly as his spine turns to soup, “I’m looking forward to meeting the, um, latest version of you.” He snickers at his own phrasing.

Apollo pulls him into a second kiss, “Me too.”

[xseaxwitchxkpop]

But Not Today

A/N: Hello y’all. This is a heavier fic and is a way for me to channel me feelings as most of my fics are and will be, especially because it comforts me that people out there feel the same as I do and hopefully through these fics find they are also not alone. I struggle with depression and suicidal ideation/thoughts like many of you do and there’s too many fics that glorify and glamorize the hardships and always end with cure fluffy “I’m always there for you.” No, some people don’t have others to talk to and sometimes the mental illness wins. In all sincerity, if you are feeling like you have no one to talk to, no to listen to you, you can always PM me or send me an anon because I know that feeling well and it’s not a good one. If you want a part two, lemme know, otherwise how it ends is how it ends.

Disclaimers/CW: suicidal thoughts, suicidal actions, pills/overdose, drinking, depression (lemme know if I missed something)

Requested: NO

Group: ATEEZ -- Wooyoung

Word Count: 1,847

This month has been absolute hell and is why you find yourself down the rabbithole. Sure, you have friends who have reassured you that they are there to help emotionally but you’ve been fucked over too many times in the past to truly believe any of that.

Which is why you find yourself where you are now. 

The TV plays on the background but you process none of the audio. The sounds of the city play like a symphony throughout your apartment, but you don’t smile and sway. No, you, on the couch, hunched over with elbows on your knees, staring at a pill bottle and a bottle of whiskey, is how the music finds you, empty.

You don’t have the energy to cry, you don’t have the energy to move, you don’t have the energy to...exist. Breathing is now too hard, and the stillness of your body is reflected in the stillness of the apartment, save for the television.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you rub your hands on your face and then once again take up the staring contest with the pill bottle. After a beat of silence, your right hand moves to take the bottle of whiskey and swig it hard, the familiar burning sensation in your throat doing absolutely nothing for you as it hasn’t been for the past couple of weeks.

Today was a battle that you were on the verge of losing but you don’t know how to accept the loss. Stabbing or cutting yourself is too messy and would you even hit the right vein to die fast enough? You could jump from the apartment complex’s rooftop and would certainly die on impact, but that’s too public, you want to go quietly. Putting a bullet through your brain seemed like a good option, but it’s too much noise and you have no idea the first place to start looking into gun ownership in Korea. You’ve known people you have attempted suicide by pill overdose, and it wasn’t the most effective method of killing oneself, but it was certainly one of the easiest and one of the quietest ways to go, especially if you could die in your sleep. 

In this past month, you’ve been distancing yourself further and further from your friends who began to worry about you dearly, but, to you, not enough. None of them bothered to try to see you, come by your place, just shot you texts and a couple of calls saying they’re always there or some other bullshit. But Wooyoung was extremely persistent in this. He knows you liked your space and the last time he tried to help you emotionally you blew up at him and dug into his heart like a knife, attacking him in such a way that left him in tears rather than you.

Tonight, though, Wooyoung decided to blow up your phone at every chance he could between practice with the boys and eating and doing other errands he needed that day. You might have hurt him in the past, but he still cares deeply for you regardless.

However, you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and answer him, so your cell was on Do Not Disturb. 

You’re not sure what came over you, but you lift yourself off the couch and shuffle to your door, slowly slipping your feet out of your slippers and slowly slipping your feet into your sneakers, leaning down to loosely tie the laces.

Your grip on the wooden door is gentle, twisting the knob and pulling it open a more caring act than it should have been. As the door shut behind you, you, void of keys, wallet, phone, communication, identification, didn’t look back or bother to double-check if it closed all the way. Guided by something, you’re not sure what, you move forward, your feet shuffling towards the elevator and taking a ride down.

At the first floor you step out, a solemn step that holds no purpose, to you at least. Perhaps fate is guiding you somewhere, perhaps you’re guiding yourself, perhaps nothing guides you and it’s all meaningless.

The streets and sidewalks glisten with water, reflecting the neon lights of clubs, the primary colors of 24/7 convenience stores, storing the sounds of honking taxis, shared laughs of lovers, and the bustling of a street corner and the calmness of another. As life goes, as life is, as life will be.

You can’t say that you’ll miss this -- fake order in a world of chaos. You can’t say that you’ll miss that -- imagined purpose for a meaningless existence.

As you wander, you find yourself taking in nothing at all and everything at once, your alcohol-idled mind creating figures that aren’t there and sounds that don’t exist. Yet when your vision clears again, you find yourself standing at the barrier of a bridge on the highway, looking down into the vast expanse of the ocean; you’ve apparently walked for quite a while. 

The depths of the water below look inviting, dark and crashing together, a blanket of sorrow which is oddly comforting to your empty mind, perhaps because it makes you feel something. With your arms folded, you lean your full weight onto the barrier, contemplating whether or not you should jump -- sure, it would be a bit of effort to hoist yourself over said barrier, but it’s a guaranteed death unlike an overdose.

“YAH, Y/N, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” A male voice paired with boots slapping on wet concrete worms its way into your ears, but you have no reaction; the beckoning of the ocean nearly drowns out his voice anyway.

Suddenly, you feel a strong hand grip your upper arm and whip you around, forcing you to stare into the fearful eyes of the owner of the voice. His other hand came up and gripped your other arm just as tightly, searching your face, your eyes, for something...something...a sign of something.

You took a moment to observe this man, taking in the way his eyes were red and puffy, the fear and relief a sharp contrast shaking hands in his eyes, and a shiny upper lip, probably from snot from his crying earlier. 

You feel Wooyoung pull you into him tightly, barely allowing you to breathe. He squeezes you with nearly everything in him, the state of your apartment and the possibilities of what happened running through his head nonstop.

It was nearing 11PM and Wooyoung was genuinely concerned that you weren’t picking up. You were not doing well for a while, he could tell by your abrupt and simple messages, declining every chance to hang out and/or catch dinner, refusing to even take a walk together. But this time was different -- you were flat out ignoring him and not answering any of his calls or texts and this had him greatly on edge. It reminded him of a friend he used to have in high school who was so hard on himself that he nearly killed himself right in front of Wooyoung; Wooyoung couldn’t go through that again.

He decided to tell the boys that he’s going to your apartment to check up on you and the other boys, worried about you as well, told him that they’re here to help in any way they could.

He travelled to your apartment, using the spare key you gave him to get through the lobby door and using your access code for the lock on the door. The scene that met his eyes made his heart drop into his stomach and a sense of dread fell over him.

Your kitchen floor was scattered with shards of porcelain from one or two of your dinner plates, he couldn’t tell. The vase of flowers that he sent a few days ago were knocked over on the counter, creating a puddle on the table and a wet spot on your carpet, the lip of the glass vase chipped. The TV was running, some stupid drama that was out of character for you to watch. But the coffee table and its contents is what made him feel genuine fear for the first time in a long time.

The bottle of whiskey was half-full, sitting next to a bottle of pills. He made his way over, carefully, brushing porcelain shards out of the way with his foot, as he sat exactly where you once sat not too long ago. He took in your cell you left on the floor near the balcony windows and the keys sitting by the TV and your wallet laid in front of your bedroom door that was open.

His attention turned back to the pill bottle and he reached out a shaky hand, reading the label and having trouble keeping his eyes dry. He opened it, hoping against all hope that you didn’t open it, that maybe, maybe you changed your mind at the last second. 

Uncontrollable tears left his eyes and snot started running down his nose and his breathing quickened and his chest constricted as he found the bottle unsealed, meaning you did something he hoped you didn’t do. 

You mumble something and Wooyoung didn’t quite catch what you said, but he could ask later; all he wants to focus on is you, in his arms, very much real, very much alive, very much on planet Earth, very much here. He breathes in your scent deeply as a reassurance to himself and he doesn’t plan on letting you out of his sight any time soon.

Yet you had no reaction. You just stand there, letting him do what he needs to do to convince himself that you’ll still be around after this, that the mix of the pills you took and the alcohol the bottle said explicitly to not take with the pills fogging your mind.

He eventually pulls away, looking back in your eyes for something, something, something. He notices they’re glazed over and out of focus, dread creeping back to him.

He cups your face in one of his hands and asks, “Were you going to jump?” His voice is shaky at best, doing poorly in concealing his fear, his rage, his dread, his every emotion currently.

“Maybe,” is what you answer. You look briefly back at the ocean, craning your neck a little to look directly at the welcoming ocean again then turn your attention back to Wooyoung. “But not today,” you continue. “Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week, perhaps next month, perhaps next year. But not today.”

You feel yourself about to collapse from the dangerous concoction in your veins but Wooyoung barely notices, his mouth running about something but you process nothing.

“My dear friend,” you mumble, and the sound of your voice shuts up the man in front of you, grabbing his attention.

“I’m...sleep...slee...wha’s it?...sleepy, yeah...sleepy,” you manage to get out before collapsing onto the boy, your consciousness slipping from you and a huff of air escaping from the other human presence from your impact.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by Rev. J.R. Miller

David and Goliath 1 Samuel 17

The story of David and Goliath is one with which every reader of the Bible is familiar. It is full of interest. It reveals much of David's character, and throws light on the training of the boy in his shepherd life. It is suggestive also for all of us, for we all have giants to fight, and we may learn from David, how to meet them and conquer them.

David had been chosen to be king. Now he was to be trained for the great task. All the incidents and events in his life - were lessons set by the great Teacher. The Philistines had gathered for battle with the Israelites, and Saul and his men were facing them. One day there stalked out from the Philistine lines - a great giant, named Goliath, and proposed that one from Saul's army should come out and fight him, and that the outcome of this duel should settle the conflict between the two armies. At first no one of Saul's men responded to the champion's defiance. The king and his men were dismayed and greatly humiliated .

Then David came to the camp. He did not belong to the army. He was only a boy, and his place was at home with the sheep. His older brothers were with Saul.

Jesse one day sent David to the camp with provisions for his brothers. For forty days, morning and evening, Goliath had been coming out and calling across the valley, demanding that someone from the Israelite army should accept his challenge. David had just found his brothers and was talking with them - when the giant made his appearance. The shepherd lad heard his haughty words. He learned also what had been promised by the king - to the man who would kill the evil champion. David became greatly interested in the matter - but the boy's inquiries irritated Eliab, David's oldest brother, who spoke scornfully to him.

The king heard of the lad's interest and sent for him. David proposed to the king - that he would fight the giant. Saul tried to dissuade him - but David persisted, and at length Saul consented. "Go, and the Lord shall be with you." "Then Saul put a coat of armor on him and a bronze helmet on his head." David's simple shepherd's garb did not appear to the warrior king to be suited for the battle with the great giant - who was outfitted in all the armor of a man of war. Saul thought David could not fight a soldier, without a soldier's armor. He did not know that he was better armed as he was than if he had helmet and coat of armor and shoes of brass to protect his body. David was clad rather in the panoply of God .

The best protection anyone can have in time of danger - is the garment of truth, sincerity and holiness. Paul tells us of the Christian's armor, which, he says, every follower of Christ should wear, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of the gospel of peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. Life is a constant warfare - if it is life really worth living. Not to fight - is not to try to get forward and struggle upward.

The king thought David should be armed before going out to meet Goliath, so he put on him his own helmet and coat of armor. But David told Saul he could not fight in armor. "I cannot go with these; because I am not used to them! So he took them off." He tried to move about in Saul's heavy armor - but staggered under the weight. In a contest of pure arms - sword and spear and helmet and coat of armor - David would have been no match for Goliath; but armed with his sling - the giant was no match for him. This was the one weapon which David had been trained to use to perfection.

Just so, stick to your little sling when you are fighting giants, and do not attempt to throw anything but choice stones out of the gospel brook. Too many of our modern Davids persist in fighting Goliaths in Saul's armor, and it is no wonder they are defeated. One who knows how to use the Word of God - is more than a match for any giant in the world. That was the weapon Jesus used when He met the great Goliath, Satan, and utterly vanquished him!

"Then he took his staff in his hand, chose five smooth stones from the stream, put them in the pouch of his shepherd's bag and, with his sling in his hand, approached the Philistine." We should remember that David's fine throwing that day was not accidental, nor was it by a miracle - that the stone went so straight to its mark. David had learned in his shepherd life - to do this thing easily and surely. He had practiced with his sling until he could strike a hair's breadth and never miss. He had spent his leisure to some purpose while watching the sheep. He did not know then what splendid use his skill would one day be to him - but unconsciously, in his pleasant pastime, he was preparing for the great crisis of that day. Wellington used to say he learned on the Eton playground, how to fight the battle of Waterloo .

This teaches young people the importance of improving every moment, and taking every opportunity to acquire knowledge and skill. Someone may say to them, that they will never find any use for this or that branch of study in the curriculum, and might as well omit it - but this is bad advice. Some day they will need all the knowledge and skill they can acquire. They will find need, too, for the particular bits of learning and knowledge they think they will never have occasion to use. David could not have met Goliath victoriously in that momentous hour - if he had not unconsciously prepared for such a conflict in the quiet hours of his shepherd life.

Many a man fails in important moments in the critical experiences of life - because he has failed to be diligent in his boyhood. If you would be ready for such occasions in your life - you must prepare for them in the quiet days of boyhood and youth. If David had not been an expert slinger before that morning - he could not then, in the hour before the giant came out, have prepared himself for the battle, nor could he have brought down the champion by any mere lucky stroke. Learn all you can in youth, omit no opportunity for acquiring skill in doing things, become skillful in whatever you do. You do not know what good service your experience, even in little, mundane things - may some day do you!

We should not neglect spiritual training. When Jesus met the tempter, He fell back on the preparation He had made in His silent years at Nazareth. To each assault He replied with a verse of Scripture. But He did not go to His Bible scroll to get His text. He had the Words of God in His heart, hidden away in the storehouse of memory.

Some people have to take their concordance and look up the Scripture text they want, when any need demands it, either for their own use or in helping others. A concordance is a good thing to have - but it is better if we become so familiar with our Bible and have it so in memory, that we can quote its words. It may seem to us that we do not need the Divine promises now - but some time we shall, and if we fail to learn them - we shall not have them ready in the day of distress.

When the Philistine "looked David over and saw that he was only a boy, ruddy and handsome, and he despised him." He saw only a boy, unarmed, and scorned to fight with him. So the world disdains the Christian. It asks with contempt: "What can he do? What strength has he in his feeble hands? Where are the weapons he is going to fight with?" The giant saw only a shepherd's staff in David's hands; what was that - against his own enormous spear? The world sees only a Bible in the Christian's hand; what is that - against all its philosophy and science and reason? Yet the Christian is not so defenseless and powerless as he seems. His weapons are not of the earthly kind and do not appear formidable - but are really powerful, and, like David, he is able with them to subdue giants !

David said to the Philistine, "You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty!" The giant blustered, boasting of his own power and disdaining David's littleness. He was angry that he had to fight with a mere boy. "Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?" Yet David was not scared by Goliath's pitiful scorn of him. It was the Lord's battle he was about to fight, and he knew the Lord would give victory.

The law of the heavenly kingdom is, "Not by might, nor by power - but by My Spirit, says the Lord." There are a great many things that human power can do - but when we turn to the really essential things in life - it is strengthless, and can do none of them. With all its boasted philosophy, science and wisdom - it cannot convert souls nor change hearts; it cannot lift up the fallen; it cannot overcome sin and Satan; it cannot comfort sorrow nor give peace to the dying. Not one of the really great things of life, can it do. The Christian comes in the name of the Lord, and that name has in it - the strength of omnipotence! Jesus said: "I have overcome the world." He is Master of all things, and therefore is able to subdue all things unto Himself.

David talked very confidently to the Philistine - but not boastfully. He gave God all the honor of the victory he was about to win. "I come to you in the name of the Lord Almighty!" "This day will the Lord deliver you into my hand." "That all the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD's, and he will give all of you into our hands." We can conquer - only as we fight in the name of Christ.

"As Goliath moved closer to attack, David quickly ran out to meet him. Reaching into his shepherd's bag and taking out a stone, he hurled it from his sling and hit the Philistine in the forehead. The stone sank in, and Goliath stumbled and fell face downward to the ground!" Just so, the believer in God may prevail over every Philistine that stalks out to meet him - if he goes against him as David went that day against Goliath. The battle that wins the victory is the Lord's. If we go in His name - we shall conquer. Paul said: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

There are giants in our own hearts, even after the most thorough conversion. Like the Philistines in Canaan, the Philistines of sin also are terribly hard to subjugate. Your besetting sin, whatever it is, is a Goliath. It may seem to you that it never can be vanquished, and it never can until David comes - our David - Jesus. Call for Him to come and slay the giant for you!

There are giants in the world outside. Intemperance is one. Unbelief is another. Worldliness is another. These giants stalk out and hurl their defiance at the army of God's people - and there seems to be no one who can overcome them. Now is the time for faith in God. We must go out against these giants in the name of the Lord, not with philosophy, science and education - but with the Cross, and then we shall prevail.

"And since he had no sword, he ran over and pulled Goliath's sword from its sheath. David used it to kill the giant and cut off his head!" We should not fail to get a lesson on the importance of thoroughness in the conquest of evil, from David's manner of dealing with Goliath. David was not satisfied with seeing the giant fall to the earth when the smooth stone struck him - but ran and drew Goliath's own sword from its scabbard - and with it cut off his head. If he had not done this - the old champion would probably have gotten up by-and-by, and walked away, for he was only stunned - not killed, by the stone. David made sure that his work was completed.

A great many of our attacks upon sin in our own hearts, and in the world - only stun and temporarily disable - but do not kill the evil. We walk away, thinking we have done a fine thing, won a splendid victory; and presently we meet the old giant again, stalking abroad as before! He soon recovers from our blow, and we have to fight the battle over again, and perhaps we fight it again in the same half way, and thus on and on - to the end of life.

Most of us have had just such experiences as these with our own lusts and passions. We overcome them often, and each time we think that we have entirely subdued them and that we shall have no further trouble with them; but they are soon active as ever again! We need to learn from David - to finish our victories by cutting off the head of every giant we strike down! There is no other way of destroying our sins. The life is in the head - and the head must come off - or the enemy will be facing us again in a day or two with only a scar on his forehead!

The only way to get a real victory over vices - is to decapitate them! Bruises and wounds are not enough. There must be thorough work done, in the name of the Lord. Half-way measures will not avail.

"Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry." Colossians 3:5

[inviouswriting]

Abanian Nights.

Aymeric x Kiya Middle-East AU!

I got an idea for this and well I hope it works out nicely. Try to remain respectful naturally to cultures.

Under a lovely trope of enemies to lovers.

Featuring @maiden-born-in-snow​ ‘s Shuri

Gyr Abania is a hard land to live in, and through the different people. The structures were different between poor and rich. Those in the land believed between the different deities, some of Lakshmi, some of Shiva, and of Garuda. The primal deities holding reign over different regions.

In the heart of Gyr Abania in Ala Mhigo, in the main castle lives a king and his family. Ysayle and her brother Aymeric, under the rule of Thordan. Guarded by many guards. This house was protected under Shiva, and had many assassination attempts by those under Garuda. 

The son of Thordan learned well how to hold himself in fights. He was well groomed in his status, his skills in both bow and sword, and how to bargain and reason with peddlers. He did not fancy the way that other princes would bed many women, or put notches in bedposts. It didn’t stop others from trying to persuade him.

He preferred the company of Estinien, his hand guard most of the time, letting him escape some of the castle walls to a little ways away where he trains in private from time to time.

“I’m fine for the time being, Estinien. Take a break for a bit.” Aymeric needed to breathe himself from all the ways people guide his hand everywhere. From how he is suppose to act, to who he should marry. He was arranged to someone he didn’t know, while his guard has his eye for the Princess of Lakshmi.

He has seen their guards, how most of Lakshmi’s region are all women. Strong women, surely he’d love to have one of them over someone from Garuda. The empress of Garuda, Yotsuyu had demanded him as an arranged marriage, and he rather not. 

Aymeric’s thoughts are drawn out by what sounds like a hiss in the air. His head snaps up in time to see a sword in front of him. He parries it, and jumps back to see a shadow dart around him, aiming for his side. 

He parries the sword and grits his teeth a little at how powerful the sword strike is. The figure jumps back, and he is met with a small miqo woman. Green eyes glaring at him, and sword poised to strike already.

“Wait a minute!” He fends her off from another attack on him, and they both start trading blows of sword to sword. Aymeric actually finds himself enjoying it if it weren’t for the fact she wanted to kill him.

The woman tires and jumps back a bit, breathing a bit harder as she glares at him. Aymeric was kept on his toes, but impressed, her dress was one he recognized as a Lakshmi follower. 

“What is your name?” Aymeric asks, keeping an eye on her for any further attacks. 

“Why do you care? Prince! You’re not going to live long enough to really know it.” She spits out, and takes her stance a bit more. Aymeric raises his hand up to keep her from attacking.

“I’d love to know the name of the woman who bested me. At least.” He tries to buy himself time. The woman lifts her sword towards his face.

“Kiya, of Lakshmi. Second hand guard to princess Shuri.” Aymeric places his palm on the flat of her sword, and pushes it away from himself, he then quickly grabs his own sword and slams it against the flat of her blade causing a shock in her. Aymeric is quick to round himself and slip behind her grabbing her from behind trapping her arms to her sides as she kicks her feet. He lifts her with ease even feels her kick at his thigh as he holds her in such a way.

“Let me go!” Kiya squirms in his grasp, Aymeric keeps hold of her for his life knowing she’ll attempt to use her sword on him if he lets her loose.

“Not until you stop trying to attack me!” Her tail wriggles against his leg, and she growls under her breath. Kiya narrows her eyes, and flattens her ears to her head. Aymeric feels her stop resisting so much.

“Are we good then?” Aymeric asks, not letting his grip loose on her at all. She is light.

“I have no choice in the matter. I’ll be good.” She hisses out.

“Who sent you.” He asks.

“Secret.” She retorts, and Aymeric lets her on her feet but keeps her arms trapped to her sides still.

“You are in no position to keep a secret. I could have you executed here. Now, who sent you.” He orders her.

“Matoya. Lakshmi’s advisor. Said the best time to attack would be tonight.”  Kiya tests her pull away, and Aymeric tightens his hold again. She doesn’t resist much, he is stronger than her.

“I’ll have to change my habits then. As for you. I don’t meet many women who can hold a sword the way you do. Where did you learn?” Aymeric feels her shrug him off, and he lets go, staying on his guard as she goes to retrieve her sword.

“I train with the Ananta. Your hand is impressive yourself, but you leave yourself open it is laughable.” Aymeric raises an eyebrow to this.

“Yet you did not strike me in those open spots. Why is that if you aimed to kill me.” 

“Your friend is still around. Be careless of me if I killed you while the spearman can attack.” She narrows her eyes, Aymeric sees her take her stance more for defense. He bends to inspect her form a bit. She is stunning under the moonlight, tanned in skin, bright green eyes, hair tied up, and a scar on the left side of her face.

“I see.” Amusement in his voice, Aymeric hears the footsteps in the distance of Estinien returning soon. He keeps his gaze on Kiya.

“I could keep you in this palace here. We could use a strong woman around like you.” Kiya laughs at his words.

“I’d only go with you, if you’d win my hand.” Kiya takes a few steps back towards the other way out of the spot. 

“Who are you talking to, Aymeric?” Estinien gets his attention off of Kiya, and when Aymeric turns to look back he sees Kiya had vanished almost. 

“The wind.” He answers absentminded. 

“So you converse with the wind now?” Estinien teases him, and Aymeric gives a wry grin. 

“Apparently I do. It is late, we should get back before anyone important notices I am gone.” Aymeric glances over his shoulder to see Kiya peek her head from the doorframe of the other archway. He raises an eyebrow to her, then turns his attention in front of him, before Estinien presses question further.

Kiya before he turned away sticks her tongue out, then runs off back to a base camp that was set up for her group. 

“How did it go?” Came a ask, Matoya sees Kiya stiffen at her voice, and look her way.

“He’s skilled in the sword.” Kiya answers brisk, the sway of her tail shows agitation in her returning empty handed.

“The night is still young, go again!” 

“That is suicide! He’s already on alert!”

“But not of the same face! Go!” She demands, and Kiya turns on her heel to head back. She hisses under her breath.

Kiya sighs to herself, she grabs another item to use instead, a small dagger. Racing back to find a way into the structure. 

Aymeric had resigned himself to his chambers, his mind already full of thoughts of the fiery woman he had encountered. How she danced around him with ease, if she had truly meant to harm him. If she was to assassinate him why didn’t she kill him.

He thought he felt the sensation of the end of his bed dip, his mind alert, he shifts a foot and feels weight. Aymeric jolts upright, only to be shoved down and pinned by a body stradling his waist, and Kiya aiming a dagger at his head, he moves his head to the side in time to avoid it. He shoves her and flips her over and underneath him.

A hand clasps over Kiya’s mouth to keep her from yelling. She is met with a stare from Aymeric and he eyes the dagger embedded in the pillow where his head was.

“You have alot of bravery to attack me twice in the same night. Ah!” He pulls his hand back after feeling her teeth dig into his palm. She struggles against him to wriggle out from underneath him. Kiya kicks her feet out, while Aymeric wrests her hands above her head, and pins her legs with his waist.

“Enough!” He grabs the dagger she had used and holds it at her neck. Her eyes only glare and she turns her head.

“Why are you so intent on having mine head tonight? Speak!” 

“I am just ordered to do it! And I obey it!” Kiya shifts away from the blade, and Aymeric moves it away sitting up. He notes she isn’t fighting him like earlier. Probably not to draw attention to her location. 

“You should leave before you’re caught.”

“Why are you sparing me twice? I’m trying to kill you.” 

“If I had to, I rather fight you on equal footing than like this.” He keeps her dagger.

“I’ll be holding onto this however, to ensure you don’t try again tonight.” Kiya glowers up at him from her spot, he keeps her wrists together. If he had been any other kind of man. He does lean over her when she tries to get up and claims a quick kiss on her. The act baffles her and causes her to make a noise in protest to it.

She with her feet free, she kicks his side, and scrambles out. Aymeric is given a powerful slap that has him touching the right side of his face. He eyes her with a bit of pride in his eyes at finding such a fiery woman. Nothing like the women in Ala Mhigo, or Ala Ghiri. She held her own, she is strong, and could prove to be a powerful ally if he could earn her.

“Why did you!?!”

“For trying to kill me.”

“So you kiss me?!”

“A promise.”

“A promise for what!?!”

“I think I’ll chase after you. So to accept your challenge to win your hand.” Kiya is dumbfounded at his words.

“Ha! It will be a difficult challenge! You would have to take on the challenge most foreigners take in Lakshmi’s region.” Kiya holds her own pride in her eyes.

“Oh? And what challenge is that? Tell me.”

“It’s an archer’s contest. If you really want to know, find your way to the banquet there.” She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he feels a sense of wild in his nature.

“Aye then, I’ll be there and do it. What would be the prize?”

“Any of the women under Lakshmi’s region. From Princess to peasant. Yet there hasn’t been a person able to do it yet.” Kiya folds her arms across her chest seeing the way he stares at her.

“Then I will be the first.” Aymeric takes the challenge. Kiya beams a taunting smirk at him.

“Challenge accepted then. Don’t die to anyone then.” Aymeric sees her run towards his open window, and sees her climb out of it. He touches the back of his hand to his face and winces at the slap that was still there.

Kiya returned back to the encampment and informed Matoya of the conditions, in how perceptive the prince is. 

“You sure he wants to take that on?” Matoya wonders why a prince no less would even want to. She then laughs.

“Seems you caught his eye well. Can’t say I blame him, you are a catch.” She earns Kiya glaring at her.

“I don’t have time for marriage.” Kiya can already see the wheels turning in the old woman. 

“Whatever you are planning, I don’t want anything of it. I’m going to report to Shuri, the to bed.” She leaves Matoya, who talks with other servants around her to begin preparations for a custom they have had.

Lakshmi’s trial is one for those trained in bows, with a special ring of targets to shoot arrows through and to be done a certain way that all three rings get pierced at the same time. 

Kiya has seen many men try it, and only a few succeed that were actually skillful and have claimed women for their hands in marriage. 

“How did it go?” Kiya raises her head to see Shuri, dressed in fine silks, and interested in hearing any stories.

“He was too swift to kill.” Kiya answers. Earning a raised eyebrow from the au ra.

“That’s a shame, how was fighting with the prince?” Shuri sits upright wanting to know. Her other hand guard Ardbert looks between them, one of the only men of the guard keep. 

“He fights so well that I almost didn’t want to stop. It’d be a shame to kill such a fine man.” Kiya felt the words leave her, and sees the white haired woman grin a bit.

“Oh? Is he good looking as they rumor him?” Kiya feels her face heat up at the memory she had with the man in question. 

“He is. I should tell you more tomorrow. More in private.” She looks to Ardbert, who eyes her weary about secrecy. 

“Tomorrow then.” She looked forward to stories of different lands Kiya is sent to.

Once by herself, Kiya feels her nerves on fire, the kiss she had from the prince left her with a sensation she wasn’t sure she liked or not.

“Let’s see you pass that trial then.” She murmurs under her breath.

[cyn-00]

Moreid one shot, 1 - "not like this"

Season 5, episode 10 "The slave of duty" (at the very beginning, at Haley's funeral)

This was the first thing I ever wrote so it kinda sucks. As well as, I'd say, my first 3/4 shots,,, sorry people I've improved tremendously in these months so the difference between these first works and my latests is quite baffling ❤️ edit: I almost re-wrote it so it doesn't utterly suck anymore

Read it on AO3

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

During Hotch's speech Morgan could clearly see the expression of sadness and, at the same time, anxiety, through Spencer's eyes. After all, they were at a funeral, and not anyone's: Hotch's truest love's funeral. That's why he didn't really put too much concern into Spencer's look. Everyone was feeling like that, including himself.

There was a point though, when Reid couldn't take it anymore. He tried to get farther as quietly as possible, considering the space he inevitably took while trying to split his way through the people with that damned cane of his.

He felt like he couldn't breathe - which was absolutely nonsense, he realized, since they were outdoors. His brain was racing with absurd scenarios about the same situation Hotch found himself into, but with him and Derek as protagonists.

-

"Kid," Derek's deep but almost whisper-like voice came from behind.

Reid did not turn around neither reply - seemingly, he was flat-out ignoring him. But anyone who knew him could tell without a doubt that such thing was highly unlikely: Morgan was one of the only people he always listened to, whatever the topic he was talking about. The actual reason why Reid didn't turn around was, as a matter of fact, that all his brain effort was funneled into relentlessly picturing those scenarios: even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have physically heard anything else.

Derek carefully stepped closer and softly put a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, afraid to scare him. Spencer slightly winced at the contact - even being very light, considering the multiple layers of clothing separating his skin from Morgan's palm - and finally turned around, like he had just been woken up from a bad dream. But he didn't say anything.

"Something wrong?" Derek simply asked, expecting him to say that he was sorry for Hotch and needed to get himself out of that context. Naive and too optimistic of him.

Spencer stayed silent for a few seconds more and then finally spoke up, although still unable to look back into Derek's eyes.

"I'm extremely sorry for Hotch... and I don't want this to sound disrespectful or- or selfish... but I just- I can't... I can't stop thinking that I hope this doesn't happen again." he blurted out, expecting Derek to understand what he meant without actually saying it, too afraid of sounding stupid if he'd said it out loud.

Derek looked rightfully confused. He inched as close as the barriers two "teammates" were supposed to respect allowed him to, to make the conversation more private - though it's not like anyone was in a ray of less than 30 ft from them. He shifted his hand from Spencer's coated shoulder to his shivering, bare neck.

"Kid...this is our job, things like these happen everyday. But we can do a little bit to help the people who suffer these losses, including Hotch. And that's why in this moment more than ever we shou-"

"D-Derek, that's- that's not what I mean." Spencer cut him off abruptly, trying not to seem rude, as his eyes became glossy with tears.

From the gaze he was giving him and the sudden way his body tensed up, Derek began to capture what he was thinking. He didn't say anything and instead, chose to simply snake his hand toward the back of Spencer's head, caressing his scalp tenderly through his long hair.

That gesture was usually a soothing one for Spencer, one that was part of Derek's and his routine as a couple - or, frankly, even before they were a couple. But this time, he grabbed his wrist and slowly pulled it away.

He felt anxious to the point of nausea at the idea of having to say exactly what he was thinking, losing any hope that Derek could get it by just that vague hint he had given him earlier.

"I mean, I'm really scared..." he paused to gulp nervously and drop his gaze toward his hand, fiddling with the handle of his wooden cane. "...that this could happen to- to us."

"...you and me? You mean?" Derek hesitated a bit before asking for clarification, arching his brows in that way like he always did while he pointed at the two of them - as if saying "you and me" hadn't been explanatory enough.

Spencer nodded as a tear shed down his cheek, leaving a lukewarm streak on his skin prickled by the piercing cold breeze. He found the courage to meet the other man's eyes.

"It's gonna happen sooner or later, isn't it." it wasn't a question.

Derek opened his mouth to answer, but didn't really have the time.

"It's gonna happen that someday one of us will find himself in life danger because of the other. And the other won't have the means to do anything about it." Spencer explained further, while his voice was becoming nothing short of a shaky whisper.

"I don't wanna ever lose you but most of all not like- like this. Not like Hotch lost the love of his life."

The words stabbed Morgan right in his heart in a bittersweet way: he had painfully acknowledged that Reid was really scared about such a thing; but on the other side of the coin he had also picked up on the unspoken hint that he was the love of his life, like Haley had been for Hotch. And the concept left him for the first time self-questioning if the sentiment was mutual, but mostly it left him feeling...blessed.

Derek was usually the one trying to reason in this types of conversations - which often happened, with his boyfriend as well as with other members of the team - but he knew that Spencer knew there was no answer to a doubt like that, and if there ever was one that could come close to being somewhat appropriate, it would be the same old: "It's the job". He soon realized that neither of them needed reason in that specific moment.

Along with that realization came all the tears he hadn't shed during Hotch's speech - which, by the way, had just finished, Morgan gathered by the way the team's attention was now drawn to what was happening between the two of them. They weren't very far. Surely far enough that they could see through the trees but not hear at all, though.

Derek decided not to answer. He decided, instead, to pull him closer by his shoulder and hug him tightly, once again slipping a hand through his hair and an arm enveloping his waist.

Spencer was caught a little off guard: he wasn't ready for that kind of reaction, considering, amongst other things, that they should've gone back to the speech long before.

He let himself sink into the hug, wrapping an arm around Derek's broad shoulders and burying his sobbing face into his neck. It didn't fail to annoy him yet once more the fact that every time they hugged, he could only use one arm because if the other lifted the cane from the ground his injured leg would falter underneath his weight - yes, he had tried.

To be quite honest, Spencer wanted to kiss him. For some stupid reason though, he felt like they hadn't been dating long enough to be "allowed" to kiss when they were around the team - as if everyone didn't know already...

-

Derek pulled away just a little, caressing Spencer's cheek with his knuckles. He gave him a look that spoke all the words he couldn't quite phrase.

He hesitated a few seconds more before leaning in to gently kissed his temple, and then his cheekbone, and then the soft space separating his ever-so-slightly frowning eyebrows; wishing his pecks alone could warm up not only his shivering skin but his heart as well.

He finally moved to his lips, and kissed those too, relishing in how Spencer didn't simply not flinch back in embarrassment, more so his jaw unhooked, and his neck relaxed to slightly tilt on one side, and his shoulders slumped, and his fingers slid smoothly against his nape.

Derek hesitated a bit to let his tongue meet the other's, but when he did, the shuddering sigh that escaped Spencer's lungs worked as a final clue that he'd effectively managed to sweep away his paranoia, even having said nothing at all.

Their tongues entwined slowly and intensely, cradling into each other's mouth in a good-hearted attempt to mutually steal parts of them and make them their own. Spencer was winning that contest. Maybe he was, too, the love of Derek's life.

-

Even having completely discarded every concern about whether the others were watching or not, Spencer had to part their lips in search for air, only loosening the hug enough so that he could look into Derek's irises without going cross-eyed.

"I really hope too that doesn't happen to us, kid." Derek whispered breaking the silence, interrupting the soothing sound of the breeze enveloping them and the rustling of leaves.

He gained from Spencer a slight and melancholic grin. But it was more than enough.

-

Reid could see the rest of the team far behind Morgan's shoulder. Strangely enough, only one of them was still peeking in their direction.

Hotch, isolated from the others, holding up Jack in his arms. Not only he wasn't offended, he also did not look so upset anymore.

He smiled.

Spencer smiled back.

[writeturnlove]

Summary: Personal Trainer Florian needs to drum up clients for his personal training business located in the local gym, so he creates a contest hoping to get his name out there. Once the winner is chosen, he shows up at her door feeling a little depressed that he has to do this kind of gimmick in the first place. When the beautiful ebony goddess he’s had a crush on opens the door looking flustered, he decides that that perhaps the contest was a good idea after all. Pairing: Florian Munteanu x Black Reader Warning: Smut - 18 and over  Personal Training Florian Munteanu Personal Trainer Imagine (Florian x Black Reader) By V.C. Turner When you entered the contest for a personal trainer, you never expected to win. You’d never won anything, but you decided to take a chance after noticing the handsome and impressively well-built personal trainer who worked at the local gym. 
You put your name and contact information on one of the cards at the front desk of the gym, and placed it in the box for the contest.
When you received a phone call from the gym, you couldn’t believe it. You won! You agreed to the three session prize and provided the gym with your home address. 
What did you have to lose?
Then the day of the first training session arrived. You were a bundle of nerves. Your hair didn’t want to lay right. You considered putting on a wig, but he would know that wasn’t your real hair. You did your best to pull your natural curls back into a cute afro puff, and hoped he ignored your lack of perfection. 
You were always a wreck around good looking men and this trainer, Florian, had haunted your fantasies ever since you first saw him. To know that he’d be in your house sent your heart into overdrive. 
You spent way too much time trying to figure out what to wear, but finally settled on a pair sweatpants and a tank top to cover up your sports bra. It wasn’t your normal workout attire, but you didn’t want him to see you in shorts…not with all of your … lusciousness. 
You stared at yourself in the mirror trying to calm down, when you finally decided that you were just going to call the whole thing off. You couldn’t handle being alone with him. You wouldn’t know what to say or how to behave. No. You needed to end this and have the gym give the prize to someone else. 
You reached for your phone and dialed the number they gave you. No answer. You left a message. You then started to change back into your clothes when the doorbell rang. It couldn’t be him. You didn’t expect him for another hour. 
You walked to your front door and your heart dropped once you looked through the peephole. There he stood in all his muscled glory, donning a pair of grey shorts, a white tank top stretched over his muscled torso, and a gym bag slung over his shoulder. 
You took a deep breath and opened the door. 
“Mr. Munteanu. Hello. I’m (y/n),” you said as you reached your hand out. 
Florian politely shook your hand as he looked you up and down. You felt as if you looked horrible as he scanned your attire.
“Hello, Ms. (Y/N). Good to meet you and Congratulations on winning. Can I come in?” he said.
You stepped aside and let him into your home. You hands began to shake so you started wringing them without thinking about it. 
“Why don’t we get started in my spare bedroom…I mean..it’s my spare room that’s supposed to be a bedroom but I use it to exercise…not that you needed to know all that. - You know what: Just follow me,” you told him as you led him down your hallway.
He followed you into the spare room where he placed his gym bag on the floor, opened it, and pulled out a clipboard. 
“Why don’t you tell me what your goals are and we’ll go from there?” he asked, his tone nice and professional. 
You nodded. “Well, I’d basically like to get healthier and stronger. I had a back injury, so I have to be careful what exercises I can do. I haven’t been working out so I gained all this weight. I’m trying to get it off of me so I can move around again, stop taking some of the medicine the doctor has me on, things like that,” you explained. 
“I understand,” said Florian, “Those are good goals. I think I have some ideas for some low impact workouts you could do that wouldn’t hurt your back, but would give you some good cardio.”
Florian looked around the room and noted the treadmill, the yoga mat, small set of weights, and the Elliptical machine. 
“It looks like you’ve got some good equipment here,” he pointed out, “I’ll show you how to work with what you already have, plus some floor exercises.”
“I really appreciate it,” you told him. 
He stared at you for several seconds as if he were waiting for you to do something. Florian then shook his head as if he were coming out of a trance and motioned for you to come over to the large yoga mat on the floor. 
“First, we need to do some stretching exercises to loosen up and warm up before we get into the more challenging exercises,” he added.
Florian showed you some stretches and you attempted to model his movements the best you could. He walked up to you, asking permission to touch your arms, waist or knees so he could put you in the correct position. His presence, his scent, everything about him turned you on even more since he started touching you. 
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked innocently as he stood behind you. 
You were so flustered by his presence that you admitted the truth.
“It’s only because you’re … I’m sorry…You’re um..I get nervous around good looking men,” you admit as you look away from him. 
Florian gently turned your face toward him so you could look into his eyes. 
“I don’t want to make you nervous,” he said softly, “I just want make you feel good….better.”  You relaxed a little and continued the stretches. Once you were warmed up he said you would be using the treadmill. 
“Is that what you normally wear when you work out?” he asked.
“No,” you told him, “I usually wear shorts but they’re a little too short to wear in front of other people.” 
He tilted his head as he absorbed what you said. 
“If they are comfortable, go ahead and put them on,” he suggested.
You quickly went to your bedroom and put on the short gray workout shorts that matched your sports bra, then ran back into the room. 
Florian looked you up and down and for a moment you saw a slight smile at the corner of his mouth. You felt a bit deflated. You knew your thighs were too big to wear something like this in front of someone who was used to seeing size 6s. 
You fidgeted, placing your hands over your thighs, crossing your arms over yourself, doing anything to divert his attention from your legs. 
“I’ll go change back,” you said as you started for the bedroom again. Florian called after you.
“Don’t do that. I’m sorry for staring,” Florian said, “Please get on the treadmill.”
You step onto the treadmill and turn it on as you waited for his next instruction.
He climbed onto the treadmill behind you landlocked at the programs listed on the machine. He chooses a light, 10 minute program for you and hit the start button. You began walking and he headed to his gym bag. He pulled out his cell phone and it looked like he was sending a text. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t help but feel as if he couldn’t wait for your hour to be over. 
After your 10 minutes ended, you felt a mild sweat throughout your body. You grabbed a drink of water and waited for other instructions. Florian walked up behind you and showed you some additional stretches to do to help with any tension that walking created in your lower back. 
His placed his hands are on your waist as he showed you how to lunge as he did the movement with you. 
During the stretching routine, you felt something brush against your behind. You initially ignored it, but when he asked you to lean forward, you felt it again. It was long, thick and hard. You gasped and stumbled forward a little, but he pulled you up and you realized your back was pressed against his chest. You felt his hardness press against your lower back.
You take a step forward to compose yourself as moisture pooled between your thighs. You didn’t know why his cock was hard, but he was certainly making you wet. You pushed the inappropriate thoughts aside.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said.
“I understand. It’s involuntary,” you blurt out. 
“Don’t let me off the hook that easily. You’re a very beautiful woman. My body is just responding to you,” Florian explained
You turned to face him, and realized that your mouth hung open. You shut it quickly and looked away from him.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you,” he said. 
“You’re not.”
“Then, what are you feeling?” he asked, taking a step toward you.
“No comment!” you stated, your face heated from embarrassment.
“I’m not letting you off that easily,” he said as he stepped closer, “How do you feel?”
“Warm,” you said, “Hot actually.”
Florian’s professionalism fell away as he began to walk around you, circling you like a tiger about to attack. His pace finally slowed as he walked up behind you and spoke softly in your right ear.
“What do you want?” he asked. 
“To get healthy,” you answered. 
He shook his head and his hands made their way to your waist, slipping beneath your tank top and touching your bare skin.
“What do you want?” he asked again.
“I…I wanted you - I wanted you to ..to teach me some exercises,” you stammered.
Florian lifted the tank top over your head, exposing your sports bra. His gaze darkened as he looked at you. He continued to wait for the answer you refused to give him.
“So, you only want to exercise. A good workout?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. He leans forward, his large hand approaching your full breasts. He takes a finger and drags it along your cleavage; down and up again. 
He stepped back and removed his shirt. You stared at his perfection - his corded muscles. His perfectly cut, 8-pack abs. Each muscle looked like a work of art that you wanted to explore with your hands…with your mouth. You knew it was wrong, but it’s what you wanted. You didn’t know if you had the guts to tell him.
You looked back up into his eyes. He licked his bottom lip, then stepped behind you, again. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck. Your nipples puckered. Your clit throbbed. You wondered if you were dreaming.
“What I want is inappropriate,” you explained. “Tell me,” he said, his fingers grazing up and down your arms.
You leaned into him.
“I know it’s wrong, but I…I want you inside me,” you confessed. 
You felt him rest his chin on the crook of your neck. 
“Then I guess we’re both about to get what we want,” Florian added, placing a hot wet kiss on your neck. You nearly melted in his arms, but you found the strength to remain standing. 
You waited. You didn’t need to wait long. 
Florian turned you around and bit his lip. He then pulled your sports bra over your head, exposing your large, round breasts. In another swift and careful movement, he also pulled down your shorts and panties. His face sat eye level with your sex and he placed a quick kiss to it while you stepped out of your clothing. 
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he said. 
He stood slowly, kissing his way up your body until he reached your lips. He captured your mouth with his - a hard kiss that sent you reeling. You expected that, but there was also a hint of passion there that appeared more tender than you expected. His tongue invaded your mouth and you worked hard to keep up with his frantic pace. 
When Florian released your mouth, you took a breath…realizing that you’d stopped breathing the moment he kissed you. You stared at him with want, naked and bare in front of the object of your desire. 
He looked into your eyes when he yanked off his shorts, revealing a massive cock that you don’t believe will fit in you but were damn sure going to try and make it fit. 
Florian led you toward a wall. He got down on his knees before he spoke.
“Place your hands against the wall - shoulder length apart,” he directed.
You leaned forward and placed your hands against the wall.
“Now, spread your legs for me,” he requested. 
You opened up your legs, shaking from nervousness and desire. You looked down and noticed a smile on his face. 
Without hesitation, he reached around you, grabbed your bare ass and pulled your weeping cunt to his face. You cried out, but soon lost your breath as his tongue began to lave at your folds. He moaned almost as loudly as you did. He tasted you and teased you with his tongue, all the while kneading the flesh of your behind. He enjoyed every inch of your sex, diving deeper into your channel, slowly gliding, flicking and fucking you with his tongue. 
You could barely hold onto the wall. You tried not to cum, but he was almost relentless. Your desire began to escalate. You started to ride his face, trying to reach the peak. He only licked faster, more determined than ever to get you there. You clawed at the wall in front of you. You felt the coil within you about to burst as he continued to wind you up. 
“I’m …I’m going to cum,” you warn. 
This only spurs him on as he started to suck on your clit and flick it with his tongue. Your hips began to buck against his face and he licked harder and faster. 
Your orgasm soon shattered your world; sending ripples throughout your body. He lapped up every bit of your essence and continued to kiss and lick you until the waves of pleasure receded.
“Where’s your bedroom sweetheart?” he asked .
You point toward your bedroom. Florian picked you up easily, and carried you to your bed. He placed you next to him. 
He leaned over and sucked your right nipple into his mouth. Your arousal began to build again. You ran your fingers through his short hair, pulling him closer to you. You wanted more of him. You need more of him. You didn’t know if you would ever have your fill. 
You felt his smile against your skin. He flicked at the erect bud before he climbed above you and gave your left nipple the same attention.
You sense his massive cock press against your entrance. You panicked slightly, wondering how rough he would be once he entered you. Those worries subsided when you saw him pull on a condom and give you a small smile.
“I’m going to take my time, baby. Don’t worry,” he said.
He moved closer, placing a kiss to your lips. This one was gentle and passionate. None of it was rushed. He reached beneath him and rubbed the tip of his cock against your slick folds. 
“Please,” you begged, “I need you inside me.”
He slipped the crown of his cock inside you and hissed at how tight you were. Once you adjusted to his size, he slipped in deeper, taking his time. After he was fully sheathed inside you, he kissed you again, this time with more hunger as he slowly began his slow, deep thrusts. You moaned into his mouth. Your hands latched onto his back as he pumped into you at a torturously sensual pace. 
“Sweet, Jesus, you feel so fucking good, (y/n),” Florian growled, “I want to fuck you all night.”
Your arousal began to coil within you again, tighter and tighter as he took you higher and higher. You expected him to be rough, yet he was gentle, kissing and nipping at your lips with each thrust. 
You were so caught up in his gentle fucking that your orgasm crashed against you unexpectedly and you cried out against his shoulder. 
His pace slowed as you rode the waves of your orgasm until it finally subsided. 
Still sensitive, he flipped you over and backed up against the headboard. He grasped his rock hard cock with one hand and pulled you toward him with the other. 
“Ride me, beautiful,” said Florian, “It’s all yours.”
You positioned yourself above him and slowly sank onto him. He was large, but your body needed him so badly that it accommodated his length and his girth. You rose and fell on his cock, your movements starting slow then speeding up after several moments. You grasped his shoulders and held on for dear life as he met your eager thrusts with his own. 
“Oh God,” you moaned as the pleasure began to rise within you for a third time. Your body hungered for release again and he seemed willing to provide it. 
You couldn’t look at him. You felt naughty and somewhat guilty for having sex with a man you barely knew. 
Florian slid his hand up the back of your neck and released your hair from its restraints. He ran his fingers through your coiled tresses, slightly tugging your head back so he could nibble, kiss and lick your neck.
As your movements became more uncoordinated, he seemed to know you were close to your third release. 
“Look at me, Baby. You’re so beautiful when you come. I want you to look at me,” he asked.
You looked into his eyes, darkened with lust …for you and only you. His breathing picked up and his eyes closed briefly as he gave into your shared pleasure. You were close. So close you were about to tumble over. You began to shake and a smile crossed his lips.
“That’s it, baby girl, cum for me. Cum with me,” he groaned.
That was all it took. 
Your third orgasm rocketed through you and you clasped his shoulders as you came. You felt him stiffen beneath you, shooting his seed into the condom and bucking through his release, as his fingers pressed into the flesh of your hips. 
Sweat beaded along your joined bodies as you placed your forehead against his. You thought you’d feel shame. You didn’t. You felt satisfied. 
Florian brushed the damp hair from your face and gave you a quick kiss. He then lifted your limp body off of him and laid you down. He slid next to you, propping himself up on his elbow as he looked at you. He ran his fingers gently up and down your body leaving tingles along the way. 
You fought the urge to hide your face in your pillow. 
“I… I want you to know that I don’t do this. I’ve never done this before,” you muttered as you bit your lip.
Florian caressed your cheek. 
“I know,” he whispered. 
“I don’t want you to think less of me for this,” you added.
He gave you a smile.
“I don’t think less of you,” Florian stated, “I think you’re incredible.”
You looked at the naked god in front of you and you felt exposed in all kinds of ways. You pulled the sheets over your naked form. Florian watched you cover yourself only to pull the covers back down so he could look at your body.
“Since I’ve never done this before, I don’t know what happens next. Is this a one-time thing? Do you get dressed and leave?” you asked him.
Florian ran his large fingers over your full lips.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving until you say so,” he said, “My plan is to make you feel good as often as you’d like.”
You swallowed hard. You’d never had a simply physical relationship before. 
“So, if I call - you come running?” you asked.
Florian chuckled. 
“I can be your booty call if that’s all you want,” he said, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Is that all you want?”
Something about his manner made you want to tell him everything. He had somehow transitioned from a sexual fantasy, to a sexual reality, to something you couldn’t define. 
“I don’t know what I want. What I do know is that I don’t want either of us to get hurt,” you said.
“I’m a grown ass man. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman. If you want something physical, we can do that, but the thing is: I want you to be my woman. I plan on being your man. I want you in my bed and on my arm, but baby that’s up to you,” Florian said.
His fingers traced down your neck to your breasts. He continued to explore your body as you thought about what you wanted from him. 
“I’m scared,” you confessed.
“Don’t be, baby,” he said looking in your eyes, “I got you.”
You ran your hand along his cheek, pulling him down for a kiss.
“Ok, then” you whispered, “You’ve got me.”

[alma-berry]

Kit’s Secret Fire Message # 12

Masterlist   1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

The main hall of the London institute was crowded, Ty suspected, in an unusual way. For an institute as nearly vacated as it was, one could expect some enthusiasm from his permanent residents, but even he knew better. He remembered the perpetually sour look on Evelyn Highsmith’s face from when he and his family had stayed here, and from the looks of it, it hadn’t changed. 

Breakfast was a buzz of excitement and chattering voices from his fellow Centurions, mainly thanks to the occurrence of the night before. Kit’s name was mentioned over and over, making Ty’s stomach flip each and every time with its own kind of excitement. Though Kit’s absence was noticed, no one but Ty really expected him to show. Having been injured and visited by the silent brothers, they all seemed convinced he was still resting in his room. Only Ty had heard his music in the smallest hours of the night, pirouetted through the darkness like a wisp of smoke on ice. Only he had read Kit’s words, “It was only you”.

He longed to see him, and feared it. What was he to say? A simple hello seemed so little.. he wanted to feel the warmth of his skin against his, to hear the fastened beating of his heart and to know, most of all, to know beyond a doubt, that he was safe. 

“Blackthorn! By the angel, stop daydreaming and pay attention!” The irritated voice of Carl Lindquist made Ty flinch, and he cursed himself inwardly for losing focus in front of the others. Carl, in particular, would use any excuse he could to scold him. Ty knew what lay behind his petty behavior, he could see the greedy way the centurion looked at him when he thought he didn’t notice.. but he had no idea what he was supposed to do with that information, other than not encourage him.

“We have twenty minutes to get ready and then we head out” Oscar eyed him with a patronizing glare. Ty and the others had agreed they should look the old warehouse for more clues about the meaning of the attack. The thought of leaving without seeing Kit made him feel uneasy, but Ty knew the importance of this investigation, and nodded in agreement as he went towards the main staircase. 

When he climbed the first step, a sound rippled through the air and Ty turned to see a portal shimmering bright in the center of the hall. Not a second later, a large, threatening shape had leaped at him, pinning him to the ground with a low growl. 

“Irene!” Ty called with astonishment, and lifted himself to his knees. He reached out and took her into his arms, running his fingers through the thick, silky fur of the lynx, relishing on the familiar softness of her. From above him, came the stern voice of Catarina Loss.

“Tiberius, I came here on a serious expedition. You see, I would appreciate it if some of my other students will be allowed to keep their limbs intact for the rest of the year, I’m sure you won’t object.” She loomed over him in all of her blue regalia, and gave him that piercing look she always had when she was trying hard not to make comments of other people’s intellect. Naturally, that look wasn’t often directed to Ty.

“Oh, and I promised young Mr. Anush that I would assure you of his relentless attempts to sedate you feline friend, or at least to keep her in your room. But alas, Anush is rather prone to hysteria, as you may know, and he did not take her constant snarling well.. thus, our current presence.” 

Catarina paused for a second, and Ty had a feeling he was expected to make a comment of sorts, but when he hadn’t, she continued.

“Rest assured I will be informing dear Anush of your eternal gratitude, Mr. Blackthorn? The poor boy was terribly crossed with the idea of disappointing you.” 

Oh, Ty realized this was when he was supposed to say thank you. It wasn’t that he took his friend for granted, it was just that he was so utterly surprised.  He hurried to correct his mistakes, “Yes, thank him for me. And thank you as well, Ms. Loss, for bringing Irene to me.”

She gave him a sweet smile and waved her hand in dismissal, when her eyes paused, narrowed on something behind him.

“Ah! I was wondering when I’ll be seeing your dashing face”

Ty turned his head as a laugh, light and warm as sunlight rang into his chest.

“As soon as I heard your voice, Catarina. I couldn’t miss a visit from my third favorite warlock.”

Kit was standing in the middle the staircase, his smile radiant. Ty felt his breath orphaned on his lips, and the quick succession of his heart almost hurt.

“Third? Second I understand, with your adoptive mother and all.. but are you telling me you prefer the company of Magnus Bane to mine?”

Catarina glared at him with obvious suspicion. 

“Of course not. I meant Gandalf.”

The others were looking back and forth between Kit and the Catarina like they were watching a tennis match, which is another one of those mundane sports Ty never understood. It was probably that they were amazed by the familiarity between the two, or they were more likely confused by the mention of a fictional wizard. 

Ty didn’t notice any of that, he only saw Kit’s blue eyes, alive and pulsating like the shimmering surface of the ocean, right when the sun is at its highest point. He was unable to look away, even when Kit’s gaze fixed on his, pupils slightly dilated, their blue deepening with emotion obvious even to him.

“Well, as much as you’re all lovely to look at, I have other lazy Nephilim to attend to” Ty heard Catarina’s voice as if from a distance. 

He was still locking eyes with Kit, even while the portal gleamed shut at the corner of his eye. 

Usually, direct eye contact was something Ty would do with an effort, but that wasn’t the case.. he just couldn’t look away, and it was too much, far too much. 

Kit came down the steps and stopped mid way, still a safe distance between them. He looked to Ty’s feet, his eyes widened for a split second, and Ty could feel Irene’s body tense next to him, sensing the approach of a stranger.

Everyone in the room fell silent, acknowledging the potential of danger. Ty wanted to assure Kit that Irene would not hurt him, but he wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he didn’t seem to be tense at all. He was looking at Irene with the same intense look he gave Ty just a minute before, and Ty was surprised to find that she was looking at him with the same curiosity. 

They seemed to be appraising each other for a long moment, and then Kit kneeled down to look at her directly in the eye. Ty wasn’t sure who was winning that stare contest. Eventually, Kit leaned towards her, his hand stretched forward gently, not touching her, but as if offering her to approach. Ty held his breath, Irene didn’t like to be touched by anyone other than him, but Kit seemed confident and relaxed. 

Ty was transfixed, as Irene stretched her long limbs and strode towards Kit. She placed her head under his hand, inviting him to stroke her. Kit patted her with his long, strong fingers, and she purred contentedly under his touch. 

Ty was baffled. That was a first, and the muttered gasps around him showed that he was not the only one to notice the magnitude of Irene’s gesture. She was a wild animal, and as much as she was loving and fiercely protective of Ty, she never showed that inclination towards any one else in the slightest.

Kit seemed content with his accomplishment, and looked up at Ty with a wide smile. “What’s her name?”

Ty found it hard to answer back, his throat felt dry and he tried to concentrate his gaze on a point behind Kit’s brilliant face. 

“Irene”, he responded with a croaked voice, hoping nobody noticed his discomfort. 

“Huh.. Irene” Kit repeated his words with a thoughtful voice, “The woman”.

Ty couldn’t help the smile from reaching his lips. Kit remembered, after all. It was a sign that something of the old friendship they had was still between them. He could feel the terrible weight of his fears slide off his chest, and wondered when was it that he stopped noticing it was there. 

His eyes scattered around Kit’s face again, trying to study his expressions without having to commit to the overwhelming power of his eyes on his.

“Yeah, well.. she’s The only woman, if you know what I mean”. Carl Lindquist stepped between them, his blonde hair pulled back tightly, making his angular face seem even more grouchy than they usually did.

“No, I actually don’t know what you mean” Kit slowly rose to his feet, and Carl took an involuntary step back. Kit was taller than him, and wider, a fact that Carl seemed to be painfully aware of. 

“I mean Blackthorn’s gay” he declared with a smirk on his thin lips. It seemed like he was saying it as an insult, and Ty couldn’t understand why.

It was true, of course, he was gay. He never felt the need to hide it, as much as it didn’t seem relevant to mention it to random people, especially people like Carl, which he didn’t really like. He also didn’t understand why Carl of all people would try to use it as an insult, when it was obvious he was-

“And..?” Kit said slowly, his voice sweet and deadly like a honey trap. His cheeks were slightly flushed, but in his eyes Ty saw the menacing and defiant look of a warrior. He almost forgot how well it suited him.. how his jaw tightened and his chest heaved with suppressed expectation. 

“And so if he’s gay than his beast of a cat is the only woman he will ever have” Carl looked at Kit like he was missing the punch of a very clever joke.

“Wow. I thought they only let the smart ones into the Scholomance. So what song did you sing for the auditions, Gretel?”

A chorus of giggles came from behind them, and Ty was surprised to find that even Bridgette, who apparently entered the hall while he was busy staring at Kit, held a hand to her mouth and failed to look imposing. 

Carl probably tried to growl at Kit, but the sound that left his mouth sounded much like a raccoon sneezing. Ty saw a sick baby raccoon once, he snuck him to the kitchen inside his jacket and fed him warm milk in one of Tavvy’s old baby bottles. 

“Ten minutes and we’re out!” He was snapped back into focus, and saw carl’s back as he stumped up the stairs.  

-

Kit stood in the hallway as everyone went to get ready for their patrol, even Irene left, probably off to terrorize Evelyn. 

Only Ty remained. He was still looking intently at a point right behind Kit, the silver in his eyes stirring, bewitching him into a hazed trance. When they were finally alone, Kit found his voice.

“He’s into you, do you know that?” 

It was obvious to him from the second he laid eyes on the slimy, pompous face of that centurion bastard. He could see the way his eyes kept running to Ty and away, like he couldn’t stop looking at him and it made him angry and hurtful. The memory made Kit taste acid down his throat, and not from jealousy. Ty was unbearably handsome, anyone could see that. But the edge of violence that stained the centurion’s words felt like a threat yet to be made.

And just because he could see it didn’t mean Ty could too.

“Yes. I’ve noticed.”

Kit examined his face, there was no trace of anger or resentment in them. He said it matter-of-factly, almost absent-mindedly.. like there was nothing to be done with it. Kit suddenly felt lighter, like someone inflated a dozen balloons inside his ribcage. He could almost feel his feet leaving the ground.

He forced his eyes to the soft hollow in the base of Ty’s neck and took a step towards him, “I-“

“I want to talk to you” they started at the same time, but Ty had an eagerness to his voice that made Kit’s eyes fly back to his face, desperate to see the bundle of emotions he felt reflected back in them.

And they had. Ty still wasn’t looking directly at him, but Kit could feel the surge of electricity that sparked between them. Every part of his body suddenly aware of their nearness, of the fact that after years, they were standing right in front of each other.. and he was no longer overpowered by hatred, grief or demon poison to cloud his thoughts. He was right there, looking straight into Ty’s grey eyes.

“Are you leaving now?” His voice sounded thick to his own ears, but he couldn’t care less about being obvious with his feelings.

“Yes, but.. will you be here when I get back?” He replied in a small, worried voice.

Kit’s chest expanded beyond what was humanly possible. He couldn’t believe how one question could have such a powerful effect on him, but it did. 

Ty wanted him to be there, he wanted to talk to him, and Kit didn’t care what about. If it was to call him every imaginable name for leaving as he did or to tell him he was stupid to send him those letters all of these years, it didn’t matter. He still wanted him there.

It wasn’t the blind need of friendship and affection that made him throw all caution to the wind when they were fifteen, it was the simple fact that there will be a tonight with Ty, and maybe even a tomorrow. That he will have a chance to fix what had happened, a chance of redemption.

“I’ll be here. Jem and Tessa are coming soon, with my sister. And it’ll be nice to train in a room that is not baby proof for a change-“

Kit was knocked backwards as that fuckwit centurion stepped right between him and Ty. He regained his balance quickly and shot him a glare he wished would burn a hole in his greasy hair. 

“Watch your face, pretty boy” the centurion called, probably satisfied that he caught Kit off guard, something that Kit promised himself will never happen again.

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” Kit pulled out his most charming smile, the one that made several Devon girls and boys swoon beyond coherence. 

Weasel-face didn’t look impressed, though. He gave him a venomous look and spat on the floor.

“Eww. That’s rude, and disgusting. What the fuck is the matter with you?” Kit couldn’t stand people who just spat at floors. Did he fall asleep and end up in a goddamn western? Because those boots are where he draws the line. 

“I don’t like you, Herondale”

This guy really needs to work on his comebacks, Kit thought.

“Well, you’re not making much of an impression yourself, dick wheedle” Kit watched with amusement as his ferret’s face reddened with indignation. 

“I’m not- you can’t possibly- you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Kit could feel Ty shaking at his side, holding in the bubble of laughter. He knew that there was no chance Ty knew what dick wheedle means, but the way that weasel-face was changing colors was simply hilarious. 

“Call it an educated guess, will you?” Kit grinned widely.

He gave them one last hateful look and muttered under his breath while strutting out of the institute. 

Kit heard the word “cocksucker” and called “That’s not really an insult, that’s an observation!”, but the centurion never turned.

A second later his words sank in. He felt his cheeks flare with fierce intensity and slowly faced Ty again.

A trace of amusement danced across his lips, and Kit forgot all about weasels and ferrets and the existence of other human beings. The warmth of Ty radiated through the small distance between them, and Kit ached to close it. 

“So you’ll be here when I come back, right?” Ty said hurriedly, and his hand clasped Kit arm, gripping tightly.

He found no words, not a single one. He only nodded his head and wished like an embarrassing cliché that time would stop in that very instant, when Ty’s long fingers were sliding slowly down his bicep, tracing the webbed veins with a softness that made him shudder. He couldn’t help a gasp and his eyes caught hold of Ty’s in a symphony of shallow breaths. 

“Than I will see you later.” 

His voice was clear and steady as his fingers detached themselves from Kit, leaving the numbness of loss spreading all through him. 

Ty was out of the institute in three immeasurable seconds, which were all it took for Kit to fall to his knees.

The numbness was instantly gone, leaving in its place a net of stinging needles that attacked him from every direction. Kit felt like his bones were shaking, like the tight coil that held him in place had suddenly snapped and there was nothing to keep him from evaporating into thin air.

As he watched his shaking limbs, a bright layer of light had formed on the bare patches of his skin. He felt the cold dread of recognition trickling down his spine like a single drop of sweat. He bolted to his feet and ran up the stairs towards the roof, moving as fast as he could while watching with growing terror how the light on his skin seemed stronger with every step.

He almost ripped the door off its hinges as the cool London air hit him like a scorned lover. 

Kit looked down at his hands and felt the power surging in him, begging to be released. It felt heavy, as it always did, like all the blood in his body had solidified. The weight made his muscles flex like they were both light and warn.

He closed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate, like he was taught by Tessa. He heard her voice echoing through his clouded mind like a bell ringing from a great distance. 

But as he welcomed the darkness, the thought of Ty’s touch slammed into him all over again, and he remembered that electric wave stream between them.

A desperate thought haunted the back of his mind - what if he could never touch Ty again? Was he putting him in danger? Or more importantly, was he losing control of his powers because he was losing control of his heart?

-

Ty was the first to enter the institute. His fellow centurions found a posh looking oyster bar down St. James’s and he was able to ditch them right after they ordered with the excuse of not liking the anything on the menu. That wasn’t really an excuse.. he really didn’t like anything on it, let alone the loud hubbub of people that only seemed to increase by the second. He didn’t really understand Carl’s insistence on the place, with its high prices and seemingly miniature dishes, but it turned out well for him. He was eager to return to the institute, to Kit. 

Ty didn’t allow himself to think about him during the investigation, but as the hours passed and they found nothing of substance to go one with but scrapes of ichor and blood, his thoughts trailed uncontrollably to Kit. 

He made an inventory list of everything he wanted to ask him, or at least he tried. Why did you leave me? Are you still angry with me? When did you learn how to play your guitar? Why did you send me those letters? Do you still dream of me? Did you decipher my letter? Do you still wish you never knew me? Did you miss me? because I have, I have I have. 

As he opened the heavy iron doors of the institute, Ty was greeted by a loud shriek, accompanied by two sets of very different footsteps hurrying towards him.

There was a little girl, approximately three years old, standing in the middle of the hall, with Irene’s short black tipped tail clasped tightly in her small hand. Ty froze in terrified bewilderment. Was every member of the Carstairs household, for this was undeniably the young child of Jem Carstairs, immune to the fact that Irene was not a small kitten, but a fully grown wild animal? 

The child beamed at him with her glistening almond shaped eyes, and giggled.

“Cute Kitty!” Ty lowered himself to her, examining her delicate porcelain skin, the softness of her swollen cheeks. She was quite lovely, he had to admit, and there was a reckless energy about her that reminded him of Emma, somehow. 

“Yes, she is cute, isn’t she? Her name is Irene” The child looked dazed by the new information, “What is your name?”

Her smile became shy and she hid her face in Irene’s spotted fur. 

“Mina”, she said, her voice muffled by the fur.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mina. My name is Ty.”

“Hello, Tiberius” a soft voice came from behind them, and Ty turned to see Tessa grey, leaning on a large tapestry of Raziel. Her oval face had a tender expression to them as she watched her daughter play with Irene’s pointed ears.

“Hi,” Ty answered, a little startled by her appearance, all though it was completely to be expected, for the child- Mina, he reminded himself, would not be allowed to wander the institute on her own. 

“Would you come to study with us? The fire is lit and you must be awfully cold”

He obliged and walked after her with a slight apprehension, what would she want to talk to him? Was it to scold him? Did she know what happened on Lake Lynn? 

But Tessa’s face were kind and thoughtful, and as he scanned it for any clues of her intentions, the grey of her eyes caught him by surprise. He remembered their color, so similar and so different than his, but as he examined them by the light of the fire, he saw that there was blue in them, too. 

He wondered if Kit ever looked into them and thought of him, and then remembered a line from one of his poems, “Must I live or die every time / The light welds the grey of my mother’s eyes / Into the blaze of silver” and a violent shudder went through him.

“Are you still cold?” Tessa asked with a worried look on her face.

“No, it’s nothing”

She eyed him doubtfully, but didn’t push the matter.

“Ty, I.. I actually wanted to talk to you,” he sucked in a breath, “I wanted to thank you for all that you have done for my son. You were a true..” she paused, hesitant, “friend, to him.”

Ty puzzled over her hesitance. He wasn’t friends with Kit for years, and now.. he wasn’t sure what they were to each other. 

Tessa gave him a knowing, affectionate smile. 

“And also, my Mina is fascinated by your lynx. She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yes.. I was surprised that she wasn’t afraid of her. And that Irene let her hold her tail.. she usually doesn’t appreciate it when people do that.”

Tessa laughed a light, musical laugh. “Well, Mina is quite unusual when it comes to the feline family. She demands affection, and it is usually granted to her.”

“Usually?” Ty mused.

“Magnus’s cat took some time to win over.. about ten minutes. Mina was deeply crossed.”

Ty looked at the small child, cuddled with Irene by the fire, “Are you leaving?”

Tessa gave him a sweet smile, “Yes, Jem is just saying goodbye to Kit in his room. You should go and see him.”

There it was again, that look, as if he had dirt on his face and she was debating whether to tell him so or not. What was it that she knew?

He nodded and rose to his feet, when she spoke again.

“And.. Ty? You will take care of him for me, will you? I know it’s been a long time, but now that you are here..” there was honest worry in her fierce eyes, and Ty forced himself to look straight into them when he answered.

“I will.”

-

Kit was sitting on his bed, his fingers playing nervously with threads of his pillow.

“I don’t have it under control, Jem.. I’m scared.”

He was pointedly not looking at his adoptive father, afraid of finding anger in his dark brown eyes. 

“Earlier we just.. we just talked and he touched my hand and I.. I lost it, it was so close.”

He risked a glance at him, but found nothing but affection and worry in them.

Jem was silent for a long moment before he talked.

“Nothing happened, Kit. You managed to contain it.”

Kit rolled his eyes and punched the plain white pillow in his lap.

“I understand that it’s frightening, and we don’t know nearly enough about the nature of your powers, but you managed to control it today, and you can do it again. You have to trust your instincts.”

Didn’t he understand what was in line? Didn’t he see what Kit was risking by merely staying at the institute? He was dangerous, like an exposed wire under a stormy sky.

“But what if I can’t? What if I end up hurting somebody.. what if I hurt him? What if what I feel will be the cause of-”

“Christopher, look at me,” Jem’s eyes held an intense emotion that Kit couldn’t back away from, and he was surprised to feel a solitary tear, cracking down its way through the scorching desert of his cheeks.

“Your heart is nothing to be feared.”

-

Ty climbed up the stairs that led to Kit’s room. His heart was hammering loudly in his chest, and he wished Livvy would stop practicing how to hide from him and tell him what to do.

He had a feeling that so much depended on this talk.

His hands were fidgeting restlessly with one of the toys Julian had made for him long ago. his fingers dismantling it expertly. 

He was nearly there.

Ty took a deep breath and whispered, “Livvy?” But Livvy was nowhere to be found. 

The voice that answered him, though, was one he wasn’t expecting.

“I don’t know how to be near him..” Ty felt his heart stop, and he was amazed to realize Kit was.. crying.

“I’m scared, Jem. I don’t want to hurt-”

“You will figure it out, son. I have faith in you.” Jem’s voice was firm, reassuring.

Ty felt a bubble of hurt nestling inside inside him, releasing its venom. Was he talking about him? Didn’t he want him around? Why would he chose to stay in the institute if he didn’t? He wasn’t a formal part of any investigation, he wasn’t required or forced by any law to remain here. 

He felt tears, treacherous and unwanted, streaming down his cheeks. 

How could he have gotten everything so wrong? When Kit looked at him this morning, he could have sworn that there was fondness in him. Not just fondness, emotion. When he touched his hand, he saw Kit’s eyes darken into the color of the night sky, his lips parted with amazement.

Did he imagine it? He had seen that look before, several times, and he thought he knew what it meant.. but Kit was a mystery to him like any other he had encountered. 

How could he be so wrong?

Jem’s voice woke him out of his revery. 

“Listen.. I know that you wish to stay here, with Tiberius,” Ty’s heart leaped up his throat, did he? did he want to stay? so why-

“But Kit, you must be careful. There are still those who are searching for you, you know there are whispers as well as I do. And now that there are centurions here.. don’t look at me like that, my dearest. I know that they are not the cohort, but I still need you to be cautious.”

Ty felt the attack of a thousand questions like a swirl of bees inside his head. He loved bees, as he loved questions, but the loud, violent hustle of them was painful. 

He pressed his back to the cold wall behind him, and heard Kit answer in a small voice,

“I will”.

Ty turned on his heels and headed to his room.

Kit was not just a mystery to him, he was a mystery to others, too. People were looking for him, and if Jem had any reasons to fear the involvement of centurions, this has to mean fairy. 

What did Kit have to do with the fey? Who was looking for him? 

Ty felt a surge of protective fire flare up inside him. If Kit was in danger, if someone wanted to hurt him, Ty had to know why. He had to solve this.

The well known, cold calmness of the beginning of an investigation settled over him as Livvy materialized at his side. 

She gave one look at him and called, “What’s wrong?”

“Come,” He didn’t smile as he answered, his voice hard and sharp like a newly forged sword. 

“We have a case to solve.”

[chaoticoconut]

BARBARA GORDON HEADCANONS THAT MAKE ME SWOON!!

(and so can you!! alfkvoekfndnej does anyone get that reference anyhoo)

I couldn't NOT post these idk I was showering and then I was hit with a mf tornado of hcs about my favorite gal and I figured I'd share :))))

Barbara and Tim are actually the most potty mouthed members of the batfam, excluding Kate. Jason is close, but only when he's upset (which probably seems trivial bc he's yk always upset but I hc him a pretty chill if not bitter and snarky guy). Tim cusses more when he's tired, but he consciously tries to bite his tongue. Barbara has no remorse and cusses very casually and openly, because she sees no point in abstaining. It releases endorphins guys. Duh. She uses those ridiculous "holy heck Batman!" lines as Batgirl unless she's genuinely thrown off her game. She limits her cussing a lot as Oracle bc she's not one to offend people, and you never know. It's most definitely a civilian thing for her, and anyone who knows Babs knows she's a fucking sailor.

Her favorite food of all time is pizza. Her dream house has a brick pizza oven. She has a food blog with every pizzeria in the greater Gotham area ranked from best to worst. Her favorite of all time is the Gotham Pizza Garden, which is located in Old Gotham near the police station. Technically it's the second best pizza in Gotham, second to Gargoyle Pie Company, which is renowned for being the epitome of Gotham-style pizza and is always busy. She has a lot of memories of GPG though, and loves both pies. GPG also has an incredible Chicago style pizza, which is her second favorite type of pizza. She does however believe Gotham style is superior and thinks less of Dick for disagreeing (@blanddcheadcanons tie-in heyo!!) Very few things make Babs as happy as gourmet pizza.

She grew up watching Teenage Mutant Turtles, Powerpuff Girls, and Star Trek. They all hold a very special place in her heart. There is totally a connection between her love of pizza and TMNT and turtles and mixed martial arts. She once got the boys to go as the turtles for Halloween, with her crushing it as April.

Speaking of turtles, she's had a pet turtle named after icon Nichelle Nichols since high school. Yes, she does call her Shelly. Yes it's cliche. No she does not care. She also has a calico cat named Cornflake that Dick gave her as a birthday present. She doesn't have pet dogs until she and Dick finally settle down. She never had them growing up because her father is allergic and her mother was a devout cat lady. She's not really sure why she never got any on her own, she's just more familiar with cats. After her mom passed away, she did get a bunch of bunnies whom she and JJ named after their favorite horror movie monsters and serial killers.

She loves slasher flicks. It's a family thing. JJ was creepy about it, Jim loves the thrill, Babs loves the mythos, and her mom was never really afraid of anything and found them funny.

She inherited her mother's love for baking. She left her her cookbook, which contains an amazing mixed berry pie recipe. Her pie baking abilities rival Alfred's. She even begins to branch out with her recipes and experiment with all sorts of fillings and even cake-pies (fanfic au tie-in heyo). Everybody loves a Barbara baked good. She knows everyone's faves and literally crushes holiday season. Dick is all about the og mixed berry pie, whereas Jay, who loves lemon everything (hc I saw awhile ago that I just love) prefers either a lemon meringue or a raspberry lemon. Tim is all about strawberry open face while Steph prefers cherry cheesecake or pecan pie. Cass and Bruce both love her cinnamon apple pie. Duke loves just about anything she bakes, but especially her more adventurous, contest winning pies like kiwi-blueberry-black cherry and other originals. Kate will die for Babs' cherry pie. Damian prefers blackberry or mixed like Dick. Alfred is a sweet potato pie kind of guy himself. There's a farmer's market in Blüdhaven her mother went with her to when she was a kid that Barbara still goes to get get all the fresh fruit.

Even better than Barbara or Alfred baking alone is them baking together. Roy Harper is also a pretty good baker. They all trade recipes with Martha Kent. M'gann brings wine to the manor and assembles them all for fun days of baking.

She's also totally the type of gal who made a shit ton of cupcakes when she ran for class prez and stayed I from Batgirl duties to finish them. Just saying.

She picks baking back up as Oracle but several hero emergencies lead her to burn perfectly good desserts.

She and Roy will always have puppy-love crushes on one another and be totally oblivious. They both did ballet as kids, love baking, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, shameless empty flirting, and tech. They're completely platonic and really great lifelong friends. They met at a Wayne gala as kids.

As if she wasn't already talented enough, she's completely ambidextrous. I'm jealous. Dick and Wally are left handed. Bruce is similarly ambi. Selina's a leftie. Maybe Alfred too.

She likes to enter contests and win for fun. She's a monster. Everything from baking to video games to weight lifting, she loves showing people up.

Dick, Babs, and Tim all snore atrociously loud. The batfam hates it. She's the quietest out of them all, but she's also a blanket hog. And a major cuddler.

Her favorite colors are grey and green. Purple does deserve an honorable mention however. Her apartment is a fair mix of green and grey decor and covered in books.

She was a total ballerina growing up, just like her mom wanted. That was until she discovered how kick ass martial arts were, and she got a little too jacked to continue with ballet as a formidable career option. Her next best option is becoming a cop at this point, but her father believes that not only would it be far too dangerous but a waste of her skills (like ballet cough cough). This upsets her so much she goes off and invents Batgirl, complete with a stole grappling gun from evidence.

In college she works as a barista and excels at it. Her dream is to open up a cafe/bakery/flower shop with Dinah some day. She wants to call her half Bean Me Up Scotty! (another hc I saw and fell in love with)

Babs is also a pretty good cook being that she became the family chef at a young age (Jim can barbeque and make spaghetti. That's literally it. Maybe some breakfast). Cooking lessons from Alfred certainly helped.

Her personality is so versatile. She can get along with pretty much anyone due to her wide range of interests and skills which is what makes Oracle so bad ass. She's also a Libra so she adapts fairly easily to any group without seeming fake.

She has a podcast where she rants about tech and feminism and politics and plays video games

She SO took Latin in high school and dominated competitions. She loves classical studies and is a dork for Greek and Roman mythology as well as linguistics. She has a pretty good grasp on all of the romance languages, and learns languages fairly quickly.

She always smells like mint and books. She has killer mint shampoo and conditioner, which is a Kean family thing (they just love the scent). She always smells refreshing.

She likes coffee but prefers tea always. She's like Ramona Flowers with tea

Her music taste is total 90s nostalgia (grunge, boybands, air pop, ska, hip hop) meets far too indie 4 u. Yes she's pretentious. Yes she loves chick rock and *NSYNC and Britney and Kurt Cobain and Biggie and deal with it. She also loves shit you've never even heard of. Was totally into the Gotham punk scene as a teen.

She collects vinyl and books and horror flicks ugh hipster queen

She loves spicy food and Dick cannot stand it. They both like sour candy though

If your Barbara Gordon didn't graduate high school at 16 she doesn't have rights

She was all of the Robin's first crush. Duh. Tim will always think she's the gold standard of women. He likes that she usually sticks up for him. He doesn't mind being seen as her male equivalent lmao

At some point Jay and Babs are roommates and it's literally the best I'll talk abt that later

Her type is guys with dark hair or blonde gals.

[avelera]

more body positive stuff, but this time with hermann? he’s always been insecure about how scrawny he is and how bony his limbs are but newt just can’t get over how elegant and beautiful his boyfriend is!!!

Hey there, Anon! I combined your prompt with a second one which I’ll list below the cut. This got kinda long (3k words, sigh) but I hope I hit what you’re looking for!

On the Risks (and Benefits) of Pillow Talk 

Also available on Ao3

Ship: Newt/Hermann

Words: ~3,000

Timeline: Soon after their Drift - I wanted to write the smut scene between them first but eh, unfortunately this is very T/PG-13 rated and the smut scene will come another day :)

Prompt 2: Can you talk a bit more about Hermann’s realization that he has a bit of a thing for more ample bodies? Did he slowly notice that his secret crushes had certain things in common? Did it hit him suddenly during a meeting? Was it something that he had to hide since he was a child? Is it something he’s found adult videos of before deleting his browser history? Enquiring minds want to know the whole story 😉

–

They lay there, panting side by side, nude on the bed, and even if it wasn’t the first time, Hermann still found himself staring up at the ceiling as his heart rate slowed, trying to figure out how this has become his life. How it had actually come to this after years of alternating between furious at Newton to furious at himself for not being able to relinquish the lingering desire he felt since they’re only known each other as a signature at the end of a page. 

Most humiliating had been the desire that would throb at the most inopportune times. Moments when they were in one another’s face, screaming themselves hoarse, when it would suddenly come over Hermann how badly he wanted to have Newton screaming for an entirely different reason and he would scoff and sputter and storm off, only hoping that Newt would take his departure as a reaction to his monument stupidity rather than the truth of Hermann’s own shameful lack of self control.

Thanks to the Drift, he could now see that a loss of self-control would have probably been the best thing he could have done at the time. They could have been shagging one another silly for years.

Newt sighed in contentment and rolled over to press up against Hermann, planting what he suspected were deliberately messy kisses against his shoulder. Newt’s hand swept up and down Hermann’s scrawny, concave chest, down to the sharp jut of his hipbone down to his thin legs. At least Newt’s wasn’t touching the mess of surgical scars on his left hip or the mangled bone beneath it. Not that Newton had ever made any gesture, or even a whisper that he was put off by the scars, but Hermann can’t help but feel…

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Newt muttered against his skin. “What are these fucking dancer legs, man? I feel like I kidnapped the premier danseur of the fucking Paris Ballet.” Newt lifted Hermann’s good leg at the knee and stroked his hand up and down the calf while laving more kisses against his skin.

Hermann scoffed, “Like you’ve ever attended the ballet.”

“Fuck you, I spent my summers stuck on the opera circuit as a kid, you uncultured swine. I know what I’m about,” Newt said. “Which is why I know this is fucking superb.” Newt crawled up to bracket Hermann on all fours, peppering more kisses against his neck and down to his chest while his hand traced up and down his side. “But what I don’t know is what you’re doing with a slob like me. Must be my dazzling personality.”

Hermann’s eyes fluttered open as he frowned. His mouth went dry every time he saw Newton naked, at the rounded muscles of his arms and the swell of his stomach and his hips and his thighs. Hermann could feel himself stirring even so soon after the last round just thinking about Newton’s body. “Don’t be absurd, I think we both know who would win a theoretical beauty contest, much as it pains me to stroke your ego.”

“Fake compliments? Dr. Gottlieb, I’m all aflutter!” Newt said between kisses, muffling half his words with each peck. “Especially that you would up and lie like a lying liar just to make me feel better.”

Newt’s been happier, far more relaxed since they closed the Breach. Hermann imagined a similar mood was sweeping the world right now. As for himself, dispatching an existential threat on the same night as all of one’s sexual tension had admittedly lifted even his mood. Newton was a bottomless well of delight and exuberance in the bedroom, far more enthusiastic than any of Hermann’s past partners. He’d simply assumed it was the Drift, or Newton’s general attitude of respect towards Hermann’s disability and familiarity with his overall…demeanor. After  five years of working closely together, the man was in all likelihood simply not phased by all of Hermann’s failings, not that it had stopped all of their petty sniping. 

Hermann frowned and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Do not call me a liar,” he said querulously.

“But you are though. Except like a handsome one so I’ll put up with it this time,” Newt said and kissed up to Hermann’s lips, now within reach. Hermann continued to frown and did not return it. “Ok, what is it now? Are you seriously mad at me for having even a trace of modesty? I thought we were still in the honeymoon period.”

“You’re not a…a slob, Newton, unless you were referring to your office organization habits,” Hermann said. “You’re obviously more attractive than I, and either you are teasing me on the matter, which I do not appreciate and quite violates the so-called honeymoon period, or you believe that to be true and I will not permit you to project such a wrong-headed belief onto me.”

“Wait. Wait a minute, are we…” Newt paused, “seriously having a fight about who is hotter right now?”

“We’re not fighting, it’s a statement of fact,” Hermann retorts.

“Oh my god. Ok, just so you know, this is officially the dumbest argument we’ve ever had, and we’ve had some doozies. First of all, what are you, twelve? Second, you hit all the bases for conventionally attractive, borderline supermodel, dude, if you’d just dress like it once in a while. Those cheekbones, those hands, your shoulders,” Newt punctuated each statement by kissing the offending body part, “you’ve got the willowy, Victorian consumptive look down pat. I wasn’t kidding when I said you’re built like a dancer. Probably the only reason you’re with me is the hot girl effect. Y’know when you’re so hot everyone’s intimidated so only the gross, loud-mouthed guy is dumb enough to give it a shot. Eh, that and you’ve gone way out of your way to hide all this. Then there’s your personality, I mean, you might as well just put up a stop sign…”

“Stop it,” Hermann snapped.

Newt’s lip twitched, but he did stop and held up his palm in surrender. “Sorry, man, old habits. I gotta remember one of these days that I don’t have to pull your pigtails to get you to notice me anymore. Not when I’ve already got you in bed by some fucking miracle.”

Hermann’s lips worked as he choked past his fury, “Not about me, you imbecile, you think after five years together in that lab I can’t handle a petty jab? I meant stop putting yourself down when it is so blatantly untrue. The Newton Geiszler I know didn’t need to resort to false self-deprecation when the truth is obvious for anyone to see. This is frankly the worst kind of arrogance.”

Hermann shifted onto his side to face away from Newton, to give himself a moment to cool down if Newton didn’t begin to wheedle for forgiveness immediately and curl up against his back while whispering nonsense endearments like, don’t be like that, baby. Not that Hermann would ever admit to enjoying the pestering.

Instead, the bed shifted as Newt bounded from one side of Hermann to the other. He landed hard on his side and stared intently into Hermann’s eyes like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Hermann recoiled, his lips curled down in displeasure and he moved to shift the other way before Newt’s hand curled around his bicep to stop him. “Hold on a second, I’m a little mixed up here. Which part are you mad at me about, the part where I used to lie about how sexy I was in front of you because I was an insecure piece of shit who enjoyed riling you up, or the part where I thought we were over that now so I’ve started telling it like it is?”

“The part where you know very well which of us drew looks around the Shatterdome and it wasn’t me. If it wasn’t for your obnoxious mouth, I have no doubt you would have had suitors lining up outside our lab,” Hermann groused but softened at the confusion on Newt’s face and sighed. “It’s very kind of you to compliment me like that, Newton. Lord knows, I should simply shut up and enjoy it when you make an effort like that, but I think we both know what we have is more… cerebral. There are few minds that can keep up with yours, or with your nonsense, and that allows you to overlook the fact I’m certainly no catch. As you so generously pointed out, my personality forbids others from getting close, my leg means most either try to ignore me for their own comfort or treat me as if I were made of glass, and even besides that I look as skeletal and undernourished as I have since I was a youth. I simply can’t keep the weight on, let alone muscle. Even without my leg I never would have advanced in the Jaeger Academy for that alone.”

“Wow, that’s…” Newton squinted at Hermann, then did the little head tilt Hermann was familiar with when Newt had decided to try a different avenue of experimentation. “Ok, so what do you think of me? Like, my body? You’ve never really brought it up before and actually I’m realizing that’s kinda weird because you’ve brought up literally every other flaw I have under the sun before today.”

Hermann blushed and couldn’t prevent it. It was easier to look away and he trailed his finger tips down the sheet as he eyed Newton’s tattoos, which he would rather be touching. But no, they were supposed to be having a tiff. “Oh, very well, I’ll play along. It’s not as if it’s a secret that I find you attractive, our activities here should be testament to that, nor that I have for many years. I had to wank off twice before I was in a fit state to leave my room the day I received your polaroid, though I’m sure you saw all that in the Drift.”

Newt made a strangled noise and Hermann glanced up to find him wide-eyed. “No?”

“Nope!” Newt squeaked. His cheeks were pink to match Hermann’s own and that was a boost of confidence enough to keep him going with a secret smile to himself. Fine, he hadn’t given away all his darkest secrets in the Drift, but it was damned inconvenient to have to put words to what should have been the obvious and heretofore very inappropriate fact of his attraction to his lab partner.

“What else is there to say?” Hermann said and shifted in discomfort. “You might as well have been constructed in a lab to vex me personally. Your eyes, your hair, the way you bite your lip on those rare occasions when you stop yourself from speaking, your… your body, it’s…” he coughed, “very attractive.”

“Well, you’d be the fucking first to think so,” Newt muttered under his breath. “Ok, so we’re gonna have to revisit the jerking off to my picture thing, but I gotta ask, in the spirit of scientific inquiry: what the fuck? Why? Assuming you’re not just messing with me, I’d like to hear more about this very attractive thing. Not just for the ego stroke. I’ll take the ego stroke, I’ll take any kind of stroke you wanna give me in about fifteen more minutes, heh, but I gotta admit, dude, this is a little… new for me?”

Any other time, Hermann might have scoffed and rolled his eyes at Newton’s blatant fishing for praise. But there was a hesitance to his words, a puppy-like inquisitiveness in the way he looked up at Hermann’s face. There was no hint of the usual bravado.

Hermann exhaled and allowed his hand to drift over the curve of Newton’s soft stomach, tracing it so he felt the goosebumps pebble on Newton’s skin, obscured by the colorful tattoos. It was soothing to touch and helped calm his nerves enough to speak frankly. “You must understand, this has been a—a closely guarded part of me, I daresay a secret, for so long I’m not even sure I have the words for it. I find your body desirable. My own… has betrayed me again and again. Even before my leg, my father used me as an example to torment my siblings. I’ve always been bony like this, but he saw skinniness as a virtue, as if it were in any way intentional. I know you’re an only child so you perhaps don’t understand the experience of being pitted in competition with your siblings against your will, but I had very few friends. They were all I had and yet everything about me, my intellect, my accomplishments, and as I said my body were used to put distance between us in order to serve as some sort of motivation for their perceived success. But there’s nothing special  in what I am. Even without my leg I’ve never found my appearance terribly attractive. But yours…” 

Hermann shrugged. “You’re beautiful. Unselfconscious, healthy… there, you see? There’s barely a vocabulary in our language that doesn’t sound like backhanded compliments. I find you desirable. I find your arms and your stomach and your legs all the more so for your weight, the way others have been socialized to admire musculature that can only be achieved by a degree of exercise so obsessive it borders on self-harm, or the leanness that comes with self-starvation. I’ve always thought it was as natural as any other attraction, only to be mocked for my tastes whenever I dared express them, or be told that I was acting on a lack of options when nothing could not be further from the truth. When I saw your photo, I was taken aback by how instantaneous the attraction was. I already knew your mind, your personality, and then I discovered you were also handsome and sexually attractive to me as well. It was a deadly combination. By the time I saw you in person, I was so convinced you couldn’t desire me in return, the way I wanted so terribly, that I assumed your flirtations couldn’t be anything but mockery. You of course know the rest.”

“Yeah…” Newt trailed off at the memory of that disastrous first meeting, then grinned. “So, you dig the chub?”

Hermann huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. “If you must put it in such terms, yes.”

“So is it like a feeding thing or a bursting out of clothes thing…? Don’t look at me like that, man, I’ve been on the internet.”

Hermann hadn’t thought he could blush any harder but he was proven wrong. “No! Not… not necessarily. I know what you mean, I… I won’t say I’m not aware of that subculture, or haven’t found some of their erotica titillating, would you stop snickering?”

“I’m sorry!” Newt gasped. “I should have asked you about porn before, oh my god, if you could see your face right now!”

“I’m trying to answer your question on what is a very difficult subject for me, Newton. Would you do me the courtesy of not mocking me for doing so the way everyone else has?”

Newton’s teeth clicked shut and his eyes widened. He then nodded for Hermann to go on.

Yet Hermann found himself at a loss. “Well, but as I said, it’s merely erotica. Fantasy. I would never encourage a partner to engage in dangerous behavior for my gratification, nor would I want to humiliate them the way much of that art does. I find the very idea abhorrent. But I can’t change what I find attractive and I confess, Newton, it never occurred to me that you were declaring anything but simple truth when you called yourself a stud or a rockstar just to infuriate me.” He offered a weak smile at the last and though he knew Newton, as intimately as it was possible to know another person, a part of him still clenched in anticipation of the inevitable rejection and mockery for baring himself so.

Newt hummed thoughtfully. “I guess that makes me a lucky sonofabitch then, huh?”

Hermann blinked. “That’s it? You don’t mind?”

“Yeah, I totally mind that your particular bone means I’m a sex god to you, it’s a real tragedy. I dunno, it may take some getting used to, the idea I mean, but it’s kinda like hitting the jackpot would take getting used to. You’re not going to turn around and tell me to drop the junk food or start training with the Jaeger pilots one of these days like some of my other, uh, past experiences that didn’t end so great.”

“I might if I feared for your health,” Hermann shrugged. “But for pure aesthetics? No.” He forced himself not to fidget. He still felt utterly exposed to be speaking this frankly.

“Score. ‘Cause I’ve tried, man, none of this is gonna change even if I put myself through hell. I’m just built like this. Which I guess isn’t a problem for you,” Newt added thoughtfully. “Ok, so now that you’ve got that out, will you maybe consider that I also think you’re hot as fuck too?”

“It’s a relationship, Newton, compliments don’t need to be transactional,” Hermann scoffed.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you sometimes. I’m not lying, Hermann! You’re hot! I’m into you, maybe it’s the other side of the whole thing you’ve got in your head, but you’re tall and elegant and… fucking lithe, like I need 19th century poetry to describe you. You’ve got the weirdest mouth I’ve ever seen and I’m so hot for it, like I felt funny just looking at you frowning up at your chalkboard some days. When you smile, your whole face transforms, and I could drown in your eyes if you’re not wearing those stupid granny glasses, and… mmmph!”

Hermann pulled away from kissing Newt to frown at him. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

“You’re blushing! You really can’t handle compliments, huh?”

“Perhaps I’d rather save them up, instead of exhausting you on them all at once,” Hermann said and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t worry, babe, I’m nowhere near exhausted.” Newt grinned.

[doeeyeddarlingxo]

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 3

The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-In-Training - Chapter 3

AO3 | Previous | Next

Word Count: 2616

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Rating: T

Myriad Misadventures - Chapter 3

Full of soda, cake, and laughter, you arrive back home feeling as though you could fly. Any thoughts of the letter are gone; the only thing you're worried about at the moment is the fact that you’ll have to get up extra early to finish your homework the next morning. You have enough trouble falling asleep as it is, but after a day of festivities, the sugar rush combines with a natural high to leave you even more restless as usual.

 You sleep lightly; fussily. You close your eyes at eleven and eventually fall into a state of semi-consciousness, only to open them what feels like hours later and see that it’s only a quarter after midnight. You need to get up, need to move - maybe some tea will help me calm down. You climb out of bed, careful not to disturb Carlie as you shut the door - her bedroom is next to yours, and she’s also a notoriously light sleeper. You walk down the stairs, wincing every time the floor creaks -

“ - don’t want her doing this.”

“I don’t think we really have a choice, Rob!”

You freeze halfway down the stairs, recognizing the hissing voice as that of your mom. You take one more step down, enough that you can see into the dining room without drawing attention to yourself, and crouch down.

“I’m with Dad on this one.” Erik steps into view. “I’ve spent the last month and a half studying this guy. For a project. He’s...not right. Not stable. From a psychological standpoint.” You roll your eyes. Your brother’s only minoring in psychology - his major is political science - but already he considers himself an expert on the subject. “Anyone with enough power to browbeat an entire planet into submission isn’t someone I’d want to touch with a forty-foot pole. And someone crazy enough to even want to rule the world - do you really want (Y/N) living with someone like that? Marrying someone like that?”

“She’s sixteen, I don’t want her marrying anybody!” Dad explodes. You flinch - this is a far cry from the “always look on the bright side” attitude he had at dinner.

“Calm down.” Mom glares at the two men. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. All I’m saying is that we have to submit her name. I don’t want to,” she adds quickly, seeing that Dad is ready to blow his top. “But it’s exactly what Erik said. This man - he’s powerful, and I don’t want to do anything to cross him. We submit her name, she doesn’t get picked, we can go on with our lives.”

“And if she does, Mom? What then?” Erik interjects.

She shushes him gently. “We cross that bridge when we come to it. Just pray we never have to.”

“Leigh Ann, I just...I don’t…” Your dad trails off, looking lost. Mom rubs his arm.

“I know, sweetie. Layoffs are stressful. Right now, let’s focus on keeping (Y/N) with us, all right? We have money saved. We’ve dealt with worse.”

“I can come back home.”

“No.” Dad goes from dazed to firm in an instant. “You are not dropping out of school. Your mother’s right. We’ll make it through this, but right now, (Y/N) is the priority. In a week or two, this’ll all be over.”

Erik hesitates a moment before nodding. “I’m going to go upstairs. Love you guys.” Somewhere in the back of your mind, it occurs to you that you should move before you’re  discovered, but you’re more concerned by what you just overheard. Dad was laid off? When? And when were they planning on telling Carlie and me? You wish you had the courage to confront your parents, but they’re under enough pressure as it is, and they probably wouldn’t be too thrilled to find out you were eavesdropping, and damn it he's walking this way. As he passes through the living room, he knocks over a pile of magazines from the table. He bends down to pick theme up; seeing your chance, you stand up and run lightly back up the stairs. 

You lay back down, feeling a strange new sense of dread. You may have evaded being caught by your brother and parents, but it seems as though not every incoming bullet will be so easy to dodge.

**********************************

THE CHOOSING - TERMS OF PARTICIPATION 

If chosen to participate, the Chosen will be given lodgings in the palace, as well as training to prepare them for their potential role as queen. This will be a televised event of indefinite length. All those chosen to participate in The Choosing will be granted extended life for as long as needed. 

 To compensate for their absence, the families of the Chosen will be given a weekly stipend of $2000, and, if the contestant in question is chosen as the first queen of Midgard, will be moved to Asgard and elevated to members of the royal family.

The Chosen will be required to sign a contract confirming that they will not engage in physical relations with anyone of the opposite gender during their stay in the castle. They will be expected to maintain their chastity for the duration of their stay. Violation of this rule will be considered treason, and violators will be punished accordingly.

The Chosen will be required to maintain physical and mental well-being from the time they are chosen to the time they leave the competition. Medical care, including (but not limited to) any necessary (non-cosmetic) surgeries, vaccines, and/or prescription medicines will be provided as needed.

The Chosen will not attempt to intimidate, attack, or harass any members of the royal family, government officials, workers in the palace, and/or their fellow contestants, and/or do anything to hurt their fellow contestants’ chances at winning. Violators of this rule will be asked to leave the competition, and will be punished accordingly.

The Chosen will wear the clothes and eat the food provided for them in the palace. Special accommodations will be made as necessary. For security reasons, it is asked that the Chosen not bring any clothes to the palace except for the ones they wear the day of transport. 

The Chosen may bring one security-approved item from their home to the palace. Weapons and live electronic devices are not permitted. Means of communication will be provided to the Selected and their families upon the contestants’ arrival.

So many rules...no clothes from home? And only one item? You run through possibilities in your mind...cell phone? E-reader? No, no electronic devices. Dammit, that means I can’t bring my laptop, either. Should I print out all my stories and stuff and put them in a binder? Would that still count as one object? But then I couldn’t bring any of my books…

You shake your head. You haven't even finished filling out the form; chances are, you won't even be picked. Who are you kidding, you’ll never be picked! Your heart rises, then sinks again as you consider the rest of your family. Yes, your parents would never want you to go...but you can’t pretend as though they wouldn't benefit enormously from that “weekly stipend,” at least until Erik graduates college.

Geez, slow down. We can worry about money and stuff if I get picked. Which I won’t. So we figure out another way - Dad’ll get hired by a new company soon enough, Mom’ll do something, I can get an after school job if I need to...You’ll make it through. Your family is resilient and clever and altogether a brilliant team. In a few days, they’ll announce the names of the Chosen, and I'll be able to breathe again.

But, until then, you have to finish signing all of these contracts, and, dear God, there are a lot of them. Forms about your appearance, forms about your likes and dislikes, forms about your occupation and your family and your education and everything in between. It takes you nearly an hour to finish filling out and checking everything, and that's with the help of your parents.

The line at the government office is ridiculously long, but the wait is worth it: the second you drop the bulging envelope on the counter, you feel as though an enormous weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

You’ve done all you could. Now you just have to wait for all this to blow over.

**********************************

You've never followed the news before - on purpose, at least, though you tuned in via phone with your friends during the Battle of New York. But it's the evening after the deadline for Choosing applications, you’re in bed with nothing to watch and now seems a good a time as any to make Good Night, America a part of your nightly routine. 

The introduction music plays, the logo flashes on the screen, and the host, Ashley Marino - a pretty, petite redhead - appears on screen, flashing viewers her famously cheery smile. “Hello, there, and welcome to Good Night, America! Last week, millions of young women across the globe received a letter informing them of a very special opportunity.” 

You wonder if Miss Marino got a letter - there’s absolutely no way she’s anywhere close to being in her thirties - until you catch a glimpse of her left hand. 

Oh. Mrs. Marino, then. 

“King Loki of the planet Earth - or the realm of Midgard, as some call it - has announced the commencement of a competition to see just who will be his queen.” Her smile is still there, but it’s beginning to seem just the slightest bit forced. “Eight lucky girls, picked at random tonight on our show - yes, you heard that right - will be swept away to the palace to familiarize themselves with the royal lifestyle. And never fear - for those of us stuck at home, The Choosing will be a filmed event. Not only will home viewers be able to access live online footage, but for the duration of The Choosing, Good Night, America will be having a weekly segment on the event, complete with interviews from our lovely champions and, of course, our great leader.” Her breathing quickens - perhaps she’s nervous at the idea of interviewing the great Loki of Asgard. She swallows before continuing, “We’re actually lucky enough to have him with us tonight - your Majesty?”

The camera pans out, and suddenly Ashley Marino’s shaky breath and trembling hands make sense, because the King of Midgard himself is sitting not two feet away from her. 

You’re shocked by how normal he looks, how not-godlike and not-crazy and...well, attractive. 

There, I admitted it. Just don’t think that again. 

It’s true, though: with his hair slicked back, a calm expression on his face, and a brilliant emerald tie peeking out from under his black suit jacket, he could pass for any Earthborn businessman, if it weren’t for the way he was sitting - leaning forward, legs spread. Very casual. Not at all what you’d expect from a sophisticated alien king. 

“Thank you, Ashley.” He smiles at her, and she visibly relaxes. His voice confuses you further - he speaks English? He’s British? - but you can’t deny that he’s nice to listen to. Stop that! He conquered my planet. He nearly destroyed my favorite city. He’s not a nice guy. “Yes, after much deliberation, my advisors and I thought it would be a wise decision for me to take a wife. There is a saying I’ve heard - “behind every great man is an even greater woman,” I believe is how it goes?” He shrugs. “In my experience, that never fails to be true.”

She laughs, now totally at ease. “Right. So, eight girls, from across the world - you aren’t intimidated at all by language barriers?”

He chuckles at that, sitting up straight and extending a hand to her. She looks at it, unsure - until a flower materializes, quite literally out of thin air. A rose. Red. Long-stemmed. No thorns. She hesitates before accepting it. “As a child on Asgard, my mother trained me extensively in the ways of magic. I expect language will not be much of an issue.”

Mrs. Marino is clearly less comfortable than she was moments before. It strikes you as almost funny, that this king has the power to destroy worlds, yet this news anchor is only frightened by him producing a flower for her enjoyment. 

But you can’t laugh when you’re just as scared as her.

“Whatcha - oh.” You turn to see Erik in the doorway. “Mom wanted you downstairs,” he explains, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “They’re announcing the Chosen tonight, and she thought we should watch it - ”

“Together,” you finish. “As a family.” He nods, and you sigh, stretching before rolling to the edge of the bed. “Tell her I’ll be down in a minute.”

If watching the news by yourself was strange, it feels downright bizarre when, upon your entrance in the living room, both your parents immediately snap to look at you. Mom scoots over, making a place for you on the couch between her and Dad, but before she can invite you to sit, you’ve already settled on the recliner besides Carlie. She snuggles into you - it’s past her bedtime, but clearly she was able to persuade your parents to let her stay up, given the circumstances.

The interview is wrapping up. “So,” Ashley Marino says, “any last words for those women who entered the lottery?”

He turns in a few different directions, and it takes you a moment to realize he’s trying to find the camera. You let out a snort; the all-powerful ruler of Earth - er, Midgard - can’t deal with human technology. Ashley leans into him and whispers something, pointing, and he finally makes eye contact. It’s creepy, to say the least. Even though you know he can’t see you through the TV, the intensity of his gaze would suggest otherwise. “Enjoy these last few moments as ordinary maidens, and I look forward to meeting the eight of you.” You should be terrified, but his manner as he says it isn’t menacing. It isn’t the tone of some psychopathic meglomaniac, it’s that of an old friend. It’s, in a strange way, comforting.

At this point, you can see Ashley Marino has completely melted, surrendered to the charms of this man. God. King? Whatever he is. “Great advice. So, let’s get started! Our first champion…” The screen changes to an image of a short, busty blonde - you reckon she's about nineteen - her mouth drawn into what you assume is supposed to be a sexy pout, but looks more like a duck's face. Still, she's pretty enough. "Rosa Perez, twenty-one, of Argentina!”

"Next, we have Irina Madison, twenty, of Russia!" Another blonde, but her hair is darker than the first, and wavy. She looks friendlier, definitely, grinning at the camera from atop a large brown horse.

“Rhea Unz, twenty-nine, of Germany!” Light brown hair, delicate features. 

“Alexandra Ritaccio, twenty-one, of Croatia!” Another girl who submitted a selfie for her application picture, same duck-faced pose as the first. 

You nuzzle the top of Carlie’s head. “What do you think of them so far?”

She chuckles. “The last one looked silly.”

You tickle her, sparking more giggles. “You’re silly, little miss - ”

“(FN) (LN), sixteen, of the United States of America!”

Did she just - 

You hear someone let out a faint cry, but you’re not sure who - Mom? Carlie? You? On the screen, Ashley Marino is still calling names, but you aren’t registering any of them. “Rewind it,” you say softly. Erik nods, picking up the remote, pausing it at the exact moment.

There it is, your face, on TV for all the world to see. 

You’ve been Chosen.

[gosecretscribbles]

MonthofMaybel2019 Week 4: Mabel’s Guide to Cryptid Families!

So I’ve never done this before, but I wrote it out like a transcript for an actual TV show.  Was kind of a fun experience?  (although formatting this thing was a nightmare and I couldn’t even copy over most of the formatting here @,@) Anyway I hope you like it!

Also these fics for the month of maybel are linked; it would help to read the one for week 2 about Anansi, but long story short, he’s a spider-person who wants to weave from a society where everybody’s a warrior.  He was an outcast, but helping his people win a series of contests against the Mantises meant that he’s not completely shunned anymore. 

Okay.  *Now* enjoy! INT. DIPPER AND MABEL'S ROOM – DAY

MABEL WEARS A HAND-KNITTED PINK SWEATER WITH FOUR HEARTS ON THE FRONT, EACH WITHIN ANOTHER.  MABEL STANDS IN FRONT OF A WALL PAPERED WITH BOY BANDZ POSTERS, PIG PICTURES, AND POSTERS FROM ANTARCTICA.  THE CORNER OF A MESSY DRESSER IS ON HER RIGHT, THE EDGE OF A WINDOW ON HER LEFT. 

MABEL Families come in many shapes and sizes, sometimes as small as Nana and Liro in Liro and Pugface, sometimes so big you have second-cousins you didn't even know about until you got your inheritance! 

Today we're going to take a closer look at some particularly unusual families – CRYPTIDS!!!

SWISH PAN – WINDOW ON MABEL'S LEFT

ANANSI STANDS ON THE WINDOWSILL FACING THE CAMERA.  THE BACKYARD IS VISIBLE THROUGH THE WINDOW.   A TERMITE MOUND STRUCTURE RISES IN THE FAR CORNER OF THE YARD, TEEMING WITH SPIDER-PEOPLE.

MABEL Please welcome our first guest, a seriously cute member of the Spider-People living in our backyard!  And ladies, he's single!

ANANSI (looking nervously at camera) Are you sure that's not an insect?  It has a very large black eye.

MABEL So, Anansi!  Tell us about your brother!

ANANSI (brightening) Oh! He's one of my people's finest warriors.  He can lift over a hundred times his own weight, run for hours without getting tired, and adjust his strategy in the middle of a battle.  Even after his legs were injured in the Challenge, many young warriors were seeking him out as a trainer – I could see him teaching them from here. 

MABEL What did you guys like to do together?

ANANSI Sparring, mostly!  Not that I was ever any good, but he was very patient and kept encouraging me to try again no matter how many times I fell down.  And I fell down a lot.  He always said that every warrior mattered.  But, well...I'm clearly never going to be a warrior now, with the Weaving, so I don't know, but he might be – oh!

SWISH PAN – WINDOW ON WALL TO RIGHT

A SLIGHTLY LARGER SPIDER-PERSON IS CLIMBING OVER THE SILL OF THE WINDOW.  HALFWAY UP HIS BODY TENSES THE MOMENT HE NOTICES THE CAMERA.

BROTHER An enemy insect!  Hya!

BROTHER HURLS A SLIM OBJECT STRAIGHT AT THE CAMERA LENS.  THE BEGINNING OF MABEL'S SHRIEK IS HEARD AS WHAT IS CLEARLY A SPEAR STRIKES THE LENS.

STATIC

CUT TO FIRST WINDOW

ANANSI AND BROTHER STAND ON THE FIRST WINDOW SILL, MOUND STILL IN THE BACKGROUND.  ANANSI IS ON THE LEFT AND BROTHER IS ON THE RIGHT.  THEY STAND SEVERAL INCHES APART, BOTH SQUARELY FACING THE CAMERA.  THERE IS A SLIGHT CRACK IN THE UPPER LEFT CORNER OF THE LENS.  ANANSI'S ARMS ARE PULLED IN AND HE FIDGETS SLIGHTLY, CLEARLY NERVOUS.  HIS EYES MEET THE CAMERA BUT KEEP FLICKERING AWAY.  BROTHER'S ARMS ARE RELAXED, YET HIS POSTURE CONVEYS PREDATORY STRENGTH AND GRACE.  HIS GAZE IS STEADY.

BROTHER Are you sure that is not an insect?

MABEL Anansi was just telling us about how you two spent time together!  Do you have any embarrassing spiderbro stories to share with us?

BROTHER (stoically) My brother is not an embarrassment.  His Weaving allowed us to win back a large portion of our land from the conniving Mantises.  Word of his deed has already been sent out to the rest of our people.  He will teach a new generation of Weavers and spearhead our victory in reclaiming our ancestral lands. I believe he is a greatly valued and talented Weaver.

MABEL (squeals) AWWWWWW! Anansi is there anything you want to say?!

ANANSI (mumbling) Th-thank you.

BROTHER (grunts)

ANANSI'S FACE IS BRIGHT RED AND HE STARES DOWN AND TO THE SIDE, EQUALLY STUNNED, EMBARRASSED, AND TOUCHED.  BROTHER IS STOIC, STILL SQUARELY FACING THE CAMERA.  THE TWO STAND SILENTLY FOR SEVERAL SECONDS. SLOWLY BROTHER'S RIGHT ARM STARTS TO RISE.  A SPEAR COMES INTO VIEW.

MABEL Wai–

STATIC

EXT. ROOF OF SHACK – DAY

SOOS'S FACE FILLS THE SCREEN, SMILING HAPPILY AGAINST A BACKGROUND OF REDWOOD TREETOPS AND BRIGHT BLUE SKY.  SOOS'S FACE IS TOO CLOSE AND HIS ARMS ARE EXTENDED; HE IS HOLDING THE CAMERA.  STRANGE CHIRPING NOISES COME FROM OFF SCREEN ON THE LEFT.  

MABEL Our second guest comes to us from a certain roof in Gravity Falls, Oregon.  Please welcome – Soos!

SOOS Hi, Mr. Pineses!  Can I give shoutouts?  Is that allowed?  

MABEL Absolutely! Can you tell us about the new addition to your family?

SOOS Oh, sure!

CAMERA SWINGS ERRATICALLY AND STOPS ON A MASSIVE NEST SITTING ON THE ROOF. IN THE CENTER OF THE NEST IS A YOUNG PTERODACTYL THE SIZE OF A SEMI TRUCK, CURLED UP AND FAST ASLEEP.

SOOS Tada! We named him Kitten because he chases that little red laser around just like a quarter-ton kitten.  Aw, look –

ZOOM IN, FOCUS BLURS, THEN CLEARS ON A CLOSE-UP OF KITTEN'S FACE.  ITS FRONT CLAWS SCRABBLE LIGHTLY AGAINST THE NEST.  ITS UPPER LIP IS TWITCHING, REVEALING SHARP WHITE TEETH GLISTENING WITH SALIVA, AND ITS EYELIDS OPEN SLIGHTLY TO REVEAL GROTESQUELY ROLLING EYES.   

SOOS (Abnormally Loud Stage Whisper) He's dreaming!

MABEL (Abnormally Loud Stage Whisper) How did he end up on the roof?

SOOSOh –

SWISH PAN ERRATICALLY BACK TO CLOSE-UP OF SOOS

SOOS So we think he was learning to fly and crash-landed on the lawn.  I got him to hold still long enough to fix his wing, and then we bonded over a housewarming barbeque, and by the time his mom showed up we were basically like brothers!  So he sleeps here during the day while his mom hunts and then they go home to the dino mines at night.  At least until his wing heals up.

MELODY (Off Screen) Soos! Don't forget to wake up Kitten for his three o' clock snack.  And no more gingerbread men!  We don't want him getting ideas about the tourists!

SOOS You got it, honey!

LOUD SCREECHING FROM OFF SCREEN

SOOS(grinning)Uh-oh! Sounds like someone heard the word 'snack'!  He's so smart.

PAN TO KITTEN, WHO IS CRAWLING AWKWARDLY BUT RAPIDLY OUT OF HIS NEST.

KITTEN SCREECHES AND BITS OFF THE TOP HALF OF THE CHIMNEY.

SOOS Whoops! Those can't be good for his teeth.  Put it down, Kitten, go on...

KITTEN (Chirps without letting go of chimney)

MABEL He's like a puppy!  ...A really scaly one.

SOOS Doooown...

KITTEN PAUSES.

KITTEN DROPS CHIMNEY.

CHIMNEY CRASHES THROUGH ROOF.

SOOS Good boy, Kitten!

CAMERA ANGLES DOWN TO A MASSIVE PILE OF TURKEY LEGS AT SOOS'S FEET.  HIS ARM ENTERS THE SCREEN'S FIELD OF VISION.  HE GRABS A CHICKEN LEG AND THROWS IT AT KITTEN WITH A GRUNT.  KITTEN'S HEAD SHOOTS OUT TEN FEET AND HE SNAPS IT UP IN ON GULP.  KITTEN CHIRPS FOR MORE, THEN SNEEZES SO HARD IT BLOWS THE REST OF THE CHIMNEY AWAY.

ABUELITA (Distant, rapid Spanish)

MELODY Soos!

SOOS I can fix it!

CUT TO INT. DIPPER AND MABEL'S BEDROOM – DAY MABEL IS NOW SITTING ON A ROLLING CHAIR AT A DESK.  A CORKBOARD OVER THE DESK IS COVERED IN NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS, MORE POSTCARDS, POST-IT NOTES, AND STRINGS OF RED YARN.  

MABEL (Squeezing her cheeks) Aw, that was adorable!  Guess I can't say Dipper sneezes like a 'Kitten' anymore!  HEY-OOOO!  

MABEL STANDS AND MOVES SLIGHTLY TO HER RIGHT, THE CAMERA FOLLOWING HER MOVEMENT.

MABEL And now for the final portion of the episode, please welcome Grunkle Ford, and his extensive knowledge of all things ocean and occult!

A LAPTOP RESTS ON THE DESK.  THE SCREEN IS FILLED WITH GREAT-UNCLE FORD'S FACE.  THE SLIVERS OF BACKGROUND ON EITHER SIDE SHOW BOAT RAILINGS AGAINST AN AZURE SEA AND SLIGHTLY CLOUDY SKY.  A SMALL DARK THREAD OF LAND TRACES THE HORIZON.  FORD IS WEARING A LIFE JACKET OVER A RED TURTLENECK AND LOOKS SLIGHTLY SUNBURNED, SMILING DIRECTLY AT THE CAMERA.

FORD Greetings, future scientists!

MABEL Grunkle Ford, what can you tell us about the supernatural families you've found in the Arctic Circle? 

FORD Actually most of the cryptids we've discovered on the ocean are solitary by virtue of their size alone.  A giant squid, for example, typically requires a hunting ground of one to two thousand square miles of open ocean just to sate its voracious appetite.  It's quite rare for them to engage in anything we might call “socializing.”

STAN (Off Screen) Oi!

STAN ENTERS FROM THE LEFT, BENDING OVER TO SQUINT AT THE SCREEN.  FORD LEANS BACK SLIGHTLY, ANNOYED.

STAN Did I hear that right?  Is my irredeemable nerdbro actually talking about socializing?

FORD It's science, Stanley!

STAN Whatever, this I gotta see.

MABEL We're doing a segment on cryptid families!  Got anything to add?

STAN You tell 'em about the ghosts yet?

FORD (Looking uncomfortable) Not yet, but –

MABEL (excitedly) I wanna hear!  GHOST, GHOST, GHOST, GHOST –

LOUD BANGING SOUNDS FROM OFF SCREEN.  AFTER A CRASH, AN ELBOW AND A PARTIAL VIEW OF AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE APPEARS ON THE SCREEN.

DIPPER I'm here where's the ghost?!

FORD(annoyed)Stan claims to have seen two of them on our visit to Vik i Myrdal.

DIPPER (confused) Huh? Vik what?

FORD A beach on the coast of Iceland, famous for its basaltic sand.  We were visiting primarily to study the petrified troll bodies just off the shore –

STAN Yeah yeah with the weird rocks, Ford was doing his science doodles or whatever, but that wasn't the important part.  See, there was this massive cave in the cliffs that looked exactly like the place a pirate would hide his treasure –

FORD Not at high tide!

DIPPER What happened?

STAN Uh, turns out the waves around there get really bad.

FORD As in twenty feet high. I turned around, there was no Stan in sight, and cave was already half-flooded with water.  Luckily one of us followed the rule about wearing our scuba gear under our clothes.  I immediately dropped my equipment and dove in after him. I found him pinned under a pile of rocks several dozen meters into the cave.

MABEL Whoa, are you okay?

STAN (smirking) Fine, I'm not the one who got knocked out.

FORD You shoved me!

STAN The water shoved you!  Accidentally!  To keep falling rocks from hitting you!

DIPPER But what about the ghosts?

STAN So we're stuck in the cave, right, and I'm trying to hold my breath, swim, and drag Sixer with me all at the same time, and the water's smashing us around so much Ford's underwater flashlight cracks and I'm thinking the next light I'm gonna see is the pearly gates.  And then I do see a light, and I swim toward it thinking it's gotta be daylight, but it's not getting any closer and all this fat was not helping me float.  And then a second light shows up and takes Sixer's other arm and practically drags us outta there, and next thing you know we were back on the beach, and I look back just in time to see an outline of this guy and his wife watching us from the middle of the air next to the cave.  

MABEL Wow, they stuck together and not even death could part them.  That is so romantic!  

STAN Sure. Woulda grabbed a photo but there was a little matter of Sixer not breathin' at the time.

FORD You should have taken the picture!  Thanks to the rocks falling, the end of the tunnel was completely blocked, and I was almost sure I saw fossilized cryptid bones inside.  Now we don't have anything at all to prove supernatural activity occurred in the cave!

STAN The words you want are 'Thank you, Stanley, you're the best brother ever.'

FORD Of course you are, that's not the point!

STAN What? Wait –

DIPPER Why were there ghosts there in the first place?

FORD I didn't know enough of the local language to inquire, but I suspect it may have something to do with the cryptid bones I glimpsed.  I suspect the couple's death was somehow caused by the cryptid, but Stan's account suggests that they're poltergeists, and poltergeists generally don't die violent deaths.

DIPPER What if the couple was keeping it as a pet?  Or maybe they could turn into the cryptid, like selkies?  The ghosts Stan saw might just have been their human versions!

FORD Brilliant hypothesis, Dipper!  Perhaps I was merely asking the wrong questions! Stan, quick, turn the boat around!

STAN No way, no, you literally died in that cave –

FORD Not permanently!  Besides, you'd have my back!

STAN That is so below the belt!

DIPPER Stan, are you crying?

STAN I got sea salt in my eye!

CAMERA PANS TO A CLOSE-UP OF MABEL, WHO IS LOOKING TO THE SIDE, BACK TOWARD THE COMPUTER SCREEN.  THE CONVERSATION CONTINUES IN THE BACKGROUND.  

MABEL We'll leave them to their nerdery.   (Looks directly at camera.)   Families don't have to be related, and they don't even have to be the same species.  What's important is that you show how much you care for each other, and spend time doing the same things, like getting thrown in a county jail or treating flamingopher bites.

BOTH STANS (Off Screen) That was ONE TIME!

MABELYour family might include close friends, dogs, pet rocks, or that one crow who brings you shiny pennies and half-eaten lollipops.  Whatever your family, take a minute today to let them know how much they matter. Thanks for watching Mabel's Guide to Cryptid Families.  See you next time! A/N: To my friends on Deep Woods, and a good friend on tumblr...thank you ^u^

[classyklancey]

The Thing | High school AU |

Pairing: Keith x Lance Genre: Angst Warnings: Possession?, somewhat self-harm (it’s The Thing causing it), anxiety mention Summary: Keith has something inside of him that he can just barely control. Lance helps keep him level-headed A/N: I made this forever ago and it wasn’t intended to be Keith and Lance. It used to be a lot more angsty but since I changed it to Keith and Lance, my poor heart couldn’t handle it the original version. If you want the other version too let me know!! If you want the original version where it’s not Lance and Keith, also let me know lol. Enjoy!!

Hundreds of screaming voices pierce my ears. The noise is so loud that I can barely focus on my own thoughts, beating down on me from all directions. My nails dig into my knees through the fabric of my black jeans, so hard that they threaten to draw blood.

“It’s a pep rally, Keith,” Lance says from my right side, where he is jumping, screaming, and just generally making a fool of himself as usual. “You know, fun stuff.”

Lance laughs and slings an arm around my shoulder, my torso slouching from the sudden weight. Sometimes, I forget just how much bigger he was than me. Lance didn’t have an abundance of muscles or anything, but his shoulders were significantly broader than mine and he was at least three inches taller. 

“Get off,” I say gruffly, my face deadpan.

That earned a laugh from Lance. He looked like he wanted to say something, probably make a joke about my “dumb emo face” like usual, but the Headmaster’s booming voice interrupted him. He was announcing a school spirit contest, where the class that screamed the loudest won bragging rights. The freshman, my class, was first, and in typical freshman style, they gave a weak attempt with what sounded like only thirty students cheering and a few claps here and there.

“Better cover your ears, Keithy baby,” Lance said, before leaping to his feet again, clearing his throat in preparation. I go to respond when the Headmaster beats me to it. 

“Now, let me hear my sophomores!” The Headmaster bellowed over the microphone, making me flinch from the loud volume. ‘Why is he talking so loudly when his voice is already being amplified?��

“The seniors are going to win,” I say, but he can’t hear me over the sound of his own obnoxious screeching. His voice could be heard over every other sophomore in the gym. I might have been impressed if I wasn’t preoccupied with a splitting headache that was only intensified from the noise.

I had been having an okay day for the first time in quite a bit. I didn’t have to run to the bathroom and vomit when I woke up this morning, which is an improvement from the past few days. I took some medication for my migraine and it had actually gone down a bit. For a little while, I actually believed that I was going to make it through the day without anything going wrong. But, of course, every time I think the universe is on my side, something happens and ruins everything. This time, it just so happened to be a surprise pep rally celebrating some kind of important win. Maybe football…or was it basketball? It could have been a chess tournament victory for all I care. All that I know is that I’m sweating out every bit of moisture in my body, Lance’s racket is going to make me deaf, the fluorescent gym lights are blinding, and I think I’m going to throw up my lunch. Every little thing is like a weight pressing against my head. 

It’s all just another excuse for The Thing to show up.

I can’t remember a time when the Thing wasn’t with me. Ever since I was small, I was always plagued with migraines, but it wasn’t a stabbing pain like you get when you’re sick. It was a pressure, almost as if my skull was too full. Like there was something in there that wasn’t supposed to be.

The Thing rules my life. It keeps me awake at night, tossing and turning for hours. Even when I finally manage to fall asleep, it speaks to me in my nightmares. It digs around in my deepest insecurities and forces them into my head over and over again, so much that I dread going to bed at night. Whenever I wake up, there is always a fresh set of self-inflicted scratch marks on my abdomen and dried up tears in the corners of my eyes.

It doesn’t leave me alone during the day either, though. The migraines have become a constant at this point, along with a feeling of nausea, like The Thing is trying to escape from my body. It likes to play around with my personal anxieties, pointing out every little detail in the hopes that I will let my guard down enough for it to take control of my body.

The worst symptom of all happens whenever I get angry. The Thing thrives off of anger. Even the slightest hint of irritation is enough to feed its hunger for violence. The angrier I get, the more power I give it. It likes to whisper actions into my head and scream obscene words at my teachers and peers. Sometimes, if I’m angry enough, it can make things move without anyone touching them.

I’ve never been able to experience the things that most kids my age do. Up until this year, my first year of high school, I’ve never been able to keep a friend.

‘Except for you,’ I think to myself, glancing over to the boy next to me, a joyful grin plastered onto his face.

We met at the beginning of this school year, but you wouldn’t be able to tell by the way Lance acts around me. Out of all the people he could have latched onto, he chose me. A pale, shifty-eyed little freshman. I’m still not sure whether I should feel honored or extremely unlucky. Hanging around with me was probably a mistake on his part.

Lance is an idiot in the best of ways. He never noticed the way that my eyes would dilate so much that only a small sliver of gray-blue was left when I was struggling for control. He never took note of the self-inflicted scratches and picks that marked my arms and legs. After all of those times the two of us walked home from school in the afternoons together, he never realized that my shadow fell six shades darker than his own. All that mattered to him was that I was a fresh face and I could carry on a decent conversation, and he thought I was cute. I was thankful for the company, but sometimes I wondered whether extra stress was worth it.

The Headmaster is talking again. Though his voice is distorted by the aging sound system, I can still make out the words “relay” and “volunteers”.

At first, I pay no mind, but when Lance’s grin widens into something mischievous, my body tenses in a sudden sense of panic. Before I can stop him, he’s jumping up in the air and waving his arms to get the Headmaster’s attention.

“Lance, what are-”

“You can run fast, right?” he cuts me off. He already knew the answer to that. Before I can stop myself, I think back to one specific time when we were walking home.

“Keith! Start running! It’s about to start raining harder!” Lance shouts from far ahead of me, his long legs carrying him faster and farther away from me. 

I roll my eyes at Lance’s shouting, figuring he was just over exaggerating since barely any rain was falling from the sky. 

Suddenly, it started to pour, startling me. I gasp before quickly starting to run after Lance, almost instantly catching up to him. The Thing has given me strengths in certain aspects, such as running. 

“Woah! You caught up quick!” I don’t say anything as I pass him, running all the way to my house. After a couple of minutes, Lance catches up to me, coming up to my patio instead of continuing to his house. “Thanks for leaving me...” he says sarcastically, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

I give him an apologetic smile as I unlock my door. “At least I waited for you. Want to come inside?” 

Lance shakes his head as he points over his shoulder. “Nah, I shou- oh, you’re freezing.” My brows furrow at his words before I feel it, the shaking racking my body. It wasn’t because I was cold, but I couldn’t tell him that. Sometimes when I use my new strengths, it wakes up The Thing. I start to panic but try to keep it off of my face, praying he wouldn’t accept my offer to come inside. 

“I’m fine,” I reassure with a soothing smile, hoping it looked soothing to him since in reality, I was panicking. Lance shakes his head as he takes off his jacket, draping it over me. “Nope. You’re cold. It’s okay to admit it.” 

I roll my eyes and grumble to myself, feeling a blush take over my face as I look down at my wet shoes, momentarily forgetting about The Thing. My eyes widen as Lance’s lifts my face up to look at him, his bright eyes meeting my shocked ones. 

“Red is a pretty color on you,” he whispers, his eyes moving to my cheeks. My blush only grows worse at his compliment. ‘Is he...no. He wouldn’t flirt with me. He could never like a monster like me...’ 

At the last part of my thought, I frown as I pull away. “Thanks for walking me home. Here’s your jacket. Be safe,” I say as I toss him his jacket back. Before he could respond, I close the door in his face. His hurt expression was all I could think about for the rest of the day. “I did him a favor...” I mumble before I let out a hefty sigh. 

I quickly snap out of my thoughts when he grabs my hand. “I-I can’t!” I try to hide the desperation in my voice, but I can’t stop it from cracking. “I really don’t want-”

“Yes! Headmaster’s looking over here!” he cuts me off again, waving our clasped hands and his free hand into the air. 

A spark of foreign anger pangs in the back of my head, a sickeningly familiar emotion.

Of all the times for the Thing to wake up, it has to be right now. Right now, when my nerves have already been ground down to nothing and the wild Cuban next to me has finally caught the Headmaster’s attention. I want to simultaneously scream at the top of my lungs and burst into tears. I loathe this feeling of being helpless. Lance is suddenly dragging me towards one of my biggest fears, and The Thing is dragging me towards the other, and I have no control.

‘Get rid of him,’ It says, ‘I don’t want to go out there.’

“Shut up, just shut up for once,” I hiss under my breath. Pain blossoms in my torso like a punch to the gut.

The Headmaster waves us over with a smile, and I’m suddenly pulled onto my feet. I try to resist Lance’s pulling, but he is quite persistent in getting me onto the gymnasium floor. As a final desperate attempt, I plant my beaten, dirty sneakers into the ground as hard as I can. Lance looks back at me, a little confused.

Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. “Please,” I beg, “Please don’t do this to me.” Lance flashes me that signature bright smile and begins dragging me by the wrist to the center of the gymnasium floor. “You need to do something fun!” 

It is far too late when I realize that the words never left my lips.

The hundreds of voices have turned into hundreds of eyes. I’m shrinking smaller and smaller, and everyone else towers over me menacingly. I look to Lance for support and comfort, anything to help ease this feeling of anxiousness. But he doesn’t even notice my gaze. He’s waving up at his other friends, completely enjoying the spotlight. At this point, The Thing is practically clawing at the inside of my skull, begging to be released.

I make the mistake of glancing down at my shadow on the polished floor. My eyes are frozen in horror on the dark silhouette of my left hand. I watch as the fingers clench and relax, clench and relax, clench and relax in a steady repetition. My actual hand is gripping onto the fabric of my hoodie and had been the entire time. The dread in my stomach drags every second into an hour as I realize what’s coming. Every instinct in my body is telling me to get out. I cannot break down here, not in front of these judgmental eyes, not in front of the only friend I’ve ever been able to keep.

“Don’t look so scared, bud.” Lance nudged my ribs gently with his elbow, “It’s just a little race.”

Time froze. I stared at him, my eyes blown wide and black from the dilation. “Don’t look so scared.” His voice was happy when he said it, completely carefree. Everything was just a game to him. He never took anything seriously, including me. Surely he could see the pain on my face. How could he not notice the way my body shuddered under this pressure. Maybe he just didn’t care enough to open his eyes.

I hate him.

The thought resonates in my mind, something I’ve never felt before. It wasn’t really true, well, for me at least. The Thing hated everyone and everything. 

I hate him.

The phrase repeats in my thoughts, over and over and over again. It bounces around my skull in an awful dissonance until I can barely make out any words, mingling with the cheering voices of the student body.

I hate him.

Lance thrusts an object into my suddenly freezing cold hands. It’s a relay baton. The noise in my head is so loud I can barely hear him tell me that I am supposed to run first. My spine is stiff and I can feel my body go completely still, red creeping into the edges of my vision.

He gives me a look, I couldn’t tell what kind of look it was though. Concern? Confusion? 

“You okay, Keith?”

I shake my head quickly, trying to control my breathing that was starting to become labored. Lance removes the baton from my hand with a nod of his head, dropping it to the floor.

“Okay, it’s alright. Let’s get you some air,” he says quietly to me, only loud enough for me to hear him over the roaring crowd. I nod my head as I let him lead me outside, leaning against him as we sit on the stairs that lead up to the gymnasium. 

“Sorry...” I mumble. I don’t know why I was apologizing to him. I tried to tell him, no, but his stubborn self didn’t want to listen to me. He hushes me as he runs a hand through my slightly damp hair, rubbing my back with the other. “Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I didn’t realize you’d react like that. You have bad anxiety or something?” I sigh with a nod of my head, leaning into him more. 

“Something like that...” 

[donaldduckau]

Island of God's. Luck tied (ver fusion)

Donstone didn't know why actually he knew why he agreed to the triplets and webby wish of him going on a adventure to some dangerous place with them as he looked at them talking to each other .

the reason why was them using puppy eyes on him and boy can't he not resist the puppy eyes with tiny tears or anything the triplets did made him unable to resist treating them and donstone knew they had him in their hands with webby already gaining a spot too in his heart too. Donstone like everyone else jumped at the sound of lighting got himself ready incase of a emergency and he slipped hitting the back of the airplane as he got himself back up but then everything lost gravity and he knew this was going to hurt as the airplane crashed down.

He checked himself for any injuries but he was fine for just been in a crashing airplane so he walked towards the others as he heard his uncle say "ithaquack" with himself shouting "what" and he didn't want to stay as part of him wanted to say "no no no no " but the Gladstone part wanted to see these gods and donstone remember the fuel scrooge caused years ago so he agreed with his uncle "no we need to leave " but launchpad denied that so he was stuck but he at least for himself was going to experience ithaquack.

Donstone noticed the triplets and webby run into two groups "wait it's better if we stick together and explore " but they didn't hear him so he went to direction if huey whom was looking at pillar and he picked him up in one arm whilst he walked towards louie whom was laying on the ground and he stood above him with a frowning huey.

Louie looked at him as he asked "your blocking my light" and he picked him up as he spoke "now we going back to the airplane with you staying there as I found webby and dewey then we explore okay " louie asked "what's so dangerous that we can't go alone" then he got bear hugged from behind as the huey and louie were tossed forward.

Huey and louie were curious of who this man bulky, blonde haired bird was as he just hugged their uncle to the ground which was surprising to them as him tossing their uncle Into the air as he spoke "what glorious day for the return of friend Donald the sailor of the seven seas and his fusion " as he placed donstone face between his pecs with his feet touching the floor.

Donstone greeted him as he smelled the scent of storkules from the embrassing way his faced was placed so removing himself as he looked up to storkcules sightly " hello storkules nice to meet you I'm Donstone wait did you say fusion how did you know that" storkules just laughed " my freind donstone haven't I told you I'm a god of strength and fusion it's self is part of my gifts so if you wanted to fuse you can happily ask to" as he smiled godly.

Donstone really need to keep distance to this godly man as everything was checking list of a perfect man for donstone so acting calm " no thanks storkcules but meet louie and huey my nephews" storkules looked at him to Huey and louie before picking them up as he proclaimed them "hero's in the makings" as he squished their faces to his smiling. Huey asked " your uncle must of tod you I'm storkules colossus of corinth and hero of heliopolis and best friend to Donstone duck " as he does fistbump and receives one from donstone whom trying his best to look okay.

Huey and louie were amazed by the god as huey asked in amazement "your best friend is storkules " donstone couldn't say he was his best friend but he was a friend yes from what he remembered from Donald so " he's a friend yes" as he looked at storkules whom had a big smile on his face as he picked him up "donstone call me his friend o what a glorious day" scrooge peeked his head out of the airplane as he whispered " we need to get out of here for you know who " with confused louie asking "for who to not know we are here" but that got answered as a floating cloud with a man on top appeared "how dare you defy the will of zeus" but he got rambling huey asking him questions.

Donstone looked as huey asked zeus questions about him but donstone could see where storkcules got his genes from but then zeus brought up that "it was amazing until your uncle scrooge came and brought his riff raff" as he points to scrooge with himself and scrooge looking In the other knowing things were going to be difficult.

Zeus brought them to a ring as they sat down listening to zeus story. " ithaquack was the holiday for gods and hero's and I was the god of hosting and everyone love me then scrooge showed up" zeus started pointing to vases that housed images of what scrooge done and to donstone his uncle over did it " killing the unlikable gorgon, found the lost treasure of Troy and he was really good at building sandcastles ba"

louie saying "that sounds quite fun" getting reply from storkcules as he showed a vase of Donald and storkules which donstone liked maybe he could get one.

" it was " zeus disagreed "it wasn't as scrooge acted so cool " scrooge just rolled his eyes as he spoke "leave it to a god to whine about the god old days" scrooge stood up as he asked "where everyone " zeus annoyed replied "they left when you did as they didn't want to party with lame god that couldn't beat a lowly mortal" which scrooge showed them a vase of zeus sending lighting down "maybe there was year round lighting storm as he looked away.

Donstone got both points to scrooge and zeus but this wasn't his problem to solve and knowing his uncle it probably become worse. Storkules picked him up as he spoke "now you returned, Storkules, Donald and fiery sister" Storkules hesitates as he asks "where's della"

Donstone doesn't speak as he looks to Huey and Louie whom looking at vases and turning his head to the ground as Storkcules understood what it meant and trying to cheer him up Storkules proclaims " then we shall on on a arousing adventure to remember our fallen friend" donstone speaks "I don't really do adventures anymore"

"What adventure is the very blood in your veins well we must host a feast to celebrate your return" with Huey and Louie Cheering as zeus and scrooge say "what " storkules looking towards his father " father a god of hosting wouldn't cast out a crew of werry travelers" as he strokes donstone back causing a blush to form.

Zeus falling Into his sons hands mumbles " well no I guest not " as he turns his head away whilst still looking at his son. Storkules laughs "it be a back of all like the ages Beach party" with himself, huey and louie cheering.

The beach party was okay as donstone would say it and that was being nice but it ended as his uncle got zeus temper as he spoke "how dare you mortal is dim no good which I'd insulting ithaquack" with scrooge replies " maybe they left because of you"

Storkules trying to avoid a conflict suggest beach gangs but his father changes it " a contest if your family versus mine in series of heroic trials ya all shall know we are the superior party hounds " as he turns his head seeing the ducks try to leave. Huey protests as he speaks "epic trials,zeus" then louie " delicious grapes " with his hands in the air. Turning his body zeus faces them using his staff he makes a barrier forcing the family to the area "your not going anywhere " with the ducklings cheering and the adults groaning.

Donstone changes outfit like his family into tonics which donstone quite likes maybe he keep it but he goes to where the others are whilst not having heard what the just said he instead can't help but stare at storkcules lifting weights whilst noticing the conversation between the father and son.

They do the trials with huey taking the first with using the tonic he wore to win. The next trial was won by donstone as he tossed the disk the furthest but good gods was storkcules strong the disk caught fire and each trial was more of the winning but the statue trial with storkcules making a buff Donald which donstone found embrassing. Then last trial.

Zeus speaks "the ultimate challenge, steal the golden fleece from this child" scrooge disappointed asks "this your ultimate challenge" with louie looking to his brother saying "there's no way we beat storkules this one" with everyone looking at storkules. Storkules couldn't steal from a child he was a hero and stealing was wrong " steal from a child but if I do such a thing could I truly be called a hero donstone I'm in need of your wise council" but donstone was there as he walked away.

Donstone couldn't stay near him he was making donstone heart get all fast and his body just want to jump on him.

storkules at every moment but he turned as he heard storkules ask " boon companion Donstone where are you going" donstone spoke as he tried to say his words right " your nice guy" storkules replies " the most nice guy" adorable but storkules continues "for I am storkules the hero of " donstone interpret him " nono I'm don't do adventures really anymore I'm more of parent now and going on adventures means someone going to get hurt" storkcules says back " getting hurt is part of the adventure and eat would della say as age hear you now" "she can't " before looking away with the words "someone always gets hurt"

Donstone walked to where the airplane was as he stood a barrier away from the airplane and he tries to grab it but he gets shocked as he yelps in pain but hears his nephews scream for help as he speaks "boys " as he runs toward their direction. Storkules apologises as he can't control his body as he about to punch the ducklings and scrooge but stopped when he hears donstone in a heroic voice behind him " no one gets hurt today"

The two birds fight with Storkules flinging his fists towards Donstone whom avoids the hits whilst moving around Storkules with Storkules punching himself but Storkules gets hold of Donstone by the arms as he proclaims in sorrow "I regret this most bitterly" but scrooge jumps on Storkules shoulders and places his cane into Storkules month as he speaks "like old times lad" donstone replies "yeah" whilst they distract Storkules it's louie that convinces the gorgon to stop.

Storkules free from the gorgon voice looks down to donstone as he hugs and rolls him as he proclaims "donstone you have saved me " zeus in annoyed speaks "what are you doing, don't hug the enemy" with scrooge saying "their best friends" and donstone replies "friends"

Scrooge and zeus have a trial themselves with scrooge losing on purpose as to make zeus finally get over it. Storkules walks up to donstone "you make think you gave up adventuring but it hasn't given up on you and your a hero never the less" donstone smiles "thanks Storkules my friend" but before he they could hug the sky turns grey and zeus screams in anger with himself and everyone which reminds him to ask where webby sad dewey went but he saves that for later as they run to the ship which they found is been broken apart.