#it could work with either verse I have it how silver would join for both lol

[bunnygirl678]

Cute hc

Silver ends up joining TR (want to know why I think he would feel free to dm me lol), Gold goes with him, cause he’d follow Silver anywhere,

As a signing bonus/gift from daddy, Giovanni bribes and blackmails all the Johto/Kanto leaders/law makers to pass a gay marriage law, then throws Silver and Gold a huge wedding

[secret-engima]

Tomorrow is looking up to be - absolutely terrible. Can I beg you for some RWBY or FFXV snippets, please?

Of course! I know it is the "tomorrow" you speak of but lemme see what I can dig up-

Team Gremlin:

There was silence for a long, long time. Nothing but Ruby’s sobbing and Yang’s pounding heart and the fear that pressed down on them from all around. Formless, but not nameless. Then she heard the stairs creak and for one moment Yang was sure that “Salem” was coming upstairs to get Ruby.

But then the door opened and Yang saw Dad’s boots, “Girls? It’s okay. Come on out.” Yang didn’t move, Ruby just sobbed a little louder and clung tighter to her. Dad sighed and bent down to peer at them, “You heard all that didn’t you.” He looked … not mad, but stressed. Maybe scared, and that made the fear worse for Yang. Yang clung to Ruby, her precious baby sister with silver eyes that no monster should be able to get to, and nodded. Dad’s face pinched, then he gave a smile that even she could tell was fake, “Come on out, girls. It’s okay. I promise. That was all just- that was adult talk okay? You don’t need to worry about that until you’re older-.”

“Ruby’s eyes,” Yang bit out, “R-ruby has Mom’s e-eyes.”

“It’s okay, Yang, Ruby, I promise. We’ll take care of it-.”

A creak of wood behind Dad and he frowned before straightening up and turning to face whoever was there, “I’ll be down in a minute, just let me-.”

“Taiyang,” Professor Ozpin sounded weirdly calm, more calm than Dad did, “may I speak to them?”

“…I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

A sigh, “I am well aware of your opinion on this matter, Taiyang, and I respect it. But they have already heard enough to be terrified. Telling them to forget it now is not only impossible but potentially worse than talking to them. You made your stance on this matter very clear, but that does not apply to your children if it will put them in danger.” Professor Ozpin’s voice softened, “Either I speak with them or Qrow does, but please. Let one of us help.”

Dad didn’t move for a long time, then his boots made for the door, “Fine. But don’t drag them into this more than you have to.” A deep breath, “Girls? I’m going downstairs to check on your mother, if you need anything, just shout, okay? Professor Ozpin is going to talk to you for a little bit. He’ll be very nice.” The last bit was said in the same voice he used when warning Zwei not to dig holes in the yard.

Dad’s boots disappeared and fancy black shoes came closer. There was a pause, then, “Would you prefer to stay under the bed?” Ruby whined and Yang glared without a word. She didn’t know what was going on, but Dad seemed mad at Professor Ozpin and everything was scary and so yes, she wanted to stay under the bed. The tip of his fancy cane tapped the floorboards a few times, then there was a hiss and a whirr of gears like from her parents’ gear and the tip disappeared. With a grunt, he knelt down and then lay down on his stomach like even Mom rarely did. He pillowed his chin on his crossed arms and it was so strange seeing a fancy, famous person lying on his belly on the floor of Ruby’s room that Yang snorted despite herself.

Professor Ozpin’s face crinkled into a faint smile and it looked real and warm, “Hello there. You must be Yang and Ruby. I am Professor Ozpin, I’m a friend of your uncle and your mother. Can I safely assume you heard the most important parts of that conversation? The Grimm and the silver eyes and,” the briefest hesitation, “Salem?”

Ruby finally pulled her face away from Yang’s shoulder to whimper, “I-is she gonna take Mom away and m-make her a Grimm? Is she gonna t-take me?”

“Ah. You have silver eyes,” Professor Ozpin murmured, then his face fell back into that faint, warm smile, “Your mother is alright now, and now that we know what is going on, we will be much more careful. I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep your mother and you safe. But to do that … I would like to tell you a story, and you must both promise me to never tell it to anyone. For the safety of you and your mother.” They nodded, hesitantly, even though Yang certainly didn’t want to hear anymore scary things today. But if it would help keep Ruby and Mom safe-.

Professor Ozpin’s smile faded, but his eyes were still warm, “Once upon a time,” he began, and they listened intently as the man with white hair slowly outlined a story that sounded right out of a fairy tail.

...

Always I Dreamed verse:

Summer had no idea what Professor Ozpin had been thinking, making her the leader of Team STRQ. Then again, the only other real option would have been Taiyang, and as much as she enjoyed his company and was coming to think of him as a good friend and teammate, he wouldn’t have been able to handle the Branwen twins.

Not that Summer was much better at handling the Branwen twins.

They hadn’t done anything to get the team in trouble, but she didn’t know how to deal with them. Taiyang made sense, even if he had a few oddly adorable hangups on things like “modesty” —they were two guys and two girls living in the same room, she didn’t really see what modesty had to do with anything when they weren’t out in public—. Taiyang understood her when she tried to … bond with the team, tried to get them to be more than just four strangers living under the same roof and tackling the same assignments in class. Raven and Qrow on the other hand…

Every time she suggested a group activity, they watched her like she was going to bite. Like they couldn’t fathom the point of learning more about or bonding with anyone outside themselves. Taiyang had suggested it was an out of kingdom thing, but Summer had lived outside the kingdoms until five years ago, and she had never acted like that. Her family hadn’t either. That feral behavior, wary distrust and eerie staring in the middle of the night like even the room wasn’t safe to sleep in without a watch wasn’t anything like what Summer and her family or neighbors had grown up with. The only ones who had acted even similar had been-.

Oh.

Now that’s an idea.

...

Blood of My Blood verse:

The next one was a whole month after Grandma Crepera had first appeared and only a week after the scary man with the mace, but three times was enough for Dionysus to be able to immediately tell what was happening when he blinked his way to awareness in a dream. He looked around uneasily, afraid of being yelled at by someone again, but … there was no one scary nearby. He was in a small little building inside a big, unfamiliar garden. The building was just a roof and little pillars holding it up and a stone floor to stand on with a little table inside and-.

A woman.

She was sitting at the table, working on something, but instead of it being paperwork like Grandpa or taking care of a sword like Uncle Cor, she was … spinning mud? She was making mud spin and pulling at it with her hands, changing its shape with her fingers, and Dionysus hadn’t realized he’d drifted into the gazebo to watch her in awe until she glanced up from her work and smiled at him. She went back to watching her mud, and when she spoke, her voice wasn’t echoing and scary, “Hello. Would you like to join me? I have enough for both of us to use if you like.”

Dionysus watched the spinning-spinning-spinning in awe, but shook his head and tucked his hands behind his back, “Iggy says I can’t play in the mud cause I’ll get dirty an’ it’s unb- unbe- bad for a prince.” He blinked up at her, “How come you’re playing in the mud? Iggy says old people don’ like mud.”

The spinning slowed to a stop as she stared at him and he wondered if she was going to get mad. But then she started laughing, an old, deep sound that felt nice, all the way to his bones, “This is not mud, Cheeky Prince, this is clay. People use it to make things like mugs and teapots and vases. Come, come sit and I will show you how.” She waved her muddy hand and set down a chair next to hers in a flash of magical rosy-blue sparks. So she was family, just like the last ones had been. Dionysus hadn’t known he had so much family before. Then again, he was pretty sure they were all dead, and that’s why they were talking to him in dreams rather than when he was awake —and a part of him wondered if that should scare him, but it didn’t, so as long as they didn’t act scary, he didn’t bother trying—.

Dionysus climbed onto the chair and watched her in curiosity. It still looked a lot like mud to him, but it was a different color from mud, so he supposed it could be something else. The woman was spinning her clay again, fingers deftly shaping and pinching and rubbing, “My name is Nyssia, though some once called me the Just.”

Dionysus thought of the Hall of Arts and all the pictures and statues in it, including some of Grandma Crepera, and wondered if she was one of the pictures in the Hall, “Just like Grandma Crepera?”

An amused twitch of her lips, “Yes, I am like Crepera. We are both related to you, but we are older than King Regis.”

He tilted his head, partially mesmerized by what she was doing with the spinning clay, but curious despite himself about other things. She was like Grandma Crepera and the others, but she hadn’t used a scary voice at all, “How come?”

She hummed without looking away from her work, “How come what, Cheeky Prince? I cannot read your mind.”

Dionysus pouted at her, because wasn’t it obvious what he was asking? But then he said, “You don’ have a scary voice like they do.”

Now she did glance up at him with a look like Grandpa had when he said something silly, “Oh, don’t I?” Dionysus jolted in his seat, startled, but not … scared. Her voice had echoed just now, deep and layered like when Grandma Crepera or Leon had spoken, but it didn’t make him feel like he needed to go hide. It reminded him oddly of the big, booming bells that hung from old church in his favorite movie, loud but mellow. He kind of liked it, but he was still glad when her voice went back to normal as she shrugged, “I merely thought you would not like it if I used that voice. So I did not.”

[instasiswetrust]

Steve's not quite drunk but there's a pleasant buzz under his skin that leaves him feeling pliant and loose, enough to keep any unsavory thoughts at bay for the time being.

The scent of chlorine and bleach that envelops him once he opens the pool doors, familiar comforts by now, help clear some of the haze of alcohol that has befallen him from his last drink taken at the Auris that night. Or morning. He's not entirely sure.

It brings back the memories that he had been trying so hard to forget. A lavender envelope had been in his mail that day, inside of it an invitation trimmed with delicate filigree. For Nancy's and Jonathan's wedding.

A fall wedding.

The type which he and Nancy had joked about back when they were together, not long before Jonathan had joined them.

He had gone through his work with the kind of detachment that usually meant nothing was truly registering. Adam might have noticed at one point, too attuned already to the tells under the porcelain of Steve's mask, but the memory is fuzzy and he can't remember if he ever gave a proper answer to his manager's concerned query.

As soon as work was done, he had made his way to the Auris in search of something to get his mind off the pain that clutched the shards of his heart like a vice. Or rather, someone. It had been his favorite dancer's day off or something though, leaving him to spend the rest of his night watching the dancers on stage and sipping on the ocassional drink.

Something had made him want to climb the stairs to the gym's pool, though. And that's why he was here now.

"Are you drunk?" The voice that speaks has become familiar in the same way the scent and sounds of the pool has and when he looks up to meet the eyes of its owner, he finds them startled if slightly amused.

"Only a little bit." He shrugs, plopping down by the edge of the pool with his legs crossed under him. The bleach might leave stains on his Levi's but he can't really muster enough energy to give a fuck right now. "'s not that bad."

"You kind of reek of cigarette smoke and whiskey."

Yep. Definitely amused.

"Spilled some scotch on my shirt. The smoke is probably from the cab driver." Another shrug but this time he levels Billy with apologetic doe eyes. "I can leave if it bothers you."

"You're fine, I was just curious." The blonde swims closer, crossing his arms over the edge next to where Steve sits once he's close enough. "First time I've seen you up here wearing something other than your ridiculous pajamas."

"They are not ridiculous!" Steve protests at once, pouting. "And you have seen me in swimwear too!"

"Last week you were wearing bright red shorts that said Bite Me across the ass, and a t-shirt that said Friends don't lie in big bold letters with a heart-shaped waffle at the center." Billy deadpans, raising a single eyebrow. "The shirt was at least two sizes too big for you."

"They were gifts." Brown eyes narrow into a glare but the petulant pout kind of offsets the vibe.

"I thought models were supposed to have taste in clothes."

"We're supposed to look pretty while others dress us. It's not in the job description to have taste."

"So you admit you have no taste then." Billy was giving him that smirk, the one Steve called insufferable but discretly considered hot as fuck. How dare he be so sinfully handsome.

"I said no such thing!" Steve crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up in the perfect picture of snotty petulance. He could already feel the laughs bubbling in his chest, wanting to break the mock facade.

It takes only a second or two of Billy giving him an skeptical look before they are both laughing.

He had missed this kind of easy-going banter. Most of his friends he only saw around the holidays, and the environment at work was more prone to talks about weight loss and botox than anything else.

New York never slept but that only made it all the more lonely.

His sullen mood must've reflected on his face because he feels something poke at his thigh, meeting Billy's eyes when he turns to look at him.

"You didn't just come here so I could make fun of your taste in clothes, did you?"

"I-"

It's only then that Steve realizes Billy is right.

The reason his alcohol fogged brain has preferred to come up here rather than crash into his bed wasn't just some way of punishing himself even further. Not entirely at least. He had come here because it was a place of comfort for him.

And because he had a friend here, too.

"No. Not just that." Steve sighs, letting his eyes focus on the slow movement of the pool water instead of Billy's face.

"Do you..." A moment of hesitation, as if he's not sure about his words. "want to talk about it?"

Brown eyes close, keeping his focus on the in and out of air through his lungs for a few moments until he feels less like he's going to burst out crying the moment he sets these awful thoughts into words.

Makes them all the more real.

"My... exes. They are getting married. To each other." He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't do anything more than try to keep his voice steady even as the aching pain of heartbreak weighs down on his chest. "I received the invitation this morning."

There's a low whistle. It sounds like sympathy. It sounds real.

"That bites," Billy says, and his voice has a dulled edge to it. Commiseration with flavor, or something like that, but it's three am and there's nothing but cold tile and the soft wake of lit water. "Is this ... like a sudden spur of the moment thing?"

When Steve turns doe eyes to him, Billy raises up his hands, only moderately pruned, in an easing gesture.

"You don't have to answer. Just..." A pause. A beat as the swimmer looks for the right string of words. "Just trying to gauge how much of a dick move this is."

There's a laugh, dull and mirthless. A sad little sound.

“We have been friends since high school. All three of us dated for a bit longer after that. We went through some hard stuff together back in Indiana.” He shrugs, keeping his eyes closed. Tears at bay. “Was supposed to be the kind of friendship that lasted even after we broke up.”

It’s all my fault. He doesn't say.

My stupid heart and I. We ruined it all.

It takes a split second of contemplation, because, after all, they're total strangers. But once upon a time, someone gave Billy this sideways kindness and it helped. Maybe Steve and his overly fancy hair won't mind it too much.

So Billy acts on the impulse.

It's a tiny splash. Really very minuscule. Aimed and precise for the minimum impact upon the sitting duck target. But water is water. Nobody can tell tears from pool water.

"You were thinking too hard." He places the excuse on the table, sinking lower into the water, comfortable in this strange company. Even if the guy seems to be at the end of his rope. There's something about him. Like a dream you don't want to forget. "I could see the smoke. Had to cool you down."

The water is warm and yet is still enough of a shock to force Steve's eyes to open.

His first instinct is to protest, say something about the action being rude and uncalled for. Stand up and leave, most likely.

But what he sees in Billy's face — hears in his voice — is enough to give him a moment's pause. To truly appreciate the action for the small kindness it is.

This time when the tears dribble down his cheeks in quiet drops, he has something to hide them behind.

“You really think you're funny, huh?”

And if his voice is a little too wet to be considered normal, they don't have to talk about it.

"I'm hilarious," Billy says as he sinks a little lower into the water, mostly to hide his smug grin, but in part to hide away. "The girl gang that lets me tag along sometimes says so."

“Of course you are.” Steve rolls his eyes, using his fingers to brush back his mostly dry hair. He should probably wash the chlorine out of his hair before going to bed or it would be stiff come morning.

“Is that why you're trying to become a prune? For maximum fun effect?”

“Nah,” Billy waves off the prune comment. He’s hardly started his routine. Pool time ain’t over until everything has that post-workout burn and his stomach begs for food. Makes time easier to keep that way. “I just like to swim.”

Just like Tony Hawk likes to skateboard, he supposes, but understating his profession like this is one of the best parts of the job. Gotta get your kicks when you find them.

“Why? Got something against prunes?” He laughs, “They just want to help you. Healthy stomach, and all.”

“Not particularly, but they do remind me of my Nonna. She likes her prunes.” Another shrug, this time easier. Easy banter is much better than worrying about that little envelope sitting on his coffee table.

The tears have stopped too, the contacts itching slightly against his eyes. Probably from the mix of salt and chlorine. Thankfully, his cardigan is mostly dry and he takes it off to use it as a makeshift towel.

“Is that why you're always here at weird hours? You some sort of pool cryptid or something?”

“That’s only step one of my master plan.”

Billy likes the sound of pool cryptid. Sounds a lot more mysterious and fun than what he’s actually doing, which is training until he drops so the nightmares won’t kick up.

A snort, loud and sudden leaves Steve at that, straining a little in his throat. Mom would say it's undignified. Dad would say it's ugly. He doesn't particularly care either way.

“And pray tell, what would step two entail? Flooding the city?”

Cute laugh, Billy thinks briefly surprised. Much better than seeing the guy choke back tears. Let's see if he can't instigate a bit more of that amusement. It's bound to taste better than the misery the brunette wanted to wallow in.

"What kind of water-based supervillain do you take me for?" Billy, mock-miffed, places a hand over his heart and huffs. "That's so silver-age comics. And you're not even my henchman. Why should I tell you anything about my master plan?"

A finger taps at his chin, seemingly thinking hard about his answer. Steve's not particularly well versed in comics but Dustin’s done his best to keep him on the smallest of loops.

He no longer mixes Superman with Captain America, at least.

“Fair point. You don't have the looks to pass off as Aquaman.” Steve purses his lips, offering his best apologetic doe-eyed look. Although he's definitely bluffing because if there's anybody out there who could give Aquaman a run for his money it would be Billy. “And who says I couldn't be your henchman?”

"Did you fill out the paperwork?"

Everyone knows bureaucracy is the lungs of evil. Or something like that. Sue him, he was never great with metaphors on the fly.

“Honey, if I wanted to fill paperwork I wouldn't have taken modeling as a career.”

It's an exaggeration for the most part. Steve's too used to poking fun about himself these days that it doesn't sting as bad as it used. Not too much.

Billy cocks his head and lets the loaded sentence drop and drift away.

"Then guess you can't be a henchman."

“I can make killer margaritas, though.”

“I don’t really drink too much.” The nightmares get worse when he’s anything but sober. It’s better to be exhausted. It’s the easiest way. “Medication reasons.”

A little white lie that’s hardly a lie, he really shouldn’t drink with his ADHD meds, but who ever listens to that rule? Nah. Only when it suits him.

“Model thing explains your hair though. Glad we solved that mystery.”

“Fair.” Steve offers a smile, crooked and a little pinched at the edges but a smile nonetheless. “I’m not supposed to either. Nutritionist's orders.”

To be fair, he's not supposed to be drinking at all. Smoking too. It's a little hard not to indulge every once in a while, though.

The model comment surprises him. There's a billboard with his face just a few blocks down from this apartment complex. He can see it from his room. How has this guy not recognized him?

It's surprisingly refreshing.

“Hm? Oh no, the model thing has nothing to do with my hair. That's just personal taste.”

Now that Billy cares to look, Steve’s face is achingly familiar. Oh, the trials and tribulations of having attention issues. At least there’s a better reason for the weird familiarity than must just have one of those faces.

“Can’t relate.” He’s not particularly attached to any bodily feature of his. It’s a side effect, he’s told. Reassured. It's just a consequence, and nothing more. “Doing things with hair? Nah. Sounds too complicated.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a pool cryptid would say.” There’s a story behind Billy's words. Something missing, hidden skin deep. Steve hopes the light jab helps diffuse that somewhat.

“What are you, a cop?” Billy smirks, and because he is the pinnacle of maturity, he dips under the water with an obnoxious splash.

“Asshole” Steve hisses, droplets dribbling down his bangs and into the cardigan bunched up in his lap.

With a sigh, he forces himself to get up. Might as well take that shower now.

Billy surfaces, still grinning, because even if the guy looks pissed at him, that means he’s not stewing in the past with his soon-to-be-married exes and the Hercules-class weight of baggage that relationship caused.

“Guys by the pool get splashed. No matter what time it is or how cute they are. Cryptid rules.” His smirk it's wide, tip of his tongue between his teeth. "If you weren’t prepared to get wet, then why’d you come?”

Steve shrugs, doing his best to ignore that peek of a pink tongue. “The local cryptid makes for good conversation.”

“So you’ve been watching me?” Billy makes a little show of floating back, caught in thought. “I don’t know how I feel about spectators.”

“I can stop.” Painfully honest. If Billy really wants him to, Steve would stop. He would prefer not to, though.

“Nah. I’m only pulling your leg.” Billy returns to the pool’s edge. Rests his cheek on the edge, looking up at pretty boy model Steve.

“Things get too quiet sometimes.”

Steve hums softly in agreement, feeling relief ease itself back into his bones. He would have stopped, yes, but he wouldn't have particularly liked the prospect of it.

“You come here every day? Or have I just happened to stumble in on the days you're around?”

"Almost every day. Sometimes I take this side-show to other pools." Billy cracks his best Han Solo roguish smile, levies it against Steve's still too flat smile. "Gotta keep the government guessing sometimes, you know."

“Of course, wouldn't want to get caught and all that.” A yawn gets past Steve's lips, startling him. He hadn't registered how tired he was. “I’ll keep that in mind, for next time.”

“Thank you.” Quieter. Softer. Barely above a whisper but loud enough in the gentle silence of the pool.

It comes just as soft. It's almost tender, really, as the word casts across the water and tile and the near-lonely pool.

"Anytime."

---

The next time Steve visits, it's once again 3 AM but he makes the mistake (is it really a mistake?) to bring a tin of sugar cookies with him.

"Oh shit, are you sharing, or is this all to tease me?"

Steve is sitting by one of the benches, already halfway through a cookie. “Come out here and find out.”

Billy narrows his eyes, lips pulled into a thin frown.

"Fool me once." He waggles a single warning finger and doesn't even really bother to dry off as he drags himself out of the pool to plop down on the floor next to Steve and steal into the snacks.

There are enough cookies for both of them stuffed neatly in a tin container. It's awfully pretentious according to Dustin, but then again Steve's Nonna always said cookies tasted better stored that way.

“I'm not mean enough to just eat while you watch. Yet, at least.”

"Oh just wait until you know me better." Billy chirps, shoving two into his mouth, wholesale and choking a bit.

"Robin and Carol would do that in a heartbeat."

“They probably would have a good reason too.” Steve teases, watching with amused eyes as Billy almost chokes. They are just sugar cookies he managed to scrounge up with whatever was in his kitchen. Nothing that good.

“Easy there tiger, cookies ain't going anywhere.”

"You have no idea how hungry I always am."

Steve blinks, surprised. The words come out before he has a chance to truly think them over. “I’m a good cook.”

"Prove it." It's out of Billy's mouth before he can take it back, but on second thought, he doesn't really want to. Steve's good company, or at least he has been so far.

And he hasn't had a nightmare since.

Good omens.

“You're kind of choking on the proof right now.” Maybe it comes out a little lighter, a little too surprised.

That's fine. Whatever this thing is, it doesn't seem like too bad of a chance to take.

“But if you need some more convincing, I can offer dinner too.”

Wheezing, but recovering, Billy grins up at Steve but there's a hopeful spark in his blue eyes that wasn't there before. "Fuck yeah, gotta make sure it's not a fluke."

Steve offers him the thermos of coffee he had brought with him, suddenly too distracted by watching Billy drink to remember what he wanted to ask. “Uh... When are you free?”

"This Sunday, I think. Getting back from a rapids trip that I shouldn't keep doing but like fuck am I gonna listen to other people for something dumb like my health."

“Is it like, you could die type of thing or just one of those things doctors say we should stop doing and everyone ignores? Because dead people don't particularly eat.”

"I do dumb shit because regular training gets boring and people who actually like me have to put up with it." Billy waves a dismissive hand. "But that's what it takes to get me moving on schedule so. Yeah."

It drives his coach insane because doing his reps in real rivers with real currents isn't exactly... well. It's not what everyone else does for training and given that he has passed out mid-stroke before, he can't even say the risk is just the current. But he knows that upstate rivers like the back of his hand.

Yeah, life would be way easier if he didn't have ADHD, less doctor's notes for the cause of amphs in his piss, but it would also be super boring and he'd be even more traumatized, probably. And that would suck.

Steve thinks of Indiana, and a bat full of nails. Of cliff diving at the quarry, drunk on stolen bourbon and tasting cheap cigarettes. Of the Auris with his slew of dancers most of who he's shared a bed with more than once.

He thinks he has some experience with the whole doing dumb shit just to get his schedule moving.

"I will take your word for it then." Hums, thinking back to his schedule and what he has paged in for Sunday. There was that casting thing Adam wanted him to do but it was morning. "I should be free on Sunday. Any allergies I should account for?"

“None that I know of.” Spoken cheerfully

“Great. Gives me more to work with.” And this time when he smiles, it's the most honest he's offered since they met.

---

When he finds it again, it is entirely on accident.

Adam had scheduled a trip to California for a gig, something about a new summer line of wetsuits and surfboards this company wanted him to advertise. It was a big opportunity and it was good cash too, of course so Steve wasn't going to question why they thought it a good idea to present a summer line in the middle of august. But as usual, he had forgotten to pack his suitcases until the night before, and now he was left to scramble around his apartment searching for his stuff.

So when he finds the lavender envelope buried under a few recipe books and a hoodie, still unopened, he doesn't think much about it and opens it. It's only when he's staring at the date stenciled in black calligraphy under Nancy's and Jonathan's name that he realizes what he's looking at.

Oh right. Those two were getting married.

The familiar ache in his chest is still there, but it's muted enough that he's surprised. Between canceling his exclusive membership at the Auris, and his relationship with Billy coming out to the media, he had sort of forgotten all about the wedding.

Maybe...

Grabbing his phone from the bed, he shoots his boyfriend a quick text.

How do you feel about being my plus one to my exes' wedding?

[eleanorbloom]

Marry My Lover (Bryce x Eleanor Proposal Headcanon)

A/N: Well, I thought I wouldn't do it because I was too invested with this fic, but I've been thinking adult life is so fucking hard that maybe I'll never find the time and inspo to finish this fic, so... well, why not realease it to the world as headcanon/very-poorly-written-fic. If later I find the inspo, maybe I'll write it, maybe not, but I think posting this will lift a heavy weight off me.

Please forgive me my grammar mistakes and poor english, I mean, I know it's not poor, but I went really basic here, other way I would've never finished writing this lol

Tagging my WYR readers, in case you're interested in reading this @curiousconch @romereadingshop @utterlyinevitable @lahellacute @chocopeppermintcake

Also this is sumbission for @openheartfanfics Weekly Trope Challenge, week 2: Weddings & Proposals (@openheartheadcanons)

Marry My Lover

Bryce had wanted to propose to Eleanor for a while, considering both spontaneous and prepared ways to do it.

One of the first ideas was proposing on a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, as it was the place of their first date. But none of their shifts let them assist for a couple of weeks, so he decided to look for something less complicated.

As he saw their annual meeting with the gang was coming, he decided he would propose on that occasion. Surrounded by friends, the people who helped them get together and supported them in the most difficult times both personally and as a couple.

So he would propose at Donahue’s. With a song, no less. Marry Me by Bruno Mars. A cheerful song, Eleanor loved Bruno Mars and simply matched with the tone he wanted to have on the proposal. Happy and spectacular. He wanted to make her feel the luckiest, most loved woman on earth.

So when he decided what he would do, he shared the news with Sienna so she could help him orchestrate the event. He would arrive a bit later than Eleanor, Sienna would keep her distracted, and then whoop, Bryce would appear at the center of the bar singing the song.

On the day of the meeting, Bryce was in the locker room when he received a text from Sienna: “All set, B! We’re waiting for you”. He breathed deeply, excited and a bit nervous at the same time.

They had talked about marriage, about a life together thousands of times, but it was different just taking the step and doing it, of proposing marriage. Marriage. Damn.

But at the same time, it was just a confirmation of the love they had for each other. Their love that had grown exponentially, to unknown highs and depths in the three years they had been together, and he was sure that their love would keep growing and getting stronger with each day.

After getting ready, he texted Keiki: “Hey Keiks, are you there already?” “Oh, yeah, hidden in the parking lot, super spy.” “Awesome, I’m coming out of the locker room I’ll be there in five” “Okay”

Bryce didn’t want her to miss it for the world. Keiki would kill him if he let that happen. Luckily for both Bryce and Keiki, she was studying close to home, more than close. Cambridge. BS in Physics at MIT, so as she was living just a few minutes away from Boston, they saw each other pretty regularly, once a week or once every two weeks depending on how busy the three were.

Keiki was excited about it, but there was just this strange smirk on her. Bryce thought it was just the fact that her brother would propose to Eleanor at last.

Once at the bar, he greeted their friends, Elijah, coming from Chicago, Jackie, from Baltimore, and Sienna coming from New York. Aurora was the only one living in Boston, working at Brigham and Women’s Hospital as attending and part of the new Diagnostic Team there.

Everyone was happy but at the same time with this strange smirk, like they were hiding something.

“And Elle?” he asked.

A few moments after the question was made, a guitar started to play. He looked at the center of the bar, and found Eleanor, on a yellow dress, and matched hatband playing guitar and singing: We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January And this is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Bryce couldn’t believe his eyes. His ears. His skin. How a shiver ran down his spine, making tingle every inch of him; how his stomach fluttered at the sight of her there, beautiful and singing and… Surprising him.

It was Lover by Taylor Swift, because, how not, his girlfriend was a Swiftie since High School, so once a Swiftie, always a Swiftie.

Bryce knew almost every song of the last two albums she had released in the last couple of years because they had blasted the speakers of their home for weeks. Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close? Forever and ever, ah Take me out, and take me home You're my, my, my, my lover

After singing the chorus, Eleanor handed the guitar to Rafael, who continued with the melody, and took the mic in one hand, singing the second verse as she started walking slowly towards him. We could let our friends crash in the living room This is our place, we make the call She took his hand on hers and softly pulled him to the center of the bar

And when Eleanor sang “And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you”, both chuckled knowingly, because they knew how true that was, wherever he goes, he enchants.

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

It had been three summers indeed and nor he or she couldn’t imagine a summer without each other.

Eleanor kept singing, every word with meaning, it was like the song was written for them, especially “I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover” Because who else on this planet was a magnetic force but him?

Bryce was beaming the whole song, smiling, laughing, biting his lip, showing how happy, flattered, incredulous and in love he was.

He couldn’t believe his luck. To this day, after more than three years, sometimes he still couldn’t believe he had the chance to love so much and be so loved. So happy, so free, so understood. And he would probably live this luck, this love, forever and ever with her.

When the song ended, Eleanor took out something from the pocket of her yellow dress. A velvet box. When she opened it, a silver ring with a diamond at the center shined under the multicolor lights of the bar. Eleanor took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles softly before asking: “Bryce Lahela, mi amor, we both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. In these three years you have made me nothing but happy. The happiest luckiest woman alive. I want that for the rest of our lives. Would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said, eyes sparkling, shining so bright with emotions, with love, with adoration, with happiness, “Yes, babe, yes! The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life with you!”

Everyone cheered, Sienna was crying, Kyra too, and even Keiki had shed a tear.

Eleanor put a ring on his finger and both kissed sweetly in the middle of the bar.

After a few moments, Bryce kissed her hand and chuckled, “Well, now it’s my turn.”

Eleanor stared confused at him, and when she heard him shouting “Música maestro!” she understood.

Eleanor couldn't believe it either. When the notes of Marry Me by Bruno Mars started playing, she covered her mouth with her hands just like Cecilia Bolocco when she won Miss Universe in 1986. “No way, love!” she squealed.

After a few verses, Bryce took her hand and turned her to the wall, where a video was playing. Videos of colleagues, nurses, even patients, with thumbs up singing along “Don't say no, no, no, no, no, Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” Then, her parents showed up in the video, beaming as they sang along too. Even her grandparents from Chile, Ricardo and Ofelia, appeared in the video asking the same.” “Oh my god,” Eleanor couldn't hold it anymore and simply let the tears fall. Tears of joy, of happiness.

Then Bryce started to walk around the bar, singing with a persuasive tone, asking the patrons to join him in his singing, as if he had to convince her to marry him. Friendly patrons would nod and show their thumbs up and sing along for a couple of seconds.

Once the song ended, Bryce bend on one knee and took the velvet box out of the pocket of his pants, where a beautiful rose gold ring was there, with a round diamond at the center and smaller at the sides. “Well, you won me. This was my idea too, but you were faster, or maybe you had friends who took your side and decided to help you instead of me.” Everyone chuckled. “Or maybe she just asked before you did,” Jackie teased. “Either way, I’m honored and flattered, but I couldn’t miss the opportunity to propose to you. I mean, I’ve dreamed about this day practically since I met you.” “Awww, mi amor.” “I want all summers with you and all winters, especially winters so you can keep me warm on snowy nights.” Eleanor giggled, her eyes full of tenderness, “Of course, my love. Summer, fall, winter, spring, all of the seasons and all of the years I have left on this planet.” “Good. And you, Eleanor Andrea Bloom, would you marry me?” “Yes, my love, mi amor, sí, sí, yes!” Bryce put the ring on her finger, and again, people cheered and clapped. Keiki and Jackie whistled.

When Bryce and Eleanor got off the stage, the gang approached them, filling them with congratulations and hugs, and just love for the happy, recently-engaged couple. they disclosed how everything had happened -Eleanor indeed had asked help first, she had been practicing guitar for more than a month with the help of Rafael.

After a while, Bryce took Eleanor’s hand and led her to a quiet place so they could have a moment for themselves. They smiled and laughed without saying anything, still processing what had happened and trying to understand the happiness they were feeling. their hearts were simply overflowing with happiness and love. “You know? I can say people, mostly women, have asked me a lot of things in my life, some of them shocking, some of them rather cute, but never had a woman proposing to me, so this is a first. You're definitely a keeper.” “Oh, that's why you're agreeing to marry me?” she asked, feigning offense. “One of the four hundred million reasons, babe.” Eleanor smiled pensively, earnest, “You deserve everything, my love, everything. And that includes being proposed, because, damn, we’re too far from gender stereotypes and toxic masculinity.” “I agree.” “And because I really wanted you to know that I wanna marry you, and spend the rest of my life with you, just as much as you do.”

Completely spellbound by the sincerity of her love, now and always, Bryce simply bit his lip and leaned to plant a sweet kiss on her lips.

There was nothing else to do but be happy.

____

Ps: Here pics of Bryce and Eleanor engagement rings. I had the idea of a collage, but it would've also taken me a day to finish it, lol sorry

Thank you for reading! ❤

[songsformonkeys]

12 days of Christmas Pedros. Short little ficlets based on prompts that can be found here. One ficlet every other day. Thank you @yespolkadotkitty for the beautiful banner!

Day 11 - “Oh my God, I didn’t get you a present!” - Dave York from the Sturdy Home verse

This was going to be the first Christmas without Dave. Even though it really shouldn't have come as a surprise, the holiday had still managed to sneak up on you. You'd had so many other things to think about while attempting to glue together the shards of your broken life this past year, and subconsciously you had hoped that if you just ignored thinking about Christmas then maybe it just wouldn't show up this year. Of course, that plan hadn't worked. The girls had started putting together lists for Santa already at the beginning of November.

Christmas had always been Dave's favorite holiday and you had been wholly unprepared for how to handle it without your husband being there to guide you through it. You couldn't do this on your own! Not without Dave and especially not with the man who looked like Dave but was different from him in a million little ways.

December had rapidly approached and with it, your anxiety grew. Dave asked a few times if you needed help or if there was anything he could do to assist. You shot him down every time and in the end, he stopped asking. You knew you were being ungrateful but the thought of watching Dave decorate a tree or help wrap Christmas gifts would have shattered you completely, and no one wanted a broken mom for Christmas.

The girls somehow handled their dad's amnesia better than you did. You hadn't talked to them much about it but their eyes didn't fill with sadness every time they looked at him and, instead of crying, they only reacted with rolled eyes and slight frustration when Dave did something unexpected or forgot something they thought he ought to have remembered. Your youngest had started referring to him as David, and when you had carefully reminded her that David was still her dad – trying to convince yourself as much as her – she'd looked at you with an amount of patience that no six-year-old should be able to possess.

”I know, mom. But not all the time. Sometimes he's just David.”

You hadn't known how to respond to that.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The month of December flew by faster than it had any right to. Decorations and preparations weren't nearly as lavish as they had been in previous years but, all things considered, you thought you had done a pretty okay job and both the girls and Dave seemed pleased. For everyone's sake, you had opted out of going to the family dinner at your parents' house. Dave was still a little wary about meeting people he was supposed to know and your own constant state of exhaustion didn't make for the most entertaining dinner guest either.

Instead, you'd put together a small dinner with just Dave and the girls. Dave had gotten up early and made bread. It tasted just like the bread Dave had made every other year and he had apologized when he'd watched your eyes tear up after he'd offered you a slice on Christmas morning. The girls had brought home decorated gingerbread cookies from school. The frosting tasted of sugary chalk but Dave still complimented them.

Gifts were exchanged and the girls tore into the colorful paper and squealed with delight at their new toys and clothes. For just a few moments, as you watched your daughters and listened to their happy laughter, you forgot to be sad and smiled with them.

The smile only slipped when you looked over at Dave and found him already watching you, with a curious expression on his face. You looked away again.

”Don't forget those,” Dave said, pointing at two remaining gifts, hidden deep underneath the tree behind where the other gifts had been. You frowned, not immediately recognizing the paper, but it clicked why when you watched Dave swallow nervously as the girls tore off the paper from the gifts that were clearly his doing.

You jumped when Alice screamed in delight. Dave's shoulders dropped and relief washed over his face as he laughed. You couldn't tear your eyes away from his smile. Both girls got up and more or less flung their arms around his neck, the new plush cat and rabbit squeezed into the middle of the group hug.

”Thank you, Daddy!” Alice squeaked against his shoulder and the house of cards, which you spent all your waking hours carefully assembling crumbled once again as your hands began to shake and you found it difficult to breathe.

Dave looked over at you and now it was his smile that slipped and disappeared, replaced by a look of worry. You stood up and with a flimsy excuse of getting water, you fled to the kitchen.

You didn't hear Dave follow you until he spoke up.

”Should I not have done that?” he asked carefully, keeping a respectful distance to where you were leaning against the kitchen counter with your back to him. You took a deep breath and turned around, forcing a fake smile onto your face.

”No, Dave, it was very sweet... You got their favorite animals right too. I'm sorry. I'm just...”

”Thinking of him,” Dave finished sadly. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling.

”You...are here,” you replied in a shaky voice. Dave held your gaze and you forced yourself not to look away.

”I'm trying to be,” he said softly, but with a stubborn resolve that was all too familiar.

”I know.” You pushed away from the counter and his hands twitched at his sides, almost reaching for you before he stopped himself as he realized you were just heading towards the doorway to the living room. He cleared his throat.

”Let's get back to the girls.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You let the girls stay up a little too late and when you decided to finally call it a night, they were both so tired that their eyes were only half-open as they staggered up the stairs. The silver lining was that they were also both too tired to protest when you ordered toothbrushing.

While they brushed their teeth and slipped into their pajamas, you helped put their opened gifts on their respective nightstands so they would be the first things they saw when they woke up the next morning. Everything was neatly arranged, except for the cat and the rabbit. The plush toys were held tight in the girls' arms as you read them their bedtime story. Irrationally, you wished that you would have gotten a plush toy to hug at night as well.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you came back downstairs, Dave was relaxing in front of the TV, his feet propped up on the coffee table. You made a beeline for the kitchen, pouring two glasses of wine before you joined him.

”They're sleeping like logs,” you told him as you handed him his glass. He thanked you and took a small sip before returning his focus to the TV, which was showing some sort of Christmas concert.

”I'm surprised they even made it up the stairs. Especially Alice in those unicorn boots,” he said with a soft chuckle.

”If only they had inherited your fondness for practical footwear,” you teased with a small smile. Dave turned his head away from the TV to look at you. You watched him back.

”Hey...” he said slowly and set the glass of wine down on the table. Your pulse sped up and you gripped your own glass of wine a little tighter. But Dave turned away from you and started feeling for something between the couch cushions. ”I uh... I got you a gift too,” he said and when he turned back towards you he held a flat, square box, the size of your palm in his hand. It was wrapped in navy blue paper with gold stars.

”Dave...” you said, surprised and then a little ashamed. ”Oh Dave, I haven't gotten you a present.”

Dave shook his head before you could attempt any apologies.

”You have given more than enough already,” he assured you before looking around the living room with a soft smile. ”My first Christmas for example.”

You watched him quietly until he nodded his head towards the gift in your hands.

”I was nervous with the girls but this is even worse so please...”

”Yes, sorry,” you apologized and picked at the edge of a piece of tape. You were less aggressive in your unwrapping than the girls had been and less vocal when you finally got the box open, revealing a delicate necklace with a small golden heart hanging from a thin gold chain. In fact, you were completely silent as you stared at the gift. The symbolism of it didn't escape you and suddenly you found it harder to breathe around the growing lump in your throat.

You looked up at Dave and, as always when he did something unexpected, your paper-thin defenses crumbled into nothing and you started crying.

”Hey...” Dave said softly again and reached out to swipe the pad of his thumb across your cheek to gather up the first tear that escaped your eyes and rolled down your cheek.

You still couldn't speak, so with the box clasped tightly in your hand, you leaned forward to wrap your arms around him. You could count on one hand how many times you had hugged Dave since he came back, but he immediately responded by curling his arms around you, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.

He wasn't your husband, but he was sweet and caring, and for the first time you weren't hugging him as a substitute for someone else.

You held each other, perhaps for longer than what was necessary but you didn't want to let him go just yet and neither did Dave, it seemed. You still stained his shirt with your tears but it wasn't the heartwrenching sobs from the other times.

When you pulled back, you held out the box for him.

”Will you help me put it on?”

Dave nodded and you turned your back to him. When his knuckles brushed the back of your neck as he fastened the tiny clasp of the necklace, you closed your eyes for a moment and let out a slow breath before you turned back to face him.

”Beautiful,” Dave said and the intensity of his gaze made your cheeks burn warm. As you held his gaze, you brushed your fingers over the little heart. It was still a bit cold to the touch but slowly, it was beginning to warm up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @yespolkadotkitty​ @agirllovespancakes​ @pedropascalito​ @pedropascallion​ @ohpedromypedro​ @knittingqueen13​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @mourningbirds1​ @alwaysbethewest​ (Merry Christmas. Here’s your Keep Reading) @heatherbel​ @larakasser​ @fromthedeskoftheraven​ @seawhisperer​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @mrschiltoncat​ @pajamasecrets​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @ilikechocolatemilkh​ @dornish-queen​ @holographic-carmen​ @thirstworldproblemss​

[jombocostello]

You’re All I Dream Of (Polnareff x Reader)

@rimanne asked: Hello! I hope you're doing great! Could I please have a Polnareff x reader (Part 5 specifically) where they are cuddling in the bed on a cold night? I'm sorry if I'm being too picky, but I would like if the reader already know him since Part 3, and absolutely love a very VERY fluffy talk. You know, in his Anthology Song, "Naked Silver", there is a verse that goes: "You, so adorable, running up to me with innocent eyes/Ma cherie, I love you!/ Never forget about that, okay?" And I just can't resist smiling everytime I hear it! I'm such a simp for the tittiest man in whole France (>///<) I'm a brazilian reader, so a big hug from Brazil to you! Continue the good work!♡♡♡

Of course!! This is the sweetest idea, thank you so much for sending it in!!

It's late at night when you suddenly feel more in love with your husband Jean Pierre Polnareff than you maybe ever have. You both sit together in the living room of your small home in Italy, him on the couch and you on a comfortable chair near the record player in the corner of the room. All night, you've been playing record after record of the most soothing, lovely music you think you've ever heard. There's something about the music, and the lighting, and the perfectly content look on Jean's face that makes you fall completely and utterly in love with him all over again. And it's at this moment that you know you have to hold him.

For some reason, you don't just jump up and wrap your arms tightly around him. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest. "It's cold in here, huh?"

Jean glances over at you, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

You shrug, discreetly putting forth your best puppydog eyes. "I'm just cold, that's all. Aren't you?"

He shrugs right back, adjusting the collar of his shirt and leaning back a bit. "Not particularly."

You didn't think it would be this difficult. You lean forward and unconsciously raise your voice a hair. "Come on, you have to be freezing. Look at all the snow outside!"

Jean peeks out of the window beside him, and you nearly laugh at his surprised expression. "I've never seen this much snow in my life," he murmurs, watching the heavy snowflakes drift from the sky. "I guess you're right. It is a little cold in here."

"Well..." You stand up from your seat by the fireplace and join Jean on the couch. "What do you say we do to get warm?"

He rolls his eyes, and you laugh. "You did all that just to drop a cheesy pick-up line? You're ridiculous." He leans down and kisses your forehead, resting his hand on your waist as he does. "But to answer your question..." He places a hand on his chin in thought, and you snort at the mockingly serious look on his face. "I'm not sure, maybe - " Suddenly, the concentration on his face breaks, and you both dissolve into giggles.

"Just hold me, Jean," you murmur, and he sighs as he wraps his arms around you. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, and you smile when you feel his hands come around to sit delicately on your lap. One of your hands finds its way to the nape of his neck, and you absentmindedly play with the loose strands of hair that have managed to escape their immaculate styling.

"You're so sweet, you know that?" he whispers in your ear, and you laugh a little under your breath. "It makes me so happy to be able to hold you - that you even want me to hold you."

"Of course I do, Jean," you reply softly, not turning to meet his eyes. "All I ever want is to be with you, you know that." He just sighs in return, and you shut your eyes. You feel as warm as you ever have with his arms around you, with his heart so close to yours.

"You know, I started to doubt that we'd ever be able to do this," he says. "Back on the trip to Egypt. I was convinced I was going to die in that last battle."

You wince when you remember exactly what he's talking about. During the last couple weeks of your crusade with Joseph Joestar and his group, Jean had grown extremely paranoid and generally depressed. You had shared those feelings, of course - you all knew there was a good chance that you wouldn't make it through the confrontation with Dio. Still, it was unimaginably scary to have to grapple with that knowledge every day and force yourselves to keep pressing on. Jean was really the only person that kept you sane during that time; despite both of your fears, you each tried to put on a brave face and have as much fun as you could before the inevitable battle.

"It was tough. Yeah, it - I was scared too." You tilt your head a bit and press a soft kiss to his neck, just above his collarbone. He hums lowly in agreement. "But hey, we don't have to talk about that... We're here now. We made it." You smile, looking up and meeting Jean's gaze. "I mean look at us! We're in Italy, and we're in love. Can you believe it?"

He laughs, and you laugh along with him. "Honestly, sometimes I can't believe it. I had dreamt of it so many times, and to hear you say you felt the same way for me as I did for you - it really was like a dream come to life." You feel your face flush, and you look back down; no matter how long you've been with Jean, you'll always be a little flustered by the unabashedly romantic nature of his praise for you. "I really mean that, you know," he tells you, voice steady as he brings his arm back and places his hand underneath your chin. He gently tilts your head up and looks you straight in the eyes. "You were all I dreamed of. You're still all I dream of."

You feel like you're floating. His blue eyes are impossibly strong and you're really getting lost in them. You watch as his lips turn up into a little smile, and he moves his hand from your chin to the nape of your neck. "I love you, (Y/N)," he whispers as he slowly shuts his eyes. You lean in and gradually your eyes slide shut as well, and after a brief moment, your faces resting inches apart, Jean pushes forward and kisses you.

His lips are soft, and his hand on the nape of your neck moves to run through your hair. A quiet, nearly inaudible hum leaves you as Jean pulls you flush against him. You nearly start smiling as Jean kisses you; you're sure he can feel it. Sure enough, he parts from you and gazes down at your grin through his eyelashes. "I love you," he breathes, starting to smile himself. "I love you," he repeats as he tilts his head and presses a kiss to the small space between your jaw and your neck.

"I love you too, Jean," you sigh in response. "I love you so much." He looks up at you and nods just slightly. You really don't know how else to show him just how much he means for you - how much he does for you every day. You place your hands on either side of his face and press a short kiss to his lips. "You're the love of my life, Jean, and I'm so grateful that I get to spend every day with you."

This time, it's him who's struck speechless by your words. He looks at you for a little while, and as you pull your hands back from his face, you notice that his eyes are starting to well up with tears. "Oh, Jean," you murmur, hugging him tightly. He melts into your arms, and you rub circles into his back. He's always been the emotional one between the two of you.

You spend a while like that, with your arms around him, until he leans back and takes your hands in his. "We should go to bed," he says, and he brings your right hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"Yeah." Despite how extremely comfortable you are at the moment, you stand up. After quickly helping Jean into his wheelchair, you both make your way into the bedroom. You instantly climb into bed; you're really too tired to do much else. As Jean lies down beside you, you roll over and rest your head against his shoulder. "Good night," you whisper, reaching down and lacing your fingers in his.

"Good night, (Y/N)," he responds softly. You glance up at him just as he shuts his eyes, and in an instant, he's asleep. He must have been really tired.

You take a moment to just admire him before going to sleep yourself. He looks a lot like he did back in 1987 - he still has a sharp jaw and a strong, defined nose. But he's changed over the years. His eyes seem deeper somehow, and he can't seem to rid himself of the dark circles that surround them. He looks more and more tired by the day - but you're sure you do too. That's the price you two have to pay for having the powers you have. It's a cruel twist of fate, but you can't be too mad; if it weren't for your stands, you never would've met.

With that thought, of how unbelievably grateful you are that you met him, you drift off, holding Jean's hand even as you fall asleep. It's just like he said - he's all you dream of.

[jamlavender]

Babies & bathwater: Marisa, Asriel and Lyra’s impending existence

After writing this post about adult Lyra’s relationships with her parents if they’d survived the trilogy – a piece of character analysis paired with my fic Unholy Ghosts – and really enjoying doing so, I’ve decided to write another one, to match with my latest fic Force of Nature, which tells the story of Lyra’s actual birth (this also relates to much of Silver Bullet too). So much care and analysis go into writing fics and it seems a shame not to share that! Here’s my take on Marisa and Asriel’s feelings about Lyra while Marisa was pregnant and in the immediate aftermath of her birth.

Asriel  

Aside from the logistics of having a baby with his secret lover, I think Asriel would have been very relaxed about the prospect of fatherhood – perhaps even, dare I say it, excited – because he wouldn’t have seen having a child, even under stressful circumstances like these, as any threat to his aims whatsoever. He’s a lord, richer than the king, with an almost supernatural ability to have his needs met with a simple call into the void. For the few months that Lyra is in ‘his’ care, she lives with a nurse in a different house to him (maybe even a different city most of the time, as Ma Costa and Lyra’s cottage was part of Asriel’s estate in Oxfordshire and he likely spent a lot of time in London). For Asriel – like all men of his social class – the daily drudgery and tangible, explicit love that parenthood requires would have been foreign concepts. He could have a child – as, I presume, he’d considered he might one day, should the circumstance arise – and continue his antitheist crusades. Those two things are not in conflict at all. Nor, do I think, he’d have seen Marisa as having to make a choice between her ambitions and motherhood either (if she’d left Edward and joined him) because there’d have been a seemingly endless pot of money and reams of staff to meet Lyra’s needs if her mother would rather have been doing something else.  

I also think that he’d have been pleased to be having a child with a woman that he loved, particularly when there’d no doubt been months or years of push-pull between them, about their relationship, about secrecy, about choosing to be together (or not), about ownership and love and jealousy. He’d have felt that them having a child together was yet another compelling reason she should leave her husband for him, and perhaps even have been hopeful as a result. I also think he’d have been childishly pleased that, after her keeping him and their love in the shadows for so long, there now existed some glaring proof of their relationship. He’s not a man who likes to be overlooked or ignored, after all. And, while I’m probably projecting here, I wonder if the scientist in him might have found something about pregnancy and birth interesting, because while reproduction and childbirth are common, they are also physiological marvels (my reproductive physiology course was my favourite module at university, can you tell?).

I do wonder, though, if the plan for him to take the baby was agreed in advance of her birth, regardless of what the newborn looked like, only because it’s so rare (if it ever happens?) for it to be clear within minutes of birth which of two men might have fathered the new child – unless the two men are of different races, a possibility explored beautifully in the fics The Image of the Father and this be the verse. In fact, the much greater risk would have been that, after being an indistinguishable pink potato at birth, Lyra grew up to be Asriel’s spitting image, when it would have been impossible to spirit her away or fake her death. I could believe that Marisa had decided long before the birth to give the child away regardless, both from her (lack of) personal feelings and the reasonable fear that their secret might instead be discovered years down the line, when the consequences could have been much more severe.

I don’t think Marisa’s suspicion of the child and lack of maternal inclination would have bothered Asriel, particularly relating to her work (I mean, as soon as he loses all the money that enables Lyra’s existence to have no impact on his day-to-day life, he dumps her in favour of his work without a second thought). Rather, he’d have been upset about Marisa’s rejection of Lyra because he’d see it as extension of her rejecting him over and over again. He’d never understood why she wouldn’t leave her husband to be with him – he could provide money, freedom, fascinating work, intellectual partnership, raw love and attraction – and now they’ve had a child together, and still she chooses to walk away. That’s what would have gutted him, I think, especially when it seems obvious to him that they can have their cake and eat it too: they can pursue their ambitions and raise their child, largely because someone else will do the bulk of the latter. Marisa, of course, had always felt differently about the real feasibility of that. His rage at Marisa rejecting him through Lyra would only have been intensified when Marisa surrendered the baby to the Church, which was surely the deepest and worst knife she could twist, leading “all the anger in him to turn against her.” (I forget the exact quote, but I think that’s pretty close). 

Marisa

Marisa would have resented the baby’s existence from the start (I choose to assume that she always knew the baby was Asriel’s, though if she didn’t – which is not out of the realm of possibility at all – that would have been stressful in a different way). Here was proof of her infidelity, proof of her inability to resist the cardinal sin of lust, and a person that might well grow up to have Asriel’s face, who was going to emerge from her body and either be a nightmare to spirit away and keep hidden or a burden (and a secret!) she was forced to bear for the rest of her life. Asriel’s generally blasé attitude about the whole thing would no doubt have infuriated her, as would Edward’s attempts to involve himself in a pregnancy in which he’d played no part. I think she’d have been stressed and miserable and resentful.

Pregnancy and birth must also have been a nightmare for her. The loss of control over her body as another grew inside it, the weight gain and hormones, and, surely most of all, the loss of her ability to use her sexuality to control those around her. The Church might revere motherhood, but they don’t desire it, which would have been a disaster for her, someone for whom manipulating the desire of others was her most beloved political strategy. It’s also very base, a reminder of our animal functions, and as someone who has a complicated relationship with her more instinctive feelings and seems keen to obliterate them as much as possible in favour of repression and manufactured poise, that must have been very uncomfortable. I think she’d have hated it.

Given, though, that she develops an expansive love for Lyra in the end, I did want to sow the seeds for that when her daughter was born (though twelve years is a long time, and I don’t think it’s impossible that she’d have discarded her daughter at birth and simply changed her mind all those years later, but I find it more interesting to make it a little more emotionally complex than that). I think she’d have been in shock, particularly from the pain and vulnerability of birth, but also confronted with an actual person she’d made, with a person she loved deeply, no less. She’d then do an excellent job of repressing those feelings, but I could believe that there was a short time where the fact she’d actually had a child, Asriel’s child, was impossible for her to ignore, despite the chaos, emotional or otherwise, that recognition would cause. That’s how I conceive of both Asriel and Marisa’s immediate reactions to Lyra after her birth, actually: that they’d have spent the pregnancy ignoring their impending arrival, either from glibness about its potential significance (Asriel) or repressing her fears about being discovered or saddled with a baby (Marisa), and only when they were confronted with their actual child did they realise they might have created something here that they couldn’t control as easily as they’d expected. That sums up Lyra’s role in both their lives in the trilogy, I think: she pushes them both because they can’t control her, not what she does nor the emotions she evokes in them, and they both find that unbearable.  

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Caterwauling in the Rain

Summary: Marinette and Adrien share their very first kiss after their very first date. Chat is so overjoyed he’s ready to burst into song, albeit not all Parisians share the sentiment. Ladybug comes to investigate the complaints about a feline caterwauling in the spring rain. Luckily, it’s just her very wet boyfriend. A Miraculous Writer Zine​ story.

A/N: This is my piece for @mlwriterzine . I’m so happy I can finally share it! I feel honored to be among the chosen authors. I want to thank everyone, who made this zine possible, it was an amazing adventure! Make sure to read works in the zine collection, they're all a m a z i n g !

AO3

The whisper of wind in his ears, the tap of boots on the tin roofs, the pigeons nesting among the chimneys, cooing to the spring in his step. Chat Noir ran high over the streets, reveling in this late April evening, basking in the fading light of day. 

 Everything in his path was blooming recklessly, fueled by sunshine, turning the warmth of spring into an opulent palette of greens, whites, yellows, pinks, and every other color one could think of.

 It wouldn’t have been far from the truth if Chat claimed he floated on the breeze. It certainly felt like it. Butterflies, the good kind, not the evil purple ones that’d been giving them so much grief, fluttered happily in his stomach. His chest swelled with affection as if it tried to contain all the smells and scents at once.

 His heart was so full he was ready to burst into song any second now. And snugly pressed to his chest was none other than the bravest, prettiest, awesomest, and the most amazing girl he knew. The love of his life, sans the spots. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. His Lady. His girlfriend. His everything. 

Her hair tickled the exposed skin under his chin, but he was too focused on carrying his precious cargo to utter a chuckle. It was her who giggled happily instead. 

 “I really could have gotten home myself, silly Kitty,” she murmured to his sternum. Only his enhanced hearing allowed him to pick up the words over the rush of air and the buzz of traffic. 

 “A gentlecat always walks the lady home after a date,” he countered, allowing a little bit of flirt to seep into his voice.

 A date! he thought excitedly, his heart skipping a few beats. The very first real one, official and everything. Not that anyone paid attention to two goofy teens sharing an ice cream, walking down the banks of the Seine and doing all the carefree, silly things teens did. Bantering, picking flowers, playing tag just because. Holding hands, stealing glances, blushing. Basically half of Adrien’s bucket list went down on that date, more than he could ever hope for. It was still very fresh—the romantic side of their relationship, just like nature herself, coming to life with spring—yet he doubted the excitement of enjoying her company on both sides of their masks would ever ebb.

 Alas, their time had run out all too quickly. For unfathomable reasons their parents set a curfew and warned them not to break it. Yet Adrien refused to leave Marinette to return home by herself. He announced his arrival at the mansion, claiming he was exhausted after a busy day, and dashed off to his room. The door barely had time to close behind him when Chat Noir was already leaping through the window. He scooped Marinette into his arms and vaulted them high and away from the prying eyes of pedestrians. Just a little run and they were already on the little balcony of 12 Rue Gotlib.

 It wasn’t dusk yet, although darkness already settled over the city thanks to the rain clouds that flocked from the west, keeping the last rays of spring sun to themselves. A silver half-moon peeked tentatively over the rooftops, picking up the slack. 

 Unexpectedly the sight filled him with nostalgia. “Anything can happen at half-moon,” Chat recited absently. He didn’t remember where he’d heard the verse. 

 “Anything?” Marinette frowned in confusion. After all, they had just spent a delightful afternoon together. Why would his mood turn wistful so suddenly?

 He decided to play it off. He grinned cheekily. “Like maybe … a kiss?” 

 He was pushing his luck, he knew. They hadn’t reached that milestone yet, still tiptoeing around each other after the accidental reveal, still testing the waters, although neither of them was oblivious to the other’s feelings anymore. 

 To his astonishment Marinette fixed him with a coy smile and threw her hands around his neck. She climbed to her toes. “Maybe,” she whispered, her lips a hairbreadth away from his. Her eyes twinkled in the moonlight. 

 Chat released a ragged breath against her mouth. He shuddered from head to toe as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His body screamed for her, longed for her presence. But he wouldn’t dare to make the first step. He always followed her lead. He had to be sure it was what she wanted, even if he knew it wasn’t in her nature to tease him like this. 

 And then Marinette was kissing him. Sweetly, tenderly, with just a hint of passion simmering underneath. The gentle caress shrunk his world to just her and this moment.

 He was sure he died, his heart flatlining out of sheer euphoria, his neurons fried from overjoy, his body coming apart at the seams. He floated to heaven and then her kisses brought him back to life. Back to the warmth of her embrace, to the flowery scent of her skin, and to soft kisses he knew he would never have enough of.

 All too soon she withdrew, leaving his lips tingling and cold. He stumbled, dizzy with love in his heart and springtime in his lungs. 

 She must have thought he was being dramatic, because she ruffled his already wild mane.

 “Goof,” she giggled. “Go home, before you catch a cold.”

 “A cold?” He knitted his brows. “Why would I catch a cold now?”

 “It’s raining, you dork.” Marinette bopped him on the nose and turned her hands up. A few plump droplets splashed on her palm.

 Huh? How long did that kiss take? He hadn’t noticed when the rain started. Either those clouds had been moving faster than he’d thought, or he might have been more distracted than usual. Lately he tended to get tunnel vision in Marinette’s company, tuning out everyone and everything while soaking in her presence. 

 From behind the deck chair Marinette produced a black umbrella. She pressed it into his claws. “This is no dew, Kitty. It’s going to pour heavily soon.”

 “Really?” He chuckled. She walked straight into this one. “I’m purring already, my Lady.” He grabbed her hand and put it to his chest. Then he released a rumble worthy of a thunderstorm.

 “Besides, where I stand, the sun is shining all over the place.” He dropped the cheesy line with a flourish.

 “See, you’re already delirious,” Marinette replied matter-of-factly. “Also, yes, I’m very proud of you for getting the ‘Singing in the Rain’ reference, you dorkasaurus,” she added, seeing his pout of indignation. “Now go, before you get wet for real.”

 “Didn’t you mean furrrrr real?” he started, but dropped it immediately when she set him with one of Ladybug’s finest glowers. “A kiss good night, purrrhaps?” he asked hopefully.

 Marinette grabbed him by the bell with such force, his hand slipped on the umbrella’s handle. She pressed her lips to his, but with more fire than sugar this time. 

 Snap! The black canopy sprang to its full size, startling them both.

 “Sorry! Sorry!” Chat exclaimed, but Marinette just shook her head, launching into a fit of laughter. It was impossible not to join her.

 “This umbrella is absolutely terrible,” she wheezed, clutching at her belly. “The ultimate killjoy.”

 “You mean this is …” He trailed off, finally giving the umbrella a thorough look. Sure enough, he soon found the loopy ‘Agreste’ carved into the handle. “Oh, wow,” he whispered reverently. Marinette had mentioned the significance of that first rain they’d experienced together.

 “Yup. And I want it back, mind you,” she added. 

 “This is an Agreste umbrella. You’d need to marry me for the name to check out, Princess.” Chat shot her with a toothy grin.

 “Did you just propose on the first date, Adrien?” She raised a brow. “You might want to save something for the second one.”

 “Ooops.” He feigned a horrified gasp. Incidentally, that absolutely had been on his bucket list. This was Marinette after all. “I’m gonna have to google some new ideas. But anyway, your answer would be …?”

 Marinette shook her head again and thrusted her hand into his face. “You’re impossible. Just go home already before we both catch a cold.”

 Right. He hadn’t noticed her shivering in the cold evening breeze, and the rain probably wasn’t helping. 

 “As you wish, m’Lady.” He bowed. “See you tomorrow?”

 “Tomorrow it is, my Prince,” she replied with a curtsy, raising the imaginary fabric of a long dress with her fingers. Then with one last playful wink, she disappeared through the skylight. 

 Chat sighed in contentment, drawing in the chilly, humid air. He didn’t feel even a little bit tired, more like ignited after the spectacular afternoon of romance, flirting, and banter. He leaped to the railing and elongated his baton so that it hit the pavement. Then, like a leather-clad Mary Poppins, he floated down, startling a few passersby. 

 “Du-dudu-du, du-du-dudu-dee-dudu,” he hummed under his breath, setting into a leisurely stroll. The rain picked up a heavier rhythm, just like Marinette predicted. 

 “Du-dudu-du, du-du-dudu-dee-dudu.” He continued letting his inner Gene Kelly come out and play. He always wanted to perform that song, ever since he’d watched the movie with his father ages ago. And what better place to do so than the Parisian streets, a classy background to the classic number?

 He already felt the tune bubbling in his throat. He couldn’t contain it any longer even if he tried. With a theatrical shrug he folded the umbrella and propped it against his shoulder. His lips stretched into a dreamy smile when he set off again. Then came the song.

 “I'm siiiingin' in the rain, just siiiiiingin' in the rain.” His voice carried over the street, earning him a few confused glances. He gave his audience a little wink. 

 “What a gloooorious feeling, I'm haaaaaappy again,” he claimed, jumping onto a lampost. “I'm laughing at clouds. So daaaark up above. The sun's in my heart ...” Chat’s smile turned into something more smitten as he gazed upon a certain balcony looming in the distance, “… and I'm reeeeeady for loooove.”

 “Let the stoooormy clouds chase everyone from the place.” He waved at a couple making their way through the rain, hiding under an already-soaked newspaper. They chuckled at his antics and clapped, rewarding his performance. 

 Encouraged, Chat turned his face to the sky while throwing his arms to the sides in a truly musical fashion. “Come on with the rain! I've a smile on my face!” 

 He resumed his walk, nonchalantly swinging the umbrella in large circles. “I walk down the lane, with a haaaaaaaappy refrain. Just singing, singing iiiiiiiin the rain.”

 Chat spotted a few phones aimed at him and chuckled inwardly. People always looked for a scoop. Alya was going to be so angry she missed this. He could almost hear her gritting her teeth. Let's give them a show, he thought as his feet carried out the routine, a mix of waltz and tap dancing. 

 “Daaaaaancing in the rain,” he howled. “La-daaaa-da-da-di-daaaaAAA. I'm happy again.” He grabbed the umbrella as if it were a ukulele and struck a chord, making an elated face, as if he were Luka’s more handsome twin. “I'm singin' and dancing in the rain.”

 More tap dancing followed. Chat finally found a way to release all the pent-up energy that had come from the afternoon spent with the love of his life. He tapped, he stepped, he pirouetted, for his joy and for the entertainment of a significant crowd that had gathered to witness his performance. The umbrella was his partner, his pendulum, his microphone and staff. Oh, how versatile a prop this was! Chat leaped like a very wet ballerina, jumped over the puddles or right into them, frolicking in a totally unfeline manner, splashing the water onto himself and all around. A reckless, unstoppable dancing and singing machine.

 Slosh! A wall of cold water washed over him, effectively ending the show. He wiped the liquid from his eyes only to see a very familiar red-clad figure holding a polka-dotted bucket, which must have been the source of his unexpected and involuntary shower. 

 Concern marred Ladybug’s face. She breathed heavily—she must have been running fast to get here. But why did she have to be such a … what had Marinette said? Ah, an ultimate killjoy.

 “Why did you go and do that?” he complained, frowning in accusation. Water dripped from his soaked hair right into his ears. Both pairs. 

 Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him. “The neighbors were complaining about some caterwauling felines and I decided to investigate in case there was an akuma,” she said. 

 Chat shook his head, trying to get rid of the ear leak. “Well, was there?”

 His partner raised a brow and smirked, taking in his drenched form.

 “Oh.” It suddenly dawned on Chat that maybe performing a musical number in a city regularly haunted by mind-controlling villains wasn’t the best of ideas. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, then shivered. “I’m cold,” he added.

 “Awww, poor kitty,” Ladybug cooed. She relaxed her shoulders, no longer alert. “I need to take you home.” She tangled her yo-yo around a chimney, grabbed him at the waist and in the next moment they were already soaring over the streets. 

 She stopped on a roof a block away from the mansion. Her timing was perfect, as usual.

 “AAAACHOOOOO!” Chat’s sneeze was so powerful Plagg flew out of the ring, taking the leather suit with him. The little kwami didn’t look happy in the least. 

 “Awww, shucks.” Adrien trembled. “Now it’s even colder.”

 “You don’t say,” Plagg grumbled. He was dripping wet. 

 Ladybug sighed in disbelief. She scooped the sprite into her hand and hid him in her pigtail. Then she proceeded to lift Adrien princess style and set off in the direction of his house. Unseen and undetected by the mansion’s security system, she slipped through the bathroom window and into the warmth of his room. 

 A true hero, the epitome of helpfulness, she grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped him tight. Then, with a towel she had taken from the bathroom, she gave Plagg the same treatment. 

 “I’m gonna leave you to change and go to sleep,” she finally declared. “No more clowning!” She pointed a finger at Adrien.

 He gave her an innocent blink. Alas, Ladybug seemed to be immune to his charm. Or maybe it was just late for her. After all he had caused her to leave the dry room and investigate an alleged akuma attack. He decided to step up his game.

 “Maybe a good-night kiss?” He fluttered his golden lashes hopefully. That always got a nice fluster out of Marinette. 

 “Haven’t you gotten like two already?” she frowned.

 “Nuh-uh, that was Chat. Adrien didn’t get any,” he complained. “Besides”—he fixed her with the delightful smile of a teenage heartthrob, his voice lowering to a murmur—“three is the charm, as Lady Luck should be perfectly aware.”

 Ladybug tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Well,” she drawled, stepping closer, “you do make a compelling argument …” Then she closed the space between them.

 Meowrrr, the cat in him uttered. Three was definitely the charm.

 - The End - 

[sevfanfic]

A Touch in the Dark - Chapter 13: A Different Perspective

Word count: 1,964

(This first part is Irma’s POV)

A gurgling croak sounded overhead from a raven that soared high in the sky. The bird circled above a cluster of buildings before nose diving into a dark alley. The passage was narrow and cluttered with garbage. A cluster of dark feathers formed a swirling cloud as the shape of a woman emerged. Irma straightened her neatly tucked shirt and stepped out of the alleyway and into a bustling crowd of people. She approached the cold white edifice across the street. Her thin frame weaved between the pedestrians with ease, her face a mask of indifference. Her path led her through a heavy revolving door. The sound of her footsteps echoed sharply against the white walls of the entrance hall. She approached a closet at the end of the hall, inside stood tall shelves lined with assorted office supplies. 

“Revelio.” She waved her wand in a small arch in front of her, the shelf began to tremble. A door revealed itself as if a mist was being blown away. Irma entered through the opening and proceeded into a dark corridor lit by dim blue hues emanating from large sconces.   

“Mrs. King, you’re early. The Minister isn’t expecting you for another hour.” A short man with a stout frame seemed to emerge from the air. 

“I will see him now,” Irma swiftly passed the man and continued speaking as he struggled to keep up with her pace, “where is he?”

“I must insist that you wait, he is in an important meeting and is not to be interrupted.” The man spoke rapidly, attempting, unsuccessfully, to stop the tall woman. Irma continued to make her way through the winding corridors of the Ministry of Magic. She mulled over the Minister's possible whereabouts and concluded he’d most likely be in his favorite conference room. Her determined footsteps could be heard from inside the room she was approaching. 

“Ah, Mrs. King,” Kingsley Shacklebolt turned from his spot at the head of a grand table, “I will be done shortly. Please wait in my office.” He turned back to the circle of confused faces. 

“It’s. Important.” The severe look in Irmas eyes sent a shiver of realization down the spine of the minister as he glanced at her again. He promptly stood and neared the silver haired woman. 

“We shall resume this meeting when I return.” 

The Minister’s office was furnished with cushioned chairs with large pillows and tall framed paintings. No windows meant the only light came from small lamps and candles. It was cozy and Irma’s frigid statuesque demeanor cut into the warmth. She reported her findings and spoke adamantly about further interrogating the newest professor of Hogwarts.

“She has the support of Severus Snape. We cannot trust either of them.” Irma spoke firmly.

“She has given us no reason to mistrust her,” Kingsley shook his head, “I agree we must keep an eye on her but there is no need to turn to extremes at this time.” He paused and then stood from his chair, “And as for Severus, he was given immunity and has proven his true loyalties.”

“We are to wait for the inevitable then?” Irma raised a brow, “you know what she’s capable of, Severus is also highly skilled.”

“I understand your concern, but we have no evidence to justify taking any action. We will watch them and the others.”

“Very well.” Irma gave a nod of defeat as she watched the man leave the room. She knew she couldn't go against orders but had a pang of uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. The Minister had put together a task force to track down any potential threats, such as witches or wizards with unexplainable powers. Irma King was named head of the force, a general of sorts. She was pitiless and calculating with a taste for authority. 

Irma instructed two of her best practitioners to keep watch at Hogwarts. They were to report back with any new developments or interesting findings. The two, a witch and a wizard, were both animaguses so staying hidden was not an issue.

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

“What if I were to substitute boom berry with powdered bone?” You picked up a few glass vials from the shelves against the back of Severus’ classroom. As you walked back to your table you noticed him standing over your bubbling cauldron. 

“It’s possible that could work.” Severus turned to you as you approached him. You set the supplies down and began to measure out a gray powder. Severus watched you with a fond look in his eyes.   

“You’re so pessimistic, Severus.” You grumbled sarcastically. It was late in the evening and the moonlight trickled in through a small window. The chilled air lingered with the faint smell of the potion you were working on. Severus placed a hand on the small of your back.  

“Maybe you’re just too optimistic,” he whispered, “however, I do enjoy watching you experiment.” Severus spoke close to your ear in a husky voice that sent a shiver down your spine. You smirked and nudged him away playfully. 

“Don’t patronize me.” The teasing lilt in your brought a smile to Severus’ face. He kissed your cheek softly and made his way back to his desk. He began to work on some grading. Occasionally he would look up at you and watch you concentrate. A small smile remained on his face as he worked.

The evening went on in silence, you focused on your potion and when you began to clean your area Severus got up to help. When you finished he walked with you back to your quarters. 

“Would you like to see this new crimson asphodel I’ve been growing?” You asked Severus with a smile. He looked at you suspiciously and you pushed open your door. 

“Does such a thing exist?” Severus watched you carefully.

“It might,” you giggled and took his hand, “but I definitely haven’t seen one.” You then pulled him through the doorway. He let you do this but then he took you into his arms and kissed you. When he pulled away from you he brought his hands to your cheeks. His thumb grazed against your bottom lip. 

“If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask.” He murmured. The warmth of voice brushed against your skin.

“It’s that easy, hm?” You pursed your lips.

“Yes.” Severus smiled and kissed you again intensely. 

 Severus woke before you. He ran his fingers lazily over the bare skin of your back, tracing small scars and worshiping the curves and dimples of your body. It was early in the morning, the sun had barely risen above the horizon. He watched the slow rise and fall of your breaths. He admired the mess your hair had become, having become fond of the unkempt look that you always woke up with. These moments gave him the most peace, he felt his heart swell with love. The softness of your skin reminded him of satin sheets. He moved closer and kissed your shoulder. 

“Venus in her shell was never so lovely, and Diana in the forest never so graceful as my Lady when she strides through Paris.” Severus whispered in a low breathy voice, his lips hovered close to your skin. The verse resonated with him and he imagined holding you in his arms like this for an eternity. Your sleep was deep but the warmth against your shoulder pulled you closer to a wakeful state. You shifted towards Severus. His arm found its way around your waist. 

“That was beautiful.” You groaned sleepily. 

“I thought you were sleeping,” he moved a lock of hair from your face, “I said it because you’re beautiful.” The tenderness in his voice lulled you back to sleep with a small smile on your lips. He kissed your forehead and pulled you against his chest. With your cheek against his skin you listened to his heart beating rhythmically. 

The winter swallowed the countryside and the students were preparing to leave for holiday. You cleaned your classroom and helped some of the younger Slytherins get their belongings together. You began spending most of your free time with Severus. One evening after most of the students left, you invited him to have dinner. You asked the elves for permission to use the large Hogwarts kitchen and set up to cook. 

“Do you like Italian?” You asked while chopping a small onion.

“I suppose,” he replied, “I didn’t know you could cook.” 

“It is one of my many talents, Professor.” You twirled the knife in your hand before dumping the onion in a hot saucepan. He followed your movements with a raised brow. When you finished cooking you handed Severus a plate and he smiled gratefully.

“Thank you.” He watched you fondly as you ate. Over dinner you two spoke about the visit from the Ministry. Severus expressed his distaste for their obvious lack of discretion and self-restraint. 

“Maybe she just wanted to be thorough,” you spoke carefully.

“Doubtful,” Severus scoffed, “they’re watching us, that is how thorough they like to be.” He pushed his empty plate aside and took your hand in his. With an earnest look in his eyes, he brought your hand close and kissed your wrist. “Nonetheless, I will protect you. I promise.” He kissed your wrist again then pressed it against his chest just above his heart. 

“And you call me a hopeless romantic.” The redness in your cheeks made your face warm and you smiled brightly. Afterwards, Severus helped you clean up the mess you had made. He walked beside you down one of the many shadowy corridors that you learned to memorize. You came upon his door first and he stopped. 

“Would you like to join me for tea?” 

You agreed and he invited you in. You sat at the small coffee table where you first had dinner together. It was lit by three small candles that rested upon a stack of books. Soon he brought two cups of hot tea and handed you one. He sat across from you, his index finger tapping relentlessly against the cup. You noticed this habit of tapping his finger occurred when he was nervous about something. 

“Are you okay?” You asked between sips.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he looked down at his hands then slid them into his lap. He gazed down at the cup and then sighed softly. 

“I need to tell you something.” Severus spoke up and you nodded for him to continue. You heard him tapping against his leg, then he went on, “You have shown me that happiness is attainable even with the darkest of pasts,” he looked into your eyes, wanting you to see that he was opening his heart to you, “It would make me even happier if you would grant me the privilege of being your partner, in this life and the next.” 

You felt your heart flutter in your chest as you looked into Severus’ dark eyes. At that moment nothing else mattered, only how much you wanted to kiss him and tell him that you'd love nothing more than to be with him. Your movements were brisk as you stood and closed the distance between you two. He was quick to notice your movements and pushed away from the table creating a space for you which you gladly filled by straddling his lap. You then took his cheeks in your hands and pressed your lips against his. He grasped your waist and kissed you back passionately. You pulled away and admired the man who had stolen your heart. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Yes.” you smiled and pressed your forehead to his. The smile on Severus’ face beamed and for the first time in his dreary life, he was genuinely happy. 

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[terreisa]

Love Down the Line: Chapter 6

The last thing Indie musician Emma Swan needs is a gigantic wrench thrown in the workings of her biggest tour to date weeks before its launch.  When her backing guitarist that caused the problem says she has the perfect solution Emma is skeptical but left with little choice but to accept.  Unfortunately she isn't really prepared for said solution to be former Rock Star and leading man of Emma's teenage fantasies, Killian Jones.  With no other options and a month of performing across the country ahead of her Emma just hopes she doesn't come to regret letting Killian onto her stage and into her life.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, AO3

~*CS*~

Chicago, May 15th

Emma could feel a headache starting to bloom at the base of her skull.  She hadn’t gotten enough sleep, which wasn’t unusual, and she’d only had the chance to drink one cup of coffee since the day started, which was.  To make matters worse the sound check had been going wrong since the beginning and she had been forced to play the first verse of Bite of Iron four times, never making it past the first line of the chorus before having to start again.

“Alright, Emma, let’s see if that fixed it.  Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, biting her cheek against the tirade she wanted to let loose.  Barely a minute in the sound tech interrupted her again.  Flexing her hands into fists over the keys of the piano she counted to ten, then did it backwards before speaking into her mike.

“Can we take a break?”

“Su-”

“They’ve almost got it, Emma.  Right gentleman?” Regina broke in from the side of the stage where she was standing with the others since they weren’t needed for the song.  She had barely looked up from her phone and was still typing away as she continued, “You do want it to sound right, don’t you?  Let them do their job and then you can move past this one.”

At Regina’s words something in Emma snapped.  She stood abruptly from her piano, a loud buzzing in her ears.  Someone, she wasn’t entirely sure who, started saying something to her but she barely heard what they were saying as she practically ran offstage.  All she wanted was to get a lungful of fresh air, anything to ease the clawing at her throat.

In her rush to find an exit that led outside she ended up getting turned around and completely confused as to where she was.  The clawing feeling had traveled down to her chest, compressing her lungs so it was getting hard for her to breathe.  Before she could lose her shit completely a warm hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged gently.

“Follow me, love.”

She let Killian lead her through the labyrinth like corridors, barely paying attention to the turns they were taking or the doors they were going through.  However, when they entered a stairwell she paused.

“Killian…”

He looked back at her, giving her an encouraging smile, “Trust me?”

It wasn’t even a question to her.  Somehow, in the month since they’d been thrown together he had become someone she trusted completely.  She nodded and his smile widened as he squeezed her hand and began their ascent.  Though she found she was distracted from their progress again at the sight of her hand in his, not to mention the way his jeans hugged his ass as he climbed.

All too quickly Killian opened a door that had sunshine streaming into the stairwell and the heat of the day rolling over them.  He had taken her to the roof of the auditorium.  It was dotted with air conditioning units and not much else but she noticed that it did have a pretty good view of the city that was sprawled out all around them.

“It’s not much but it’ll give you some time to yourself-” he held out a slim silver can that she hadn’t noticed before, “I hadn’t seen your ubiquitous starbucks cup today so I thought you might want this.  Come back down when you’re ready and don’t worry about Regina, I’ll handle it.”

Taking the can of coffee, the one that was on her rider for the days exactly like the one she’d been having, a brand that could only be found in the corner of Maine that Storybrooke inhabited and that Killian had clearly gone to the green room to get before finding her, she was suddenly overwhelmed in a different way than before.  No one, not even Mary Margaret and David had known exactly what she needed when things got overwhelming and provided it without question or needing an explanation.  He made to leave but she gripped his hand in hers, holding him in place.

“Stay?” She asked softly, “Please?”

His eyes searched hers before he seemed to find what he was looking for.  With a nod he walked them over to a small strip of shade provided by the stairwell housing and sat with his back against it.  Once he settled he patted the spot next to him, wordlessly inviting her to join him.

The surface of the roof was warm when she sat but not uncomfortably so.  There was a slight breeze, not enough to dry the sweat that was gathering at her temples but enough to break the heat of the day.  Emma could hear the traffic moving along and through the city, a not so unpleasant hum that matched the air conditioning units kicking on and off to make a bit of a song.  She felt herself smile at the thought of putting lyrics to the sounds and then snorted in amusement at the fact that it was easier to make up a song on the fly than to play one she’d intentionally written.

“Something funny, Swan?” Killian asked, his own voice laced with humor.

“Only if you’re me,” she said wryly, snapping open the coffee and drinking near half of it one one go.  She tipped her head back and stared up at the cloudless blue sky, “Did you know?”

“Hmm?  Know what?”

She kept her gaze trained upwards but could imagine his eyebrow ticked up in slight confusion and intrigue, “When you said to play Bite of Iron, did you know that I’d never played it live before?”

“Not once?” She shook her head and he gave a low hum, “No, love, I didn’t.  It is a beautiful song, it’s a shame the sound guys did it such an injustice.  No wonder you stormed off.”

For a moment she almost didn’t want to correct him.  There really was no reason to explain or even justify her behavior.  She was sure that he’d seen worse from others in the business, she’d seen it herself.  The thing was she wanted to tell him the truth of what had upset her.  It was like the words were pressing against her lips, ready to spill out into her lap.  Just as she made up her mind to go through with it, absolutely certain that he wouldn’t judge or condemn her, he began to speak.

“Everyone assumed Milah was the diva of the group and she could be, if the occasion called for it, as could I.  But Liam-” he chuckled and then sighed, “Liam never gave into theatrics but if things weren’t going exactly how he wanted it he could, and would, let his displeasure be known.  He once refused to board our tour bus one evening because the driver had decided to take a nap and got to the venue nearly an hour late.  We had to charter a plane to make it to our next stop on the tour because Liam’s obstinance caused an even bigger delay to our departure.  The label made him pay for the cost of the plane from his own pocket.  Served the git right.”

Emma sat completely still, entranced.  He hadn’t talked to her about Liam since Cincinnati and she’d noticed that he’d been writing in his notebooks more since then.  She had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, he was feeling the same push that she was to share the painful parts of his past.  To trust her with them.

“You miss him,” she said softly but surely.  It was easy to hear the longing in his voice.

“Aye, I miss them both.  It’ll be twelve years and I still expect Liam to come walking into my apartment calling me ‘little brother’ or I’ll wake and reach for Milah across the empty bed-” his hand clenched on his thigh before he sighed again, “There’s a constant ache in my chest for missing them.”

She didn’t know what to say, what he would want to hear.  There had been precious few people in her life that she felt that strongly about and she had never lost any of them.  Just thought of either of the Nolans or Ruby being taken from her as Killian’s brother and fiance had been had her breath backing up in her throat.

“This probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you escaped, was it?” he asked, nudging her shoulder with his. “Apologies.”

“Don’t,” she said quickly, grabbing onto the hand that was still clenched on his thigh. “You don’t need to apologize for talking about them.  I get the feeling you don’t do it very often.”

“That I don’t-” he unclenched his hand and she let hers settle in his open palm, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest as she did. “It was too hard at first, I’d lash out or dive deeper into the bottle, most times both, and then people just stopped asking.  Decent people that is, the gossip rags and paps are the soulless exception.

“Milah hated them from the start.  They followed her around more than the rest of us seeing as she was the lead singer and a beautiful woman to boot.  Once they got it in their minds we’d been romantically involved for longer than we had been they were relentless.”

Emma tried to hide her surprise at learning that nugget of information but with her hand in his he appeared to have felt it.  He grinned, his eyebrow raising in an unasked question.

“It’s just, uh, I thought that you guys were, um, high school sweethearts,” she meant to make it sound like a statement yet it came out like a question.

He laughed, a small but genuine thing, his free hand scratching at the back of his neck, “Our publicist spun it like that and we went along with it for interviews and such.  More romantic he liked to say.  Truth was even though we’d gone to the same secondary school she was in Liam and Robin’s year and I’d hardly spoken to her then.  It was only when they started playing together after they’d left that I got to know her.  She seemed so sophisticated and worldly to my scrawny teenage ass, even though she was only three years older than me and had never left our tiny village either.

“It wasn’t until during our first real tour that we gave into the attraction that’d been growing between us.  From then on it was like throwing a match at a puddle of petrol.  It was us against the crazy world we’d been thrust into and we thrived on it,” he said with a frown. “We partied a little too hard, fought a little too meanly, and were dependent on each other in ways I know now weren’t healthy.  I loved her deeply, I always will, and I know she loved me but sometimes I wonder if we would have made it had she lived.”

“I think…” Emma paused, wanting to get the words right and not completely destroy whatever it was that was growing between them at the same time, “You kinda seem like a guy that wouldn’t let something like that slip through your fingers.  The way you were talking about her just now?  I think you would have fought like hell to stay together.”

“I’d like to think so,” he said, ducking his head. “Liam would say the same thing when I voiced my doubts.  He’d been dead set against it at first and wasn’t too pleased with how we behaved most days but he always said he understood how much we loved each other.  Of course he also understood that we wrote some of our best songs once we got together.”

“Some of your best songs,” she said thoughtfully, drawn back to the reason she’d fled the stage, “You were right about Bite of Iron, you know.  When you suggested it I was trying to figure out why the set didn’t seem right.  The Boston crowd was so surprised when I started playing it.”

“It’s an exceptional song, Swan.”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Do you know what it’s about?  I mean, you’ve obviously listened to it a lot since you knew it would work out.”

The tips of his ears tinged pink, “I’ve listened to it a time or two.  It’s a love song is it not?  Or rather, a love lost song?”

She snorted, only half in amusement, “Something like that.  Everyone knows that I’m an orphan and all that jazz, I’ve never hid it and Regina says that it’s my ‘thing’.  You know, the thing that makes me unique.”

“Bollocks, you make yourself unique,” Killian said heatedly, squeezing her hand in emphasis, “Your songwriting, your playing, everything about you sets you apart from the chaff.”

It was her turn to blush, “I mean, obviously, but, you know, it’s Regina.”

“Aye, she’s not one prone to mincing her words,” he scoffed.

“No, but she has my back and knows how to bury things.  Like how I went to juvie and had a baby.”

Her attempt at nonchalance fell flat as Killian stiffened beside her.  She steeled herself, ready for him to pull away from her both physically and emotionally.  While she absolutely believed he wouldn’t think less of her or go to the press with the information she had no idea what his reaction could be.

“Did you- was it-” he huffed out a breath through his nose, clearly frustrated.  A muscle in his jaw was ticking but when he looked at her his gaze was soft, “I’m sorry that happened to you, love.”

The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard.  Coming from anyone else she would have brushed it off as a platitude or pitying.  Killian sounded like he was the one who had caused it all and was apologizing for it.  She felt a glowing warmth expanding inside her, giving her the courage to continue.

“I didn’t do it, in case you were wondering.  I was young, stupid, and in love, not the greatest combination-” she deadpanned, shrugging one shoulder.  Taking a deep breath she forged on, “I had just turned seventeen and was on my own since I’d had the bright idea of running away from the Nolan’s.  I don’t even remember why now, probably some fucking teenage angst or something.  Doesn’t matter.  So I met this guy, Neal.  And he was older and knew how to survive on the streets and he got me.  Just… understood all the shit I’d gone through with the whole orphan thing and didn’t judge me for it.  We had this whole outlaw life, living in the back of this car I’m pretty sure was stolen, sneaking into motel rooms when people checked out for a few hours, and stealing but only food.  Well, I thought it was only the food.

“A few months after we got together he comes up to me in a panic, telling me how the cops are after him because of some watches he’d stolen and left at the bus depot and how he’s gotta go to Canada and I couldn’t go with him-” she gave Killian a rueful smile, “You probably know how well that went over.”

“Like a lead balloon I’m guessing,” he murmured with a somewhat pained chuckle.

“Yeah,” she sighed, “So I come up with this brilliant plan, yeah?  Why don’t I go get the watches?  Prove to him that he needed me and obviously the cops wouldn’t be looking for a teenage girl, right?  He just lit up when I told him, said I was a genius and gave me the key to the locker he’d stashed the watches in.  It worked, I got those damn watches.

“When I got back to where Neal was hiding out he gave me some song and dance about fencing the watches to get the money we need to go to Canada.  How I couldn’t go with him because the guy he had to deal with doesn’t like strangers or whatever.  Before he leaves, though, he gives me one of the watches, a giant clunky thing covered in diamonds that was worth a hell of a lot more than anything I had ever owned in my life.  He tells me-” she scoffs and scowls at the memory, “tells me he doesn’t want me to be late for when we were supposed to meet back up.  I swallowed every word, spent the whole day dreaming up all sorts of plans of what our life was going to be like in Canada while I waited for it to be the time we’d agreed on.  I wasn’t late but neither were the cops who’d been tipped off that I’d be there holding stolen property.  The fucking, lying, sneaky asshole had left a couple of the watches in my backpack along with the one he’d put on my wrist.  Got a year in juvie for being his goddamn scapegoat.”

“But you were innocent,” Killian spluttered, moving to stand until she grabbed his arm and forced him to stay next to her.

“Which is part of the reason why I went to juvie instead of prison,” she said calmly, even though she was amazed he was indignant on her behalf. “They couldn’t prove I had anything to do with actually stealing the watches, just that I had some of them on me.  The other part was being closer to seventeen than eighteen.  Another month older and I think they would have tried me as an adult.”

“They caught him at least?  This Neal?” Killian spat out the name, his lips curling back in disdain.

“I don’t know and I don’t really care anymore,” she answered honestly.

He nodded as if it made sense before lowering his eyes and asking hesitantly, “And the… erm… the babe?”

She sighed and felt as if she had dredged it up from deep in her soul.  Her hand was still on Killian’s arm and he placed his other on hers, squeezing her fingers gently.  Somehow she knew if she said she didn’t want to talk about it he’d understand and wouldn’t push and that more than anything gave her the courage to keep going.

“I found out I was pregnant about a month into my sentence and the first person to congratulate me was a guard passing by my cell.  I think that more than anything made me realize how much I’d fucked up.  The next time I had phone privileges I called Mary Margaret and David.  Back then I told myself that it was because they were the only number I had memorized but I think deep down I knew they wouldn’t judge me or just brush me off as a runaway they had no obligation to help anymore.  Mary Margaret took the next flight out to Phoenix and David came a few days later.  It was the first time I’d ever felt really, truly loved.  They could only stay for a week but we became a family in that week.”

She could feel her throat tightening but kept talking, “The Nolans were there for me the whole time, as much as they could be with their jobs and the group home.  They even said they would help me raise the baby, if that’s what I wanted.  I couldn’t do it though, I wasn’t ready to be a mom.”

“Swan-”

“Did you know that they handcuff you to the bed when you’re in custody of the state and in labor?” She plowed on, determined to finish, “Like I’d make a run for it while a human being came tearing out of me.  The cuffs were steel but it doesn’t sound as poetic.  I didn’t even hold him.  I knew I wouldn’t let him go if I did.”

She had managed to keep the tears that had gathered in her eyes from falling until that moment.  It was something she’d only admitted once before, to Mary Margaret on her son’s first birthday.  Before she could think to wipe the tears away Killian was doing so with a warm and gentle touch.

“You’re incredibly brave, Emma, did you know that?” He asked, his voice full of awe.

“I wasn’t ready to be a mom,” she repeated shakily, “I knew that giving him up was the best thing for the both of us.”

“Would you want to find him?  Now?”

She shook her head before his questions were finished, “I already did, or a private investigator did.  He’s happy with his adopted family, he’s got a brother and friends and a good life.  He doesn’t need me coming in and making a mess of it.”

“You wouldn’t make a mess of it,” Killian said vehemently.

“Yeah, I would,” she said patiently.  She gave him a sad smile, “Let’s for a second forget the fact that we’re sitting on the roof of a venue that in six hours will have forty-five hundred people waiting to hear me play.  Just the fact that his birth mom would come out of nowhere and decide to insert herself into his life is bad enough.  With all this shit on top of it?  No, he’s happy and that’s all I need to know.  If someday he decides to find me then I’ll be ready to be a part of his life, but only when he’s ready not before.

“Anyway-” she plowed on, “playing Bite of Iron brings all that shit up again.  It’s why I’ve never put it in the lineup before.”

“And then my ignorant ass goes and pushes you to do just that,” Killian spat out bitterly.

He pulled his arm out from under hers but she immediately grabbed his hand, unwilling to part with the comfort his touch had given her.

“It was more like a gentle nudge,” she said teasingly, glad to see his mouth tick up for a moment in amusement.  She sobered, “I wouldn’t have put it in if I didn’t want to play it.  It’s been eleven years and I can’t heal or whatever if I keep it all bottled up inside.  It actually hasn’t been that bad, playing it every night, today was just… a little too much with the constant interruptions and then having to half play it over and over.”

“Well, your diva fit was well justified, I’d say.”

She surprised herself with a burst of laughter.  Killian was clearly trying to lighten the mood, she could still see tension in the way he held his shoulders and the slight furrow of his brow, but he was making the effort for her.  The glowing warmth from earlier expanded and morphed into butterflies.  Leaning into him she pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, for helping me escape.”

Killian looked dumbfounded, his mouth dropped open in surprise.  She grinned at his stupor.  Rising to her feet she felt like she could play Bite of Iron twenty times in a row if he was the one listening, watching her with that same soft look on his face.  Just as she was about to say as much or something even more ridiculously sappy the door leading to the roof opened.

“Oh, thank God, you are up here!” Tink breathed out as soon as she caught sight of them, sounding immensely relieved. “Regina’s either going to murder you or make you pay out of pocket for the time she says you’ve wasted.  Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

“I-” Emma patted her back pocket and winced when she hit nothing but her ass, “Shit, I think I left it on the piano.”

“Do not tell Regina that,” Tink said horrified. “Tell her it died or spontaneously combusted or whatever, anything that will keep her from blowing another gasket.  She’s already muttering about breach of contract.”

“It’s only a breach of contract if I don’t play tonight, not the goddamn soundcheck from hell,” she rolled her eyes.

Killian stood and Emma winced again as Tink’s eyes widened as she noticed him.  Tink turned her bewildered gaze to her and Emma knew she would be facing a full inquisition at some point.  Not wanting to give away anything more than she already had she avoided both Tink and Killian’s gazes as she marched to the door.

“Come on, let’s get Regina’s tantrum and the rest of soundcheck out of the way and then go find some deep dish pizza.  My treat.”

As she stepped back into the air conditioned stairwell she breathed a sigh of relief that Tink had interrupted them when she did.  She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for whatever leap she’d just taken when it came to Killian.  She also wasn’t entirely sure she shouldn’t have leaped further.

[dastardlydandelion]

Max Mayfield and Tory Nichols in a horror film, what would be the plot/monster and would they survive?

this is it. this is the tumblr ask. the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. my time to shine, here we go!

filming begins under the cut:

tried and true creature feature, this is a werewolf movie. let's go with a werewolf between the van helsing (2004) and trick r treat (2007) variety. the beast once transformed is fucking huge, clearly both lupine and human, head almost entirely wolf, body primarily bipedal in shape, but robust, sinew shredding claws and big ass bone tearing teeth. also tails!! bc tails are cute!!! powers include monstrous strength, accelerated speed, healing factor. weaknesses silver and decapitation.

okay, so van helsing (2004) werewolves are mindless rage monsters and trick r treat (2007) werewolves are cognizant. for our max & tory creature feature, they're gonna of the in between variety. i chose a werewolf movie for these two specifically bc they both have their anger problems and the werewolf has long been a symbol of anger unleashed in the horror genre, even tho common gray wolves are just like. i mean, yk, animals, they hunt and howl and pee on trees and most of the time would rather avoid humans. but obvi horror genre werewolves are not common gray wolves, they need to be scary, and like, the remnants of traditional folklore influenced by rabies and discourse in the middle ages...wait, where was i going with this? anger, yes, max and tory both have anger problems and i think this works for what i'm gonna do with this theoretical movie.

who's the werewolf in town? terry fucking silver. bc terry is evil and dramatic and also, i think it's rly funny for a werewolf to have silver as a surname. he's fully cognizant in his transformation and he's purposefully biting kids and teenagers bc he wants more talented karate students. and like. yk, with the enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative recovery of lycanthropy, well. there u have it, more talented karate students.

do max and tory know each other, if so, how? okay, so in this 'verse tory is a lil older than max. that reflects their canon ages, i think. let's say max is 13 and tory is 16. billy has tory in some of his classes and he more or less makes a deal to spilt his allowance with her if she'll babysit max bc he's tired of neil riding his ass to babysit max. tory needs money so she's like, 'sure, why not.' max finds it rly stupid that she's 13 and neil thinks she needs a fucking babysitter but as far as babysitters go, tory is fun. she likes to show max what she's learning in cobra kai and they spar together a lot. max would actually like to join cobra kai but 1) neil would throw a fit on various fronts and 2) lucas is in miyagi-do. max knows there's some rly intense beef between cobra kai and miyagi-do. ofc tory's filled her in on the karate war, how could she not?

well one day tory takes max to the playground to watch a plane fly like she does with miggy in ck, and it's nighttime, ofc, and lo, the full moon is out. shining up in the sky. they hear a howl. they both look at each other. max is kinda curious but tory's like nah, nah, we gotta go. she grabs her, starts pulling her along. but the next howl is a lot closer and they can hear smth running and it just sounds fuckin big. they're running too now, legs pumping hard, but there's no escape once the beast is right behind them, hot, rancid breath blasting the backs of their necks and harvest gold eyes glowing in the dark.

max gets bitten first. tory tries to kick the big ass beast off of her and then it rounds and bites her too. the terror is real now. and then shockingly, as fast as it'd come, it leaves. neither girl has an explanation for wtaf just happened but tory takes max home. billy gripes at her for being out late but helps her patch up. when susan learns what happens she decides to take max to get rabies shots right away. loads her up in the car, runs her off to the emergency room-- but when the bandages come off, they are no wounds.

tory's bby bro tries to help patch her up too. but he's like 4 yrs old and his idea of "help" is sticking bandaids with cartoon characters up and down the wounds in haphazard fashion. tory plans to redo it all properly once she's put him to bed. sure enough after he's asleep, and she peels the bandaids off from every open mouthed pac-man to every green teenage mutant ninja turtle, the wounds are gone.

meanwhile there's missing ppl err day on the news. terry turns kids and teens but kills adults for the lulz.

tory and max know what happened to them was an event that tangibly, definitely happened but neither have any explanation for their wounds just disappearing. max, our resident horror fan, is the first to propose a real life werewolf as an explanation. she cites the missing ppl on the news. tory thinks she's tripping balls but reluctantly gives an inch when she acknowledges no, she can't think of any other explanation.

life goes on. max tells lucas what happened only she leaves out the part abt tory bc she's not gonna tell a miyagi-do student she's kickin it w the enemy. he doesn't rly believe her, like how she didn't rly believe him about the upside-down in their canon. he thinks the horror movies are rotting her brain.

tory almost tells her dojo but she gets distracted being pissed off by sam and that should be her priority, right? sensei kreese is always going on abt getting back at the enemy. she spends her shifts daydreaming abt revenge bc it's more comforting than worrying abt past due bills and her mother looking paler by the day.

full moon next month comes around. neither tory nor max are cognizant of or during their first respective transformations. max's first kill is neil. she's seven feet of fur and fury, tears his ribcage open with claws like daggers and sinks her teeth into his putrid, maggoty heart. susan isn't home. billy is, but he doesn't hear any of the fracas. he's unconscious on the living room floor, crisscrossing impressions of neil's belt buckle blaring red on his back.

tory's first kill is sam. sam larusso wants to think she's a bully?? fine, tory will show her a bully. she hops the miyagi-do fence after hours. she just wants a fight. just a fight, they always fight. but then she's sprouting fur and tory as tory gives way to smth else. she'd not aware of being a person when she doesn't have fur. not really, all she knows is rage and ravenousness and the morsel below her has bunny rabbit wide eyes.

neither of them remember what they did the next day. not vividly, anyway. it's there but it's cloudy and hard to discern, like a groggy fever dream more than a memory. but max burps up neil's wedding band and tory finds señor octopus (sam's stuffed animal) bloodied in her bed. it's apparent what happened. max accepts this more easily than tory bc 1) she always kind of suspected she'd turn, since she sincerely considered what attacked them was a werewolf and 2) max isn't terribly upset abt killing neil while tory is acutely horrified she killed sam.

max kinda had some smidgen of attachment to neil bc like, he's the only father figure in her life and here and there they've had their moments. but his abuse (psychological/physical toward billy, sexual/financial/psychological/emotional toward susan, psychological/emotional toward herself) outweighed any and all of those moments. she is genuinely concerned that she tore a human being to pieces and only vaguely remembers it but like, if she had to kill anyone, she figures neil was the best to kill. max is mostly concerned bc she can't kill neil a second time. she's worried the next time she turns it could be an innocent person, or one of her friends, or her mom, or billy.

tory is blindsided and scarcely able to comprehend the reality, holy shit, max was right, she's a fuckin werewolf. and she's sick to her stomach bc she hated sam but she never wanted to do anything like that. she didn't want to kill, she just wanted to break her face. scare her. rough her up. she didn't want to eat her. she just killed someone. she's a literal horror movie monster and she just killed sam. what's miguel going to think?

tory and max talk. they decide they need to find the werewolf who turned them. we get montages of them going over the news articles with a fine-toothed *ba dum tss* comb and searching areas where it seems like a werewolf would be. the woods. some caves. max all of a sudden has a freakishly tall man constantly hounding her to join cobra kai. neil's gone but she still hesitates bc of lucas being in miyagi-do. also he believes max now and with the proff, she's decided to let the rest of the party in as well. they also exist in this 'verse. she showed them the crime scene and the wedding band she burped up. billy isn't a roid rage racist in this 'verse bc that would be a giant buzzkill. he doesn't believe the werewolf shit either. he thinks max saw neil get attacked by some animal and that the carnage was so traumatizing for her, she subconsciously created a werewolf fantasy to cope.

tory meanwhile spirals downward. bc she passes sam's memorialized locker in the hall everyday. her memorial table in the other hall, full of sticky note condolences and mournful teddy bears, and a picture of sam right in the center always, always accusing her. miggy is heartbroken and distraught. hawk didn't care for sam but even he's freaked out by what happened, how the news said there were only torn up chunks and bones picked clean found in her bedroom. tory is terrified of herself. she's desperate to find whoever did this bc she wants to make them pay. if sensei silver has been asking her extra questions lately and presenting her performance to the class more than normal, she doesn't notice at all. aisha notices tory's fucked up but tory can't exactly tell aisha that she *ate* sam. aisha is also mourning, she and sam used to be bffs. so she doesn't say a word.

max has a theory that if u can learn to control ur anger, u can learn to control urself when u shift. she is, after all, v familiar with angry horror movie werewolves. and she's savvy enough to know it's smth she and tory have in common. neil is dead but that doesn't mean max isn't angry anymore. she's still angry at the damage already done and tbh also angry that there's some werewolf around turning ppl willy nilly bc she recognizes the danger in that and it wasn't smth she consented to. but controlling ur anger is an easier feat for max than tory insofar that max has a support system w her friends, and better relationships with the remainder of her fam. tory has two mentors actively, adamantly teaching her and her friends to be ruthless, view the world as ur enemy, use violence as ur go-to solution, and that mercy is weakness not to be tolerated.

when the next full moon rolls around, they decide to spend it together under the correct inference that they will transform. they think it's better to be together. they're hoping they'll be able to control each other, if not themselves. or that if they are both mindless rage monsters again, that rage will be turned on each other. this would be a better outcome operating on the presumption that one werewolf will be able to take what another can dish out, at the v least more so than a regular human being.

max is successfully able to maintain enough of her consciousness to control her actions once transformed. she feels aggressive and hungry, but not enraged and ravenous. she can keep it in check. tory, on the other hand, uh...tory can't do it. she throws her wolf head back in the most bloodcurdling howl ever and takes off like a bat outta hell. max goes loping after her. they can't speak like human speak in this form, but max tries to communicate with her. whimpers plaintively. tackles tory at one point, not out of anger but just tryna subdue her, licks at her ears and tries to get her to settle. tory bucks her off.

tory runs off again, max in pursuit. they wind up at the skate park where billy n robby are prolly up to some fuckery or another. i could easily see pre miyagi-do robby n billy getting up to all kinds of mischief. ooh, actually, they're prolly arguing abt that. now that robby's in miyagi-do he has another outlet for all his energy and he's getting the positive attention he craves so he's not participating in hooligan activity or shenanigans w billy anymore and billy is like. offended. except suddenly there's werewolves. fucking. snarling, gigantic, toothy, hairy ass werewolves.

let's say robby kicked miguel down two stories in this 'verse too and tory recognizes him in her werewolf form even if she isn't exactly cognizant of herself. she tears straight for him, jaws open. billy doesn't exactly *mean* to protect him but it's kinda an automatic reaction from putting himself in between whenever he thought neil was getting too aggressive w susan or max. and like, sure, robby's the better fighter (not that billy would ever acknowledge this) but it's not like he's gonna karate kick the motherfuckin werewolf anyway-- billy is bigger, he's bigger and it's instinct and the next thing he knows, he's in between robby and the thing w sharp teeth (tory).

and that's when max gets serious. she bowls tory over, away from billy before she can bite. they're rolling, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. lo and behold, terry silver is lurking in the background like the evil mastermind he is, just watching them shred each other and evaluating his experiment. it's a p close match and tory is the more aggressive of the two but she's also been going, going, going since she shifted and she's burning herself out. she's also fighting with the blind instinct of a threatened animal while max maintains more precision bc she has better control of herself. max also isn't wasting energy unnecessarily. max gets her jaws around tory's throat and tory just goes slack. but she can think and she doesn't want to hurt tory, so she opens her mouth and relaxes her maw, teeth grazing harmlessly thru tory's fur.

tory's being shown mercy. possibly for the first time. it's so unlike her conception of others' ruthlessness, so unlike the worldview that's been instilled into her that it startles her enough to crack thru to her cognizance. she does the wolfy deference thing where they tuck their tails and lick at the dominant pack member's muzzle. max responds in kind and lets tory up.

this is when they notice terry lurking (billy's already worked out the werewolf that came to his defense is max so he's just dumbfounded watching all this shit, and robby's not abt to leave someone who just saved his ass, so he's stuck unsuccessfully tryna pull billy away and inevitably watching too). terry calmly slinks over, sizing up his charges. he's pleased with the performance. but tory and max are anything but, another werewolf fight ensues.

so while they all get huge after transforming sheerly on the basis of being werewolves, i'm gonna guess the size is proportionate to their human forms. so tory is a little larger than max and terry significantly outsizes them both. terry is also the more experienced werewolf. it's two against one but it's not the curbstop it would be if this was some weaksauce werewolf, it's dramatic evil karate werewolf terry fuckin silver. terry's shredding tf outta these two. their healing factor can't keep up, he's dishing out faster than either of them can recover and tbh they were already winded from fighting each other first.

but it'd be a major buzzkill if our movie had a downer ending. and also, the power of determination and friendship and shit. terry's got his jaws around max's throat now. he's a millisecond away from tearing it open. tory's pinned under him but she thinks fast, frees a hind leg, and rips her claws down his soft underbelly as deep as she can and doesn't stop ripping, like pedal kicking almost for a human, but with her hind claws. his intestines shoot out like paper snakes from a gag candy can!! okay, well, maybe they don't shoot out w that much gusto, but still. the bowels are free, the bowels are hanging low and tory's tearing 'em tf up, fluids n fecal matter errywhere. on tory. i'm sorry tory. ur under him, that's just how gravity works.

terry dies. healing factor can't keep up with the damage done, it's too critical. but nobody knows it's terry until the dawn breaks and he reverts back to his human shape.

max is v much 'i told u so,' in billy's face. robby promises not to tell. he doesn't want to get mauled or killed or anything. tory's able to cope better with what she did to sam knowing that it won't happen again, that she won't hurt anyone else she doesn't want to be she can control herself now. tory believes in mercy now bc max spared her, she trashes kreese's philosophy and joins eagle fang when johnny and daniel join forces in this 'verse too. max also joins eagle fang, takes her place in the front row right between tory and lucas at her v first practice.

credits roll.

after the credits we see tory considering turning her mother in the hopes that having the healing factor would help her mom's condition improve.

is that a teaser for the sequel?

idfk.

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Charmed [Episode 5]

➰ ot7 x reader, poly!bts x reader, mafia!bts ➰ they wouldn’t notice her until she was standing above them, a smoking gun in her hand a bullet in their heart 🌡 M   🛑  just y/n being a gutsy mf, mentions of death and suicide, dark humor 🕛  4.1k+

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The next month passed relatively calmly as you integrate yourself into the lives of 7 boys who wanted nothing to do with you. You seemed to clash with them on every topic, and you wondered if you would ever be able to live here without having to test the meal for any extra additives.

True, they couldn’t harm you, but there was a lot that could be done to a person without having them die as a result. The most you were fearful of was a kind of truth serum that you knew the boys had. In truth, you were sure that you weren’t supposed to find out about it until after they had successfully managed to use it on you but fate works in mysterious ways and you stumbled upon Jin making it in their sterile kitchen, isolating the benzodiazepines from bottles of Versed. It was their own blend, incorporating higher concentrations of midazolam than the legal dose.

You had never seen it in action, but you were also not willing to call their bluff so you remained on edge, watching everything you ate and touched that could have been handled by your worst enemies. It was an odd kind of life in that high-rise penthouse; isolated, yet not? 

You had once thought that nothing could beat escaping the depression of your one-bedroom studio, but among the richest of the rich you could only feel more clearly the ice of the tile seeping into your bones. It was jarring and made your skin crawl with the lifeless feeling that the place gave you. It made you wonder if the high life was worth it to you. You were happier in that run-down noodle house with the cranky mother figure who glared at you every time you sat down at her counter. Still, she never meant it and served you your favorite without having to ask.

It seemed odd that the both of you had a connection, despite the limited conversation that passed between the two of you, there was a subliminal communication that was always accompanied by the spiced scent of bone broth.

It seemed however that whoever controlled the boys thought that the eight of you had had enough bonding time and it was time that they used you for their own dirty means. Namjoon got a call ordering all of you to BigHit headquarters promptly at lunch time. It made you roll your eyes at how particular Namjoon was about being on time.

You couldn’t help but snicker at little minnows trying to act like the sharks of the ocean. Everyone who had looked into BigHit knew that the company had undergone a coup almost 10 years ago, resulting in the death of many of the party line type members who wanted to continue the orthodox ways of the mafia.

Included in the death count were the boys fathers, but it seemed they agreed and followed the new orders down to the fine print. Betrayal by the younger generations should be expected, expecially if the older fellows refused to adapt to a modernizing international spectrum.

Walking through the front doors of the building, you worked hard to maintain the neutral expression on your face. It seemed the hatred you had for this place ached to be let out, but with the seven guard dogs surrounding you, the need was strong for placidity.

Even the silver letters that spelled out ‘Law Office’, made you shiver in frustration. That’s where your father built his life and where his workers abandoned him to get gunned down in cold blood.

[MYG]

He knew this place, intimately.

It wasn’t hard not to notice the small shiver that ran through Eli as he stood beside me. We had been walking through some of the employee’s offices when he seemed to pull into his body, hiding.

This coming from the same man who had stared 6 gun barrels and could only think about getting a drink meant something. This place meant something to Eli; I knew there was more to him than meets the eye. I know that BigHit can be intimidating, but Eli was brave to the point of being stupid and yet somehow had survived this long with the kind of detached happiness that pissed off people without trying.

It was a rare combination, but he worked with it…or it worked him somehow. By the time we had gotten to the stairs, he had returned to his old self; eyes wide with curiosity as he took in the office.

It was fake. They were all fake, but then again aren’t we all.

They continued in relative silence, save for the quiet greetings that passed between the boys and their connections within the company. Pretty soon the proverbial warning bells rang as the doors closed behind you, and you stared down the head of the BigHit mafia. Clad in his expensive tailored suit and looking way too smug behind the large glass desk, your fingers twitched to grab your semi and put a bullet between his slimy eyes.

“Welcome Eli.” The smile that broke over his face looked unnatural and you hated it. “It seems my boys have finally caught you.”

The air seemed to crackle at his words and this interaction gave you more than enough information. It seems that his boys don’t like to acknowledge failures, though that was already evident from Jungkook’s obsession with perfection. But neither were you the type to admit to something that never happened.

“They didn’t catch me. I turned myself in.” You avoided any use of honorifics or even of using his name so you would have to implement those. No one in BigHit deserved your respect as far as you were concerned. “I was getting bored of seeing them suffer and decided to be benevolent.” Casting a side glance at the men in the room, whose spines had gone stiff, you couldn’t help but let out a little laugh.

“Have they told you why?” You saw the man’s eye twitch and you couldn’t help but entertain the thought of how far you could annoy him before he reached his limit. Everyone has a breaking point after all.

“No they haven’t, but I’m sure you’re going to.” You knew exactly what he wanted out of you. But you played dumb like you always did.

“First of all, I want to welcome you to the ranks of BigHit.”

“First of all, I would like to reject that welcome as nowhere have I agreed to join BigHit.”

It was an outright refusal, but nothing less would do. The only way to leave was to die, and you really weren’t in the mood to fake your own death.

“Loyalty to BigHit would give you a lot of name in the circles.” He tried to coax you, promising higher pay and more stability; very contradictory for a mafia but then again before the incident you and your parents were very happy. The elephant in the room became part of the family having a seat at family dinners.

“I’m not the loyal kind.” Those words could be taken in one of two ways. A declaration of Eli’s independence from BigHit, which would be the safer option, or a threat that if Eli did join BigHit, that he would have no issue betraying them for his own gain. This would not sit well with anyone who ran a business as secretive as BigHit did.

The tension in the room rose to new suffocating heights. But Yoongi only saw Eli, with that aloof smile on his face; the eye of the storm and a bastion of peace. He looked happy to be the root of the tension, and on some base level, Yoongi understood that he loved causing trouble. That was his element and his strength.

Letting the words linger for a bit, you let out a laugh to dissipate the mood. “Why so dark faced,” Eli giggled. “I only mean that it wouldn’t be good strategy to tie myself down to a single company.”

The rest of them only stared. Here was a man who looked down the barrels of six guns simultaneously and only thought of his thirst. He just made a jab at the most revered mafia boss in Seoul and was now laughing it off like he was with old friends. For a moment, Namjoon didn’t know whether to fear or respect the blonde male.

“Besides,” Eli still wasn’t done with his dueling of words,” I don’t even know how good your boys are.” One side of his mouth fitted perfectly into the seams of a half-smile, haughty, arrogant and nothing less than a taunt.

The boys that flanked you on either side understood that this was your war to win with their boss and intruding would be the worst decision one could possibly make, so they kept their mouth shut. Still, their fists clenched as they silently swore to make you eat your words one day. You would see that they were not ones to be belittled.

“I’m sure my boys will show you that their previous failures are not the status quo.” He smiled, not forgetting to emphasize the possessive implications of his words.

“Now, despite your refusal to swear fealty to BigHit, we would like to hire you to help our boys with a job. The pay will be generous if you succeed, but if not I’m sure none of them would mind putting a bullet in your head for me.”

You laughed along,” They were all too willing to do it last week, so no. I’m sure they won’t mind. Then again, who says I won’t thank them for doing it.”

It was a shallow threat, but they didn’t have to know that. For now, you left the boss with the layout of the building and a vague sense of you being a suicidal motherfucker. Those were the worst, because the concept of risk did not exist to those all too willing to let death take them.

Moving forward, you made your most bold move yet. Pulling out the chair that stood on the opposite side of the desk, you took the liberty in sitting down. Psychologically speaking, you were trying to reduce his control of the space. With the room being his office, you understood that he felt some possessiveness of the room and expected complete control of the people who were in it. Taking a seat without his invitation and without asking permission was in direct conflict of his control.

“So, now that I am considering agreeing with you, who or what do you want me to steal?” Calm and collected, you propped your elbows on the desk and leaned forward, staring straight to his dark, beady eyes.

With a deep breath, he reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a folder. It was a plain manila folder with papers seemingly stuffed haphazardly into it. They seemed to be from various sources.

“The target is a hard drive that the government owns containing all the evidence they have regarding BigHit’s illegal activities.” His teeth gritted slightly as he spat the words out. It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out exactly how much that fact displeased him.

The real question was why he would want to steal it. Considering the organization is still running and angry protestors, the government hadn’t released the information so what was the point in having – and then it hit you.

“They’re blackmailing you! Oh, that’s adorable!” Leaning back in the upholstered chair you cackled at the idea of the playground politics going on around you. The corners of your eyes crinkled in the most childish way but the glint cut through the boys like steel. They hadn’t learned much about you in these last few days that you had stayed with them, but what they did come to understand is that you prescribed to your own definition of the world in a way that was admirable.

The grimace that came over the boss’s face was forced. In the depths of his eyes, you could see that you had struck a nerve with him. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to show any remorse. True, he was not the exact man that had doomed your family, but considering his position, he had tom have been around for it and that still blacklists him in your book.

“So where is this supposed hard drive, or do I have to do all that for you as well,” you questioned him. From the chair, you watched as he got up and retrieved a manila folder from a file cabinet.

It was stuffed with multiple documents from various sources, some pages were torn and yellowing at the edges. Others were crisp and white, but each was carefully tucked away into the folder.

With reluctance, he handed the folder to you. In a way you expected more attitude from him, but that only proved to you how much BigHit needed you to help them. If these guys were willing to tuck their tails between their legs then this must be serious indeed.

Still, they deserved no sympathy from you; none of the men in this room deserved any empathy from you for that matter.

He waited as you gingerly opened the folder and quickly scanned through the documents in front of you to get an idea of what you were going to be dealing with. 

[PJM]

The room was quiet as Eli breezed through the haphazard scraps of paper before him, blue eyes shifting from left to right as he took in the information that the papers would have to offer. For a moment, I wondered what was going on in his head as he put together an image of the task in his head.

As much as I hated to admit it, I would have no choice but to listen to the head of blonde curls in the future. I may be able to obtain the equipment and set it up, but Eli would have the plan that would, hopefully, keep them all alive.

In the last few weeks, I had kept my distance from him, or as Jin hyung liked to call it, denial of the interloper that had made himself at home with is. This had also given him a chance to observe Eli from afar. The boy, for that was really what he was, had been boiled down to just being stupidly lucky, and knowing it. He courted death like an old friend, expecially with the workout stunt he pulled. Sure, the task itself wasn’t that hard when taking into the account the gap between the two opposite walls, but that wasn’t even taking into account the mental acuity it would take to come up with something like that on the fly.

I looked up at the quiet sigh that left Eli. He smiled softly, as if the papers were an old friend.

“It’s impossible.” 

What he was sending the boys on, was a proverbial suicide mission.

“What?” The man behind the desk paled for a moment, and you could almost see the sweat starting to grow around his hair line.

Holding back a growl, you tried to enunciate every single syllable to make it easier for him.

“It is im-poss-i-ble.” You focused your stare on him, refusing to back down. “These boys may be willing to put their lives on the line for you, but I’m not going to.”

“You have no choice,” the man spit out through gritted teeth. His fists clenched against the wood of the desk. “You either help us or you die.”

“And who’s gonna kill me? You? With the gun in your top-left drawer? Or one of the boys behind me? Who I’m gonna be keeping alive in this death trap,” you spoke, shaking the folder for further emphasis. Despite wanting to continue to push your acting skills, you let it be for now. “Still, I’ve taken a liking to them, so I’ll do it.” Getting up, you turned your back and started walking out, ending the conversation on your terms. 

[KNJ]

“He’s taken a liking to us? Since fucking when,” Jin whispered to me as we walk out of the office. It wasn’t commonplace for hyung to curse, but there was really no better way to express it. Since we had first met him, one of us had been at his throat constantly. Heck, Jungkook tried to shoot him that first night and damn near made him fall 50 stories that first morning.  

But he lied.

Looking up ahead, I watched Eli as he lead our little pack with his head buried in the back in the folder as he took a more careful look at all the information in there Behind him, Jimin kept a watchful eye on Eli as he moved on auto-pilot through the building. Then again, that is the wonder of a thief’s brain. Memorization and quick thinking tend to come easier to them.

I followed the boys into the car, waiting for someone, mostly Eli, to break the silence. He brought back that sad smile that he had on in the office before.

I shrugged out an answer for Jin as we got to the receptionist and the front door, “Who knows? For now, we just do what we do best. Play along and take precautions.” 

“I pity you all sometimes.” His voice was quiet and pensive, fingers still moving as they flipped through the pages on his lap.

“We don’t want your pity, so stop.” Jungkook’s voice was low and forceful. It made sense, he was a warrior and pity was weakness.

“You still haven’t learned, have you? I make my own decisions.” Eli’s voice never wavered in spite of the glare that Jungkook was shooting at him. “Anyways, I wasn’t lying when I said that he was sending you on a suicide mission. This is going to take a lot of training and coordination between the lot of us, so if you want to stay alive Kookie, I suggest you and Jimin start listening to me instead of fighting.”

Eli’s voice never wavered once, nor did his eyes leave the papers spread out on his lap. Despite this, the boys could see the way his eye trembled. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t seeing them. He was seeing the layout of the building and the way the operation would carry out.

The ride after that was silent, save for Eli asking for a pen from one of the boys as he jotted down notes on the manila folder. The chicken scratch was in shorthand, so none of the boys could read it, and they tried.

“Is that even English,” Taehyung questioned as he looked on over one of Eli’s shoulders.

“A variation of it yes,” Eli chuckled, and for the first time tore his eyes away from the documents. “Though I doubt you’re understand it.”

The other boys were silent as they watched the interaction between the two. Eli had always been slightly on edge around the boys, but for a bright and shining moment as he laughed, he relaxed.

Taehyung looked back into Eli’s eyes, bright and blue and clear, and smiled. It was the same smile he used on girls in the club, wide and white and big. “Teach me?”

“I can’t.”

Taehyung felt the world around him crack.

“It’s converse. Only thieves know it and none of you are thieves.”

The world cracked a little more. “I am a thief for your information. I have stolen more wallets and phone then years you’ve been alive.”

“What you are is a pickpocket. There is more art to being a con than that,” Eli mused as he gave off a melancholy sort of smile. “Material theft is nice an all, but there are far more interesting targets on a person; their thoughts, ideas, dreams.” A pregnant pause as all the boys listened despite their best efforts. “Their love.”

The seriousness with which he had thrown out that last item threw them all for a loop. Silence reigned as they all focused on the implication of his words. They didn’t have any time to respond as the car slower to a stop in front of their high-rise home.

Stepping out first, Eli did not hesitate in trudging ahead, through the doors and towards the elevators. Following him, with a more subdued pace were the boys, their conscious still turning over the words they had heard whilst on the road.

It raised more questions than it answered for them, yet that seemed to be the trend with Eli. Just when you thought you had figured him out, then he throws you for another loop or leads you by the hand down another rabbit hole of new mysteries. Infuriating as it was, somewhere deep down, the boys knew that they couldn’t blame him.

He only did what all good survivors of their dark world did; protect himself from others. If no one knows you, then they can’t hurt you. It was a hard lesson for some to learn, and those sods that didn’t, learned to face the consequences real quick.

The boys had seen more than their fair share of failures in their lifetimes, both their own and the shortcomings of others. They saw what was left of them when reality stripped them of their soul; it wasn’t a pretty sight to say the least.

The rest of the short walk to their front door was silent, each boy still having Eli’s words careening wildly through their heads. Eli immediately disappeared into his room, still scribbling his shorthand on the folder as he studied the notes in the folder.

The next morning, no one went for training or for a run. Eli hadn’t even come down for dinner the night before, choosing instead to lock himself in his room. He only deigned it important to appear for breakfast, dark circles just slightly more evident and ink blotches marring the baby soft skin of his hands.

He maintained a strict silence, maybe it was due to the stack of food, or it could be attributed to the cogs in his head that were still turning.

After mostly working his way through his plate, he took a sip of water and cleared his throat. From a silent breakfast, the others in the room turned to face him.

“It’s going to be rough, but it’s possible.” Setting down the silverware, Eli rubbed at his temples with his palms, continuing to speak into the silence with a slight muffle. “A shit ton of work, cooperation, and trust.”

“Trust,” Jimin nearly spat out. “You expect us to trust you?” Within his voice you heard all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t, but first and foremost, how could the boys trust you when that their entire lives centered around distrust.

All of them, especially Jimin, were wronged by the world until they learned to play their cards close to their chest and treat everyone as an enemy until they were proven a friend. This was the cruel reality when growing up as child of crime, expecially when being trained to reign over it.

Namjoon watched silently the showdown between you and Jimin. The tension between the two of you poignant enough to catch the attention of the others who may have otherwise been preoccupied with their breakfast.

He only sipped on his coffee silently as he contemplated what it would be like to function with you as part of his group. Being the defacto leader meant that he had the responsibility of understanding the dynamics of the others and the risks of introducing anew member. From the get-go, their bond was impregnable, having grown up together and suffered through their lowest together.

“Yes I do.” Eli’s voice was hard and left no room for argument. “Because if we don’t then we’re all going to die.” The words somehow seemed colder coming from the man that they all found to have the sunniest disposition, even when facing the leader of the local underworld.

“Let’s get to work then.” Yoongi was the last person who you expected to stand up for you, but then again it also made sense. He was the investigative genius of the group, but he also seemed to have the most sense of self-preservation among the boys. Did he want to work with Eli? No. But did he need to? Yes, so why bother wasting time.

Eli only nods in response and makes his way briefly back to his room to grab some papers before joining the others who had migrated into the living room. Spreading the papers on the coffee table, you begin to explain the death trap BigHit had assigned you all to rob.

[thunderbird-one-ai]

Compromised Chapter 3

Finally another chapter done after MONTHS of just starring at it. I’m hoping that Christmas will mean I can type a little more since I’ll be taking a break from university.  This chapter ends on another cliff hanger and I’m not sorry :P I’d like to say now. Kayo is not my wrong point POV wise so I apologise in advance if I’ve portrayed her so poorly.

Chapter 1 - Here

Part 1: Kayo

Kayo made no comment when John said those heart-stopping words to the team. ‘Thunderbird One is missing’. She shook her head, that couldn’t be true, this was Scott just cooling off. She’s known him for so long, getting away from his brothers for some time alone was rare for Scott, and with the argument, she overheard him have with Jeff meant he was probably just cooling off. She forced herself to believe that because the other alternative would be so much worse. But she was a practical woman. She knew that if Scott was distracted even for a second, he would have been jumped on. She thought of many scenarios in her head. Scott wasn’t a pushover; he could handle himself very well in a one on one fight. She hardly needed to teach him many moves since he had got the basics in the military long before they started training together. So the likely hood of Scott being overpowered by one prisoner was unlikely. John had also mentioned that three inmates were not accounted for still. Three verses one isn’t an easy challenge, but Scott’s training meant he might have been able to handle them. This still didn’t answer how Thunderbird One disappeared off Johns scans and hers for that matter.

“Thunderbird Shadow to Thunderbird Two,” Kayo said. “Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Shadow, did you find anything?” Virgil replied. Kayo heard the worried tone in Virgil’s voice. She would no doubt hear it in every brother's voice, even Johns in this situation. He was remaining calm but Kayo wondered how long that calm deminer would last for. Virgil may not be as hot-headed as Scott, but his passion to protect his family burns just as brightly as Scott’s. She looked outside her cockpit noticing a small GDF post in the middle of nowhere. Probably just to make sure no stragglers got away. It would definitely be a place that Scott would land near. “Nothing yet, I’ve flown over the entire area with no sign of Scott or Thunderbird One. I see a small GDF post out here so I’m going to ask them some questions,” Kayo said through her comms. “FAB, keep up informed. I’ve gotta go tell dad,” Virgil said before Kayo heard him cut communications. That wasn’t going to be easy. Jeff had only been back six months and now one of his sons was already missing on a mission. A mission that coincidently included the possible break out of kayo’s uncle. The mention of The Hood made Kayo’s blood boil, another thought crossed her mind that John still hadn’t told them whether one of the inmates missing was The Hood or not. If this was true, she needed to be even more on guard. Kayo got Thunderbird Shadow to land nearby the GDF truck and jumped down on the ground below her. She walked up to the Guards not trusting a single one of them. “What does International Rescue want now? We’ve already said to the other one that we have this place secure,” One of the guards promptly said, causing Kayo to become concerned. “The other one?” Kayo replied. “Yeah, the tall one with the fast jet. Just waltz right up here with three guys. One passed out mind you. Said he was a high priority prisoner and took that one back to the prison whilst we hold the others for the appropriate transport to arrive,” Kayo took in every piece of information. Well, that was wrong, Thunderbird One had not returned to the prison otherwise she would have seen the silver bird fly straight past her. She kept her poker face shown, knowing if the GDF found out about a missing Thunderbird, they’d never hear the end of it. She walked back to Thunderbird Shadow, arm moving up to start a comm link with the others before something caught her eye. Kayo found herself running back and sliding under her jet, gliding her hands over charred patches of Earth. Thunderbird One was here. The distinct pattern in the ground matched Thunderbird One’s VTOL engines. Scott was right here along with his bird. The GDF said that he just left with one member but the other two were still here. Kayo found herself running again back to the GDF truck, ignoring the protests from the members, Kayo got in the back, looking to the two prisoners. Neither of them was The Hood and that only made her more concerned. “What did he promise you? Freedom?” Kayo said, looking at both of them, waiting for a reaction. She got one. “Funny, that’s what the other one said,” The smaller male replied, smiling. Kayo wished right there and then she could live up to her name and punch this guy into next week, but her mind was racing. They knew who she was talking about. She jumped out of the van and found herself once again running back to Thunderbird Shadow, ignoring the shouts from the GDF members behind her. She had to get to the others, her brother was in serious trouble. “Thunderbird Two, The Hood has Scott,”

Part 2: Jeff Jeff tapped his foot against the varnished floor impatiently. This wasn’t the first mission he’d been leading where Scott had been less than helpful in cooperating with. He was very much surprised at that his eldest son would answer back as much as he did. That never happened when International Rescue first started out, heck even when they were both military personnel, Scott would always follow what Jeff said. But that was over eight years ago. Eight years ago Scott never would have thought his own father would be lost in space. Jeff couldn’t begin to imagine what his eldest had gone through. Losing their mother was a hard blow to the family, then Jeff himself was blown into space. His eldest had to take on everything. As much as he saw the future in his boys he never thought International rescue would become like this. They all exceeded what Jeff thought possible but should have he expected any less. “I never thought that after all this, I would see my boy look so lost in his own chair,” Jeff jumped in his own seat and looked up to see a familiar face. “Mum, you got back here early. I thought you were with Lady Penelope all day,” “I was but I was informed that not all was well here on the island,” Sally said smiling softly, sitting down on the sofa obviously waiting for Jeff to finally speak up. Jeff gave a small smile back, of course, Lady Penelope would say something, no doubt she had Parker overhearing the entire conversation between Scott and himself. He also shouldn’t have been surprised that his mother would want to fly back after hearing that the family was in slight disarray. So far he had re-bonded with almost all his sons, Scott was the exception which Jeff was surprised about. They had argued a lot recently, not even his other sons knew about those arguments he doubted his mother did either. “I’ve become closer with all of them mum…all of them except Scott. I still feel like I’m millions of miles away in space when it comes to approaching him. I couldn’t be more proud of him for his achievements, for what he’s done in the years I was gone,” Jeff finally said, breaking the silence between them. “He took on everything Jeffery, almost got too much for him,” she let out a small huffed breath. “But he’s your eldest son, you taught him everything he needed to know about your company and International Rescue.” “But that doesn’t explain…this,” “For years I saw that boy struggle with many things. The most prominent one was that he felt he could have done better. Scott worked himself to exhaustion. We’re all grateful Virgil became the main paramedic to deal with your eldest because he took on so much. Took the pain, the sadness, the guilt from everyone else and hoarded it himself. Reminds me of a certain Tracy I knew when they were younger,” Jeff looked back over to his mother, who had a kind, warm smile waiting for him. Of course, Scott would take everything on his shoulders, even at his young age. But the guilt was something that took Jeff a little off guard. He felt like he should have the guilt. The guilt of leaving his family. The guilt of leaving his eldest son with five younger siblings. The guilt of never telling him Kayo’s origins. There was so much more Jeff should have told or shown to not only Scott but the rest of his sons. He was so overwhelmed by his own guilt he didn’t even consider Scott had his own. He remembered that dreaded day so clearly, it haunted his mind constantly even when asleep. The last day he spent on the planet before disappearing for eight years. He remembers telling his sons he’d be home for dinner. He remembered Scott following him to the hanger, stating his worry about the mission. Jeff remembers considering letting Scott join him as the backup pilot in case the place was too much to handle for Jeff alone. But that was out of the question. Jeff vowed to not let the Hood get close to his family, especially Scott not after what happened. Jeff sighed quickly. He’d already broken that vow. The Hood had done so much damage to the family, almost ripping it apart. But not anymore, Jeff was certain on that. He would need to talk with Scott properly after this mission was over and safely back home. Maybe even talk about some old demons they both shared. “Jeffery, Virgil’s trying to contact you,” Jeff looked over to the wall that mounted his sons' portraits, Virgil’s lit up, sending a projection of him onto the table. Jeff noticed straight away something was wrong. “Virgil? What’s happened?”

Part 3: Scott To say Scott hated The Hood was an understatement. That man, that monster, made Scott's blood boil with rage. But The Hood was also one of the very few people who could instil a rare horrible emotion as well, fear. The fear that The Hood could take everything away from him in a single second. He knew this fear, he’s already experienced it once before a little over ten years ago. Memories of betrayal and threats surfaced suddenly, catching Scott off guard, melting his poker face stance away. “Remembering old times Scott? I’m rather offended you forgot them. They were, of course, the most defining moments of your life,” The Hood looked down to him grinning. “Young and ambitious wanting to be better than your father,” No, Scott didn’t want to remember those times, those memories were locked away for a reason. He had to focus on the now not then. Focus on making sure The Hood never got to the jet he was asking about. Scott knew what The Hood wanted now. “The jet’s destroyed Hood. It’s gone,” Scott said quickly, not latching onto the words he had said previously. The Hood just burst into a sarcastic laugh. “Oh? You’re being serious? Don’t take me for a fool Scott. I know she’s still in one piece. After all, you wouldn’t have destroyed your precious first jet. She was too good to be destroyed. The perfect machine that couldn’t be matched in either Earth’s atmosphere or space. The speed and weaponry that couldn’t be countered. I would build it again myself if the parts weren’t so rare,” The Hood continued to smile. “You didn’t build it you ruined it!” Scott shouted before swallowing thickly, realising he’d just been baited, again. “Come now, Scott. Even you admitted to it being a beautiful machine, you were in your element whilst flying it. How you were so focused on proving your father wrong, proving him you were better. I wanted to prove that too, prove to the world that Scott Tracy could become so much more than Jeff Tracy,” “You manipulated me,” “I was trying to show you your true potential Scott and you threw it all away when you betrayed me,” “You betrayed us! My father trusted you. Worked with you and you…you tried to kill him,” The hood smacked his hands down on to the metal table, leaning over Scott. Scott looked up to him about to continue his sentence before noticing The Hoods expression. He tensed; Scott knew that look. It was a look he hadn’t seen in ten years. It was the look The Hood gave him all those years ago when he declared Scott had betrayed him and vowed that Scott would pay. There was that emotion again, fear. It seeped through his body relentlessly. He wouldn’t be overwhelmed again; he was stronger this time. “If you won’t tell me then I suppose I’ll have to find another Tracy to tell me the location,” “They don’t know anything about it!” Scott saw The Hoods expression change from angry to delight as he saw the realisation dawn on the criminals face. “You never told them, did you?” The Hood laughed. “You never told your brothers you worked with me,”

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Prologue

[I suck at titles so excuse the lameness of me just using the name for Nabooru’s new verse. 

So I decided to write actual shit for this because I’m in love with the idea and exploring it. This is just some background on how shit gets set in motion but you can have it anyway. :3]

Nabooru had witnessed falling stars before, trails of light streaking through the sky on clear nights. But never had she seen such a display at midday. Watched them crash into the desert sands with such force as to quake the ground beneath her feet, the edifice she and her people resided in shuddering in protest.

If they had been shooting stars, she would have made a wish on them like a child still so filled with hope for the world. She would have wished for clairvoyance, to know the dreadful shift her life would take, delivered by this phenomenon.

After helping to quell the excitement and panic, she joined Ganondorf and a group of the Elite to investigate. They found that the stars were no stars at all but spherical contraptions embedded in deep pits they created in the sand. They cracked open like a quintet of eggs and out stepped a crew of people the likes she had never seen before, their features all varied and strange to her down to the clothes they donned. 

They hardly noticed the pair of Gerudo step forward despite the king’s size as they conversed among themselves. Planning. Doling out orders. Three took to the air without aid that she could see, leaving the Gerudo in awe. The two remaining--a shorter fellow with a snowy mohawk and reptilian features and a burly warrior with dark hair and sea-colored skin--approached and demanded we offer refuge. Nabooru opened her mouth to protest, but the lizard man raised a hand, a yellow sphere of light forming in his palm and aimed at her chest. Baffled by the technique, on edge over its similarity to magic, she closed her lips again. The message was clear: comply or die.

The band of Gerudo lead the strangers back to the Fortress and Nabooru's unease was reflected back at her on each of the Elite's faces. Ganondorf’s tense jaw and posture, the cogs working behind his eyes as he, too, strategized ways to keep their people safe while wondering who they were, what they wanted. Friend or foe. I could see Aveil desperate to speak to me and convey her own ideas or perhaps make a joke about their appearance to relieve the tension in the furtive glances she shot between myself and the pair. Avira's hands never once left the hilt of the broadsword at her back, and I noticed a flash of silver pressed in Valis's palm. When we passed through the gates, onlookers peered around corners, stopped their training to stare, but the king's glares and the presence of these two kept them all at a distance.

The Elite meeting room was the first stop. A compromise to the initial request. Information for comfort. Nabooru sat on Ganondorf's right side, Aveil next to her, their guests seated directly across from them. The rest of the Elite filled in along the table, all eyes locked on the newcomers. She was grateful that Ganondorf wasted no time with introductions or greetings. Though the warning in his tone when he demanded they state their business only caused the two to exchange smirks. Haughty and overconfident like the stuffed-shirt nobles of Hyrule's court when either of them spoke. Nabooru wrapped her legs around the legs of her chair to keep from springing over the table and tearing them from their faces, that sphere of light poised toward her heart stark in her memory.

The lizard man answered with the ease of being used to such conversations, of someone with nothing to hide. The five of them were soldiers for the ruler of a galactic empire, words that only half made sense to Nabooru. He sent them to the planet to scout its resources, to see if it held any promise as an addition to their empire. When pressed on what that meant for them, the two once more exchanged darkly amused glances, and the dire explanation, blunt and up front, revealed why: they either found usefulness in the planet and its people or it and them would be exterminated.

A million questions swirled around in her panicked mind, most of which fell to pieces before they could reach coherence. Every sinew screamed that they should attack, but the weight of dread and apprehension pinned her and the rest of the Gerudo to their seats, masks of indifference threatening to slip and reveal the desperation and anger they had all felt for years. Hyrule's offences suddenly felt as insignificant as the bite of ants.

The second soldier spoke up before anyone could articulate further questions with one of his own. He saw the warriors training, called attention to those who had welcomed them,all armed and in peak physical condition, and asked if they were warriors. That their power levels, whatever that meant, suggested as much, dismal as they were. Nabooru could see Ganondorf felt the sting of an insult neither of them could quite grasp yet, but answered proudly that Gerudo are taught to fight from the moment they could remain upright and hold a sword. 

As the conversation continued along this vein, Nabooru's apprehension welcomed curiosity when they hinted at such information at least being promising toward their survival. Potentially. A new means of combat for her to learn and strengthen herself. They mentioned something called ki, the energy he had used to threaten her, and Nabooru failed to hold her tongue. Was it magic, then? Both laughed and assured her it wasn't, that even a band of weaklings like them could harness ki or life energy and become an army capable of razing this entire planet and more. Another slight, but in the glance she and the Gerudo king shared, the glimmer of something akin to hope and a desire for strength they both shared to some degree sparking in their eyes, she knew they both wanted to unlock the secrets of this ki. A way to solve their current problems. To fight by their own means rather than artifacts not meant for them just as she always hoped.

Neither of them liked the prospective offer they set on the table for the newcomers, a sentiment shared between the king and his second the following evening as they pored over the same maps that often lead to their more heated arguments, the dead end strategies doomed more than one of them, ripped to shreds in frustration. In futility and helplessness. It was like swapping one ruler for another, but neither had cared to doubt their glib explanation of their business there. With some apprehension, Ganondorf had explained the growing tension within the country, the ire and fear of their neighbors that threatened to slowly suffocate and end their race entirely. How they fought to stave off war with diplomacy and promises of unity, a war they could only dream of winning with the scars of the last one still so fresh. It always shocked her how easily he shifted into the role of the humbled king, how he wove his passion for his people back into his words, his motives, his being. She saw the king she was proud of, the man she fell in love with all those years ago.

The bargain was simple: Ganondorf offered the Gerudo as a standing army to rule over the planet for this emperor of theirs in exchange for training in using ki which would help them overtake the current governing body. Nabooru added that, as natural warriors, the Gerudo learned quickly, and would not cost them much time. She also suggested they teach the Elite warriors first and that they could pass the knowledge on to the rest of the tribe, rather than expend time and soldiers of their own on training an entire army.

Though an agreement hung in the air, the soldiers informing them they would need to run that and the rest of their report by their emperor, Nabooru felt an elation she had not felt in years. A sense that they might finally make progress. She wanted peace, but Hyrule had made it apparent that wasn’t an option. The prospect that they could triumph and survive, to discontinue scraping by, she couldn’t help herself. And to be on the same page as the man she devoted herself to working with--someday ruling beside--after so many long months of disagreements and fights...to see a glimmer of the future she thought they could no longer sustain…

They made love that night. Truly. Deeply. Lovingly. Not as the result of a heated argument, a need for release or the adrenaline after a sparring session. Though the thought of impending doom occurred to her and spurred a second and third round before she tucked herself against his side for sleep, the thought that this could be their last night, such anxiety played a secondary role to her bolstered spirits.

Spirits that only soared higher into the cloudless desert sky when the soldiers returned with the rest of their crew and news that their emperor, Frieza, had agreed to the terms. Training commenced immediately, and Nabooru flourished. She felt like a kid again, handed her very first proper sword and learned to wield it. When she tapped into the energy slumbering within her, it amazed her how natural it felt. The skills, the strength she could have had all that time. Flight, blasts fired from her hands that tore through solid plateaus. It was invigorating. She obsessed over mastering it and challenging herself to reach new heights, finding time outside of the formal training sessions to train more. To spar with Aveil, Avira, Ganondorf, or any of the other Elite who would humor her. 

If only she had known her zeal for combat would someday bite her. That she would find her proclivity for fighting, her love and enjoyment of it, a hindrance over an aid.

How it would cost her everything.

Each Gerudo had to brace themself as the gargantuan ship flew low over the fortress, the gust left in its wake ripping flags from their standards and sand whipping through the air. It landed just outside the gates in far more graceful fashion than the pods the others arrived in. Their five guests scrambled to round up all the Gerudo and assemble them in front of the fortress, barking orders to straighten clothing or to stop looking so slack-jawed. Many aired their grievances with the rushed treatment, their confusion over the unidentified craft that flew overhead. But the sight of it working the galactic soldiers into a frenzy made sense with the whispers and off-handed comments made during their stay once they finally illuminated the significance of the ship: Frieza had arrived.

Nabooru stood at Ganondorf’s side as a chair carrying a horned, diminutive creature hovered toward them tailed by two what she could only guess were his guards or generals, and she followed suit in bowing along with the rest of her tribe and the soldiers. Her gold gaze lifted in curiosity to watch them, to understand why the emperor was so feared and surmise if the horror stories his men told them rang true. She only had to stare into his crimson eyes and witness that condescendingly amused smirk once to discontinue doubting them.

The alarm bells should have sounded when he requested an audience with both her and Ganondorf. It made sense to want to speak with the one who would rule the planet in his stead. But to specifically request she join them after inquiring if she was the one he had been told about, she should have seen the signs no matter how futile a retreat would have been. Her pride blinded her to any possibility except her skill and power being seen as impressive for a beginner. Enough to have earned the emperor’s praise. 

She had only been half right.

The turn the conversation took after a cordial discussion of the planet’s landmarks and resources, of how the warriors handled the training and a prospective timeframe for the attack on Hyrule, had forced Nabooru to forget most of the details of anything prior. The world slipped out from beneath her when Frieza informed the king and his second that he would recruit Nabooru to his ranks due to her skill and unusually high power level for a denizen of a planet like this one, and explained that he couldn’t rightly take Ganondorf, the more powerful of the two, as he needed him to stay and rule as promised. He would settle for close second. As insurance, to feel that he was given as much as they took in their conquest of the planet.

Every fiber of her being screamed out in protest. How could she leave her home? Her people? Her lover? And after all they had worked for and accomplished and on the brink of sacking Hyrule and starting something so entirely new? They were her life, everything she threw every ounce of her essence into. But to refuse was death. Or worse, her people's slaughter over it. She could feel herself hollowing out with each passing moment, as the same hopelessness she thought she had left behind tore the feelings of assured victory from her heart. 

Ganondorf opened his mouth at last to speak for her, but she stopped him with a deep bow. "It would be my honor to serve you, Lord Frieza."

[adversitybloomed-a]

🌸┊ FRIENDLY REMINDER: this is a headcanon for my muse only. please do not take claim to it as your own. any graphics set on here, are edited by me.  ┊ 🌸

HEADCANON:  APPEARANCES

I am going to be placing these notes all around the blog, but i should mention that this headcanon follows her ENTIRE PLOT for each & ever verse, REGARDLESS of the animated movie canon or any images from the animated film otherwise.

FACECLAIMS TO NOTE: Liu Yifei.

       HAIRSTYLES:

as it is known, Mulan in the animated film cuts her hair to become a man and though this is a power move on her part, this is a very westernized mindset & actually had very little relevance to the plot of mulan “masculinizing” herself.

in ancient china, its very common for BOTH men and woman to have LONG hair because it symbolized as a precious legacy from the parents. Most people would NEVER cut their hair after they became adults & cutting off one’s hair was a PENALTY for crimes. so though it is shown in the film, it never actually made any sense to why she would do it, especially when joining the army, because she is basically would be saying “I AM DOING A CRIME BY BEING HERE”. 

thus, MY MULAN WILL NOT HAVE CUT HER HAIR. instead, she would have changed the looks around from a feminine to a more masculine hairstyle to blend in better while in the military. 

         Example feminine hairstyles:

as you can see, a more feminine look usually means having her hair down around her, and depending on the status of the family, jewels within her hair. the more jewelry, the more status it shows. in reference to this, mulan likes to keep any jewelry that she might wear after the war, minimum unless asked otherwise. 

this is because she views herself as a humble servant to the emperor, despite later becoming one of his top generals within the military. 

each jewelry that she will wear in her hair, will symbolize her feelings & or the season she wears something in. 

        Example masculine hairstyles:

in even the upcoming movie, we see her wearing a hat to cover her features, which she does not even need to do. however, as we can see with the examples i just posted, her hair will remain long, just changing depending on my descriptions within the threads.

but to go into more depth, a male will leave his hair long to show his status as well. the only time it would be up is if he were of royal bloodline, because he would be wearing a crown like peace in his hair. even then, they wear their hair partially up & the rest down despite even in fight scenes. 

       OUTFITS:         Hanfu credit

so got the majority of the attire my character will be wearing is the chinese garb called hanfu, this  tradition is historically warn as a robe or a shirt for the upper garment, while the lower garment was commonly a pleated skirt. since it began, various materials were used.  he rich and poor dressed quite differently. In early China, poor people made their clothes out of hemp or ramie while rich people wore silk. There were many rules about who could wear what.

only the Emperor was allowed to wear yellow and during the Sui Dynasty the poor could only wear blue or black. The color of clothing also symbolized emotion. white was worn when mourning and red was worn to show joy and happiness. Red was also worn by the bride at a wedding and if she does wear it, it will be either on her wedding day OR she will have a small amount of red coloring within the fabric of her attire. 

in this case in scenario, mulan will most likely NEVER wear yellow of any kind. she is not of royal blood & if anything, before her life working for the emperor of china, she was a former generals daughter, who was a farm girl. her color ranges from; white, blue, pink, black and once in a while hints of read red -- - unless she is in her army uniform, which will have darker red tints to it to show which side she is on.

         Example hanfu styles:

          example fighting styles for mulan:

when it comes to her battle armor, most times she will be wearing dark leather clothing, that can easily take a hit. the patterns might have design aspects that you might see representing dragons and or phoenix’s, but it all just depends on the situation. 

also when she is dressed for battle, her hair is always going to be in a tight ponytail, with either a ribbon tying it into place, or a silver/gold headpiece that holds it together. this is to keep her hair out of her eyes & to keep her mind focused on the battle head. however, there will be times where she will fight in her hanfu as well.

all of these styles may or may not be listed, depending on the verse itself. but i figured i would leave you with this presentation. if you ever question how to know the difference between a kimono & a hanfu, here is a link i posted on my other blog.

if you have any questions, please feel free to ask :)

[mauserfrau]

Rough Excerpt of Sampaguita, Chapter 3 - Bordertober

I had someone who clearly needed a full, tagged scene with OC Catter, so here you be!

Here is the story so far.  LSS: Tyreen and Troy have a brief stint as mercs not that long after arriving on Pandora.  NOTE THE TAGS.  Black comedy.  On slow mode for Reasons.  Tyreen PoV.

This excerpt contains Tyreen being gross, a lot of food, drinking, snot, Troy torment and, a really crass joke about the Troyreen in this ‘verse.

Also Catter.  I stinking love Catter.

...I’m not sorry.

Troy sat under a smokey overhang by the kitchen trailer.  Three other people had planted their asses there first, all bumming cigarettes off of each other and sneezing a lot— Biscuits (his biscuitiness accented by lop-mouthed smoking stance), Vincent (tall, dark, handsome and gesturing ashes all over with his silver cigarette holder) and somebody who went by Lotty (more of a human pony bead and spray tan accident).

There was beef jerky.  Sort of.  Not enough of it to justify more than a page of the Exceptional Exotics’ employment contracts.  

Lotty was saying, holding a tin stickered with a happy cowboy up to Troy, “Now, the correct way to eat beef snuff…”

 “Also known as machaca, if you’re feeling fancy,” Vincent interrupted.  

And Troy nodded. 

This pattern repeated: “Is to, well, snuff it.  You put a little on your finger.”

“The middle, if you’re feeling fancy.”

Though Troy’s nod came on the tentative side that time.  Wrinkles showed in the corners of his eyes as he pondered whether he was fancy or not.  

Biscuits leaned in, pressing an encouraging hand to Troy’s back, Troy being too lost in thought to protest more than leaning maybe an inch to the side.  “It’s not like doing cocaine at all.  And you really have to really suck it in…” A wet snort accompanied this assertion. “… from deeeeep in your chest.”

“The trick’s in where you put the back of your tongue.” Lotty said, their voice tilting towards some sort of conclusion.

This being stolen from them by Vincent, “But oh, the joy of meat sinuses.”

“You would say that.”

“You know you love me.”

“I love you like the parched earth loves spilled beer.”

“So, not at all today.  Boo.”

It was at this point Tyreen tossed up the hood of her jacket and stamped across the puddles pissing down through the leaky rain shield.  “Troy!”

Troy having meanwhile swept his middle finger through the shredded jerky and right up to his nostrils.  Deftly, he pressed his thumb to the left side.  The shredded meat disappeared.

Tyreen was too late.  Troy doubled over, sneeze-coughing goopy, brown snot.  “I can taste that in my ears,” he wheezed.

“Really?” remarked Lotty.  “That’s a new one. Are you sure, ‘cause I mean, if you really wanna taste with your ears…” This sentiment unfinished, they lifted both of their hands, beckoning to Vincent and Biscuits.  The two men had already grumblingly taken out actual paper cash, what with the ECHONet still being toast.

And Troy, still hacking.  

Tyreen shooed off Biscuits and beat Troy about the back until he showed some semblance of sense— namely, horking with purpose until he was king of breathing again.  

“If you’re going to squeal to the boss,” Vincent said, sucking on his cigarette, “Get us some more jerky while you’re in there? I don’t want what he sneezed on.”

“On no planet was that a sneeze.  You don’t get it, man!” Troy protested.

“That’s a lie.  Lotty got him twice,” said Biscuits.

Well, that had to be embarrassing for somebody.

Unlike her brother, Tyreen did not stop to ponder and definitely not anything about snorting beef jerky.  “He brought this on himself.  That’s plenty for me.  C’mon.  They opened the beer taps.” One more thwack and she turned her hand around, grabbing Troy by the back of his jacket and hauling.

He pinwheeled half a step in front of her.  “I don’t even like beer and neither do you,” he muttered, then discharged more snot into his hand.

Besides, there was a line for said beer.  Someone had written on the tarp overhanging the taps: Welcome! No names though, just like nobody announced that food was served in some way that didn’t involve anybody’s noses.  At a certain point, Colonel Admusik stepped out of her trailer and made her way to a ktichen trailer window where a plate of something greasy, steaming and flickering oversized bones appeared.  She took her pick of seats at one of the rickety picnic tables, tucked a cloth napkin into her collar and sat down.  Two of the face-tattooed howitzer operators dived to offer her their beers before fighting their way back into line.

Tyreen wouldn’t have said she’d wanted announced, but the company seemed like a place that announced people.  Besides, an excuse to shoot something else would have wrung more laughter out of this crowd, maybe gotten her offered a beer.  Not that she could have drunk said beer.  Anyway, she got the angle now.  There were two ranks here: the colonel and all the other mercs.

So, apparently she and Troy were other mercs now.  Tyreen had not been aware that mercs served short ribs for food.   She was also unclear on exactly what a ‘short rib’ might entail.  Which ribs counted as short? Why not eat the long ribs first since they must contain more delicious meat? Was it absolutely necessary to stop an entire company of mercs in the middle of a downpour to set up a kitchen trailer and make a welcome dinner which was now doomed to get damp while the people who ate it veered into a risk of missing… something.  Whatever the hell job this “gentleperson’s operation” was on or headed for or somewhat towards.  

Tyreen didn’t know about that either.  She also hadn’t bothered to ask.  Closer to the urge worked for her.  She swung up to the window ahead of Troy.  “I heard something about rum rations.”

“Rum and short ribs?” The cookie gave her a squint, but shrugged and ponied up a quarter split with an orange slice and some soda machine ice.  “How many?”

“Ah, yeah, pass on that.  I don’t do bones.” Casting her hand up briefly, she removed herself from the window before facing anymore of an argument.  This dinner was going to suck hard enough without a plate of dead thing under her nose, teasing her with it’s infernal pre-deadedness.  Tyreen’s belly had already started to do the gurgling, twisty thing where the part of her that ate gathered there and tried to peek out of her navel.  At least she had rum and the urge to distract her until nightfall and the Skågåsbord that would bring.  They were still out there.  She could sense them flickering about the hills.

Then of course her brother had to go and acquire an overflowing plate of bones, his mashed potatoes relegated to a mug which he carried balanced on his elbow.  Tyreen got to the table first, cracking open her rum and slugging it right out of the bottle.  Sweet stuff, super dark.  Probably wouldn’t make her retch.  Her orange slice went on her brother’s potatoes once he’d gotten everything onto the table without incident.  He shrugged and ate it anyway, greasy garlic butter and skin and all, smiling at her with the rind pressed over his teeth.

Tyreen glowered at him.  She then flicked his nose and slid back to her drink, twisting it over and over as he chewed and more people got food and the shields leaked and the beer line got loud.  

Idly, she wondered what anybody would do if she gnawed on a bone.  Not that she was going to.  Bones made a fine justification for not eating this thing or that other thing, so no way she would.  She had that urge of her own though, sometimes after sunset and skimming on her tongue.

And Colonel Admusik only carried picnic tables that seated three to a side.  The far one of their table? Still empty when Hypothetical Third Person planted her ass beside Troy.  She made a chirp when she did, as though she had a squeaker in her ass.  

Tyreen peered around Troy.

And the person waved, fork on her lips.  She was smallish, fairish, made-up-ish, wearing a Dahl army coat three sizes too big for her.  Peroxide blond hair dragged in her eyes, themselves the color of moss.  The Terran kind that never accidentally made teeth like the stuff on Nekrotafeyo.

Troy managed to pull himself away from his plate long enough to tilt his head her way and jostle his occupied shoulder at her.  Like— hello, I am eating, other person who had at least ten other places to sit.

This one craned over her own plate and she stared out at him through his magazine cover kind of smile.  Finally, she gestured with one gloved hand, flicking her finger close enough to Troy’s left eye that she got a jolt out of him.  “So, who does your work?” she asked, words somersaulting over each other.  

Troy’s fork froze in mid-air.  “This? Oh, uum a few people.” Rather than look her quite in the face,  or stop eating, he wiggled his hand and dripped gravy.  “They didn’t come out so great the first time.”

“It wasn’t Miss Moju on Rigil 7, was it? ‘cause she’s getting hella sued and if you want in on that, I got the contact stuff for the lawyer on my ECHO.”

“Oh.  No, not her.  I didn’t even think about her.” Troy ended that on half a snort.

One Tyreen could have joined him for.

Except this person acted like she thought he’d laughed.  She tittered back.

And she totally cut Tyreen off, but that was another story.  With titters.

“Really? You must be pretty hardcore.” She held her hand out, slower than she’d talked, her hips wiggling in her seat.  Tyreen could hear her boots swishing under the table besides.  “I didn’t think about her either.  I’m Catter.  Colonel said you were Troy?”

Troy nodded.  He dipped his fork into his potatoes, leaving it there.  He had to twist his whole self sideways to offer her his wrong hand, but his joints were hyperflexible garbage and he only had the one hand to offer anybody, so he managed OK, tilted his head up too, not that he exactly made eye-contact.  “Yes.  It’s nice to meet you.  This is…”

Catter’s head, then her shoulders, tipped to the side.  She looked like she was trying to shed some part of herself, and in fact she kind of did.  The sleeve of her too-big coat nonetheless rode up about an inch on her left wrist.

Glinting geometric swirls poked out.

”Oopsie,” she said, holding her other hand almost to her mouth.

Tyreen made a face.  To cover that, she also stuck her rum in said face.  Smacking off of her bottle, she added, “You did that on purpose.  Just say you’re a fangirl next time, shit.  You think we care?” Anyway, she’d heard whispers in the alleys of the ECHONet, about how “pirate AU fanfiction isn’t valid, you weirdos” and also “my sister’s Siren fangirl for cosplays and it’s kind of fucked up”.

Well, Tyreen knew what fangirl and cosplay (an associated term) meant in the same way she knew what short ribs meant.  The terms raised more questions than answers.  But there was Catter.  Quod erat demonstrandum.  Also, no way this person was a Siren.  She smelled like some kind of plant and not a primeval space magic at all.  

“I thought we were having fun,” said Catter, finally breaking the shake with Troy and pressing a finger to her infernally perfect dimple.  “Is she always so grumpy?”

Troy’s back tensed as he answered, despite the evenness of his tone.  “Are you always so effervescent?”

One of those words earned him a confused blink, and another titter.  “ I…  What? Hee! I should have known you were different.  A guy with Siren ink.  That’s just so… I’m sorry.  I’ve never actually seen one! Or a Siren.  But I’m gonna fix that.” Catter turned a look of determination, first to the sky, and then to Troy.

“Ah, me neither.  And now you have.”

“So! So! I drew mine myself and I got a whole set, see?” Her coat went onto the table.  Two other mercs steered away, off to less occupied shores.  Underneath, she wore a sleeveless collar top and no bra.  Tyreen wasn’t wearing a bra either, so whatever on that, but the loopy tattoo business liberally slathered onto Catter’s person proved to be the single most gruesome shade of magenta that Tyreen had ever seen.  Like exploded printer magenta.

“And I see you like pink,” Troy offered, congenially.

Catter wiggled and drew closer once more.  She still did not touch, but her eyes traced over Troy’s own markings with a precision.  “Did you draw yours too? I know some places that’s a thing, but some other places you let your artist do…”

“I drew them,” said Tyreen.

A sound of distress followed.  “You didn’t give him a whole set?”

“Like you said.  He’s a guy.  Maybe he doesn’t get a whole set.  Maybe he has to earn them.”

“Wow, you two have like LORE worked out? Are you on SirenSona.net?”

“We like to keep it to ourselves.  It’s, umm our stuff,” Troy said, attempting to turn away, hand in his hair this time.

“Oh, am I intruding?  I’m sorry it’s just I love your eye mark and she…” Catter’s hand once more intruded, but this time she at least had the sense to apply to to her fork after she thought better.  It was with her off-hand that she gestured between her table mates.  “Actually, what are you two?”

Tyreen snorted.

And Troy said: “Oh, we’re cousins.” His grin flashed even in the corner of his silhouette.  He tried just that hard.  

So no wonder Tyreen had to fish him the rest of the way out of the proverbial ditch.  “And we’re married.” 

“What?” Catter’s eyes were now the size of SAT-V hubcaps.  “Really? That’s wild.” 

“Cousins are made for cousins, that’s what they said back at the old commune,” Troy laughed.  Wow, he almost sounded convincing.  

To Catter, anyway.  “So you like grew up together?”

“Yeah.”

“And now you do it?”

“Yes, Catter,” snergled Tyreen.  “That’s part of being married.  Do you wanna come mop up our bed tonight when we get done doing it?” She layered on the sincerity, as if plying for her personal dinner.  This had gotten old about five absurdities ago.

“Nooo.” As for how much no, Catter pressed one (still-gloved) finger to her lips.  “But anytime you wanna fanperson, we can do that.  Like you’re part of the team now and I want you to feel welcome and I’ve got that limited edition gravure with the Lilith buttshot.  The one where.  You know.  You can see.”

Tyreen and her brother both nodded, though Tyreen could only imagine what was on display.  If she’d had a human appetite, this might have been detrimental to it.

[Catter actually exists as an explanation for why the twins were managed to run around without covering their markings for APPARENT YEARS.  She is not a criticism of any Siren OC.  I love and feed Siren OCs ficlets.]