#its so fucking catchy. sticky you could say

[thechurn]

sticky is already a top 10 songs of the decade contender for me and its been only like a month

[4dtk]

have this absolute shameless drabble of sugar daddy gojo that i wrote in between requests. my fingers have never typed so fast im sorry this is literally self-indulgent at this point ARJGJFFJ.

disclaimer i honestly can't see anyone calling gojo daddy but just for this fic..... ill allow it..... and also bc sugar daddy gojo is just always residing in my mind. did you see how he transferred 10 mil to mei mei!!!!! i will never shut the fuck up about that scene. pls spoil me <3

warnings: praise, public sex, sugar daddy/sugar baby relations, breeding kink, pet names

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI

sugar daddy!gojo pushes you up against the window of the store, visible for everyone to see you getting fucked senseless. in the gucci store four floors up, it could work both ways. fortunate to be so high up, although people would be getting a treat if they happened to look up.

“you know what you’re doing, baby?” he grunts, hips rocking into your soaked pussy as the staff outside try to ignore the lewd noises coming from behind the curtains.

it was supposed to be a simple trip: get a dress for gojo’s event in a few weeks and get out. with a tight arm wrapped around his, you followed him around like a starstruck puppy, the edges of your lips curled up knowing he’d treat you a million times over if you just asked for it.

gojo wasn’t any different, either. sure, he’s had sugar babies in the past, but not quite like you who’s so easy to please and spoil, knowing you could never say no even if your life depended on it. with your desperate listing for the requirement of monetary assistance, gojo couldn’t resist taking up the offer.

he just hadn’t expected you to be so… pliant. you had taken it like a good little bitch, too, moaning out for everyone to hear because you liked it like that.

“you’re taking my cock so well, princess,” gojo muttered out, lips nibbling on your ear as he continued to pound you. his grin that you feel against your skin plagues your mind, wanting nothing more than to see how he enjoys ruining you.

the catchy, upbeat pop song playing above you seemed to provide some rhythm, the sultry lyrics fuelling you further.

"so needy that i had to buy out the whole store for an hour, huh?" the male slows his pace, delivering deep thrusts into your cunt with the precision of an expert.

all you can reply are in little pants, sentences incoherent from how deep his cock is in you.

"i don't even think an hour is enough to satisfy my pretty little girl, isn't that right?" gojo picks up the speed again, and you're brought back to the many times he's fucked over his counter, washing machine. to the times where he's eaten you out on his office table and in his sheets of his king-sized.

and now, you've got another memory locked away for nights full of loneliness and soaked underwear when gojo's just too busy for you.

a tongue to your nipples and a hand to your clit makes you choke out a moan, writhing against the glass just to feel more of gojo, more of his cock and more of his lips on your neck.

you're struggling to keep yourself up, finding the right time in between muffled moans and whimpers to ask for one more wish.

"daddy... p-please, i wanna see your-"

"what, baby? repeat it for me." goddamn, the man had no problem articulating his words, how much had he fucked you already?

clearly not enough if you're still able to speak.

"w-wanna see your face when you fuck me deep, daddy!"

your wish is taken away when you're already creaming all over gojo as your hot breath creates fog on the glass in a silent scream.

"aw, you're cumming so hard baby~ you didn't even get to see me yet," he coos, enjoying the gush of your juices that coat his dick and your thighs. everything feels sticky and dirty, but you don't hesitate to beg for one more fuck with your eyes.

gojo catches your drift immediately, hips twitching from the idea of pumping you full of his cum. after all, he hasn't come yet.

he grunts at the time with a quick glance to the clock above your head. without wasting any more time, he flips you over, the restraint to cum slowly reaching its limit with your lolling tongue and fucked-out face.

the male doesn't bother to hide the deep groan that rips from his throat when he drags his dick along your folds, strings of both your juices stretching out in a way that hypnotises gojo.

"n-need your cock, daddy! please!" you whine, grinding your hips against the tip to make sure gojo knows of your desperation. that he's the only one to fuck you so good that no one else can satisfy you.

he smiles knowingly before he sinks into you.

gojo knows that he's the only one that can make you feel this way as he picks up the tempo, hitting spots in you that you didn't know was physically possible.

gojo knows that he's the only one you call daddy shamelessly as he writes off his card to help you in your student debts and the sparkly dress you've been eyeing.

he could throw you away the second you're done with university, the second the media's off his ass about his love life but, the sweet, sweet moans spilling from your lips pull him back in every single time, eager to hear it for as long as your bank's empty and his is piled up with money.

"more! satoru, more, fuuuck..." you groan, shying away from the striking blues of his eyes the more he drinks in your current state.

he's barely holding on, not even minding the first name you called him. the short skirt he'd given you flipped up makes him go crazy, your panties moved to the side to receive the dressing room quickie you always wanted.

"you're so de..eep daddy! i need all your c-cum please...!" it's a mix between a whimper and a whine.

"yeah? 'course i am, baby. your pussy is sucking me in all the w-way," gojo's hips stutters at how you squirm in his tight grasp, locking eyes with him as yours fill with want. your pussy is throbbing, stretched out so much that you don't register the thumb playing with your clit.

"s' too much...! s' too much, d-daddy!"

"you're a good girl, aren't you?" the way you nod is pathetic, eyebrows knitted from being stuffed so full.

"pretty little thing- fuuck..." gojo's losing control himself, the way his balls slaps against your cunt resonates around the small space and nothing feels better than being inches deep in you.

you're a babbling mess by then, unable to even scream out as you cream his cock. with head thrown back, you're left frozen for a second as the orgasm washes over you and a violent shudders goes through your thighs.

"daddy has so much, s-shit- cum for you, doll," it isn't long before the other comes undone, a groan escaping his lips before he shoots his load deep into you.

your pussy is stained white from all the cum he's giving you, gasping from how much gojo is leaking into you.

"thank y-you, satoru..." you trembling has affected your voice, too, burying your head into gojo's neck while your body shivers from sensitivity.

"take all of it, baby," gojo whispers, the hand near your middle moves instantly to finger his cum back into you, fixing back your underwear over your pussy.

a cheeky giggle leaves your mouth as you untangle yourself from the embrace, welcoming a kiss from the man as he slowly begins to clean up himself.

"have you chosen a dress yet, sir?"

gojo's smile is mischievous, not missing the way your face flushes at having to face the embarrassed staff outside.

"we'll take everything, thanks," his eyes never leave you as he helps you off the changing room chair, tugging your body flush to his before leaving you with one more hungry kiss.

"you did so well for daddy, doll. i may just have to treat you tonight since you have a day off university tomorrow..."

even if it wasn't in the contract, gojo loved to spoil you, admiring your mettle when it comes to material items. although...

"you know what i mean," it's enchanting, the way his voice travels like silk, "i'll call in sick for work tomorrow, yeah?"

your mind goes to mush at what tonight might entail, losing all train of coherence when his hushed whisper of my baby's so cute reaches your ear.

in a second you're out of there, hand twined with his while you remain giddy with the thought of getting used by gojo until you reach your limit.

[seeds-and-sins]

F**kin’ Diabolical (Chapter 6)

Master List

Pairing: Homelander / Original Female Character, Billy Butcher / Original Female Character

Rating: M (Strong language, sexual themes)

Decription: Carly Danvers is a reporter/radio show host/annoying little piece of- For reasons unknown to Vought, she decided to start a one man investigation on Vought’s operation. Her efforts had been quite successful so far, so much so that Stillwell would have done anything to see the young girl dead. Turns out Stillwell didn’t have to do anything at all, while one piece of evidence against Vought causes Danvers to fly too close to the sun. And Homelander flies after her.

Chapter Summary; Homelander agrees to take Carly to her apartment, then someone knocks at her door.

 The flight to her apartment complex was absolute hell, just like the rest of her day had been so far. If Homelander hadn't been there to catch her every time she came plummeting down to earth, she would have killed a lot of people, she was sure of it. Not to mention, the feeling of being 20,000 feet, or higher, in the sky was not easy to get used to. She hated roller coasters and airplanes and zip lining, and just about everything that had to do with heights, so when Homelander urged her to go higher she felt like her heart stopped. It was beautiful, a fantastic view of the city. However, she was certainly not used to flying in the sky, or being bulletproof, or having lasers shoot out of her eyes, so she couldn’t really enjoy that view. Homelander had to keep reminding her that if she really did fall, "You won't feel a thing", which only made reality progressively worse for her. 

    When they finally arrived she had ended up clutching to him like he was her last breath, begging him to sink the landing so she wouldn't blow clear through several stories in her descent. She knew how amusing this was for him, she could see it in his eyes every time she would looked to him for help. He was the worst person she could seek guidance from, but in these desperate times, he was the only person she could seek guidance from. He had been manhandling her, dragging her around, criticizing her for not being able to catch on so quick. This must had been some sort of dream for him.

   Then, of course, there was the name: Lady Liberty. It was catchy and classy, but who the fuck would come up with a name on the fly like that?! No. He had been ready, waiting, ever so patient, and he said it like she was already a supe, like the name was burned into her flesh at birth. She imagined herself flying beside him, wearing his colors, flashing his abilities, what a sickening thought to think that would get him off? She used to laud the man, then she found out he was just some lab experiment, like all the other supers, and now she was too. What even was this? What was she doing? Where was she? Oh yeah, she was in her apartment. She didn’t even realize because it didn't feel the same, she didn't feel like herself. 

   When she entered, Homelander in tow, she went straight for the alcohol. She scurried around the bar counter, grabbed a scotch glass and poured some whiskey for herself. Homelander watched silently as she downed the whole glass in one gulp, then she tipped her head forward, wincing her lips and poured another. He then continued to stalk around, probing the entire apartment, although she knew he had seen it before. Despite it being speculation, she figured he had stalked her, or watched her in the past. The fact that he knew where she lived and that he knew where her clothes were was suspicious enough. With everything going on, she didn't really have much time to sort out her feelings on the matter. She downed another full glass, gulp after gulp. The burn of the whiskey melted into her, and she fucking needed it. 

"That won't work. Trust me." She caught her breath, hand clutching as gently at the bottle of whiskey as she could. 

"What won't?"

"You can't get-"

"Don't say it, Homelander. Don't you fucking say it." He shrugged, then continued to walk around the perimeter of her apartment, a full on inspection. "Can you not fucking act like you haven't seen this place before?" She left the whiskey and empty glass, turned off now by the fact that she wouldn't feel its effects no matter how hard she tried. 

"I did," He paused in stride, eyes focused out the window spanning the wall, where a balcony hung. "To retrieve your clothes, remember?" 

"Oh, don't play innocent, it doesn't suit you." Homelander snorted, almost nervously, then faced her again with a smile. 

"Carly, I don't have any idea what you are talking about." Her bare and dirty feet padded against the wood as she started towards the hall that lead to her bedroom.

"Sure you don't." She remarked sarcastically, zooming past him.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a shower. Go watch TV, or something." Carly did have a moment over by the bar, where she had to reel herself back into reality, yet again. Homelander was in her home and she had superpowers, it doesn't get more fucked than that. Even more so, Homelander had been spying on her for who knows how long, and he was in her living room, and she had superpowers. She needed a shower so bad. She needed to just wash all of this shit away, physically and emotionally. Homelander watched her disappear down the hall, she could feel his eyes piercing through her.

    She entered her room, closing the door behind her, as if that would stop the great Homelander. She rested her head back against the door, careful not to put all of her weight on it in fear of it breaking behind her. She closed her eyes, tried to settle in to this feeling that had been coursing through her since she woke up. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, tossing it into the hamper that stood not so far off by the door, leading into the bathroom. She then discarded the sweatpants, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. She turned to face the long side oval mirror on her nightstand, eyes softening at her damaged state. She looked like Carly, but she didn't feel like Carly. 

   She twisted her waist, above her hip sat a clear scar that trailed from around the curve of her side, up towards her rib cage, where it stopped. It was still there, so she must still be Carly. She watched her hand, mesmerized as it rose up to her cheek, fingers peddling against the flesh. The same flesh that can withstand anything that came its way, but it still felt soft, like Carly. The fingers slid up and over through her hair, where her lips parted and she could feel the oily strands between her fingers. She felt the tears blossom in her eyes, where oddly enough she still feel the heat in them from the heat vision. How can someone be a human one day, ever so vulnerable, then be an indestructible hero the next? She placed her hands on her waist now, taut beneath her fingers and she stared at her reflection again. She couldn't even look, the pose didn't make her feel any better or greater. It made her feel like a stranger. 

   In the reflection she saw her acoustic guitar, the solid black giving her some solace in these trying times. She stepped over to it, almost subconsciously, and picked up the neck. She settled herself down onto the edge of the bed, propping the guitar on her lap. Perhaps a somber tune would ease her mind, but before strumming at the strings her attention locked on something else. She caught sight of the wall beside her bed, it couldn't have gone unnoticed, it was a masterpiece of her own design. The sight of a thousand sticky notes and strung up pictures that she had painted, sketches that she had drawn. She mindlessly placed her guitar down beside her on the bed and stood, feet taking her to a single sketch that she had made so long ago. It was of Homelander.

   At the time she criticized herself; the nose was too crooked, or the eyes just weren't all too great, but no, the sketch was the perfect image of him. She remembered the pencil taking over her that day, and she didn't really know what drove her to sit down and crank out his image. Of all the things she had drawn, Homelander was certainly the most elaborated sketch. The way she traced his jawline, the crisps of his hair, the subtle tiredness in his eyes, did he-they even feel exhaustion? She didn't feel exhausted right now, was that another post-compound quality? 

    She closed her eyes, and honed into the silence, giving herself a moment to enjoy this peace while it lasted. Then something happened all too soon, she found herself unprepared for it. She could hear voices, the honking of cars, the breathing, the heartbeats, the wind, it was like in the hospital that morning. Her eyes fluttered open, and her expression turned fierce. She couldn't even enjoy silence, not without hearing everybody else. She huffed out her agitation, then stormed towards the small bathroom, where maybe the water could do her some good. 

   It was a thin bathroom, and very cluttered, cluttered with an array of hair products, makeup, perfumes, and lotions. There was no bath tub, much to her distaste when she originally got the apartment. The thin brick that separated the floor and the shower tile was all that kept water from leaking everywhere. The curtain was an off blue, that matched the navy bath mat she had put down. She finally removed her underwear, tossing it into the hamper with her other clothes. She didn't waste any time, finding herself under the rusty shower faucet and turning the lever over. She made the water as hot as possible, knowing that too hot was no problem for her now, and also that she needed that steam and that warm embrace. 

   She sat under the water, feeling it trickle down over her, her blonde strands soaking and sticking to her skin. She enjoyed the stream as it caressed her back massaged her, allowed herself to be engulfed in its blissful touch. She moaned out her approval and settled her forearms against the wall above her, resting her forehead on them. This felt nice, after a second of relaxing under the water she was already feeling calm. She controlled her breathing, trying to find that meditative state that would allow her to just... Not think. Even when there was so much to think about, so much coursing through her mind. And Allen? She had tried not to think about him, about how he died. She wished he hadn't, she wished none of this would have happened, she should have listened to his warnings. What soared through her mind regarding last night made her feel disgusted in herself. She had done some horrific things and she was sure the things she couldn't remember were probably worse. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Where was that coming from?! What was that?!

Knock! Kno- 

THE DOOR!

   Carly felt her breath catch, she jumped out of the shower, part of the tile cracking under her as she went. She snatched her bathrobe of the hanger on the door, the door ripped off its hinges from the force. 

“Fuck me.” She ground out, but kept moving anyways. Her toes left puddles of water after her as she threw on the silk white fabric. She jogged into the living room, Homelander was calmly sitting on the couch, arm splayed out over its rest, the news on full blast. 

"Who the fuck is this guy?" Homelander asked plainly and she ignored him as she tied her robe and answered the door, cracking it and peaking her head out. 

"Billy?" She breathed out, fighting the urge to swing the door open and hug him. His eyes furrowed in confusion at the sight of her, wet hair, flushed cheeks, a bath robe?

"Carly, what the bloody fuck?! I thought you were in the hospital?" She shot her eyes over her shoulder at Homelander, who was glaring at her, unsure of her next move, but she went anyways. She exited her apartment, closing the door behind her. Billy staring at her with this crazed, flustered look in his eyes. She was fine, intact, critical condition, his ass?!

"Billy, this is a bad time." She stated, and his expression turned more into concern. He stepped closer and she stepped back, she was so afraid of touching him. One wrong move and she could kill him, with no control over her powers, this was a bad idea. Billy's expression hardened and he flung his hands up in the air.

"Carls, are you okay?! What happened?!" She noticed the flowers, and a part of her wanted to just hug him, hug him so bad. She needed a good hug, from someone, anyone. Billy would probably give the best hugs. He was such a burly guy and during their talks in the elevator she could smell the scent of him: a mix between cigarettes and cheap cologne.

"Are those for me?" She crooned, he had forgotten about the flowers, still shocked that she was even standing before him. He held the flowers up with a snort, perhaps to lighten his own frustration over the situation. 

"Yeah, I went to the hospital to go find ya' and you were fuckin' gone..." She opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going, gesturing to her front door. "Then I come 'ere, and hear your TV on, thought some bloody shitfaced rocker had taken up your apartment."

"Oh, yeah..." She was at a loss for words, how do you explain to someone that you are dangerous? That you are a supe now? Especially after making a show against superheroes. 

"And then, I heard that Homelander came to see ya'?!" He said, his tone filled with disbelief. "I go to your room and it was absolutely trashed! I thought you were dead!"

"Billy, I-"

"What? It's alright, you can tell me. I am here for ya'." His lips quirked up slightly, despite his frustration, she looked under extreme distress. She needed someone to comfort her, not berate her. He'd never seen her so torn apart, and it really did hurt him to see her like this. This was far worse than going to visit a burn victim, much like he had originally expected, she was far worse than that.

"Billy..." Her voice shaky, and her lip wobbled as if she was about to cry. He stepped close again, she didn't move, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Carly, I have never seen you like this before. You have to talk to me?"

"It's okay, I-I am fine." She held her hand out for the flowers, he hesitantly handed them to her, then gave her some distance. Still reeling in confusion and concern, he watched her usher herself through the door.

"Hey?" He said, she paused in the doorway, unable to meet his stare. "I just want ya' to know, I am..." He cleared his throat. "Always here for ya, alright? Us ugly faces got to stick together." She smiled sadly and nodded her head. 

"I will remember that. Thank you...” She gulped, “For everything." He gave her a curt nod as she disappeared behind the door. She held the flowers in her hand, staring at the wood blankly. She exhaled a trembling breath, and then slowly turned to Homelander. He was standing, hard glare on his face, arms crossed, about to reprimand her. 

“Now what the fuc-” She dropped the flowers and rushed towards him, her arms snaking around his sides and his hands flew up in surprise. He could feel all of her against, the thin material of the bath robe shielded nothing as her form sculpted so perfectly with his own. He had to admit. He had been watching her earlier, every step, every movement, threw him in a daze. She was perfect. He knew she would be. He could feel her body’s closeness start to have an effect on him and he was worried she would notice. "C-Carly..." He protested in a hushed whispered, she pressed her body into him even further, hugging him as hard as she could. He would have gasped if it hadn’t been for him biting his lip and clutching his gloves so firmly. His own arms soon wrapped around her, returning the embrace, although awkwardly. 

She just needed a hug, and Homelander was the only person she could give one too.

[ellanainthetardis]

I would like to read about the 74th hunger games, haymitch and effie make lots of noise during sex and the designers of the district, peeta and katniss listen and the next day talk to them about it, I think it would be hot and funny!!! I love your stories, you are a great writer !!!! (I'm using google translate, if I have something spelled wrong, I'm sorry)

Here you go! [x]

Making this vt becauseI don’t think stylists sleep in the apartments

The Pirate’s Bounty

Effie was burrowing into the source of warmthat her back before she even properly woke up, letting out a hum of contentment.Haymitch, for all his claims that he disliked sharing a bed, had a tendency totake up all the space and while that was a little annoying, there wereadvantages to this new habit of his to crash in her room: he tended to wraparound her like an octopus in his sleep. His leg was tossed over hers, herpillow was an arm that was curled around her head and there was a strong handholding her breast.

She was sticky in unpleasant places and soreall over. Her thighs, her right arm… She sighed softly and glanced at theclock, not surprised to find it was later than planned. Haymitch had a nastytendency to tinker with her alarm behind her back. She liked to be up and readyearly, so that she could keep an eye on everyone and have everything undercontrol. The Tour was bad enough without anything going amiss. But Haymitch –and Cinna and Portia – insisted she was pushing herself too hard and she wouldcollapse well before they reached the Capitol if she went on like this,reviewing schedules and working on speeches until the early hours of morning. Theywere conspiring behind her back to force her to get more rest.

They weren’t due in Six until the next daythough and the schedule for the day was light. She had insisted on some dancinglessons for the children because she didn’t want to be embarrassed at the ballat the Presidential Mansion but they weren’t in any hurry. If she could getHaymitch to actually work with her on the speeches in the afternoon, she mighteven go to bed at a proper time that night. Why, she might even have time for a manicure before that.

She gently tried to remove the hand from herchest and Haymitch grunted in protest.

“Go back to sleep.” he muttered against herhair. “Too early.”

“It is well past eight.” she argued in awhisper. “Everyone will be up.”

There was another groan and then he lifted hisleg from her thigh to push it between hers. It became obvious to her, shewasn’t the only one who had been enjoying the tight quarters. She giggleddespite herself when she felt him poking her and he snorted, kneading thebreast she hadn’t managed to get out of his grip.

“None of that.” she chided, whacking his wrist.He pressed his thigh harder against her core and she couldn’t help a smallfrustrated moan. “I am serious. I need to get out of bed.”

“You need to relax.” he argued, pressing longkisses on her nape. “I’m all about helping you with that.”

“I need to use the bathroom.” she protestedwhen he flicked her nipple. “And I need a shower. And I honestly do not think Ican take another round right now. Last night was…”

“Fuckinggood.” he smirked, nipping at her nape. “Thought I had died for a moment there.”

She chuckled and twisted to plant a kiss on hislips, feeling genuinely happier than she had in weeks. It was silly but theprevious night had been rather… athletic andcreative and it made her feel young and reckless. She used to feel that wayall the time but nowadays…

The kisses grew deeper and they eventuallyshifted as he rolled on his back and took her with him.

“Not this morning.” she insisted between twokisses.  

He pouted but eventually shrugged. “Fine.”

“You arewelcome to join me in the shower though.” she grinned.

It took a little more convincing but heeventually let himself get lured out of bed and into the bathroom. Inviting himinto the shower or the bathtub with her was the best way to make sure he wouldwash that day and it was a trick she had long mastered. Even if she sometimesthought he abused it as much as she did.

They fooled around a little in the shower, bothof them in an uncharacteristic good mood. She wondered briefly if that was howit could be like if there were no Games and no poisoned berries dangling overtheir heads. If amazing sex could be enough to make them feel good and brightabout the upcoming day. If they could have been just… happy together.

He sneaked out of her room while she finishedgetting ready. She just hoped he would have the good sense of not gettingcaught.

She was in such a good mood she couldn’t shakea stupid smile off her lips. She was humming a catchy popular song when shemade her way to the dining-room car, the last one to join the group for once.Haymitch was already there, as his usual seat, staring at the bottom of his cupof coffee as if it held the answers to every question in the universe. His greyeyes darted up to meet hers and a hint of a smirk briefly floated on his lips.

“Good morning, everyone!” she called outcheerfully, elegantly dropping on her seat at Haymitch’s right, barelylistening to the greetings she got in return.

Katniss was already sulking for reasons thatwere her own, Peeta was trying to cheer her up, Cinna was very focused onbuttering his toast and Portia had wrapped her hands around her mug of tea andwas studying her with a twinkle of mischief in her dark eyes. Effie knew herfriend enough to know it meant troubles. She lifted an eyebrow in the otherwoman’s direction but the stylist simply took a long sip of her tea, clearlyamused by something she wasn’t willing to share yet.

Effie was sure she would learn about it beforelong so she let the matter drop and poured herself a cup of coffee. By the timeshe grabbed a toast, Haymitch had placed half of his blueberry muffin on herplate, muttering about it being the last one because Katniss couldn’t betrusted around pastries. There were plenty of muffins left but, she saw, noblueberries, so she accepted it with a grateful grin.

He must have thought the night to be asincredible as she did because he also poured her some orange juice without herhaving to ask. It wasn’t like him to be so thoughtful. She discreetly hookedher foot around his ankle, the cup paused for the smallest moment on its way tohis mouth but he covered it well.

“Did you have a good night, Effie?” Portiaasked, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Why, yes, I did, thank you.” she hummed. “And yourself?”

“We did not get much sleep.” her friendexplained.

“Really?” she frowned. “You weren’t ill, Ihope?”

“You didn’t hear the noises?” Katniss cut inwith a frown of her own.

Effie forcedherself not to glance at Haymitch as she assumed an expression of fakepuzzlement, too aware that everyone else had stopped talking to follow thediscussion. Cinna, like Portia, seemed to have trouble not laughing. Peetasuddenly seemed fascinated with the croissants.

“The noises?” she repeated in a tone of politeinterest, quickly but surely taking her foot away from Haymitch’s ankle.

“Yeah.” the girl confirmed, nodding her head.“It sounded like a wounded animal or something.”

“Yes, I dobelieve that is an accuratedescription of those strange, strangenoises.” Portia agreed, obviously fighting to keep her countenance. She turnedto Haymitch with a bright smile. “What did you think, Haymitch?”

Haymitch was chewing on a big piece of muffin,which afforded him a few seconds to school his features. “Can’t say. I wasdrunk. Passed out, you know.”

“Were you, now…” the stylist hummed. “How peculiar. I could have sworn I heard you call out to Effie atsome point…”

“Whywould Haymitch be calling out to me in the middle of the night, Portia?” Effieasked with a fake laugh. “Do not be preposterous.”

“My bad.” her friend teased. “I did think I heard you call back, mindyou, didn’t I, Cinna? We thought perhaps the two of you had gone to… investigate.”  

“I wanted to go look but Peeta said it wasprobably someone watching TV.” Katniss shrugged, completely oblivious.

“How clever of you to figure it out, Peeta!”Effie exclaimed with some relief. “Yes, it musthave been that. Someone must have been watching TV. I will have a word with thetrain attendants. Pass me the orange jam, would you, Cinna?”

Portia allowed the conversation to be stirredto safer topics but Effie knew her friend and she also knew that nobody at thattable, except for Katniss, was fooled by the TV excuse. As soon as she deemedit safe to do so, she glanced at Haymitch who was resolutely staring away from her.

“Would come with me to check Peeta’s outfit fortomorrow?” Portia asked after breakfast, before Effie could make the sort ofgrand escape Haymitch was already attempting.

“Of course.” she granted, unable to refuse.

Portia linked their arms together as soon asthey were a safe distance from the living-room car where the children usuallyspent their free time. The train’s corridors were narrow and it wasn’t reallypractical to walk like that but her friend was clearly in a teasing mood soEffie allowed her the fancy.

“Strictlybetween you and me, at one point I was unsure if he was trying to kill you or pleasureyou.” the stylist laughed.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”she denied.

Portia rolled her eyes. “Darling, only onething does that kind of noises and there are only six people using that car.Now, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t Katniss… The conclusion wouldn’t be that hard toreach even if you hadn’t shouted hisname at the top of your lungs.”

She flushed crimson, battling her fakeeyelashes to hide her embarrassment. “Portia…”

“It sounded reallygood, I was jealous.” her friend pouted.

Effie cleared her throat and glanced around,but they were alone in that part of the train so she sighed. “Was I really that loud?”

Portia patted her arm in a comforting gesturebut didn’t part with the teasing smile on her lips. “You should probably keepin mind those compartments are not soundproof next time.”

“Oh, god…” she muttered in mortification,raising her free hand to her burning cheek.

“The banging of the headboard against the wallcovered most of it.” Portia mocked gently. “And, of course, there wasHaymitch’s triumphant grunting at the end… We could not hear you anymore bythat point, I really was scared hehad finished you off. That last cry of yours sounded almost painful.”

“So painfully good.” she confessed, biting down on her bottom lip at the memory.

Portia chuckled. “What was he doing to you?”

“Ravishing me.” she deadpanned with a chuckleof her own.

“That much, I gathered on my own.” her friendteased as they reached the car where the outfits were stocked. They crossed theone that carried Cinna’s work and moved on to Portia’s.

Effie hesitated a second but then threw cautionto the wind. At that point… “Two words for you: pirate’s bounty.”

“Oh, that isa nice one!” Portia approved with a knowing look. “You must be very flexible.”

“That has never been a problem for me.” sheconfirmed smugly. Even if her muscles were sore now. “Do we truly need to check Peeta’s outfit orwas it just an excuse?”

“His outfit will be fantastic as usual.” Portiadismissed with a wave of her hand, leaning against the wall with a smirk. “Now,tell me everything. Does the piratehave a long sword?”

“Portia!” she rebuked, eyeing her up and downwith her lips pursed. “A lady does not kiss and tell.”

“A lady should share with her best friend.” thestylist argued. “Besides, you forget I am his tailor. I know which side he dresseson.”

“Portia!” she gasped.

“Well, I cannot help but notice what is rightin front of my eyes.” her friend argued. “Impressive even at rest… You are a lucky girl, no wonder you were screamingso loud.”

Effie wavered between rolling her eyes andlaughing and ended up leaning against the wall next to her friend, shaking herhead at her stupidity today. As if her sex life was so important compared toeverything that was going on.

But it was good to be silly once in a while.

[heavenwalked]

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS SENTENCE STARTERS.

❛  i don't wish to be your friend.  ❜ ❛  if you are so desperate for a french girlfriend, i suggest you try vichy.  ❜ ❛  hello, my lovely!  ❜ ❛  i like smoking, drinking, and ordering in restaurants, but I see your point.  ❜ ❛  shut up, you slut.  ❜ ❛  i want you to follow my masquerade, is that clear?  ❜ ❛  GET THE FUCK UP!  ❜ ❛  bring that fucker over here!  ❜ ❛  it seems i've created a monster.  ❜ ❛  i beg your pardon?  ❜ ❛  we have to make a deal.  ❜ ❛  i will hug my mother like I've never hugged her before.  ❜ ❛  how did you survive this ordeal?  ❜ ❛  i did have something else i wanted to ask you, but right now, for the life of me, i can't remember what it is.  ❜ ❛  but in the pages of history, every once in a while, fate reaches out and extends its hand.  ❜ ❛  what the fuck are we supposed to do?  ❜ ❛  wait for the crème!  ❜ ❛  burn it down.  ❜ ❛  we just wanted to say we're a big fan of your work.  ❜ ❛  well, you do have to admit, it is catchy.  ❜ ❛  [very bad italian accent] arriverderci.  ❜ ❛  just keep your fuckin' mouth shut.  ❜ ❛  look, she's not a military strategist. she's just an actress.   ❜ ❛  well, isn't that just dandy.   ❜ ❛  now, about this pickle we find ourselves in...  ❜ ❛  my hands, to be exact. and they've been waiting a long time to touch you.   ❜ ❛  you'll be shot for this!  ❜ ❛  i've been chewed out before.  ❜ ❛  looks like we have a bit of a sticky situation here.  ❜ ❛  [cocks pistol] did you hear that? that was the sound of my walther. pointed right at your testicles.  ❜ ❛  you either do what the fuck we tell you, or i’ll bury this axe in your collaborating skull.  ❜ ❛  you are all going to die.  ❜ ❛  what shall we drink to?  ❜ ❛  facts could be so misleading, whereas rumours, true or false, are often revealing  ❜ ❛  once again, but this time let me hear the music in it!  ❜ ❛  fuck a duck!  ❜ ❛  you're the only person on this earth I can trust.  ❜ ❛  we both know you're not going to let me do it by myself.  ❜ ❛  i know this is a silly question before i ask it, but can you americans speak any other language besides english?  ❜ ❛  i'm not talking about that! you're talking about that.  ❜ ❛  ooh, that's a bingo!  ❜ ❛  i think this just might be my masterpiece.  ❜

[oneweekoneband]

GUEST POST: Alice Lesperance on “Coming Clean”

There are songs that mean something to you. There are songs that mean...something, to you. There are songs that feel important, significant, crucial to you, and sometimes you don’t even know why. There are songs that mean something to you before you can even really grasp what that something might be.

In 1999, I was eight years old. I was living in a small town in Alabama, where it’s hot and sticky almost always but the sweet tea is cold and saccharine. I had a pair of little sparkly jelly shoes, the kinds with a tiny heel and the straps going all across my toes. My parents drove a white Volkswagen Beetle, a 1970s original, that didn’t have air conditioning. In my small town there were two places to buy music: FYE (which, I was amazed to find out a few years ago, still exists) and Walmart. I used to beg my mom to drive me to FYE when she picked me up from school; I would fumble through the shelves with my little kid hands while she shopped the meagre plus size section next door at the JC Penney’s. At that time, FYE still had listening rooms and headphones to sample the music before you bought it. On this one particular day, it was summer - the heat was at its peak at a very humid 103 degrees - and my dad had just bought me a Playstation. Now, the original Playstation came out in 1994. We had never gotten one because I was a Nintendo girl through and through - and to this day, though I still have that same Playstation, the only games I play are Zelda and Donkey Kong. But we bought the Playstation for one exciting reason: it could play CDs. I know! This was very exciting technology. You would put the CD in there, and a blue screen would come up on your TV, with the album title and the track numbers. I remember the track numbers were in colored bubbles that vaguely looked 3D.

So on that day, that stupidly hot day, in 1999 at the FYE in Alabama, my mom told me I could pick out two CDs. Now, nearly twenty years later, I can tell you pretty confidently that the choices I made on that day are more or less completely sufficient in summing up who I am as a person: the first choice, ...Baby One More Time, released that year, and Dookie, released the same year as the used Playstation we had just bought.

This isn’t an essay about Britney Spears or ...Baby One More Time, so I won’t delve into the significance of that album, but I will say that I remember being very fascinated by Britney’s pose on the front cover - how did she get her legs to bend like that? But anyway. Dookie. I’m not even here to talk about the album, I’m here to talk about a song.

In 1995, the year after Dookie was released, Billie Joe Armstrong came out as bisexual in an issue of The Advocate. He has since, I am told, retracted that statement and of course our understanding of our own sexualities and identities are changing all the time and who I am to begrudge him that? But that interview in The Advocate was so crucial, so important to me. I didn’t read it in 1995 or even 1999, of course. Do you know where you can buy The Advocate in small town Alabama? Literally nowhere. And even if you could, I wouldn’t have been caught dead with it when I was eight, nine, or fourteen years old. I read this interview years and years later, when I was 16 or 17, posted on a now-defunct LiveJournal community. What you need to know about this interview is that Green Day was touring with Pansy Division, and in the middle of Pansy Division’s set at one particular show, people in the audience started hurling bottles and homophobic slurs. Here are the most relevant bits:

“I think Pansy Division is the kind of band that saves people’s lives,” Armstrong says matter-of-factly. “They’re catchy, and they’re really educational. They’re honest about their sexuality, and that saves lives.” ...Armstrong’s response was to stop his band’s show in the middle of a set and address the audience. “You’re all fucking pathetic,” he told them. “There you were, three songs into their set, really enjoying them. And then you figured out from their lyrical content that they’re gay, and now you’re afraid of them. And that’s what it is, you know. You’re afraid of them. Well, I hope you all know that Pansy Division is the future of rock ’n’ roll.”

Further on down in the interview, he talks about his own experiences with sexual identity:

“I’ve gotten letters because I wrote this song on Dookie called “Coming Clean”, about coming out.”

Like I said, I didn’t read this interview until long, long after I heard “Coming Clean”. The truth is, I don’t think I would have ever realized what the song was about, until someone told me or I read that Advocate interview. But after well-loved favorites like “Basket Case” and “Longview”, “Coming Clean” was my favorite Green Day song from Dookie.

And, to return to the scene, I remember sitting in my purple Britney Spears inflatable chair with the grey plastic Playstation controller in my hand, going to bubble #11 and feeling like this song was good, and it was angry and it means something to me.  I was 17 when I read Billie Joe talk about coming out of the closet, coming clean, and I had just realized that I really wanted to kiss girls (”Seventeen and strung out on confusion”). This was the time when I would sit in my room late at night after my parents went to sleep and I would watch literally whatever was on LOGO at the time - a channel I don’t think my parents knew we had - and I would slouch over gay fan fiction on my old PC desktop. I would revisit Dookie, and “Coming Clean” and it was still so good and so angry; Now, I’m 26 living in Brooklyn with my girlfriend writing this essay, listening to “Coming Clean” and it (still/always) means something to me.

Alice Lesperance lives in Brooklyn with her girlfriend and their cat. She writes about music, films, dead media and dead women. She’s written for The Youngist, Autostraddle, and Scalawag, and is the founder/editor-in-chief of Shakespeare and Punk. Find her on tumblr at @shakespeareandpunk.

[deviant-chant]

deafening perceptions you have of me

Alternative Reading Link

For those either lucky or unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of Nightwing swinging between skyscrapers or hurdling over rooftops, there seems to be something almost dejected about the usually cheerful, yet snarky vigilante.

It’s nothing that Nightwing necessarily says; he’s still pleasant and charmingly courteous as ever to those who deserve it, but the petty criminals who’ve either had previous run-ins, or simply know him through word of mouth, start noticing when their bruises have bruises.

Nightwing is…meaner than usual. His punches carry a heavier weight, almost like it’s personal. The chatty bird doesn’t talk much when he’s kicking ass; it makes the men and women who gossip in the dank alley ways of Bludhaven swallow down their trepidation, makes them glimpse up at roof ledges with caution, their curiosity almost morbid when looking for that agile yet unmistakable silhouette cutting across the horizon.

The older ones—the ones with impressive criminal backgrounds—are wearier of Nightwing than the younger, cockier crowds who think they’ll never serve hard time. They laugh, jeer, and tease because they believe nothing could be as worse than running into the big bat, but there’s truth in what the middle-aged man in charge of supervising the cocaine shipment says one foggy night.

“If you take the Bat out of the equation, everyone thinks Hood is the guy you need to watch for—” the man takes a long drag from his cigarette, scratching at his salt and pepper beard lazily with his thumb—“but I think differently.”

The old man holds the attention of everyone in hearing distance. They’re captivated; the scene reminiscent of when some of them were kids telling ghost stories around a camp fire. It’s also rare that the old man ever talks, and whenever he starts speaking, be about football or how corrupt the politicians are, it’s hard not to listen.

“When the kid’s completely quiet—when he’s pissed, and uses his body to express it—he reminds me most of that damned demon Bat.”

The man finishes his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a gradual billow above his head. He watches for patterns before he tosses the butt carelessly onto the ground. His expression is thoughtful as he murmurs, “I pity the poor bastard who pissed him off, but I pity us more, gentlemen.”

Dick enters his apartment sluggishly, bones aching, his whole body screaming for the comfort and solace of a hot shower. It’s like being down at the docks, with the questionable, greenish film that rocks right on top of the water somehow manages to give Dick that same sticky, gross feeling all over his skin.

He is days away from busting the drug operation down at the docks before the goods move onto bigger venues, like Gotham. Dick’s been patient gathering the necessary evidence he needs to put these guys away for at least fifteen years, but he’s been having his own kind of withdrawals as of late.

Despite his lack of wings, Dick belongs in the air.

The detective work is rewarding when all the pieces finally slot together, but even when he became the crime fighting boy wonder, it hadn’t been what attracted Dick to the job initially. He’d been addicted to the action—to the thrill of it all.

It had been a game to Dick, and while he’d obviously matured into his role and saw the importance of being a vigilante, it still takes a mental and emotional toll on him to be physically grounded when responsibility calls it of him.

It sure as hell doesn’t help matters that his last encounter with Jason is still fresh like a wound, lurking around the dark corners of Dick’s mind and haunting him.

Jason seems to be a constant source of pain, frustration, and elation for Dick, wrapped up into a man that, on days, rivals Bruce as the most complicated and difficult person Dick knows.

He repeatedly wonders why he continues to do this same old dance with Jason when it seems to get them nowhere in the end.

(Oh, but he knows why. Deep down.)

Dick showers, standing under the spray for an indulgent amount of time until his skin starts to prune. Water bill be damned, he deserves it.

For a moment, Dick thinks about the last time Jason was in his shower with him; how his lips had chased the rivulets of water across Dick’s skin, his teeth and tongue worshiping, as he lowered onto his knees and slowly took Dick into his mouth without breaking eye contact.

Dick makes a suffering thing of a sound, pushing the memory far back when he starts to feel arousal rushing up and down his spine, pooling low in his gut. It feels like he’s losing in some way if he gives into the urge to touch himself, and Dick doesn’t want to feel like it mattered—that they mattered when Jason has such an easy time convincing Dick of the same.

Dick shuts the water off with a sigh and dries his skin with a rough towel that’s starting to smell like mildew. He needs to do the laundry; he’s running out of clean underwear and his hamper is practically overflowing—not counting all the clothes laying on a heap on his floor.

He falls into bed—literally falls—and passes out after wrapping himself into a makeshift blanket burrito with thoughts of wind rushing through his hair and the glowing skyline of Gotham.

In his dreams, Dick is younger and blissfully ignorant about a lot of things, but he doesn’t seem to care.

They’re simpler times, the red, green, and yellow, and sometimes, Dick just needs to remember.

***

It feels like only minuets have passed since Dick closed his eyes.

His phone rings, a catchy pop song that’s been stuck in his head for the last month, and Dick practically jumps out of his skin, body tensing, waiting for the threat to attack until he realizes he’s not in his suit or on the street. He blinks dazedly, rising on his elbow as he reaches for his cellphone with clumsy fingers. He doesn’t think to look at the caller ID when he answers the phone, and immediately regrets that decision when the familiar baritone of Jason Todd’s husky laugh greets his ear.

“Dickie, baby, you answered. That’s good,” Jason murmurs. He sounds distracted and there’s subtle sound of music picking up in his receiver, but predictably, that’s not what Dick focuses on.

Jason called him baby. The word spoken like a lazy caress along Dick’s spine, making his entire body erupt in tingles and shivers.

He instinctively pulls the blanket a little bit tighter around his body, shifting his eyes to the side as he checks the time.

“Jason? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Dick asks, perking with dreadful anticipation. He’s already rising from the warm spot he made in his bed, searching for his suit wherever he dumped it on the floor. He expects the worst—it’s the only reason Jason would call him so late.

Or so he thinks.

“Hang up the cape, batboy, there’s no one who needs you tonight,” Jason husks. “But then again…that’s not entirely true.”

There’s something wistful in his tone that makes Dick pause as his brow rises in question. Jason’s words are mildly slurred, and Dick can hear the heavy clunk of a glass hitting a hard surface, the sharp click of a swallow…

“Still there, Dickie?” Jason chuckles, teasing. “You’re so quiet…I can hear you breathing.”

Dick gulps down the sudden lump that forms inside his throat, suddenly feeling off kilter and exposed despite the dark that shrouds him. He rakes a hand slowly through his hair and exhales heavily.

Dick sounds apprehensive and anxious when he says, “You’re drunk.”

Jason hums, sounding faintly amused. “Mm, getting there.”

As if to demonstrate, Dick can hear Jason knock back another glass of whatever he’s been drowning his troubles in; hears him swallow heavily and the burning hiss that follows afterwards.

Dick slowly walks back to his bed and collapses down onto the edge of it. There’s a relief in not carrying all the weight of his body, of letting something else do it for him.

He feels…oddly shaken. Abrupt late-night calls are not something he and Jason do often. It feels too telling—too needy—and if they’ve ever communicated anything strongly about what lies between them, it’s that they’ll never need each other.

The long bouts of silence in between stilted conversation seem to say far more than they ever could, and the dark of Dick’s apartment just makes it even more mystical, like a dream.

Dick gathers the courage to say, “Why are you calling me?”

Jason huffs like the question offends him

“Wouldn’t you like to know, golden boy?” Jason taunts. “It’s definitely not because I like the sound of your dumb voice and it’s been weeks since I last heard it. It’s not the fear that I’ll somehow forget what you sound like…I’d never be so lucky.”

Dick’s throat constricts and the inside of his esophagus burns like a son of a bitch. He has to clear it lest the burn work its way to his eyes.

“Jason,” Dick breathes.

Jason sighs softly, like that’s all he wanted—for Dick to just say his name.

“It’s not because I’m at this fucking dive bar in the middle of goddamn nowhere—lonely as hell—thinking about the last time I fucked you and how you’re able to make me feel things other than bitterness and rage. And sometimes, I can’t stand myself because I’m always managing to fuck shit up whether I mean to or not. And I’m starting to realize that I don’t know how to be happy—I never did—and you might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to it, and that scares the hell out of me, Dickie. You terrify me.”

Dick mouth parts for words he can’t seem to find as he leans forward on the edge of his bed, like somehow that’ll bring him closer to Jason, wherever he is.

He’s overwhelmed and flustered, feeling heat bleed into his cheeks, down his neck, and pool at the tops of his shoulders. Dick’s yearning for Jason is almost unbearable then, but what he can voice seems inadequate for what Jason deserves.

Dick has never been good at communicating his feelings. The words always manage to fall from his tongue in ways he doesn’t mean, twisting his intentions or under valuing them. Dick has always expressed his feelings with his body, and it pains him that he can’t just reach out and touch Jason, show him how much of it is the same—that he’s not alone in this.

“Fuck,” Jason curses, and he sounds absolutely miserable. “This is so fucking pathetic.”

Before Dick can even utter a word, the line clicks dead.

His entire body goes cold with the sound.

Dick immediately checks his phone’s log, hoping to call Jason right back, but his heart plummets when there’s no number to call back.

***

Dick finds out from gossip on the streets when the Red Hood is back in town.

It’s been two weeks since Jason’s drunken phone call, and there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end ever since. It’s not surprising, but it still manages to hurt nonetheless.

Sometimes, Dick wonders if he simply didn’t just dream the whole thing. That maybe it was his subconscious creating such elaborate concepts because of his growing need to hear from Jason, but the call data on his phone keeps Dick straight. It doesn’t stop Dick from settling into one of his moods. He’s noticing they’re becoming more frequent the older he gets, and is rudely reminded of Bruce. Dick hates how he keeps finding more and more similarities between him and his mentor.

The mood shift is subtle, but everyone takes notices and actively avoids pushing that invisible button that might set him off.

The past two weeks has had Dick making rookie mistakes that Batman would’ve benched him for years ago as Robin. He was almost stabbed—twice. He almost missed his landing point when chasing two of Penguin’s cronies. It’s an understatement to say Dick has had a few off days.

Jason’s words infest his thinking and thought process, and it frustrates Dick more than anything else that Jason’s good enough at what he does not to be found unless he wants too, and obviously, he has no desire to see Dick.

Dick concentrates that irritation in finding Jason, managing to hunt him down onto a secluded roof in Gotham after a long chase.

The weather is almost pleasant as a breeze from the Gotham bay rolls in and ruffles Jason’s short hair. The hood rests under Jason’s arm, cigarette between his lips as he stands precariously near the edge, looking like he’s contemplating the advantages and disadvantages of jumping off rather than have this conversation.

Each step that brings Dick closer to Jason has his anger rising.

Two weeks. Two weeks and literally nothing from you, no way of contacting you, no way of getting in touch. What the hell, Jason?

When he finally reaches Jason, Dick snags a rough hand into the back of his leather jacket and spins him around with the power of his bruised fury. Jason doesn’t even resist; he goes easily, chuckling coldly under his breath. Seeing Jason’s face—the lack of warmth in his eyes, completely closed to him—and the cruel twist of his mouth as he grins at Dick feels like a punch in the gut.

In his mind, Jason has already decided how this night is going to end.

Dick almost panics with the terror of it.

No, no, no, please no—

“Well look who came running,” Jason taunts, biting edge to his words and it takes a special talent not to wince. “What is it Dickie, that keeps you coming back? I know the sex is good, but that’s all it is.” Jason emphasizes, eyes glinting cruelly like the sharp edge of a knife aiming for the ribs. “Is my cock just that fucking good or is it just you wanting to keep the relations within the family? Does fucking your little brother make you hot, Dickie? Want me to start calling you ‘big brother’ when your pounding my ass into the mattress?” Jason asks crudely callous, taking his cigarette from between his lips and blowing a hot billow of smoke onto Dick’s face.

Dick stiffens, but doesn’t give Jason the reaction that he wants. He expected this; Jason has a knack for pushing people away after getting particularly close, but damn if it still doesn’t sting. He makes sure his voice is strong and sturdy before he even thinks of saying his next words.

“Stop it,” Dick demands, shaking Jason once as if that might dislodge whatever has Jason in self-destruct mode. “Jason Todd, you’re an idiot if you honestly think that this thing between us is just sex—and I happen to think you’re smart as hell, so just…stop, please.”

Dick is not above begging. Not for Jason.

Jason seems to realize this too as his eyes flash with a mix of conflicting emotions. He sighs like the jig is up and something unseen but felt deflates within him. Jason’s mouth pinches in displeasure before his eyes shift to the side, and it’s only then that Dick notices how utterly tired Jason looks. There are bags under his eyes and his face looks ashen, like he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in god knows how long.

Dick just wants to take care of him. He aches for the chance—for the closeness.

“Come back to the ‘haven with me,” Dick blurts, pleading, before he knows what he’s doing. “Just—let me take care of you, Jason.” Dick bites his lip in indecision before he throws caution to the wind and steps forward to cradle Jason’s face in both his hands, making the younger man look at him as his thumbs brush his cheekbones affectionately.

“What you said to me that night…it wasn’t fucking pathetic, Jason” Dick begins, swallowing nervously. “You know I—you know it’s the same, right? I’m not good at this shit either, Jason—honestly, you’re probably better at it than me.” Dick laughs shakily. He can’t help but smile when one of the corners of Jason’s mouth quirks, and he finds there’s nothing cruel in the easy fondness of it. “I know what I want too, and I want this—I want you.”

Jason’s lips part on sharp inhale, eyes widening in disbelief before he moves them to the side. His cheeks are hot where Dick hands hold them.

Jason makes a faint noise, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I’m going to fuck this up, Dick. I just know it,” Jason murmurs wretchedly, like he actually believes he doesn’t deserve love—like he can have something that makes him happy for himself. Jason gingerly removes Dick’s hands from his face and kisses his knuckles adoringly in return. He steps closer and fits his muscular body up against Dick’s, nuzzling into his hair and kissing at his temple.

Dick can’t help but frown at Jason’s previous statement, but and allows him this indulgence before he rears back and rises on his toes to kiss at Jason’s forehead tenderly.

“Then we’ll work it out,” Dick whispers, softly kissing Jason’s eye lids, then the bridge of his nose, the arch, and the soft pointed button, before finally reaching his lips. “We’ll make this work.”

[deadlybeautydbz]

Something Just Like This

So I was inspired to write this little dribble after I heard the new song ‘Something Just Like This’ by the Chainsmokers feat. The dude from Coldplay. It seems to me, like it’s the perfect song to describe 18’s budding relationship with Krillin, plus its catchy af. If you haven’t heard it yet, go look it up on YouTube and have a listen and let me know what you think!

Story is under the cut, hope you all enjoy it!

Something Just Like This

Capsule Corp was the space of a million changing faces. Krillin swore every time he came here, it was an entirely different place. Tonight, it looked nothing like the high tech company it touted itself as during the daylight hours. Music thumped all around him, muffling the sounds of people chatting and laughing as the free-flowing booze ate away at their inhibitions.

Bulma was throwing yet another party for… reasons. Krillin had no idea what the occasion was, but the alcohol was free and provided a welcome distraction from the thoughts that seemed to cycle endlessly through his head these days. Not to mention that facing the wrath of Bulma if you snubbed an invitation from her was not even close to worth the bother.

It was a warm night. The summer air was sticky and Krillin was regretting wearing jeans instead of his usual shorts. He finished his beer and discarded the empty bottle on the ground beside him. Slowly, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. It didn’t take long for him to find one. Yamcha. Pushing his way through the crowd, with a gaggle of young girls following behind him.

They made eye contact and Yamcha waved and broke into a jog. Krillin stood up from the grassy hill he had been perched on, and met his friend halfway across the party.

“Bro!” Yamcha clapped his hand against Krillin’s back. “How the hell have you been, my man?” he asked, but kept right on talking before Krillin had a chance to reply.

“This is Candii,” Yamcha kissed the cheek of the brunette on his left arm. “And this is Monique” he repeated the gesture with the red head to his right. “Girls, this is my best mate, Krillin.”

Krillin smiled and nodded at each of them. “Nice to meet you both,” he said and grabbed two fresh beers from a passing waiter. Handing one to Yamcha, he asked, “What have you been up to? It’s been a while.”

The group forced awkward small talk as best as they were able to over the music. It seemed to be getting louder with each song that was played. When the topic of conversation eventually drifted, as it always did, to old times the girls unsurprisingly quickly lost interest. Monique twirled her fingers lazily through Yamcha’s hair. Candii leaned in and whispered something into his ear. She nibbled on his earlobe as she pulled away, and Krillin tried desperately to look anywhere but at the uncomfortable PDA unfolding in front of him.

The blush that instantly rushed up Yamcha’s cheeks gave Krillin a pretty good idea of what Candii had suggested they go and do next, and Yamcha, being the slightly inebriated ladies’ man that he was, was hardly going to turn down such an offer. “You coming, man?” he asked as Candii started to pull him through the crowd.

Krillin laughed and took a very long sip from his beer. “I’m fine here dude.” He shook his head. “You go do… whatever it is you’re about to do. I really don’t want to know.” They had already disappeared by the time Krillin had finished his sentence, but Monique lingered for a second longer.

“That’s too bad,” she said, and ran her index finger from the waistband of Krillin’s jeans, up over his stomach and chest and finally across his lips. “We could have some really great fun together, the four of us.”

“Thanks for the offer.” Krillin took a step backwards, putting a large, totally obvious gap between himself and this bizarre situation. “I’m flattered really, but I’m uh…” he paused. What was he, exactly? “It’s complicated,” he eventually settled for.

“Well I don’t do complicated,” Monique flipped her long red hair over her shoulder. She leaned in and kissed Krillin on the cheek before he was able to do anything to stop it. “Come and find us if you’re interested in something simple. It will be fun, I promise,” she said before melting away into the mess of bodies on the dance floor.

—

“Remind me why you’re throwing this party again?” 18 asked. Her chin was resting lazily in her palm, where she sat with Bulma, propped up at the bar. Bulma skulled something pink from her sugar rimmed cocktail glass before replying. “We’re supporting a local homelessness charity,” she said, and motioned to the bartended for another drink. “And it’s a tax write-off” she quickly added before distracting 18 by ordering a round of shots for everyone who happened to be hovering nearby the bar.

Never one to back down from a challenge, 18 took her shot and swallowed it in one brave gulp. “Blech,” she scrunched her face up. “What the fuck was that? Petrol?”

“Oh lighten up,” Bulma laughed and playfully punched 18 in the arm. “It’s vodka. Is Krillin here?” she asked. The alcohol was already starting to swim through her veins.

18 craned her neck to look over the sea of people, not that she’d have any chance of spotting his short ass in that crowd. “I dunno?” she shrugged her shoulders. “I assume so, if you invited him.”

“What?!” Bulma seemed shocked. “You didn’t come together? You mean he still hasn’t made his move?” she slammed her glass down on the bar, and placed her hands on her hips. This was her boss mode. And nobody messed with Bulma when she was in her boss mode. “I’m going to go and find that boy and knock his lights out!”

18 rolled her eyes. Everyone in this ragtag group of ‘friends’ she had managed to cobble together was such a baby. “Don’t do that,” she pleaded, hoping that Bulma was still sober enough to reason with.

Bulma scoffed, all but ignoring 18’s request. “We’re friends 18,” she said, and smiled. “And even if we weren’t, we’re women, and us women need to stick together and look out for each other.”

“I don’t really need….” 18 trailed off when it became clear that Bulma wasn’t listening to a word she said. She waved the bartender down and grabbed herself a fresh beer, stuffed a lemon wedge down its neck, and returned her chin to its former resting place in her palm. She sighed loudly, but Bulma either didn’t hear her, or, and this was much more likely, was actively choosing to ignore her.

It still sounded strange to hear Bulma say they were friends, but as time ticked past, 18 was forced to admit that that was indeed what they appeared to be. It was Bulma of all people, who had reached out to 18 after the whole Cell fiasco had died down just over a year ago. She’d invented some sort of contraption to find both herself and her brother, and had sought them out herself, showing up out of the blue one day to whatever hole in the ground 18 had been living in at the time. The initial driving factor behind their meeting had been Bulma’s insatiable scientific curiosity, but after 18 had made it violently clear that she was never, ever going to step foot into any kind of a lab ever again, Bulma’s regular curiosity had kicked in and the rest was more or less history. She was full on, but 18 could tell that she was a decent enough person. Her taste in men was a total disaster, but that was another issue entirely.

“There he is!” Bulma proclaimed.

And then there was Krillin. 18 knew he’d had a crush on her since before he even really knew her. She didn’t have the faintest idea why, however. It hadn’t taken long for Bulma to decide to play matchmaker between her two friends, which went just about as well as anyone could have expected. Krillin was a bumbling idiot. She hid her insecurities behind a veil of aloofness – it was awful for everyone involved.

But after that horrendous first encounter, there was a second, and then a third and slowly, Krillin got over his nerves, and she got over her need to be a total bitch to everyone and some sort of an actual friendship started to grow. Now it was starting to evolve into something else. Something more. “What’s he doing?” 18 asked without looking up from her drink “Talking to Yamcha and two unidentified floozies.” Bulma had made a pair of binoculars with her hands and was glaring through them with too much concentration to be joking.

Floozies? 18 came to stand beside Bulma, where she was able to pick Krillin out from the crowd. Sure enough, there he was, talking to Yumcha and the two unidentified women, who were most definitely floozies. She crossed her arms over her chest and watched the interaction unfold, from here, she could have eaves-dropped on the conversation if she wanted, but 18 respected Krillin more than that.

“Ohmygosh, what’s she doing?!” Bulma shrieked, and adjusted her fake binoculars. “18, she’s touching him!” Bulma was in a complete tizzy. “Wha… what’s she doing? She KISSED him!”

18 took a deep breath. This was about to get ugly. “Bulma, wait!” 18 grabbed hold of Bulma’s arm, stopping her from going down there and sorting Krillin out herself. She’d probably beat the shit out of him, and he would have let her, too. Krillin would never in a million years hit a girl. Especially a girl whom Vegeta was borderline psychotically protective of.

“Just stop.” Bulma turned back to look at 18 with her big, sad eyes, and 18 realised she’d been excited to go and start something. Maybe that’s how they’d managed to become friends. This was neither the time, nor the place for a fight though. “I’ll go and talk to him, okay.”

“Fine,” Bulma pouted and plonked herself back down at the bar. — “Hey.”

Krillin’s eyes shot up. That voice was unmistakable, it filled his dreams every night. “Oh, hey,” he motioned for 18 to sit down beside him on the lawn, trying to play it cool. “I didn’t know you’d be here. You look nice.” It was true, she was wearing a pair of black shorts and a flowy yellow top, and she always looked divine in yellow.

Taking up his offer, 18 settled in beside Krillin on the grass. They sat in awkward silence for a minute, watching everyone thrashing around on the dancefloor. “I saw that, you know.”

Krillin’s whole body tensed up. 18 didn’t have to explain herself any further. “It wasn’t what it looked like, honestly.”

“Bulma was about to come down here and kill you. I just save your life.” “Well I guess that makes us even then.”

“What?” 18 asked.

“I stomped on that remote, you stopped Bulma from ripping my head off. You can go about your life with a clean conscious now. No need to waste all your time hanging around with me anymore waiting for the opportunity to pay me back.”

There it was, that self depreciated humour that Krillin always seemed to hide behind. It was ridiculous and a little bit insulting. “What did that woman want?” 18 chose to ignore the ridiculous statement.

“Heh.” Reclining back onto his palms, Krillin shook his head. “An orgy I think,” he laughed as 18’s face twisted into a look of shocked horror. “I know, I was surprised to say the least.”

“What did you say?”

“Well I’m still sitting here, aren’t I? Does that really sound like something I’d do?” It didn’t. Krillin was nothing if not a gentleman, and floozies weren’t his type. And she was sure that that would be more of Yamcha than he would ever want to see. “Do you really think I only spend time with you out of obligation?” the words were out of 18’s mouth before she even had a chance to consider them.

A tidal wave of nausea rolled through Krillin’s stomach. Nerves bubbled up inside of him. Important conversations were so not his strong suit. “I mean…” he started ripping blades of grass from the ground, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, kinda. No, that makes you seem cold and that’s not what I mean.” Krillin was rambling now. “Just… why would someone like you be interested in someone like me?”

Was he serious? They had well and truly progressed past ‘just friends’ by now, to what Oolong described as ‘friends-with-benefits’, and Krillin was throwing out this crap? “Why the hell are you making this so difficult?” 18 glared at Krillin until he couldn’t stand the feeling of her eyes boring into him any longer and he finally turned to face her.

“Making what difficult?” he asked, sheepishly.

“Everything!” 18’s exasperation was evident in her voice. Was he really going to make her spell this out to him? “We spend almost all of our time together, you dumbass. We have sex and then I hang around and make you breakfast!” Maybe it was the four or nine beers she had had speaking, but 18 was feeling bolder than usual tonight, and she was putting her foot down about where this quasi-relationship was headed once and for all. “I watched that woman kiss you and I felt so jealous. I’ve never felt like that before. It confirmed what I’ve been thinking for a while now…” 18 trailed off, hoping that Krillin would take the bait. “What’ve you been thinking?” he asked, completely missing the hint.

“That I want to be the only one who gets to kiss you. You don’t care about the fucking mess that is my past, and you make me not care about it so much either. I’m happy when I’m with you, and that’s honestly not something I ever thought I’d feel. I don’t just want to be your friend anymore Krillin. I want us to be more than that.”

Krillin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He um’d and ah’d, stumbling around trying to find something to say before seeming to just give up. He exhaled and his shoulders slumped. There was no way around it. “Don’t be silly,” he mumbled. “I’m not good enough for you, 18”

That was not the reaction 18 had been expecting. She was shocked and hurt to say the least. She stood up and began to walk away, trying to hide her silent fury. It didn’t work. She got maybe 10 steps, before she whipped back around and unleashed on poor, unsuspecting Krillin. “What gives you the right to go around deciding what is and isn’t ‘good enough’ for me?” she asked, air-quoting for emphasis.

“I’m going to walk away now, and I’m going to give you five minutes to think about why that is so god-damn insulting, and when I get back, you’d better have something better than that to say.” Her tone of voice was scathing and left no room for arguments.

Krillin could only watch in confused awe as 18 stomped away across the party, and only one thought looped through his head. Had he just rejected the love of his life? - True to her word, five minutes later, 18 was back. “Here,” she said, and thrust an icy cold beer towards Krillin. She sat down and watched him skull almost the entire bottle in one enormous gulp.

The sun had set now, and most people had migrated to the dance floor. Krillin and 18 could feel the bass shaking the ground underneath them from where they sat on the grassy slope. Above them, a million fairy lights begun to sparkle, and if you squinted your eyes just right, they almost looked like the stars that lit up the night sky above Kame Island. Bulma really went all out for these things.

“I’m sorry, about what I said,” Krillin got the ball rolling. 18 seemed to accept his apology, because she didn’t immediately punch him in the face, so he pushed on. “It’s just… these last few months have been awesome. Like, so, so great, I’ve been happier than I’ve been in, I don’t know… ever.”

He stopped and waited for 18 to say something, but she obviously hadn’t heard what she wanted to hear yet, and stayed silent, forcing him to continue. “Like I said, it’s been great. Having you around the island has been awesome, getting to know you is amazing. Everything seems so perfect at the moment. I’m scared if we become official I’ll ruin it…”

“How could you possibly ruin it?” 18 asked. “It’s not like anything would really change. I’m not asking to marry you, or move in or anything. This arrangement was never going to last forever anyway. Either we move forward, or it stops altogether. I like what we’ve got, and I don’t really want it to stop, so it seems the only real option we have is moving forward.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Krillin drifted off into thought mid-sentence. “Doesn’t it bother you that I’m not rich, tall and handsome?”

“I think you’re handsome,” 18 said, with a cheeky smirk. “And no, I don’t care that you’re not rich or tall,” she continued. “Look, you know I’m not good at all this emotional stuff. And I’m probably butchering this whole thing, but I hope I haven’t been so off the mark this entire time that you honestly don’t know how I feel about you?”

“No!” Krillin blurted out, wanting to squash 18’s insecurities before they had a chance to take off. “No, that’s not it at all. Believe me, this has nothing whatsoever to do with you.”

“I kinda feel like it has everything to do with me.”

“Well, okay,” Krillin laughed. “Yeah. But my insecurities are my own. They have nothing to do with you, I promise. You should know that I come with a lot of baggage, and that I’m not always going to be someone who’s easy to love. I’m not trying to dissuade you from doing this or anything, quite the opposite in fact. I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into with me.”

“Hmmm,” 18 thought about how best to proceed. “Well, Krillin, I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you that I’m a big girl and fully capable of making my own decision. And right now, I’m choosing you. If I change my mind in the future I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Alright then.” Krillin let himself lay back on the grass. Without a word, 18 lay down beside him, and rested her head on his chest. Krillin wrapped his arm around 18’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head. They had lay like this a hundred times before, but this time, with the bass thumping through their bodies like a heartbeat, it felt different. A new beginning.

“So, you’re my girlfriend now, hey?” Krillin mused, gazing up at the twinkling fairy lights.

“Yep. And you’re my boyfriend.” 18 replied. She’d had a fair bit to drink and her world was starting to spin a little, but Krillin’s warm body was like an anchor, keeping her still and safe, and that was all she had ever wanted. It was funny, nothing had really changed tonight, and yet all of a sudden, everything felt completely different. For the first time in her life, 18 was excited to find out what her future held, and she knew that if it was going to be anything like this moment right now, it was going to be great.

- The End.

Short and sweet and I hope you enjoyed it! I’m not sure if I should post this to FFN as a standalone story or as part as the prompt series. It wasn’t a prompt from anyone, but I’m not sure if it’s meaty enough to stand as its own thing. What do you think??

As always, if you liked what you read, like and reblogs are super appreciated. Message me any time peeps, I love talking dragonball, and K18 and am always taking prompt ideas! I’m still working on my 17 story too, but I got a little bit stuck in the middle act, but I think I’m working my way through it, so hopefully that won’t be very far away either!

Big Love! D.B

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 51)

“Fuckin' hell, can you dig any slower?!” the Boss of the Valentinian goons complained.

“This'd go a lot faster if someone didn’t pull off that shit with the dirt-blasters!” replied one of the goons digging with shovels.

“In my defense, it did significantly cut our travel time past that mountain!” Abner said as he stood with his hands and ankles shackled together. “Why take the long way 'round when you can just send your carriage straight through it, right?”

All five of the goons glared at Abner, trigger fingers itching, knuckles turning white from how tightly they were gripping their shovels.

“… I'll just be quiet now...” Abner muttered.

“You do that...” spat the other goon on shallow grave duty.

All was quiet for a while save for the sounds of digging and cursing.

“Awright, that's deep enough!” said the Boss. “Get outta there, grab your guns, and let's all shoot this motherfucker dead—and I want ALL those clips on empty, and a grenade on his face when we're done, in case he's wearin’ bulletproof clothes again!”

“Do we have to shoot him, Boss?” asked one of the goons climbing out the hole.

“What, you want to give ‘im a chance to pull off more of that Houdini shit on us?!” the Boss barked.

“Nah, I was wondering if we couldn't just beat the ever loving shit out of him till he stops moving,” the goon replied. “Got a LOT of stress built up from the trip here, and I want to let it all out before we all head home.”

One of the other goons snorted. “He not help you enough when you thought we were all asleep?”

“Fuck off!”

“All of youse, shut up!” the Boss cried. “We shoot him, toss some dirt over ‘im, then we get the fuck outta here, all accordin' plan!”

“What, you afraid the Keeper's gonna get us?” one of them teased.

“Never thought you'd be scared of fairy tales, Boss,” another hummed.

“Keeper, wild animals, whatever the fuck is killing and eating everyone that comes here, I don't want to meet 'em, capisce? Now get your guns before my trigger finger 'slips!'”

“Alright, alright!” “We're going, we're going!”

Soon, all five of them were standing in front of Abner, his feet right on the edge of his grave, the barrels of their guns point-blank on his chest.

“Anyone have any last words before we ice this fucker?”

“I'd just like to--” Abner started.

“Anyone other than this fucker have any last words before we ice ‘im?”

“Yes,” said a new voice. “Get out of the Valley before I have to dig graves for ALL of you.”

The goons spun around, and came face to face with the Keeper.

“I had the good fortune of being knocked into my grave; ironically, it ended up saving my life as it was just deep enough for me to avoid all the bullets that went flying around, or being caught in Ilaya's scythe swings, and also gave me time to finally pull out the lock pick I'd fashioned from the dirt-blasters.

“It was a miniature seismic-wave generator that could easily liquify the anchors for my bindings, you see.”

“You made that on a bare-bones trip to the Valley, with five armed Valentinian Debt Collectors who wanted you dead riding with you and watching over you at all times?” Weiss asked.

Abner nodded. “The key is to feign stupidity; people will be wary of a smart man, but quickly grow tired of an idiot. And sometimes, actual stupidity works in your favour, when it provides you with a new angle you hadn't seen before, or a window of opportunity.

“Anyway, I managed to break my cuffs, and waited for the sounds of fighting to stop. After that, I attempted to climb out, after which a hand reached in to help pull me out. I had assumed that the Keeper had left, and that one of the goons had survived and had made the rational choice of keeping me alive to better our chances of survival…

“… Only it wasn't one of them, it was Ilaya.”

Abner stared up at the face of fear itself, her crimson eyes glowing in the darkness, his hand wrapped tightly around hers, frozen like the rest of his body.

“You okay?” Ilaya asked.

Abner screamed, his free hand pulling out the lock pick, and blasting Ilaya's wrist with it. She yelped, unharmed but surprised, he took the opportunity to use the last of the pick’s battery to dig handholds for himself.

“STOP!” Ilaya cried as he scrambled out and ran into the woods.

Abner replied by screaming even louder.

“SERIOUSLY, STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO RUN OFF A--”

Abner wailed and flailed his limbs in the air as the ground beneath his feet suddenly disappeared.

“… Cliff…!” Ilaya finished too late.

His screaming continued for a few more seconds.

Thud.

Ilaya ran up to the edge of the cliff with the help of her mask's night vision. “Are you still alive down there...?” she yelled. “Groan once for 'Yes,' and—uh, I guess I'll just climb down and look for you! Wait right there!”

At that, Abner's head shot up from the ground. The canopy was thinner here, the moonlight illuminating the little grove of plants he had found himself in. He grabbed one of the wild tubers by the stalk, and pulled it up as food for later.

He stopped as he realized that it had a face.

:o

Abner blinked.

D:

The elemental started letting out a high-pitched, ear-drum bursting wail. Abner dropped it and clapped his hands over his ears, running through the grove as the rest of them woke up and joined in the bone-chilling pandemonium.

“I ran until the screams of the elementals stopped ringing in my ears, at least, and found myself in an ironbark forest. The Fae do in fact harvest them from the wild, considering that it's difficult to replicate the conditions that allow the quality they desire for their weapons and other projects. Aside from that, they only ever grow so strong thanks to the constant love and attention of their symbiotic caretakers:

“Steel Spiders.”

Abner stopped for breath, put his hand against a tree for support. He didn't notice that he had cut himself on the bark until he felt something other than sweat dripping down his palms. He quickly pulled it away, wrapped his wounds with some bandages he always had stashed somewhere on his body, before he took in his new surroundings.

The moonlight shined down on the ironbark trees, massive, angular titans with branches that shot out like metal spikes, twisting and turning like a set for a horror movie. All that was really missing were the bodies and viscera hanging from them.

Abner nervously made his way through a spacious gap in the trees.

He hadn't noticed the steel-silk web until his palm had already been caught in it.

Twang.

Abner paused as he heard the strand vibrate, letting out a musical sound like an instrument's string being plucked. He turned his head to the noise, watching it vibrate an attached strand, and another, and another, making an admittedly lovely chime.

Then he saw some of the ironbark “branches” start moving, eight eyes opening and glowing in the dark.

Abner tried to pull his hand from the web, but it was stuck, and the strand held strong.

The music became louder. More and more of the webs began to resonate, alerting the other steel spiders that there was prey.

Abner bit back a yelp and began to walk backwards, trying to see how far the strand could stretch until it broke. He stopped as soon as he felt several sticky somethings attach to his back. His teeth began to draw blood as he tried to jump forward, and accidentally got his foot caught in a low-hanging web.

The chiming had become a full on melody now, echoing all throughout the grove. Even more of the spiders woke up, excited, for it seemed like there was even MORE prey that had gotten caught in their webs.

Abner desperately, violently jerked his limbs and staggered around, trying to free himself from the webs, only succeeding in getting himself even more tangled until he could not move an inch. The music he was making would have actually been quite pleasant to the ear, had it not also been the dinner bell for the steel spiders, and the soundtrack to his doom.

Abner saw one of them begin to crawl down the ironbark tree closest to him.

His two eyes met the spider's eight, saw his reflection in those glimmering orbs, its giant fangs curl and twist upwards.

:3

Abner screamed.

“… Would steel spiders happen to be why Fae invented the word for 'BIG FUCKING SPIDER, RUN!'?” Weiss asked.

“Oh, goodness no! Those are MUCH larger than the steel spiders could ever be and bounds more dangerous.”

“… How large are we talking about?”

“Oh, somewhere between half the size of a building such as the Plushie Palace, to little larger than it.”

“… Do these happen to live in the Valley?”

“Oh no, they live in the—ow, OW, OW—sorry about that, seems my thought process got too fast for my governor and it had to pull the emergency brake. Shall I resume the story?”

“Can we skip to after Ilaya rescues you?”

“Can we not? It's quite a daring, musical escape; the melody she made as she cut the webs and sometimes even plucked them intentionally to fool the spiders is permanently stuck in my head, both for being so catchy, and because this was how I got my crippling fear of steel spiders and ironbark groves!”

“I think I'll pass, thank you...”

“Oh, alright... anyway, after Ilaya performed her daring rescue, she took me far away from the grove and to a stream so she could refill her canteen—chasing after someone like me is thirsty work. Because the grand crescendo of the rescue, where she stunned the entire grove of spiders with a sound not unlike an especially powerful electric guitar riff, I had become temporarily deaf, and couldn't understand a word of what she was saying.

“She tried her best, but unfortunately, Keepers are better at killing the horrors of the Valley than they are at breaking language barriers...”

Abner stared at the Keeper, frozen in fear, dumbly nodding his head as she made cryptic signs with her hands, no doubt what horrible, terrible things she was going to do to him if he misbehaved.

She had taken off her mask, revealing a surprisingly human and friendly face, nothing even remotely close to what they rumoured to lay underneath that skeletal visage, but he knew all too well the disconnect between friendly appearances and what sort of person lay underneath.

Satisfied that Abner understood she wasn't going to kill him, that there were going to be more horrible things that would actually try to kill him if he got out of her sight, and that she was just going to get a drink of water, Ilaya turned around and pulled out her canteen from inside her cloak.

She was taking a long drink of water when she heard a splash.

She spat it all out as she noticed that Abner wasn't where she left him any more.

“I'm quite an excellent swimmer, as it was a regular part of my cardio exercises, and a lot of my more daring and close escapes have been made through watery routes—you'd be surprised at how many people close off the streets first, and sometimes never bother to check the sewers or the canals, Valentino being the only exception.

“I could have easily escaped Ilaya, if not for the carnivorous fish that lived in that river who did NOT appreciate my presence.”

Ilaya ran along the bank, her mask back on her face, trying to find Abner's aura—a difficult task as the magic in the water was gumming up the sensors.

Bubbles rose up to the surface—as they popped, Ilaya could hear the staggered bits and pieces of a now familiar scream.

She dove into the water.

Splash!

Moments later, pieces of dead fish floated up to the surface. Ilaya broke through soon after, gasping for breath and hauling Abner over her shoulder. She dug her scythe into the roots of a tree growing over the water, and pulled them back up to dry land.

She laid Abner on his rear, held him up by his shoulders. “You okay?” she asked.

Abner threw up all over her.

“… Probably should have seen that coming!”

“You were extremely lucky that Penny's creators had the foresight to build a water filtration unit for her; the microbes and elements in the Valley's water are vicious little buggers if you aren't adapted, and the ones in magic-enriched water like that river more so.

“I was stuck in the hospital for weeks! I should have died from a mixture of dehydration and water-borne illnesses, but Ilaya, kindhearted soul that she was, managed to convince the Council it'd be better to try and keep me alive than euthanize me.

“And this was no mean feat: up to that point, no one knew anything about me other than the fact that a Valentinian organization thought it was necessary to bring me all the way here to execute, and it wouldn't have been too far of a stretch to assume that I was a gigantic problem they wanted gone for good reason.

“It didn't help that caring for me was difficult, with at least two menders on me at all times and hourly visits from a water weaver trying to detoxify my body and acclimate it to the Valley.

“And oh sweet Shepherd, the buckets. There were so many buckets…!

“About the only thing that kept me going was that Ilaya always came by to try and cheer me up, and as I'd later find out, act as a subtle means to guard against someone euthanizing me under the Council’s noses.

“This was before they installed my governor, and I was quite loopy from the water, the sickness, and the trauma, you see.

“Eventually I recovered, and together with Ilaya, made my case for the Council. I was a controversial issue ever since she returned from patrol early with me unconscious over her shoulder, and the division only grew with how expensive my treatment was, and the opportunities lost to both the Valley and the Fae that took care of me.

“I managed to convey to them that I was a highly skilled inventor, and with Ilaya's help to keep me on track, I helped create the Tubes. Funny how it was inspired by my noticing how fast the current was taking me and the distance it was helping me put between me and the aquatic predators trying to kill and/or eat me, and my complaining about how long it used to take to get to and from Keeper's Hollow to the rest of the Bastion—even if all that rowing did wonders for my arms!

“That was where I helped build the very first Tube station, by the way, with the maiden voyage being to the Tree of Life, the second station.

“As I had proven myself more than worth everything they had already invested in me, I voluntarily had a governor-chronicle installed to help tame my worst impulses, took a vow to maintain the Fae's secrecy, and I've been living the good life here in the Valley since.

“And that, Weiss, is the True Tale of the Keeper of the Grove!

“… Well, my section, at least.”