#like didn’t do any damage but just mindlessly scratched at them

[jess-abides]

…

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

Well v dont you know of any healers that could help? We could use all the help we can get.

“Why didn’t you let her heal you?! Can I—”

“No,” Virgil frowns, tone resolute, “I don't want you or anyone else wasting your energy now. We'll all need it later if Illia is even half the warrior I remember.”

“It's not like I'm going to run out. I generate more healing magic every day than I know what to do with! Sometimes I push myself a little just so I have an excuse to get rid of it.” Roman argues.

And it’s true, most days; He isn’t just reckless for the fun of it. He can feel the magic in his body, a blaze of fire under his skin burning him from the inside out. It doesn’t hurt or itch like hiding his wings, but it’s ever-present and just too hot, like a fever. It builds up at dawn every day, and then he’s lit like a firework from head to toe, from the second he wakes up until the moment he uses it up. It leaves him restless and uncomfortable when he goes too long without a fight, without an excuse to unleash a spell or two.

“Please? You'll be in a better condition to fight if you can walk comfortably.”

That gets Virgil’s attention, finally. He holds his frown while he thinks about it.

“You promise you don’t run out?”

“Not nearly as easily as you seem to think I do.” Roman smiles, knowing he’s won, “I’m an angel, remember? I’m built to go around healing whole villages of plagues and stuff like that.”

“Fine.” Virgil huffs, reluctantly offering his hand.

Gently, mindful of the wounds on his arm, Roman presses his lips to Virgil’s hand. In moments he sees that red color tint the edges of his vision — telling him his eyes are glowing — and feels a surge of energy move between them through the point of contact.

It feels a lot like the way you can feel heat leave your body when you touch something freezing. It would be a little nauseating if he hadn’t been doing this since he was a child. It doesn’t take much from him to close Virgil’s wounds, since it seems he’d gotten the worst of it treated already, but Roman doesn’t close the spell until he’s certain Virgil’s been fully healed. At the end, instead of leaving Roman cold he feels a bit more settled. The burn settles down to something more manageable, like standing in the summer sun.

Roman moves away, and Virgil stares open-eyed at himself for a moment, turning over his limbs to access the damage. He begins unwrapping the now unnecessary bandages on his legs and torso, giving Roman a side-eye that’s as suspicious as it is impressed.

“I know you’re an angel, but Remus usually gets exhausted after fixing a scratch or two. I didn't want to hurt you.”

“Well I’m far from hurt,” Roman laughs, puffing his chest a little, “And I have plenty more to give. Remus’s healing talent is almost nonexistent, but he got other benefits from our divine parentage. You might have noticed how inhuman his strength and pain tolerance are.”

“I thought that was mostly because he's a masochist.”

That shocks a coughing laugh out of Roman, making Virgil smile. Roman rolls his eyes,

“That too. But, really, that was his gift from Mom. Apparently all of us half-angels are supposed to be near-invulnerable and bursting at the seams with holy magic, but for whatever reason me and Remus each only got half of our gifts.”

Roman sits back on his hands, checking on Annie while Virgil’s still unwrapping himself. She went and laid down on Logan once they’d gotten him onto the bed, looking like she was about ready to cry. Thankfully, Virgil translated that she was just nervous that she couldn’t hear his heartbeat. She had her head flopped onto his stomach. After a little repositioning, she conked out right there, still exhausted from her time at the party.

“Mama always thought it was some sort of sign from the gods that we were ‘always meant to stick together.’" Roman continues mindlessly, watching Annie for a moment to make sure she’s breathing calmly, “Watch out for your big brother, mijo. You're a team. Funny team, a healer and a fighter that can’t die. What do you need a healer for if you can’t hardly get hurt?”

He turns back to find Virgil staring at him, something strained in his expression. Roman startles at the scrutiny, quickly looking away and changing the subject.

“Hey, do you know where a blade and some ribbon are so I can get this mess under control?” Roman gestures to his overgrown-again beard and hair, “No use just sitting around while we wait for them to come back.”

“Oh, sure. I still keep some supplies for his mustache in my bag,” Virgil motions to Remus, “I’m sure we can make it work. I don’t think it expires… Come on, there’s a washroom right there.” 

Virgil fishes in his discarded quiver-bag-thing for a small, sharp knife and a small pair of scissors, probably from the sewing kit he used to fix Annie’s shift thing. He gets up and walks over to the wall opposite the bed, and holds his hand up to it.

“Do you want me to do it? I'm not very fast, but I won't cut you. I used to do it for Ree and my sisters all the time.”

“You don’t have to!” Roman flushes a light, considering doing something so intimate, “I’ve got it. I can stand a nick or two, anyway.”

A minute passes, and Virgil seems content, pushing the door open and leading Roman in. Hidden almost seamlessly in the wall is a little cubby with a mirror and a bowl etched with elven runes along the rim. The water inside is so clear that it took Roman a second glance to notice it was there.

Virgil stands in the doorway, propping it open where he can keep and eye and ear on the others.

“You did that trim yourself, before? For the party?”

“Uhh, no. I've always been clumsy with a blade.”

Virgil smirks, and Roman cuts him off,

“Not just the sword, before you even make a snarky joke.” Roman smiles, reaching down to touch the surface of the water. A speck of dirt on his finger disappears as soon as it touches the liquid, confirming Roman’s suspicions; they have the same spell on their worship pools in the temple back home.

“Remus did it for me. I did our makeup,” Roman explains as he starts fiddling with the knife, figuring out how to hold it and trying to remember what his brother had done before, 

“He never misses an opportunity to gloat, and he was always the better hairdresser between us. I still want to get this mess under control, though.”

Roman begins to shave his cheek, being careful not to slice himself. It’s easier with Virgil’s knife, oddly enough, thanks to how ridiculously sharp it is. It’s not going to be flawless no matter how much Roman fiddles with it, so he forces himself to accept a measure of imperfection rather than over-correct too much and cut it all off. (He’s actually gotten pretty attached to the beard and how grown-up and mature it makes him look.)

Once he thinks he’s mastered the little cheek-pull-curve thing Remus was on about today-yesterday, Roman’s mind wanders enough to attach onto something Virgil said before.

“..Wait, you used to shave your sisters? I thought Elves didn’t grow body hair, or cut their hair?” 

“Well, it’s a little less concrete than that.” Virgil shifts his weight from one foot to another, that glazed look in his eyes disappearing slightly whenever Roman gets him to talk,

“You’re right about the body hair, but it’s not uncommon for priestesses and soldiers to have undercuts or patterns shaved into their heads. As long as you leave enough to make a ponytail and that part stays as long as possible, you can do whatever you want. Like that cleric who just came in.”

Virgil shrugs, his eyes flashing red for a moment, “I never got one, but when my sisters wanted them they would get me to do it. You have to be able to trust your hairdresser not to just slit your throat when they get the chance, right?”

Roman gulps, 

“I guess you would. Sorry, I’ve been trying to get your mind off of the Underdark.”

“Why didn't you and Remus stick together?

Roman’s face falls at the question almost instinctively.

Well, that’s not about the Underdark, but its not much better.

“I know you two are super weird and grumpy about each other, but you both talk about being kids together so fondly. I’m just curious what could have done it, I guess. I mean, it took a spell to separate Remus from me, and we weren’t together for nearly as long.”

Roman sighs deeply, willing all of his frustration to seep out with his breath. He looks back at Virgil through the mirror, clicking the pieces together,

“Wait, he never told you? Gods, that changes so much— I thought you knew?”

Virgil shrugs, not meeting his eyes even via reflection. He looks out at the sleeping redhead, voice soft,

“He doesn't like to talk about it.”

“What, me?” Roman scoffs, but he tries to make it sound amused instead of frustrated. Virgil shakes his head, his lips turning up in the hint of a smile,

“No, the day you two split up. He loved talking about you.”

“To insult me, no doubt.”

“Well, yeah, most of the time. But in a nice way, I think.” He smiles freely now, “The way brothers talk about each other when they're only pretending they don't care. My brothers used to talk the same way about me.”

Roman feels the need to point out that Virgil and his siblings were raised in an anti-kindness death cult, so he may have different standards for what constitutes friendly ribbing. However, he is pointedly ignoring that topic up right now.

"I won't tell you all the details if he doesn't want you to know. I don't really like talking about it either," Roman deflects. As much as he would like to vent to someone about what happened that night — what Remus did that night — it’s got to be a violation of the Bro Code to shit talk your brother to his best friend.

“Honorable. But annoying.” Virgil pouts. Roman shrugs, explaining slowly between swipes of the knife,

“Suffice it to say, he crossed a line. One I wasn't willing to forgive him for at the time. And he couldn’t forgive me for not forgiving him. So we split up, and didn’t meet up again for years.”

“At the time?” Vigil pries, an undeniable and slightly heartbreaking lilt of hope in his voice, “So you forgive him now?”

“I didn’t say that,” Roman growls, a little harsher than he meant to.

“He’s still never apologized, or even done the bare minimum and acknowledged that what he did was wrong. I’m just...tired of avoiding him about it. I don’t want to hate him.” Roman shakes his head, “Forgiveness you earn, but I can’t help that I love him.”

“Roman,” Virgil smiles, pink ribbons in his irises, “He should hear that from you. If it helps, He doesn’t hate you either.”

Roman laughs, barely avoiding a nick on his lip,

“I doubt that. The last thing he said to me before he passed out was basically a threat. And he called me stupid, the ass.”

“You were with him when he passed out?” Virgil zips upright, wide eyes drilling into Roman’s back.

“What happened?!”

“Well, uhh...” Roman forces a neutral expression, “We were talking, and in the middle of a sentence he dropped. I didn’t see anyone hurt him or anything, he just passed out. Y’know, magic, probably.”

“What were you talking about?”

Roman’s hand slips. A sigh of relief when no sting of pain follows, then Roman looks anywhere but at Virgil,

“You,” He starts, because he doesn’t want to lie, “But I wasn’t really paying much attention to him, since I was looking for Annie—”

“Going to need more details than that, Roman.” Virgil glares, sharp and intense. Roman can feel himself sweating.

“Uhh, well...” Roman fumbles, his face turning redder as he realizes he’s not getting out of this. Remus’s ‘warnings’ replay in his head, his high-pitched, gravelly voice saying things about his own ‘best friend’ that Roman would rather cut out his tongue than repeat. He shakes his head to get rid of that lingering voice,

“He could tell I liked you, so he tried to scare me.” Roman focuses closer on his hands, trying to blur Virgil out of his peripheral vision, “I don’t think he meant any of it, really! He just gets weird about me and dating,”

Virgil chuckles, all at once sounding less like he wants to kill something.

“Awww, ‘dating.’ You have a crush on me.”

Roman’s hand slips again, this time a lot more dramatically. Roman’s hand flies to his jaw on reflex, knowing he’s certainly sliced himself this time. Virgil curses and rushes up next to him, peeling his hand away to look.

“Shit! Sorry, I shouldn’t have teased while you had a fucking knife in your hand—” 

Roman looks at his hand, noticing a distinct lack of red. There’s none on the blade, either, and no pain in his jaw.

Now that’s strange.

While Virgil’s still turning over his cheek, Roman follows his gut and holds the knife edge to the back of his other hand, this time trying to leave a scratch behind.

Nothing.

Except Virgil saw that, and he wrenches the knife from Roman’s hand, then knees him solidly in the gut.

“What the absolute fuck are you doing?!” He hisses loudly, and while the sharp sound stung his ears slightly, Roman’s not doubled over in pain from the blow. In fact, he’d barely even felt it.

“No, it’s okay! I did it on purpose.”

“Yeah I saw that, shithead!”

“No, look!” Roman smiles and holds up his perfectly uninjured hand.

“That thing is sharp, right?”

“Of course it is, it’s been cutting your hair!”

“Then why isn’t it doing anything?”

Roman gets a look at his face in the mirror, thinking back to his process. He should definitely have a few red lines, considering the knife and his inexperience and every time he’d jumped. But there’s nothing.

He thinks back further, trying to remember every moment he’d felt ache or pain for the last day.

“Oh my gosh, I remember!! This happened before, too!” Roman is giddy now, flapping his hands around wildly, “Remus punched me at the party and I didn’t even feel it, but he wasn’t holding back! —Here, try to hit me as hard as you can!”

“Uh, No.”

“Come on, aren’t you curious?”

Roman grins, eyes sparkling with excitement. Virgil’s resolve crumbles slightly when he looks up at him, and before long he’s rolling his eyes and flexing his hand, showing off those curled claws that have accidentally pierced him once before.

Virgil groans, running one hand down his tired face, 

“Okay, fine. I’ll try something. Please stay still.”

He reaches forward, grabbing Roman’s arm, pushing his sleeve out of the way and considering his palm for a moment. Then he inches his claw close to his skin, and presses as gently as possible, slowly increasing the speed and pressure of the swipe as he goes.

Nothing. Hardly even an indent.

He tries again, way sharper this time, but he still can’t cut him.

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Ask 132     (( @rylaenvol​ ))

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Game Start

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Rules

Most Recent Recap, in case you feel like you missed something!

PCs available: Patton, Roman, Virgil, Janus, and Annie!

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Virgil and Roman call a healer to come check on Remus and Logan, then pass the time talking and freshening up while they wait for the others to return.

[yuichi-ro]

𝘿𝙖𝙯𝙖𝙞 𝙊𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙪 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 summary: Osamu never wanted to stop the bleeding this bad (vent piece)

cw: fem!Reader, third perosn POV, self harm, blood, manic state, angst, unedited word count: 1.9k      

ᴅɴɪ ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ/ʙʟᴀɴᴋ/ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ ʙʟᴏɢꜱ

What should he do? What could he do? The blood kept coming and Osamu couldn’t shut his eyes. 

Violent red painted over his vision in that very instance. Not because the wounds were deep. No in fact they were extremely shallow in comparison to some he’d even had himself. But the mere fact there was so many of them. Criss crossed lines of red in such a density on each place over her skin. Wrists, thighs, breasts, stomach; there wasn’t a place he could look and not see the aftermath. Overlapping cuts made repetitively until the flesh curled up under the edges of each cut and looked raw and jagged as though torn at by bare hands instead of sliced with such a sharp razor. 

An itch or an ache that could never be scratched no matter how far one dug in was how it’d been explained to him once and only once. Osamu couldn’t understand what she was doing until he saw once more the dirtied edge of the scalpel dive into the flesh of her own body. Unflinching even as he himself felt his skin turn clammy and cold at the sight. She drug the knife like it was hungry for more even after all it’d done to her. New fresh blood bubbling up in it’s wake until he found he himself shaking his head utterly wordless but the rush of panic.

“Stop- Stop!” His voice hoarse and thick in his throat like he hadn’t spoken in ages, it didn’t even sound like himself when he heard it. Osamu tried to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to be louder but couldn’t find it in him to scream any harder the second the scalpel came out of the wound just for it to go back into an untouched inch of skin now being tainted and ruined like the other patches had been, “Stop! I said stop!” 

Like she was spun out a trance Osamu succeeded in meeting her eyes. Only to find them glazed over with a stare that looked right past him. She’d heard his voice and yet, couldn’t see him.

Before he knew it she pressed the tip of the sharp blade to the exposed part of her breast again as it was the closet thing to the blade. Already from the damaged done the seam of her bra was soaked. Blood sponged up in the fabric as it drooled down from the lacerations. Smears of it from where she’d accidentally and mindlessly drug her wrists over her own body in the gruesome process to quench a need. If an inch of her hadn’t been cut away at, then it was more than likely smeared with another body part tacky and damp with blood.

Voiceless Osamu reacted before thinking anything through. Grabbing her wrist just as the tip slid across the surface of her skin like a butterfly’s kiss. Without care how hard he’d yanked her arm away. Only dead set on keeping the scalpel away from any part of her skin now that he was here.

“Stop!” Osamu’s voice waivered in his throat just as he kept shaking his head unable to process what he was seeing, “What are you- What are you doing to yourself?!”

Again she looked up at him. Or more or less in his general direction. With a stare that was neither here or where he was. Osamu felt the vomit rush up his throat when their eyes met like this, “I-” Her lips stuck together as though she’d been sleeping, tacky and damp from spit. The need to throw up clung in his throat but his stomach dropped ten stories when her voice cracked with the tears running without regret down her cheeks, “I want to die.”

“W-What?” Osamu’s words trembled as they fell from his lips with a wide stare in her direction.

“I said I want to die!” Latching onto his wrist that held her offending hand, she tried to pry herself out of his touch with the blade still tight in her grasp. Thrashing and pushing at him with so much anger leeched into her tone that Osamu didn’t understand where this was all coming from or who it was he was speaking too, “Let go of me! I- I want to die! Let me do this- Let me do what I want Osamu!”

“No!” He ignored the blood getting wiped all over him in the struggle. The stagnant stench of metallic in the air choking to smell like this. Enough to turn even a pig’s appetite sour. Wrestling the sharp item away from her was all he could think to do in the moment. If not for her own sake than his. With the flashes of her dragging the scalpel through her skin again like he’d stumbled upon felt worse than a thousand deaths. Osamu couldn’t see that again no matter what she said or did.

“I just- I want it gone-” Even fatter tears now bubbled in the corner of her eyes and dribbled down her cheek to drip off onto his clothing. Each passing second the resistance he was met with faded little by little. Left with nothing more than a tired tug at her own arm with his death grip sure to leave bruises on the arm holding the knife. Unable to face him she went limp all at once with a loud sob, “I want to die Osamu.” In turn when she’d stop fighting it. Just to finally look up at him with watery eyes that reflected every bit of light in the room. There was a slight glimmer of the person he’d always seen behind those eyes. Masked with something he knew but could not understand even as she spoke, “...why won’t you leave me alone?”

The loud clink when she’d finally released the knife. Metal hitting the ground next to them. Osamu quickly and without a second thought kicked it as far across the room as he could sitting down like this while gripping her bloodied arm. Like it was a loaded gun, he wanted it gone forever. But with the bloodied tool out of reach he still did not release her wrist. Loosening the grip but not once thinking to let go like she might go for it again.

“...Because,” He croaked with that same lump in his throat when he stared back at the face he was more familiar with now, “I love beautiful women too much.”

Out came the pour of tears. One’s so violent that she drew her hands to her face to cover herself and forcing him to let go finally. Choking tears causing her body to shake and tremble as they escalated. Osamu still high on his fight or flight response at seeing her blood went to reach out and touch her. Just to receive a swat away from her and even louder sobs.

“Stop lying!” Her voice hoarse from the crying that seemed never ending, “Stop lying to me! Stop- Just-” For a second their intensity died down and she looked up from her blood and tear stained hands at the man across from her staring, “Stop treating me like a person.”

He figured if it came down to it, who could get to the scalpel first might have end in a draw. Still he told himself with confidence that he’d reach it first no matter what. With that in mind and fighting the words she just spat on him, Osamu looked down at his bloodied hands and the skiff of blood stains on his bandaged arms as well as his trench coat. Wordless he untucked the edge of his bandages to slowly begin unraveling them. Exposing the mostly untouched pale skin of his arms. Methodic as he undid them all so he had a neat little roll in his possession. Not as nice as when he’d bought them of course as he only had his fingers to roll them up on. It was enough that when Osamu reached out to grab her hand. Ignoring the slight with drawling yank she gave when he touched her. Osamu studiously looked down at the gnarled section of skin lacerated to a bloodied pulp by her own hands. It churned his stomach and made his hair stand up on end. But with persistence his expression remained neutral and Osamu began wrapping his own bandage around her wrist without a word spoken.

The two upper extremities were easy. Like wrapping his own arms but just at a kind of funky angle since he was sitting across from her. Osamu did his best to ignore the spots where perhaps the cuts were particularly deep. As they seeped up into his bandages even through a few good layers he applied. They’d only reach that last layer of bandage though and seem to clot and stop. So Osamu continued his silent work without meeting her eyes. Without making a single comment or anything. Wrapping her thighs up as well as her arms in the same similar fashion. Until the only thing left where the oozing scratches across the top of her breasts. 

With her bra soaking up most of what had been bled from the wounds. Osamu sat there utterly unbandaged and bare skinned now with only a few scrapes of his bandages left. Nowhere near enough to loop around her once yet alone the few half a dozen times he’d need to match the way he did her wrists and thighs. It was at that moment Osamu realized he himself ironically didn’t have enough bandages.

“It’s funny.” He finally said. Though dead flat in tone, the welling tears in his eyes that soon rushed past his lashes and down his cheek did not match with how he spoke so softly and calmly, “I’d probably have more of these at my place. I- I always have bandages on me. For emergencies- I- I always have so many of them I buy them on sale you know? I...” Osamu struggled to swallow the lump in his throat to no avail as it clung to him making it hard to breath even. Fatter tears cascading down his cheeks now. Washing away what ever stray streaks of her blood he might have gotten when struggling for the scalpel. Osamu sat there unable to take his watery brown eyes off the scrapes of bandages left in his possession, “I buy these on sale...I have so many of them I just-”

“....Osamu.” She spoke in just a mere whisper between the two of them as the silence was deafening, “I..”

“I’ve got more alright?” He finally broke the stare to tilt his head up. Beaming smile nowhere matching the glaze of tears over his wide brown eyes. Looking lost for words he kept smiling even as the tears rolled down his cheek, “I buy them on sale I’ve got all the bandages in the world and I’d love to share them with you.”

That same deafening silence crept back between the two of them after that. Both humans looking at the other as though through frosted glass able to make out the person in front of them but not really the true details of the individual. He’d seen so much blood and yet this rotten metallic filled stench would never leave his nose for as long as he lived. And even with how far away he’d kicked the knife, Osamu never wanted to see bleeding like this again.

[prrism]

A Visit From… Jack Manifold

Relationship: platonic

Pronouns: unspecified/kept neutral

This was becoming too common a trend for comfort. What was with teenagers and trying to steal your things? First Tommy, then Fundy, now this mysterious newcomer. You stared down the back of their head as they rummaged through your chests, somehow not having noticed you yet. You wanted to see how long it would take for them to notice you, it was clear they’d been here for a good while. However when they pulled out one of your potions and proceeded to mindlessly throw it across the room, directing your attention towards a pile of multiple shattered potion bottles was when you drew the line.

"You know I tried to be patient but clearly that’s not going to happen." You speak up, startling the guy as he whips his head in your direction.

"I-ummm uhhh… when did…? How long…? Do you live here?" He sputters out. You raise an unamused eyebrow at him before stomping over, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him into your living room.

"Tell me, does this look like it’s an uninhabited house to you?" You ask rhetorically. "You don’t have the excuse of it being night time to say you can’t see this! And unless those multicoloured glasses of yours somehow impair your vision you have no excuses for why your trying to steal and break my things!" He stares at you slightly nervous, scratching at the back of his neck while you scold him. You pause a minute and take in a few deep breaths to calm yourself down.

"Hey look, I guess I may have taken things a bit overboard but there was no major harm." He tries to play things off cool, you were having none of it.

"You guess? Buddy you’re gonna be owing me big time for this." You stat matter-of-factly.

"What!?! Nooo, c'mon it’s not that bad." He whines. You shake your head with a sigh, there was a lot you wanted to say but held your tongue, arguing was pat going to get you anywhere anyways.

"You got a name, so I don’t have to keep calling you buddy? Unless that is your name." He stays quiet, looking very unhappy with the situation. You lazily roll your eyes. "Alright I’ll go first. I’m (y/n), I didn’t mean to come off as rude to you earlier or anything, but I’m sure you would also be defensive is someone came into your home without permission and started messing up your stuff." You introduce yourself in a much calmer manner now. You wait a few minutes before he looks back at you.

"I’m… Jack." He finally introduces himself, you give a nod of acknowledgement. "So what exactly do I have to do to pay you back?" He asks slowly, dreading what you might say next. You chuckle at this.

"It’s simple really, once I’m done doing an inventory check you’ll be gathering any items I’ll need to remake all the potions you broke."

"Wait, that’s it?" He seemed shocked. "All I have to do is complete a checklist of items and I’m home free?"

"Yeah, like you said there’s no major damage, I'm just… unhappy, we'll say, with you for carelessly throwing around my hard work." The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before something else pops into your head. "Tell you what, if you’re able to retrieve the materials I need in the next few days there might be a nice reward waiting for you." You add with a smirk. This really draws in Jack's interest.

"Like what?"

"We’ll now that’s something you’ll have to find out on your own."

"Well what are you waiting for! The faster you get me a list the faster I can get a rewar-I mean retrieve your items and be outta your hair." You just give a calm nod and head back to start taking inventory.

With everything relatively sorted out you hand Jack your list of needed materials and he’s off. There was an eagerness to his steps, as if trying to prove something in himself, you weren’t too sure. Either way you let yourself sit back and await for his next visit…

[novelconcepts]

for the prompt, please do dani and jamie with 22 thank you :)

prompt: kissing someone’s cuts/bruises/scratches

Jamie can’t remember the last time she needed someone to tend her cuts and scrapes. Can’t remember, even, the last time she wanted as much from another person. There’s something too vulnerable about holding out an open wound and saying, Here. Please. I can’t do it alone. 

Jamie can do it alone, is the thing. Has done for so long, she’s forgotten what it was to want another person’s skin brushing her own, another person’s eyes concerned for her well-being. It’s become second-nature, pushing all of that aside. How many times has she wandered into the kitchen, a cloth pressed firmly to a torn-open patch of wrist or palm, and scoffed at Owen’s worry? How many times has Hannah strolled into the room to find her bracing an ice pack against a freshly-bruised knee, rolling her eyes heavenward at her own clumsy misfortune? It’s natural, courting injury as she maneuvers the grounds. Almost easier than it should be. 

She’s never wanted anyone to fix it for her. Never trusted, if she’s honest, anyone to have the touch. People are too soft. Too twitchy about doing damage. As if there’s any helping a thing like that.

She’s never wanted it--

But Dani, meeting her in the doorway of the greenhouse, has an expression she’s never seen before. Not open worry, not nauseous distaste--an almost perfect, steady calm. 

“Let me.”

No question mark at the end of the sentence. No hopeful sway to Dani’s hips, no itchy pull of Dani’s fingers along the elbows of her own jumper. Dani’s face is set, determined, almost as though she’s been waiting for this day since the first time their eyes met. 

“No need,” Jamie says, though her head is pounding. Dani is plainly unimpressed. 

“C’mere. Sit down.”

She can’t explain why she obeys; her body seems primed to follow instruction, perhaps as evidence of a concussion. There is a split above her brow where a tumbling branch caught her just right, and privately, she’s relieved--that it was her standing beneath the tree as the wind jerked it out of place, and not one of the kids. Jamie had been quick enough to dodge aside. If it had been Flora, if it had been Miles...

Better me. I can take it.

Dani has a kit in hand, she realizes, lifted from the manor bathroom. Sitting beside Jamie on the sofa, she tears open a single-use alcohol wipe. She hesitates only once, one hand hovering beside Jamie’s jaw; when Jamie nods, that hand takes her chin, fingers splayed gently to tip her head back. 

“Deep breath.”

“I’m fine,” Jamie starts to say, the words hissing out of her when Dani angles the wipe against the edge of the wound. It’s small, thankfully--the branch had been, too, though Jamie knows better than anyone that size is no measure of danger--but the sting clenches her teeth together. She closes her eyes, trying her best to disassemble the pain and piece it back together into a more enjoyable sensation.

Not the burn, but the soft pressure of Dani’s hand on her skin.

Not the throb running a path along her skull, but the warmth of Dani’s breath mingling with her own.

Maybe this isn’t better, she realizes. Maybe it is infinitely worse, fixing on Dani’s knee pressed to her thigh, Dani’s hand cradling her cheek as though she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. Her eyes flick open to find Dani leaning close, inspecting the wound with an unflappable composure.  

“It isn’t deep,” she says. “Might scar a little, though.”

“Not my first,” Jamie quips before she can stop herself. Dani’s eyebrows raise, her lips curving in a small smile. 

“You’ve got stories.”

Not a question--and not a pressure, either. Just an easy statement. Sometimes, this is just Dani’s way: neat, straightforward, to the point. Jamie wonders what kind of life shapes a woman this way, to navigate the grip of anxiety one moment and turn utterly steadfast the next. She’d like to know. She’ll never push. Dani is a co-worker, nothing more; the last thing Jamie needs is to go crossing bounds again.

“Thank you,” she says, as Dani fishes out a bandage and some tape. “Didn’t, uh. Didn’t need--”

Dani silences her with another smile, tinged with something so like sadness, it puts any knock on the head to shame. “When I was little,” she says, “I was always getting hurt. I was a clumsy kid, I guess. Fell down a lot--out of trees, off my bike. My dad was always the one to take care of it.”

Jamie says nothing. This is the most Dani’s ever spoken directly to her, and she finds the bounce and curve of her Midwestern accent strangely comforting. 

“He wasn’t really a typical dad that way, I guess,” Dani goes on, gently holding the cotton bandage up to the wound. She reaches down, clasps Jamie’s wrist, eases her up to hold the square in place. “Hang onto that a sec. My dad, he was...softer than other kids’. He always knew how to clean my scrapes without making me cry. Never quite got the hang of that, after--he died when I was eight, I dunno if you knew that--”

Jamie shakes her head. Dani, patiently cutting a strip of tape, shrugs.

“Got sick. Was gone almost before I knew it. And my mom was never...much good at any of that, so I had to learn how to patch myself up. The alcohol was always the worst part. Almost.”

“Almost?” Jamie repeats. Dani is replacing her hand with deft fingers, adhering the bandage with simple efficiency. When she checks a mirror later, she suspects the whole affair will be neat, orderly, perfectly applied. 

“Yeah,” Dani says, leaning back to observe her handiwork. She seems satisfied, piling everything back into the first aid kit, closing it with a click. “Worst part was after. He would always find the best bandaid--something brightly-colored, or with cartoon characters--and then he’d lean over whatever I’d busted open that day, and he’d kiss the spot twice. Once for forgiveness, he always said, to let the skin know he didn’t blame it for bleeding. And once for healing. Two kisses, every time. It felt like magic. I could never...”

She quiets, her smile fading. It’s too easy for Jamie to imagine a small girl with a blonde braid, kissing her own scraped knee after a fall, knowing full-well it wouldn’t be the same. Too easy to imagine Dani at eight--eleven--thirteen, patching herself back together on her own. 

“Well,” Jamie says, clearing her throat. “You left a bit out, then.”

Dani raises her eyes, frowning. “Sorry?”

“Did the patching,” Jamie points out. Her mouth is weirdly dry, her head thundering away. This is, she senses, navigating too close to the brink of something. Friendship, maybe. Or just Dani thinking she’s making fun. And still, she can’t stop herself. “Seems like you forgot the magic.”

Dani hesitates, her hands folded in her lap. She’s picking, Jamie realizes, at one cuticle, nearly enough to tear the skin. 

“Go on, then,” she adds, heartened to see Dani’s grave expression tilting toward the sun. “Forgiveness and healing. Could use a little of both, maybe.”

She doesn’t know what she expects, exactly--even saying this feels like the product of insanity, a crack on the head urging her toward things she’d never normally try--but Dani draws a breath. Folds a hand around the back of her head, fingers sifting into curls. Leans forward.

It hurts, a little, Dani pressing her lips to the bandage, though she knows Dani is being gentle. Hurts a little, and sparks something Jamie hadn’t meant to let in, too. She closes her eyes, Dani’s kiss seeming to scorch. 

“Once for forgiveness,” Dani murmurs, lips brushing the skin of her forehead. Another kiss, sweet and soft and sending an electric charge down her spine. “Once for healing.”

She doesn’t lean back, not right away--her hand is warm, her eyes searching Jamie’s, and for a single beat, Jamie wants to tilt her chin. Coax that gentle kiss to find her lips. Change it all. 

The concussion, she assures herself, responsible for the reckless impulse. Responsible, too, for the thread of disappointment coiling in her stomach when Dani removes her hand, places it back in her lap, shakes her head almost ruefully.

“He was better at it.”

“Maybe,” Jamie says. “But I can be clumsy, too. Stay long enough, you might get enough practice to measure up.”

Dani meets her eyes, looking embarrassed, looking delighted. Jamie rubs the back of her neck, casting around for a way out of this hole she’s dug. 

“Listen to me. Take enough thumps to the head, I’m gonna starting spewing puns like Owen.”

“Oh no,” Dani laughs. “Anything but that.”

She has to go, she explains, back to the kids. Jamie’s welcome to join them--she’s got a game of cards planned, and they could use a fourth. Jamie almost agrees. Almost lets herself follow Dani into the house, her fingers straying mindlessly to brush the fresh bandage sealed with a kiss. 

“Shouldn’t,” she says--to Dani, to herself, to the burgeoning heat in her cheeks as she recalls how gently Dani had pressed her lips to the wound. “Work to be done, y’know.”

Dani nods. “See you at dinner?”

She should say no to that, too. Should go home to her little flat, to the quiet which always makes perfect sense, which never turns up with a first aid kit and assertive hands. 

“Yeah. Dinner.” She’s smiling. Dani, leaning against the doorframe, is, too. 

“No more knocks on the noggin,” she adds with mock-gravity. Jamie snorts, gives a careless little salute. 

“No fuckin’ promises.”

It’s difficult to say what’s harder to ignore, when Dani’s gone and the work rises up to meet her once more. Hard to say which part--the thumping of the headache, or the memory of Dani Clayton’s lips pressed to her forehead--has a greater hold on the rest of her day. No one asks, and she’s honestly relieved. 

If asked, Jamie would insist the headache has won out. If asked, she’d have no other choice.

If asked, Jamie would absolutely lie. 

[sly-merlin]

T h e      E n c h a n t e d      C a n v a s

Pairing :: doyoung x reader ft simmi and her moots

Word count :: ~4k

Genre :: Hogwarts soulmate strangers to ?? Fluff

Synopsis ::

Y/n , a muggle is called to Hogwarts not because of her exceptional talents but due to the fact that her soulmate is a pure/half blood studying in Hogwarts. Her destiny takes her from an average household to the enchanting world of spells and charms. Would she found the one she sought? or sh’d end up losing herself in the new world!

A/n :: this is a Christmas gift for lovely nini - @dvrlingrenjun​ under @neoculturechristmas​ event. Thank you admins for letting me talk to her. And nini!! I'd be happy if you enjoy this even a little bit. I hope you can get some time out from your responsibilities to relax and then we can cry over twice's beauty!! MERRY CHRISTMAS NINI.

With love ,

From simmi(stocking anon)

tagging :: lovely @danishmiilk​  ( warning :: donot expect too much) @astroboy-lele​ (oops! i opened discord and just remembered i was supposed to tag you furou! sowy)

networks :: @neowritingsnet​ @kafenetwork​ @nct-writers​ 

thank you aria @adamfoolcry​ for hyping me up!!!

"A MAGIC SCHOOL?DO I LOOK LIKE A FOOL TO YOU?" you screamed at your parents, their pleading eyes instantly making you guilty.

"Darling! That woman showed us what she's capable of. You can go and learn and it's not like you have much of an option." Your father said, caressing your arm.

They were right. The woman, who called herself the professor of Hogsy or something school, had explained to you the two tier unscripted path of your future. The first thing being that you were invited to study at an elite magic school, the evidence of which was provided by summoning your sketchbooks from your room. Second being, your soulmate was a boy of the magical community so you,inevitably, were a part of it and there was no escape from it. 

"I don't want to leave you alone!" Tears threatening to fall, you requested your parents. 

"Please sweetie. Don't make this harder than it already is. We do not have enough money to provide you with quality education. At least you are getting a chance to improve your life. Do not let this chance pass because of us. Besides it's like a boarding school. That lady did say you'd be visiting us twice a year and that too for two whole months! I see no harm sweetie. You possibly cannot refuse your soulmate right. They need you as much as you need them. So go and live your life. Make your parents proud!" 

Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry,

Year - third

"Then the battery is placed in this small compact space in a very specific way to make the clock work. This small cylindrical unit called battery has very complicated working so we'll discuss that next week. And this week,I won't be bothering you with any homework so go and enjoy. Have an enchanting day." Your professor dismissed the class with a brightening smile.

"Y/n" she called as you were packing your bag.

"Yes mam?" You asked her, hands respectfully crossed in front of your skirt.

"I just wanted to say thank you so much for the automated battery clock that you got. The ones we have are very old and it's a long and tiring process to ask for new ones. Do know how delighted i am to have you in my class. I'm glad you chose muggle studies as elective." She smiled at you and you bowed just a bit to show your gratitude and walked outside for your other classes.

Being a ravenclaw was all about wisdom, intellect, being sharp minded and laced with logic and creativity or this was what the book that prof McGonagall gave you read. The almighty sorting hat, the pillar on which walls of Hogwarts stood, had placed you in ravenclaw. Though the hat did contemplate between every single house, you ended up with ravenclaw. You believed neither in the semi-animate object nor the popular saying that Sorting hat knows you better than you do yourself for you failed to find your own kind. The smart ravenclaws were too bright for you. It didn't help that you were the only muggle in your year. You weren't able to keep up with them and if it haven't been for willy, your only friend in ravenclaw, you'd have ended up going home,without finding your destiny. Not that you were any better at the moment but life was fun with willy and aria, your hufflepuff friend. 

But nothing remains stationary right!

“How are you here already?” you questioned lazily.

“Arithmancy professor fell sick this morning. I've been free since then.” said Aria. You turned to William, who was busy toying with his alligator bracelet. “And you willy?” 

“Huh?” he mindlessly asked. 

“I asked, did you run away from divination again?” you repeated the question, changing the words to suit his ears. 

“Oh no! We just had a small accident in class today.” he giggled, his glasses falling off as he doubled over with laughter.

The potion classroom was soon jammed with third year fellows, all chatting in their own friend groups, enjoying the few minutes before they would be bombarded with over expectation of brewing a girding potion.  At the precise moment, the door was closed shut.

“STOP THE USELESS GOSSIP AND SPLIT INTO YOUR BREWING GROUPS. NOW!”

Prof. Snape thundered as all the students, without a second wasted, dispersed and settled. “Mr. brown.” he called a hufflepuff, “collect the ingredients and mr. kim, care to move yourself and help him.” he instructed two students who complied immediately. “Not that i expect any from you little incompetent students, you shall not prepare more than two vials of the potion or else i won’t hesitate to make you do your laundry in the same foul liquid. Understood!” his warning earned silent gagging from several students at the mention of the awful smell, of which you were not excluded. 

As you got busy in discussing the recipe, noise of shattering glass and a shrill cry pierced through your ears. Before you could raise your head to witness the happening, your left wrist burned as if it was set on fire. Knees buckling, you fell on the floor as sudden inflammation blocked your senses, heart wrenching screams leaving your throat.Your wailing alerted your friends as William instantly unbuttoned your sleeve to view the reason of your pain and gasped at the damage. 

“Prof. snape! Her soulmate mark is burning.” he shouted but your ears were too clogged due to choked sobs to feel the distress in his voice. You slowly opened your heavy eyelids as your wrist was pulled swiftly. With blurred vision, you saw prof. casting a spell,his wand releasing a blue light circling your mark which entered your wrist, momentarily soothing the pain. Your cries softened into tiny sniffles as the spell did it's work. You lifted yourself up with Willy's help while sloppily rubbing at the darkened spot. 

“Oh yes, it’d leave some itching and for the spot and further treatment, you need to immediately go to the hospital wing. Ms. y/l/n and mr. Kim, you both are excused and for your foolishness, 100 points from slytherin.” Upon his command, your head snapped towards the man standing across the room in dishevelled state,probably matching your own,his hand clutching his wrist, eyes holding your gaze.

“Out!” 

Nodding your head, you made your way out, the male following after you. 

Either you were too slow in your steps or he was too brisk, but he seemed to be way ahead of you. Gripping your tingling and heavy hand, you were tracing his path when a pair of shoes met your vision, halting you in the middle of the corridor. 

“It’s stinging y/n. We have to run!” and before you could reply, he was sprinting for the stairs, taking you with him.

“You both are in the same year?” the nurse asked, examining the burnt swans on your wrists. 

“Yes” you both replied in unison, eyes meeting for a second before you  averted your gazes. The head nurse noted something in her register before she went to extract some bandages and potions.

“is the skin still burning?" The nurse queried, taking doyoung's hand but he pulled his hand and pointed for you. 

"She's more hurt. Check her first please" he mumbled, noticing your incessant scratching and ragged breathing. She shook her head and proceeded with the treatment.

"Why were you playing with the potions?" She scolded Doyoung while applying the healing potion. 

"I wasn't!" Doyoung retorted as he straightened his back in defence. "It got spilled by mistake when I was finding seaho-RSES!" He screeched as the medicine stung.

"Seahorses are kept in see-through containers mr. Kim and don't you nincompoops know that golden marks are sensitive to heat. Why were you wearing a folded shirt in a potions class when clearly you were exposed t-

"The temperature madam!" Your eyes never left his face as you witnessed the misery he went through in the past few minutes and which you were going to experience in a few seconds. 

"Give me your hand miss y/n" 

The liquid ignited it again but as she massaged on it, the skin felt cooler than before and when she wrapped the white bandage, the sharp needles alleviated into cold jingling. You carefully glanced at doyoung through your peripheral vision only to find him staring at you with wide eyes. Saving yourself the humiliation, you tried to hide your face into your neck which only annoyed you further due to the wetness of your fresh tears mixing with sweaty moisture, creating what felt like a puddle but you endured it, calculating the weight of the outcomes.

"Do stop by every day for a change of bandage unless you want to live your whole life with black wrists which I clearly don't have any problem with kids!" She jested before leaving for her office. 

You stayed seated beside doyoung, the newfound soulmate, wondering if he was as nervous as you were. Fisting your clammy hands, you mustered all the courage you could, ready to introduce yourself but the greeting travelled back through your throat when he hopped off the hospital bed and departed without uttering anything. 

Your recently dried eyes were sprayed again with his callous action as millions thoughts ran through your throbbing head, heart constricting under the weight of silence. 

Did the man for whom you deserted the whole world for, rejected you?

"HE DID WHAT?" Aria hollered and looming forward, slamming her hands down on the table. At her reactions, you felt your own anger bubbling again but the disorder generated by the recent incident and William's reasoning, you stopped yourself from forming any conclusion.

"Will you calm down." 

"No willy, don't you want to rip that sly boy apart. How dare he! I’m going to- wait you told him before me! That's not fare." She whined, diverting her own attention.

“stop shouting aria. Let people eat in silence. An-and we don't know why he left. It could be--maybe he wanted to use the washroom or he wanted to hide his pai-

"Stop defending him willy or I'll pour this porridge over your head" willy pouted at her remark and slided down his chair to avoid her.

"Stop bickering and tell me what should i be doing now! I have a soulmate for god's sake!"

You had finally found the reason for your presence in the castle, your soulmate, kim doyoung and you didn’t know how to proceed.

"I guess wait y/n and at least you were saved from the awful odour of the gird today. Sicheng almost fainted in front of professor but that was a hilarious sight girl. You missed it" you saw rolling her eyes at the mention and you mirrored her reaction,resting your head on the table as Willy's ironic statement only intensified the pounding.

Wait! But for how long?

"YOUR FROG BRAIN DID WHAT?" Simmi jumped off the bed to face doyoung, her hand reaching for the transfiguration book.

"I-i- i got nervous!" He whined and cringed at his pathetic excuse. He was busy folding and unfolding his poor ear,apparently in nervousness, when his best friend thwacked his bicep with the heavy book.

He cried out loud, grasping his arm with one hand, “do you want to die!” he glowered at her. 

“How could you miss your soulmate when she was right there in front of you for two years." She said before working on his arm again. 

“I’m not the only one! She also missed me.” he reasoned, holding his hands up in refuge from her neverending attacks. “Wait!” he exclaimed, pondering over his words. “How could she not know I was her soulmate when almost everyone knows I've got a gold swan embroidered.” his face fell in despondency and the horrible and hurried conclusion his thoughts took him to. “Simmi what if she- what if she never wanted to find me and that-

“Merlin’s beard shut yourself up and mail your family. They need to know their baby boy is all grown up now!”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the suggestion but his wandering mind refused to rest until he was sure of his qualms. 

Maybe he should wait! But for how long?

My love was sleeping, but there was fragrance in the air

Doyoung roamed around in circles, his heart unevenly drumming, body so warm under the strain of muddled thoughts that the moisture was seeping through the bandage. The response of his parents, lying on his bed in the form of a letter, had relieved him of the worries of any prospective opposition. Not that he didn’t know his family, he wasn't too convinced how their family would address the sudden revelation of his soulmate being a muggle. You were going to be the first muggle in his family and the first ravenclaw after his great grandmother. The first line of the letter “we are elated to know that your soulmate is a human and not your piano” had eased him for the remaining part. Now that the dragon was out of the dungeon, the subsequent troubles were giving him splitting migrains. 

In the past week, he had tried to approach you after a painful shove from taeyong and simmi but he had to retreat due to your very malevolent comrades. The mental conversations he had with you continued to be in the confines of his head but nothing arrested him from searching for you in the crowds. You had always been there, in the same classes, in the great hall, in the corridors but you were nowhere when his eyes sought you. Just a week has passed and he found himself getting more and more conscious of your presence. He wanted to hijack and become a part of your convivial life yet he lacked the needed courage. 

So he resorted to wearying his legs by moving around. Maybe Some blood rush from his branches to brain would give him some clarity.

By degrees, the thumping of his spirit corresponded to the swooshing of the sea creatures.

He might have been too young to fall in true love but slowly, he knew, he was falling for that little golden swan.

Hidden from the rest, you were completing your assignment when the chair besides you was drawn out. You raised your head with the intention of getting the chair vacated for your friends but watching the Kim doyoung occupying the seat, you shot up instantly,ready for your escape. Fumbling with the ink and books, you whirled around only to be stopped by the boy.

 You glanced at him for a moment before pulling your hand ,which he was tugging at , back. 

"Stay. Your friends won't be coming today. I won't say anything. Please" he requested with his doe eyes looking up in a hope to catch yours. 

Wordlessly, you sat down.

He kept his promise. 

No word was spoken that day or the next day or the next week. 

The intense silence that engulfed you that day soon morphed into a tranquil one. The one of the familiarity, of the silent exchanges and of the growing unbreathed bond.

By the end of the month, the green leaves sacrificed themselves for the birth of fiery red ones as the days became shorter, the sun became mischievous and the gold on your wrists started gleaming more than ever.

One month later 

“Gamps’ law of transformation? Didn’t we read it last year?” doyoung asked perplexedly, taking the reins of the conversation, again.

“Prof. told me to prepare an assignment which would be used for the younger students.” you replied sheepishly, dipping the quill in the ink. 

“Pure ravenclaw” he muttered, looking lovingly at you. These days, he did it more often than he could count. He wanted to say more but the fear of your refusal always held him back.

“Not so much” 

you heard his muttering! He wanted to pry further but saved it for a later discussion. 

He shifted himself towards his own chair and worked on his sheet as the ticking of the grandfather clocks muddled with scratching of the quills filled the empty corner. 

It wasn't home but it certainly felt like one!

Two months later

“Give us our y/n back” aria whisper yelled to taeyong.

“She’s doyoung’s soulmate, doyoung is my best friend hence she is my best friend as well.” taeyong retorted, dramatically flaring his nostrils. 

“Don’t forget we live at the same place taeyong and simmi won’t be there to save you baboon face.” amused smiles adorned everyone’s faces as they saw both of them quarelling. Some things were always constant. 

You sipped on your hot chocolate that warmed you up as you and doyoung went through the revision for the last exam. Without being asked, he helped you with his encyclopedic knowledge. you were grateful for his assistance but never said anything for you felt like the feather silence between you was too delicate to breach. 

So you spoke through your eyes.

And he never failed to hear you.

Wrapping the scarf around your neck, you sprinted for the dining hall, tightly holding onto the white chocolates tightly. 

At the end of the hallway, you saw another figure running over in the same state as you.

“Did you get shorter?” he said, grinning ear to ear. Glancing up at him, you scanned through his features, in case you had forgotten in the christmas holidays. 

“This is for you!” you both said simultaneously, extending your hands

“Open it for me!” you requested.

Under the emerald covering was an elegant and vintage fountain pen, engraved and decorated with turquoise stones. “This is so beautiful.” you told him before taking it from him. You traced over the name kim carved onto the nib of the pen. You raised your brows in question to which he responded quickly , “it’s my great grandma’s. This is your Christmas gift from the Kim family. I know it’s small but you are invi-

“It’s precious. You are giving me a family heirloom when all i got are some homemade milk chocolates for you.” your smile faded as you avoided his sight.

“How did you know white chocolates are my favourite?” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly.

“Mom said you’d l-

Before you could complete your sentence, he prised the chocolate box out of your grip, sprinting for the great hall.

“OH KIM DOYOUNG! GIVE ME MY SHARE!” 

YEAR - FOURTH

“Why are you always so quiet?” 

“I’m never!” you defended yourself. 

Doyoung didn’t know why he was talking about it now and here, out of all places, in front of whomping willow.

“Tell me!” he pressed.

“I talk to a few and it’s enough.”

“Do you know you are intimidating?” you raised your chin to scrutinise the sincerity in his words.

“I am not!” 

“To those you don’t know you, you radiate passive energy. My slytherin friends wanted to introduce themselves but they got scared and ran away. Honestly, i was also a bit-

He trailed off, slouching on the bench as your eyes bored into his. His head hung low in apology for he knew, he must've crossed the line but for the first time, you decided to show him your dauntless side.

“Hogwarts did that to me.” you said, wearily. “I was happy with my parents, drawing and colouring in my art books when suddenly i was told that i’ve been living in a wrong way. That there is a secret magical place where i have a soulmate. I was angry because i had to leave everything behind. And then i was sorted into ravenclaw. And i was distorted when i found out that i wasn't smart enough for them. I couldn't solve the riddles! William was the one who showed me how to do it properly. It felt awful knowing that the only place that was supposed to be my home for next seven years wasn't the place where i belonged to.” you spoke calmly but doyoung felt your distress and let you continue without any interruptions. 

“I was an eleven year old. I never wanted to fend for myself in a place full of strangers. I -i imagined my life to be a canvas full of colours that i wanted to design for myself. The borders, the paint, the drawing, i wanted to design it for me. But then an owl screeched and i felt like someone had shortened my canvas and after all these years, i feel it’s completely disappearing.” it sounded like someone snatched the life out of your voice. But your visage remained soft, drawing doyoung in. 

“So you like art.” he asked with curiosity. 

“Yes. i love art.” you said, eyes fixed at the movements of the branches of whomping willow.

“Can you please teach me?” he urged and within a second , the air filled with the fragrance of your happiness.

“ why wouldn’t I. what do you wanna do in future doyong? Aria wants to arithmancer, william would be a healer and sicheng, he would be a star quidditch player.”

“I don't want to worry about it right now. Let’s just live in today.” he answered back, smile gracing his lips at the thought of a future with you.

You both relished each other’s company until the temperature froze the both of you.

Removing a  snowflake from your lashes, he made a promise to himself that he’d help you find something that’d put ice on all the bitter memories you had. 

YEAR - FIFTH

THE GREAT HALL

 “Doyoung’s got a howler!” yuta and simmi fist bumped each other, already too excited for the letter to be opened. Of all the howlers they have received, doyoung and yuta’s were record establishing and they expected mrs. kim to maintain the status quo this time as well.

The howler jumped in the air and as the seal opened, doyoung’s heart dropped at the voice. It was not from his mother but his sister and it shouted humiliation, if he was being polite towards her. 

“MS. Y/N!” 

You choked on the juice as you heard your name. 

“MY DEAR TO-BE-SISTER-IN-LAW, HELLO! I’M IVET, THAT DENSE DUDE’S LITTLE SISTER. MUM HAS SENT YOU SOME ART SUPPLIES AND SHE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU COULD PAINT HER SOMETHING TO DECORATE THE EMPTY WALL IN HER ROOM. SHE’D BE DELIGHTED AND IF YOU GET TIME,PLEASE DRAW SOMETHING FOR ME TOO. AND DOYIE BRO! BRING ME CHOCOLATE FROGS FROM THE TRAIN! SHOP FROGS DOESN'T TASTE THE SAME. FORGET THIS TIME AND I’D MAKE SURE YOU REGRET YOUR EXISTENCE. I hope we can meet soon ms. y/n. By.”

The howler exploded and so did the whole room. Several snorts, chuckles, happy curses were exchanged as doyoung lowered himself under the table to avoid the shame. 

You checked your paint supplies attached with the howler and as your lips curved up, he knew what he was going to pursue in his life. 

Your happiness and immortality.

When i found you, there was magic 

“Mr. kim if you wish to ogle at ms.y/l/n instead of paying attention to my words then i’d suggest please fail your o.w.l.s so i don’t have to face your affection filled face from next year.” prof snape growled, throwing the head of vial on doyoung’s face. 

He was going to fail potions, you thought gesturing him to apologise.

“And 20 points from slytherin and 10 points from ravenclaw!” you both ducked your heads in an instant, forcing a poker face to save yourself from further trouble.

When i found you, rain smelled good

YEAR - SIXTH

When i found you, desires awakened

“No simmi! This is a slytherin dungeon. I cannot go inside!” you warned simmi, who, all of a sudden was adamant on showing you her room, at midnight. 

“I love you but please don’t call this a dungeon.” she held out her hand before you could correct her. “Yes i know this is practically a dungeon but we call it seascape.  Close your ears, you don’t wanna hear the password. You nodded, palming your ears.

“Yutaisthegreatestbeingintheworld” you snickered as she recited the words.

“Our prefect is a dung brain so please excuse.”

Door opened to darkness but a dim light slowly floated towards you as you walked inside “Nox”  your wand rose high up in the air. You made out doyoung’s figure and before you could calculate, the whole room resonated with a syncless birthday song.

And you knew, you were enthralled by this boy.

You heard my prayers, you answered my heart’s call

“I love you aria. Would you give me the honour of being the snitch of your life?” sicheng, aria’s ravenclaw soulmate confessed to her with a promise ring. 

“The ice prince finally melted!” You and william, hands joined, jumped in joy as you watched aria’s eyes glistened with glee.

You rushed upstairs to find doyoung as you forsaw the end of your wait.

Panting heavily, you dragged doyoung out of prof’s room, his step gracefully flowing with yours in a instant.

“What are yo-

“What do you smell in amortentia?” you stopped abruptly and asked him, gasping for air.

“Wh-a-t” he giggled nervously, his hand patting his chest to control his own breathing. “What has gotten ov-

“Answer me kim doyoung.” you whispered, strictly.

He was quiet but you understood the stillness of his heart veiled by the thumping and you felt him losing his composure when his hands cupped your face, 

"I-i smelled white chocolate, lovely lillies-

"Hurry up Kim." You hit his chest with your fist with requirement of the answer.

He chuckled, his bunny teeth enlightening his chiselled face while he looked at you like you were something special to him and you no more just wanted to feel it. You wanted him to say it, express it like he did when he read the poetry from your book or like the random scribbles on his notebooks. You wanted him to move on from the shy glances and profess that you were his and he was yours. 

he licked his lips as he gulped harshly before continuing,

"And you. You-your hair. Your lavender scent. Your innocence. Your d-dreams. Your colours. Your paints yo-

Pulling him by his tie, you placed your lips on his soft ones, leaving them with a smack. His hands wrapped around your waist to embrace you in the warmest hug you'd ever received from a loved one. As your head laid on his chest, you heard his heartbeat for the first time, making you feel closer to him than ever. 

"How would i ever requite your love Kim doyoung" you asked, closing your eyes.

"Maybe a portrait would do!" 

Kim doyoung became the canvas of your life,giving you the liberty to paint him in your colours and  your love and you became the smudged ink to his enchanted diary, without whom he would've failed to fill the pages.

You'd grow old but the swans born out of you would tell the stories of the years gone by.

[fairyoftbz]

𝒜𝒸𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉 | K. Younghoon

ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ : ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ / ᵐᵉⁿˢᵗʳᵘᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ / ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ / ⁿᵒᵗ⁻ˢᵒ⁻ⁿⁱᶜᵉ ᵉˣ⁻ᵇᶠ ᴬ/ᴺ: ᴵ’ᵐ ˢᵘᶠᶠᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᵐʸ ᵘᵗᵉʳᵘˢ ⁱˢ ᵖⁱˢˢᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᴵ’ᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ʰᵃᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵇʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵐᵒⁿᵗʰ, ˢᵒ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷᵃʳᵐ 💕🥺 ⁽ᵇᵗʷ ᴵ’ᵐ ᵗᵉˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵉʷ ˡᵃʸᵒᵘᵗˢ ˢᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ’ˢ ʷᵉⁱʳᵈ/ᵘᵍˡʸ.⁾

╰☆☆☆☆╮

The soft purrs of a cat against your chest gently woke you up, still feeling a bit sleepy and tired after the chill, gaming night you spent last night at your boyfriend’s house. Keeping your eyes closed to hopefully fall back asleep within the following seconds, you caressed Cookie’s fur slowly, the creature cuddling up further to your chest while purring like a machine.

Everything was cosy and sweet until you feel a growing pain in your lower abdomen, followed by a rush of warmth going straight to your underwear. You tensed up and opened your eyes widely, turning your head to the side before discovering in horror that you started your period a few seconds ago.

In your boyfriend’s bed. On his brand-new white sheets.

Immediately jumping out of the bed to minimise the damage, accidentally scaring the car away, you grabbed a few many tissues from the box on the bedside table and stuffed them in your panties, just for the time to pace to the bathroom. Since you had already ruined the sheets, you hoped you weren’t going to stain the carpeting. You fumbled in the bathroom cabinet and got out a small transparent box, hidden behind some men lotion and took out your hygienic products before sitting on the toilet. In a rush, you take out in the piece of furniture under the washbasin one of your boyfriend’s clean underwear, exchanging it with yours doing your business. The fabric hugging your waist was a bit loose, but it was essential until you cleaned your mess. 

The feeling of panic invaded your body when the blood was not coming off the fabric of your panties, scared that Younghoon might be mad because of what you did. Throwing the damp piece of underwear in the clothes hamper, you rushed to the bed and your eyes widened. The stains you left looked a lot more prominent on white sheets than on any other colour, the bed looked like you had just brutally stabbed someone while sleeping. 

It’s with tears in your eyes – probably sudden stress and your hormones acting up – that you started cleaning the mess, the ruffle on the bed and your sniffles waking Younghoon up.

The man on his side of the bed slowly emerged from his deep slumber due to the thuds of footsteps on the carpeted floor pacing around the bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms above his head, a weird, metallic smell forcing him to open his eyes.  Your boyfriend immediately sat up in bed, flattening his crazy bed hair before gasping at the red stains your side of the bed. You clutched a wet piece of cloth in your hand, eyes filled with terror and tears as you stared up at him. 

“Baby what happened ?” he said while getting up, worried and drowsiness laced in his voice.  “I-I…I st-stained the sheets, I’m so sorry,” your voice came out shakily as you kept on rubbing the piece of fabric on the stains, guilt and shame rushed through your veins so intensely that you couldn’t look at Younghoon in the eyes. “Y/N! Y/N. Breathe darling, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed your hand to stop you, gently replacing a piece of hair behind your ear.  “I’m so sorry, it was an accident, I swear-“ you said as you caught your breath back, your heartbeat settling down as you noticed the reassuring, soft smile on your boyfriend’s face. 

“I know, I know, love, you don’t have to apologise. Go take a shower to wash up instead, I’ll take care of the rest.” Your boyfriend calmly said, hand caressing the back of your head. “A-Are you sure, though? I should really clean the mess I made and-” “Yes love, I am.” He kissed your cheek and gently walked you to the bathroom, getting out two clean towels before grabbing the clothes hamper. He reassured you one last time before you started taking off your clothes and hop in the shower cubicle. “Take the time you need and... easy, okay?” You hummed in response and he left to give you some privacy.

Younghoon took the sheets off the bed, alongside with your pyjamas and underwear, starting the washing machine before walking back to the bedroom. There, he opened a chest of drawers and took out one of your favourite t-shirts of his with an old, too tightly fitted pair of boxers of him and some sweatpants. While throwing those in the dryer to get them warm once you’ll be out of the shower, he chuckled when he remembered your worried, ashamed face as he took out fresh sheets. He found you cute to get worried about this kind of stuff. He wasn’t mad at all, he simply didn’t expect to get woken up this abruptly. Kisses and hugs would have made a better morning. 

But it was okay, these were the contingencies of life. Though this little accident didn’t upset him, a question ticked over in his mind: what could have possibly happened in the past to make you so frightened of committing such a small mistake as staining the sheets?

A few minutes later, when he was done fighting with the sheets to force them in place, you came out of the bathroom wrapped in the blue towel he gave you, carefully walking towards him. He paced to the laundry room and gave the clothes to you, helping you put on the t-shirt and taking care of your hair while you dealt with the bottom part. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. Are you hurting somewhere?” he asked as he gently rubbed the towel in your hair, watching you nod.  “My stomach aches and I’m slightly dizzy, but I’m fine,” you mumbled, and he sat you down, placing the towels on the edge of the bed before heading to the kitchen to prepare a hot water bottle. Lying down to ease your pain, a meow filled the silence of the bedroom as your head landed on the puffy pillow, his cat jumping on the bed and sauntered towards your figure. Giving you headbutts until you smiled and petted it, Cookie turned around, his tail caressing your face as it lied perpendicularly on your stomach. The warmth of its fur and the vibrations of the purring slightly eased not only the pain but also your heart. 

After a few minutes of mindlessly caressing the cat and thinking, you might have exaggerated your reaction when you woke up, but you didn’t know how your partner would react. Moreover, you were surprised and quite shocked at the amount of blood that had gone through your underwear and pyjamas, so it was just your honest reaction.

Your lover arrived from the kitchen, a cup of tea and a plate filled with sliced fruits displayed on a tray, the hot water bottle tucked under his arm. 

“I’m sorry for earlier, I made a fuss over nothing,” you confessed, and your boyfriend smiled as he placed the tray on the bedside table, handing you the hot water bottle. He scratched his cat behind the ears when he saw the animal on your stomach, giving you a sweet kiss on the forehead.  “It’s completely fine Y/N. See, we got rid of all the shreds of evidence!” he winked, and you giggled but stopped almost immediately, hand clutching your stomach. 

“Careful, love,” Younghoon chuckled and sat more comfortably on the bed, hand going to your cheek.  “Don’t make me laugh, then,” you whispered and smiled to each other, his cat acting all jealous and bothered by the attention he wasn't getting. His laugh slowly died down, his mouth resting in a smile as his eyes never left your face. While one of your hands rested on your belly, the other went to caress the cat, who immediately started purring again. Your eyes met your boyfriend’s, who never stopped looking at you. He looked pensive as if he wanted to sound your thoughts out. “What?” you smiled at Younghoon and he cleared his throat, sitting closer to you, carefully linking your hand in his.

“Why… why were you so close to having a mental breakdown when all of this happened?” His free hand gestured the sheets and your lower abdomen, his unsure voice giving you the impression that he was walking on eggshells. “I just… I-I didn’t know how you would react because I’ve had quite a bad experience with my ex-boyfriend in the past. And since then, I’m just scared of getting my period with my partner,” you summed up as you stared into his eyes, watching him take a deeper breath and nod. Everything was clearer now. This idea of insecurity had popped into his head, but he wanted to hear it from you, and not from his imagination. “I see… But. You know that I would and will never yell or get mad at you for this type of stuff, okay? I know periods can be pretty irregular and hard to predict, so if it happens, it happens, okay? I'm not your ex-boyfriends, whatsoever,” you nodded at his words and answered his smile before grabbing his arm to gently tug him closer to you. “Thank you, Hoonie,” you mumbled against his chest and he softly rubbed your upper-back, kissing the crown of your head. “It’s completely normal, darling, you don’t have to thank me for this. Now eat because I feel like someone is getting interested in your breakfast,” you giggled as you pulled away, watching Cookie stretching its neck out to nibble on a slice of pineapple. 

You kissed your boyfriend on the lips before taking the pineapple bite and fed it to the creature, your boyfriend placing the plate on the bedside table to prevent any other theft. Smiling as Cookie licked on your fingers, you stared up at your lover before snuggling against him, an arm around your shoulder while his back rested against the bed frame. Younghoon pressed a strawberry against your lips to force you to open your mouth, his actions making you giggle. You hastened to eat the fruit and munch on it because his cat walked to your mouth to get a bite of the fruit. The man next to you sighed and grabbed his cat before placed it on the floor, getting progressively jealous as you paid more attention to Cookie than him.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of your cat,” you giggled as his serious face confirmed your doubts, only to have him pressing another fruit against your mouth. “I just don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he stated and jolted away when you tickled him in the ribs. “Stop being so childish,” you said and grabbed the slice of apple that he was handing you between your teeth, purposefully missing his fingers by a few centimetres.  “Shut up and eat,” he tried to hide his smile while you laughed, hoisting yourself on your hands to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear that he’s only yours. Despite having your stomach aching and cramping, you were grateful to have those kinds of times with Younghoon. It enlightened the mood and you felt warm and secure, thanks to all the love and attention you brought to each other.

[johnkrrasinski]

Daylight; 

full masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x female!reader 

Word count: 1,721

Warning: FLUFF!!!! just two people being in love!!! but a little angst on bucky’s part though. (dont worry it’s got a happy ending) 

Summary: bucky has his own unhealthy ways to deal with his demons but your love heals and changes him. 

a/n: this one was inspired by @promptlywritingideas‘s prompts and i just immediately thought of bucky because i’m a soft ass bitch when it comes to bucky barnes. also! yes, i did use a lyric from daylight by taylor swift bc this song is literally everything alright, please listen to it if you haven’t. it’s the most reviving song ever. also, credit to @seedaylight​ for this lovely picture! 

The bead of sweats rolled off Bucky’s forehead to his neck, his shirt and the floor, constructing small ponds of indignation that was left masked, unspoken and obliterated. At least that was what he had been aiming for as long as he could remember. The battered punching bag stayed robust and resilient despite the vigour of Bucky’s punches. The bleeding on his knuckles cracked through the split skin due to the brutal strikes.

But he couldn’t stop. The pain from the wounds still couldn’t compare to the demons haunting his mind. The ghosts in his dreams that refused to let him have his peaceful rest at night are the reasons why he was in the empty gym room at 3 am in the morning instead of being curled up in the warm sheets with the divine figure snoring next to him.

The silence of the solitude eased his mind, feeling like he was given the space and seclusion that he always yearned for. He was certainly grateful for what he had been given now; a lavish compound with excellent amenities and exceptional technologies, a ragtag group of people that had welcomed him with open arms and accepted him as part of their cluttered makeshift family, a much higher and noble purpose that allowed him to utilize his cursed, undesired superpowers for good and lastly, the foremost one out of all; you.

You, a blessing in his life that he never once imagined he’d ever get have in his long, agonizing life after all the wickedness he had committed. You, who loved him and believed in him anyway, even when he had lost faith in himself centuries ago. You, who permitted him to touch you in the most intimate manners and you, who were willing to be devoted to him even when he felt absolutely undeserving of your goodness and loyalty.

Bucky was a grateful man. He should’ve been. He was, it’s just- there was still a part of him that didn’t return and died in the ages of his Winter Soldier days. The days where he was merely a damaged soldier, a fractured puppet doll on a string, just waiting to be torn apart and stitched back together again just for the sake of more murders and more crimes.

He was slowly recovering though, each day, when he got a taste of your lips, when he watched you slowly wake up in the morning light, when your limbs were tangled within each other, that you couldn’t figure out where he began and you ended. But just because he was happy and he was grateful, doesn’t mean that all the sins of his past catching up to him would spontaneously combust in the blink of an eye.

He had his own baggage and he was going to deal with them. Most days, especially when he was surrounded by the love of his life and his makeshift family, he would pretend that all is well and healing was all there was. But at night, he’d slowly lift her arm that was circled around his waist off of him and quietly snuck out to his favourite place to be at midnight.

So that’s how he ended up in this sweaty state in the middle of the night. His mind recalled the fragments of memories during his Winter Soldier days that he fought to forget but they were stronger. It was faint and distant but, it still lingered in his mind like it was just yesterday.

The faces of his victims before he shot a bullet right through their skulls loomed. Their begs for mercy echoed in his ears. And the guilt consciously devoured his heart alive, like a cobra swallowing its feeble prey.

“Bucky…?” The delicate voice alerted him out of his tumultuous daze.

Bucky halted and turned his body around to the entrance, where you were standing in a plain white tank top and your bottom shorts with a wool cardigan hugging your form daintily. You looked so endearing in your half drowsy state, as you rubbed your eye, whilst trying to adjust to the brightness of the room. You always preferred being in the dark, after all. Beaming lights always hurt your sight.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing up?”

“I was looking for you. I got cold and I wanted to cuddle.”

He approached you deliberately with his boxing gloves still on, “go back to bed, alright? I’ll be up with you in a minute.”

“No, I’m not going back to bed without you.”

“I can’t, y/n.”

“Why?” It was a futile rhetorical question. You knew better than anyone why he was here.

“Y/N, I-”

“Oh God, Bucky, I love you. But this has to stop.”

“Y/N, it’s not that- I’m sorry but… what?” He was uncertain whether he got the last part right.

The truth is, Bucky knew he loved you since the first moment you courageously approached him like he wasn’t one of the deadliest assassins in history. He loved you the grace of your smile, he loved the way you mindlessly danced to your favourite song and the way you’d make silly jokes that he rarely understood to comfort your dearest teammates.

But within the six months you had been dating, you and Bucky hadn’t said the three special words yet to each other. You were taking it slow, knowing that you could trust and be honest with each other, and that you’d always have each other’s backs, whether it be on missions or in secret moments. So you didn’t feel the need to rush what you had, fearing that one might scare the other and destroy the precious plants that you both watered until they turn into an entire garden together.

“What?” You were just as puzzled as he was. You somnolent state of mind didn’t realize that you had just blatantly declared the most potent three words to him when all you intended was to break him off his deleterious habits.  

But the truth was, you really did love him. You had loved him before you even realized it. It took you a while to fall in love with him, but before you and Bucky finally stopped playing around and acting coy with your real emotions around each other, you had possessed this profound affection for him like a lifelong childhood best friend.

The way his kind baby blue eyes always nudged your soft spot… It always pulled you in like you were walking into a house and you just suddenly knew that you were home. Familiar and warm. That’s what you always felt with Bucky around you. Long before he was even yours.

So when you mindlessly uttered those words, it felt like second nature. Something that just felt so natural to your lips. Bucky walked into your life with such rare sincerity and your heart welcomed it with wide, open arms.

“Those three words… Say it again.”

“…Has to stop?” You shot him a questioning look. It took you a few seconds to realize what you just said. You were starting to panic despite your sluggish state. It’s like Bucky’s question was a wakeup call and it jolted you awake like icy water thrown right onto your face without a warning. You could not believe you were clumsy enough to let the three worlds roll out of your lips.

Oh God, alright, quick, think of something clever, something rational, something that could undo what you just recklessly spurted-

“No no, the words before that.” Bucky quizzically assessed your face.

“Pretty sure I said ‘this has’ before that. I mean, I don’t know,” you scratched your forehead like a kid lying to her teacher about forgetting her homework. “I don’t really remember much, it doesn’t matter anyway, I was half asleep and I was just babbl-”

And then, you felt silky plump lips slamming yours in the most jovial way. He deepened his kiss with his massive hands grabbing your face so delicately as if he was holding a fragile china doll. He caressed your cheek with his thumbs as if he was memorizing every feature on your seraphic face.

He retreated and stared lovingly into your widen eyes. It’s not like it was the first time he surprised you with a kiss, but it’s the unheralded reaction that you thought would’ve been the doom for the two of you. You thought you might’ve frightened him away but it was rather the exact opposite. From the smile on his face, he seemed rather fond. “I love you too.”

Your lips were slightly agape. “You do…?”

“Yes, I do. It took me a while to say that because I thought you weren’t ready to hear it or say it back and I don’t wanna scare you or make you feel guilty so I thought I should wait. But I guess, I don’t have to anymore, now.” His eyes sparkled.

“But we still need to address one thing though, you can’t keep doing this. Every night, you’d sneak into the gym and break your knuckles instead of talking to me. I want you to be honest with me. I want you to trust me. And if we don’t have those then, love is just an illusion.”

His face that was gleaming turned into a frown. There was that sealed off look and hesitation on his face again.

“I’m not asking you to cut yourself open and let me see everything. I just need you to try to let me comfort you instead of hiding in the dark and bleed yourself out every midnight when you should be in bed with me.”

“I’m a work in progress doll, but for you, I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And you made a vow to your heart as well that you would walk with him in the murk, no matter how excruciating and dull the road to recovery is. And you would hold his hand and guide him every step of the way. Because there’s no one else you’d rather share the torturous nights and the mundane days with than him. You would rather share countless arguments and overflowing tears with him than to spend a single peaceful night with someone else.

Because that was the love of your life. And you didn’t wanna look at anything else now that you saw him.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Good Business: Part 16

Fandom: Marvel (Mob AU)

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes is a ruthless mobster. He’s also referred to as Big Buck due to his towering strong frame as well as his round stomach. You’re the owner of a small diner, a place that Big Buck decides to visit. Based off this drabble.

A/N: uuuummmmm....do people still care about this story?

warning: violence

You’re sitting in the back of the cop car, leg bouncing while you wait for Steve to respond. 

You: SOS

You let out a breath of relief when Steve texts back:

Steve: what’s going on?

You: with the cops, not getting a good vibe. supposedly going to the station, but i don’t think we are.

Steve: what’s your location?

You immediately send him your location and you’re hoping to whatever almighty above that you’re not dying today.

__________________

Bucky’s phone is buzzing on his desk and he’s looking over some papers when he mindlessly answers it, “Hello?”

“We have a situation,” he hears Steve say in a very serious tone. 

Bucky immediately sits up straight on high alert, “Rumlow?”

“Maybe? Y/N texted me and told me she was being brought in by some officers, but she has a bad feeling. What do you want me to do?”

Bucky clenches his jaw and runs a hand over his beard, “Do you know where she is?”

“She sent me her location.”

“Good. Find her. Get her and bring her to one of the houses upstate. I’m gonna pack some stuff and head back,” he immediately grabs the papers he was looking over and stuffing them into files. He then took the files and tossed them into his desk drawer. 

“Buck, is this really a good idea?”

He pauses, thinking over his options, “At this point, I think I’m done playing nice with Rumlow, Steve. He’s messed with me, my business, my family, everyone I’ve ever cared about for too long. It’s time to show him who the real boss is.”

_______________

You’re not really surprised when you’re getting further and further away from the busy streets and population. Your palms are starting to get really sweaty and your heart is pounding in your ears. 

“We’re...not going to the station are we?” you manage to ask, but met with silence. 

Like a typical mob movie, you approach what looks like an abandoned building. When the car stops and the door flies open, you fight as much as you can to get away from these men, the uncertainty of your fate weighing down on you.

“What the fuck is going on?! Who are you guys?!”

“It’s in your best interest you stop fighting, sweetheart.” you look up to see a man in what looks like a knock off Dior suit. He’s tall, his hair slicked back and looks like bad news. 

“Who the fuck are you?” you spit out and the man smirks.

“Barnes never mentioned me, huh?” the man walks closer to you, one hand in his pocket, the other twirling a switchblade, “I’m Brock Rumlow, sweetheart, and I just wanna talk.”

“I don’t know where Bucky is! He broke up with me and I haven’t had contact with him since! So whatever macho bullshit is going on between the two of you has nothing to do with me!”

Rumlow chuckles with a shake of his head, “Oh, honey, as soon as you got involved with Barnes, it had everything to do with you. And since him and his family decided to run for the hills, you’re my next best bargaining chip.”

Using the handcuffs the officers carry, they handcuff your wrists behind your back and push you to follow Rumlow into the warehouse. 

The place was just as you expected. Dimly lit, a gross musty smell lingering in the air, and, of course, a single chair waiting in the middle.

“Jeez, dude, how many mob movies and shows have you watched? Really trying to be all big and tough and soprano-esque aren’t ya?” that comment earned you a slap to the face and you chuckle, looking up at the supposed cop that was to protect and serve citizens like you.

“My grandma hits better than you, my dude.”

SMACK!

“Damn, I can see why Barnes like you, sweetheart,” Rumlow states as he sharpens his switchblade, “You’ve got a fire to you, huh?”

“I’m also amazing with my hands. I can show you if you uncuff me,” you say with a sweet smile despite your cheek starting to swell from the blows you’ve taken. The cops snort and start to tie you to the chair with some rope. 

“So, sweetheart,” Brock runs his blade along your cheek and you wince when you feel the ridges slightly scrape along your skin, “let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

You have a mischievous look in your eyes when you smile and say, “Yes, let’s.” with that, you kick one of the cops that was tying your legs to the chair. The action causing Rumlow to stumble back and fall on his ass.

You took the opportunity to stomp onto his hand that reached for his blade, breaking the bones. He cried out in pain and the two dirty cops raced to you. Your hands were still cuffed behind your back, but that didn’t stop you from fighting. 

After Bucky had left you, you decided to take up self-defense classes, afraid something like this would happen. Looks like you were right. 

You give a roundhouse kick to one cop, knocking him out in an instant. The other cop grabbed for his gun, pulling it out, but only to have it kicked out of his hand. You then kick him in the gut making him fall back. That’s when you gave a blow to his face, hearing a crack. He didn’t move after this. 

You looked at Rumlow who clutched his hand in pain, anger in your eyes, “You messed with the wrong girl.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, sweet cheeks.” your ears perk at the familiar voice, your heart pounding. 

You turn to see Bucky, Steve, and the rest of the gang filing into the warehouse armed and dangerous. 

Rumlow chuckled, standing up, “You’re not gonna kill us, Barnes. It’s not fair, you guys against us three? That’s bad form.”

Bucky scoffed, “Bad form? You wanna talk bad form, Rumlow? Bad form is coming onto my territory and shooting my businesses up. Bad form is threatening to kill my family. Bad form is kidnapping the woman I love in order to get to me. I’m done with your shit, Rumlow. There’s only one king of Brooklyn and that’s me.”

With a single shot ringing through the warehouse, Brock Rumlow fell dead with a bullet right between his eyes.

Handing his gun off to Steve, Bucky rushed over to you, cupping your face and examining the damage that’s been done, “Oh, sweet cheeks,” he said somberly.

You shook his head, “It’s not that bad. I mean, check out the other guys,” you nodded to the unconcious dirty cops on the ground. 

“Yeah, about that, what the fuck?? Since when did you learn how to do that shit?”

You shrugged, “I had to be prepared. I’m not some damsel in distress, Barnes.”

Bucky snorted and kissed your head, “No you’re not, sweetheart.”

Steve approached you, jingling the keys to the handcuffs. He unlocked them and you rubbed your wrists, “Don’t know why you called me, Y/N. Looks like you handled yourself just fine.”

“You can never be too sure, Steve.”

He gave you a hug and kiss on the cheek, “Glad to see you’re okay.” then he looks at Bucky, “Now what?”

Bucky scratches at his beard and looks at the three bodies around him, “Get rid of the bodies and any evidence we were here. I’m gonna take Y/N to the hospital-”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head.

He gives you a stern, “Baby, you-”

“I’m fine, Bucky. They’ll heal,” you wrap your arms around his thick bicep, “I just wanna go home with you.”

He sees the desperation in your eyes and he agrees. He sees that you missed him and he missed you too. So how could he deny the chance to be with you again?

“Alright, sweet cheeks. I’ll take you home.” he removes his arm from your embrace, instead protectively wrapping it around your shoulders, “You’re gonna be okay now, baby.” he presses a soft kiss to your head and you both walk back to his car.

Good Business Taglist (CLOSED): @cametobuyplums @sergeantrosabellaswan @asadmarveltrashbag​ @youcanhaveyourspacecowboy​ @reniescarlett​ @j-the-smol-otter @buckysknifecollection @lowkeysebby @rinthehufflepuff @134340-cm @snoot-snoot-toot @seabassali1328 @bluebellhairpin @emzy106 @viarogers @feelmyroarrrr @vxidnik @jasura @jade-cheshire3303 @yknott81 @baliebay19 @jessieray98 @fandommemporiumm @iluvsumbucky @bucksandroses @lecoindenox @ylva-stark @booktease21 @nerdy-bookworm-1998 @cheyenne222222 @momobaby227

[beyoncesdragon]

Zip up | knj

(not my gif, credit to the owner)

→ Pairing: Boyfriend!Joonie x Reader

→ Summary: Joonie has a very interesting zipper on his jacket or how Jimin and Jungkook literally cannot knock whilst you're on a FaceTime call with your boyfriend. 

→ Warnings: FLUFF, and boyfriend Joonie and that gif. thats about it! Ah, Jimin makes his lil cameo at some point, so to everyone who does not like cheeky rice cake may proceed with precaution. (MY ENGLISH AND GRAMMAR)

→ Wordcount: 2k 

a/n: Happy Birthday Namjoon-ah! The amount of respect I have for this man…not describable. Thank you for everything, Joonie. You are a true inspiration and light, our moon, you know? We love you and just…thank you so so much. Pinky promise that I will use you to love myself (I cried when I watched this lil speech. If you haven’t, watch it too!) and I hope you believe in yourself as much as I believe in you. Sarang-hae Namjoon-ssi, I purple you forever (and I will never shut up about the dimple, no).

 Masterlist | BTS Masterlist 

“But can you zip it up all the way?” you asked, leaning towards the screen a bit. Your boyfriend couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips, tilting his head slightly. “Wouldn’t you want to know, jagi.” You shrugged innocently, shovelling another mouthful of chapchae in your mouth, eventually starting to giggle when you caught his eyeroll.

“Oh come on, oppa, zip it up.” Namjoon snorted lightly, leaning back in his stool, fingers toying with the zip fastener of his black jacket. He looked awfully cuddlable like this, messy hair hidden underneath the hood and with only the dyed tips peeking out from under the black fabric. You had to remember to ask him if you could borrow that one when he came back. Right now, however, you wanted him to finally make use of the zipper strips on the sides of the hood. They went all the way up to the top, so theoretically it would be possible to pull the zipper all the way up and over his face. And you really wanted Joonie to do this.

“I’d rather hear about your day, to be honest.” Namjoon proposed with a sly grin, giving you the most adorable puppy eyes through the screen.

“I did absolutely nothing today and fully embraced my deeply rooted laziness. No lectures, no errands to run, no nothing. I basically stayed in bed all day and waited for your call so I could see your breathtakingly pretty face.” The end probably came out more dramatic that you had intended to sound, but oh well. It made him laugh and that was all that mattered.

“Then why do you want me to cover it up, if you waited so patiently for so long?” he asked with a small grin, leaning towards the screen, mirroring you. “Well what do you think? Because I’ve had enough already!” you huffed, dramatically chewing on your fried noodles before almost choking on them. The pout that appeared on his face could’ve made Yoongi apologise. He then took it upon himself to turn his chair away from you slowly, soon facing the wall and couch behind him.

“Hey I am kidding.” You called out when he just stayed like this, even scooted away at one point. “Joonie? I was joking? Come back to me!” he reached towards something placed on the couch, and when he turned back around, he suddenly had a big VAN plushie on his lap.

“She is sick of my face, Van. Can you believe that? Of my face.” You snorted but he wouldn’t look at you.

Not even when you started (and failed) whisper-shout the lyrics of the truth untold he would look at you (he almost couldn’t help it though. The way you mimicked Jungkook’s breathy ‘But I still want you’ almost made him surrender) The quick curl of his lips was all of his amusement he showed.

“What do you think, should I break up first? I mean, the face is somewhat kinda important for-”

“JOONIE!” finally he broke his act and laughed, blowing a kiss into the camera. “Sorry. I know you could never get sick of that face.” He just stated, overly confident and with a proud grin. “You are spending too much time with Jin.”, was all you mumbled, fishing a single noddle from your bowl. “Speaking of Jin, how is he? And the other boys?” Joon patted the plushie on the head before mindlessly throwing it over his shoulders, somewhat aiming for the couch. To his luck it landed precisely on the backrest and stayed there without knocking something over.

“They are doing great. We’ve been working on some music together, Jungkook is even learning to mix now. Slow progress but progress. I could actually show you something we’ve made so far…” his eyes had immediately started to sparkle of excitement, the topic music always cheering the man up. “Wanna hear the first few seconds of a new song? Like it’s only a demo version, nothing company approved or anything…” he asked whilst already typing quickly on his keyboard. “Sure…show me.” He hummed excitedly, giving you an eager smile. “I’ll show you. Ready?” you only nodded. When were you not ready for new music, produced by your boyfriend himself? There was nothing that made you feel prouder than that.

One demo turned into around five and somewhere along the way you had even managed it to convince him to finally pull the zipper up and over his face. Which was exactly why Jimin, who excitedly burst in without knocking, was faced with a vibing Joon, looking like a funnily formed ehomaki roll. The excitement widened eyes grew wider and the smile dropped and morphed into a kind of confused pout. “Namjoon-hyung I…what the hell?”

After a second of being frozen in place, Namjoon snapped around, his hands flying up to unzip his face immediately. He fumbled with the zipper for a second before he finally freed his face from his hood, cheeks red from embarrassment. You on your part were dying with laughter, having first choked up on your noodles at Jimin just barging in and now on your laughter. The expression of pure horror and embarrassment displayed on his face was peak comedy – at least for you.

“Can’t you, like, knock?” your boyfriend asked, scratching his neck uncomfortably whilst the sound of your laughter still sounded through the room. Jimin’s eyes snapped to Joon’s computer, finally seeing you and giving you an excited smile.

“Y/N-noona! How are you?” he grinned widely, stepping closer to the computer, completely ignoring his deeply embarrassed hyung. “Hello there, Jiminie, I am fine, thank you! How are you? Everything good?” you asked fondly, giving the younger a kind smile. “I am fine as well. Things have been less busy lately, I enjoy it. I am focusing on dance practice now again, some more demanding choreos…” he immediately informed you, kneeling down to place his arms and on the table, so he could comfortably talk to you. It was adorable. “I am happy for you! But you have not forgotten about food and sleep lately have you….?” Jimin laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, Ma’am. I slept eight hours today and I had breakfast and lunch.” He reported back with a salute, causing you to chuckle.

“Actually, Jin-hyung and I were cooking for the last few hours…Tong Dak! Though, it took us longer than we had expected BBQ chicken would take. However it was Jin’s fault, he burned the first load…”, you grinned softly. That sounded like something Jin would do. “and then Yoongi-hyung came and cussed him out for ruining the pan, before finishing the chicken by himself. I, oh, actually came to call for dinner.” He added with a glance at Namjoon who still looked uncomfortable. You chose to ignore it.

“Sounds nice…you could demonstrate your skills when I am around one day.” He immediately nodded with the excitement of a little child. “Would love to do that! But only if you tell me what you gave hyung to get him shimming like that. Is that what you guys do when you are alone?” you laughed out loud whilst Jimin dodged Namjoon’s hand.

If I knew how I did it, I would. But no, you just barged in at the right – or wrong – time.”, you replied with a small grin into Joons direction, “usually he isn’t all covered up like that.” Namjoon flinched at your words, jerking forwards as if to stop you from talking but the damage was already done. Jimin was on the floor laughing and so were you. Less because of what you said but more because the blush that covered Namjoon’s neck and cheeks had the intensity of a poppy petal. He looked like a little boy caught shoplifting at a candy store.  

“Yah, jagi! He doesn’t….Jimin, get out.” You only laughed, shrugging innocently before scrapping the last few noodles from the bottom of your bowl.

“Oh come on hyung, it’s not like I don’t know…” Jimin tried to argue, still laughing. “I swear, I will convince Yoongi to ignore you for the rest of the day if you don’t leave now.” Namjoon threatened and he looked serious and almost intimidating – if the blush wasn’t still as prominent as it was. Jimin’s confidence visibly wavered for a second, before he then confidently shook his head again. “You could never…”

“I have his camera somewhere in my room and a demo of his newest song on my computer. There is nothing I can’t get him to do by now.” Jimin’s face fell immediately and eyes grew huge. He made a beeline for the exit faster than Jungkook could say “easy peasy lemon squeezy” (and as matters stand, the boy was pretty damn fast at it already).

“Bye bye, Noona!” was all he yelled over his shoulder before the door closed. Namjoon couldn’t even meet your eyes. “You do know that I have a reputation to uphold, right?” he swallowed thickly, staring at the screen of his desktop.  “Had to uphold.” Was all you said with a teasing tone, laughing when he winced and looked away. “Look who is sick of my face now.” He snapped back around instantly, a pained – though clearly amused – look on his face. “I’m not…you are the absolute worst, do you know that jagi?” you grinned softly, leaning closer towards the camera. “I love you too, Namjoon-ah. Kissy.” He sighed, but his smile and eyes betrayed him. they were filled to the brink with love. You probably didn’t look any better.

“You’re right, I love you. Even though you destroy all sense of authority I have left in bangtan.” You laughed at that, winking cheekily. “Sorry for that. They would still follow you anywhere you go, you know? As would the rest of the world.” He smiled warmly, opening his mouth to reply, but got interrupted promptly by the sound of someone slamming open the door.

“Food is ready!” It was Jungkook this time. Namjoon only growled annoyed, not even turning around. “Can’t you folks knock?” Jungkook almost looked apologetic when his eyes found your face on the screen. “Sorry hyung…oh hey Y/N!” and gone was his apologetic face and tone, he now skipped closer to the computer, a sweet bunny smile on his face. He waved excitedly at you, whilst Namjoon groaned something along the lines of; “No respect for the elders”, and “oh no, not again.”  

You waved back, causing the youngest to smile even wider but before you or he could say anything at all, Namjoon decided to cut it off. “I am coming in an instant, Gukk. Let me say goodbye to my girlfriend, I’m with you guys in a minute.” Jungkook pouted but other than Jimin, wouldn’t question him. He just gave you a sweet wave before slipping through the open door again.

“Alright, jagi-“ Joon didn’t make it far; Jungkook’s head suddenly appeared behind him, a wide smile full of mischief on his face. “Hyung?” he asked, sounding as if he was innocence in person. “What?” the grin only sharpened.

“Can you zip up your hood for dinner too? Or when you walk in, at least?” Namjoon froze again, his face settling into an expression of pure and utter despair before he gave you a pained smile.

“Jagi…”, he reached down, taking off his slipper, his smile not wavering once, “I love you. Talk to you soon, I now have to set some things straight…” you laughed softly, blowing a kiss. “I love you too. See you later, babe. Don’t kill them all.” He nodded before his expression shifted completely. “Only one of them.”

The last thing you heard before he ended the call was a him yelling“Park Jimin!” at the top of his lungs and a sound that sounded suspiciously like Jungkook squeaking and the thump of a shoe hitting a wall.

--- ✩ thank u for reading ✩ ---

[spaceskam]

From A Whisper To A Scream (3/10)

warnings for this chapter: threats and fear

1 | 2 |

ao3

“I should probably go home.”

“Says who?”

Alex laughed softly and raked his fingers through Michael’s hair. They’d spent all of Saturday holed up in his bed, watching movies and kissing and talking about whatever, but now it was getting dark. Sanders had already gotten home from work, but he hadn’t said anything about Alex still being there. Yet.

“Your dad is probably annoyed,” Alex laughed. Michael scoffed.

“Sanders thinks you’re an incredible influence on me, so you can stay forever,” Michael stated definitively. Alex laughed again and Michael smiled so wide it had to hurt. But it was cute so that was fine.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Shh, just stay. If you want to, of course. You can leave if you want to, but I want you here so you’re not overstaying your welcome.”

“Don’t you have that gift of mine to work on to pay me for that shitshow on Friday?” Alex asked. Michael shook his head.

“I think better about what you might like when I’m touching you,” Michael said, his hands sliding over his arm, “Also, I didn’t ask, are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine, Kyle’s just an ass.”

“True, but , look, okay, stay, we have so much to talk about.” Alex snorted and raised an eyebrow. 

“Like what?” he asked curiously.

Michael scrunched up his nose and wiggled around a little bit to get comfortable. He eventually rested his cheek on Alex’s chest. It made it hard to see his face, but Alex wrapped his arms around his shoulders and waited for him to come up with an answer. Alex didn’t really want to leave. Home was boring and tense at best. It was way more fun to be here with Michael, his… someone. They hadn’t discussed that yet. Maybe that was on the list of things they needed to talk about.

“Like maybe you coming to my game this Friday?” Michael asked cautiously. Alex froze a little, staring up at the ceiling. 

It was easy to pretend that the stuff that happened the night before was fine, that they were just assholes, that it wasn’t absolutely humiliating. It was also easy to be distracted by the giddy feeling he got when Michael just kissed him and cuddled up to him with no intention to take it further because they didn’t need to pretend they weren’t interested. But Alex was dreading going to school on Monday because he knew there would be a new round of rumors waiting for him. Going to Michael’s game felt like the perfect way to make all of that infinitely worse.

“I hate football,” Alex offered, “There’s a reason I’m not in marching band.”

“I thought it was because of the tall fuzzy hats,” Michael said wistfully. Alex rolled his eyes and moved his head down to kiss his head. 

“Please, don’t ask me to go,” Alex whispered against his hair. He felt Michael swallow harshly.

“Okay, I won’t, I’m sorry,” Michael promised, lifting his head, “But can I come to your concert?”

“You would be bored to death,” Alex said. Michael shook his head, shifting up a little more to nudge his nose against Alex’s cheek. That led to a kiss on the cheek and then on the jaw, Michael slowly making his way to his neck. Alex let his eyes drift closed, holding him tight as he could.

“How could I be bored when you’re in that sexy little uniform?” Michael hummed mindlessly. Alex hummed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Michael replied, lifting his head to kiss his lips. Alex welcomed it and spread his legs a little, just enough to let Michael fit between them before wrapping them around his hips. He smiled. “Stay tonight, please?”

And Alex had no intention of leaving.

-

Monday was not exactly what he expected.

Rumors were flooding and a couple people definitely looked at him during class, but it seemed the talk wasn't really about him. Not really, anyways. Instead, it was ‘oh my god, did you hear that Guerin’s gay?’ over and over and over. Different variations of everyone telling everyone that Michael was gay, that he was probably dating Alex but it wasn’t confirmed, and that it was super suspicious that he kept it a secret while being on the football team for four year. Alex hated it.

Alex looked for him through the day, but Michael never seemed bothered by any of it. He was with Max and Isobel like he usually was. Despite being quarterback, he stayed beside those two more than anything. He laughed and talked with them like it was a normal day. Like he hadn’t gone from being ridiculously in the closet to overwhelmingly out of it within a few days.

Alex: Are you okay?

Michael: why wouldn’t i be

Alex looked up from his phone and then over at him across their English class. Michael was already looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted a little. He looked like a dog and Alex momentarily considered what would happen if he scratched behind his ears.

Alex: Everyone’s talking about you.

Michael: remember when i said i wish i could be like you

Michael: how am i doing?

Alex looked over at him and again was doused with that panicky feeling that he was falling too hard and too fast for a boy who wouldn’t give him the time of day. But Michael was giving him the time of day. Hell, he was asking for more. It was overwhelming. 

But that overwhelming feeling was nipped in the bud whenever he got to lunch and was immediately crowded by Liz and Maria.

“Okay, spill,” Maria said. Alex blinked with as much innocence as he could manage.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Don’t act dumb, I was there Friday, I saw all the flirting right in front of my eyes,” Liz insisted. Alex shrugged half-heartedly.

“Are you okay after Friday?” he asked instead, “I know you ran off because Kyle was being an asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I’m over it, tell us about you banging the quarterback,” Liz pressed. He waited for a moment to see if she would ask if he was okay, but she didn’t and that was fine. 

“There’s nothing to say, I’m not hooking up with him,” Alex lied. They both narrowed their eyes at him.

“First the part where he took you out of class for a teacher you don’t have and then taking you to a party? Yeah, no one believes that,” Maria said. Alex shrugged.

“We’re friends,” he said. They both exuded disbelief. Which was fine and he was able to keep a straight face until Michael walked by. They made eye contact and Michael smiled, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and turning his head to keep looking even as he passed him. He eventually looked away, but when Alex looked back to his friends, he was clearly caught in the act.  “Okay, fine, maybe we’ve messed around a few times.”

“Alex,” Maria said, leaning close, “He’s the quarterback of the football team.”

“Yeah, I know that. If you’re warning me about him probably having brain damage in the future from it that makes him violent, I’m already ahead of you,” Alex said casually. Maria held back a laugh as Liz rolled her eyes dramatically.

“That’s not what we mean! I just can’t believe it,” Liz said. Alex tilted his head.

“Why? You don’t think a guy like that could be interested in someone like me?” he asked. 

“No, stop it, you’re amazing,” Maria insisted, reaching out to touch his arm, “I’m more shocked that you are interested in him.”

Alex thought about all the nice things like Michael did, all the kisses and cuddles he wanted, how soft he got when they were alone. There were so many days where Michael would be pent up with energy, not necessarily negative, but just too much. Alex had never met someone quite like him when it came to that, someone who got so overwhelmed so often with his own mind that he just couldn’t really function right. But he’d get in Alex’s space and Alex could feel him relax. He hadn’t really noticed it as early as he would’ve liked, but he was obsessed with it now that he noticed. It was ridiculously sweet.

And absolutely too personal to share.

“I don’t know, he’s hot and he’s got nice lips,” Alex said. Maybe one day he’d share more… but today was not that day.

“Are you gonna, like, start going to his games now?” Liz pressed. Alex rolled his eyes.

“Why would I do that?” 

“Well, when you’re seeing someone, usually you‒”

“Nope,” Alex said, shaking his head, “No.”

“Okay,” Liz sighed, “I was expecting more gossip, but I should’ve known better coming from you.”

“Look, it’s just weird because I don’t really know how comfortable he is with everything,” Alex offered, “I’ll talk to him and if he’s okay with me saying more, I will.”

“God, why do you have to be such a good person?” Maria groaned. Alex huffed a laugh and she smiled. “But, hey, are you happy?”

“Yeah,” Alex admitted. They both just smiled at him.

“Good.”

It took a few seconds to get them to swerve back onto a topic that wasn’t his relationship with Michael.

He figured they both knew that, even if Michael did greenlight him talking about them, Alex most likely wouldn’t. He loved them both more than anything and they were his best friends, but some things were meant to be private. He didn’t mind listening to them sharing the gory details about their relationships, but that didn’t mean he had to join. He liked his one thing that was all his.

And he wanted to keep it that way.

-

The way the guys on his team were treating Michael now varied.

Some of them hadn’t changed the way they treated him, some of them were awkward, and others avoided him like the plague. Michael gave himself a pep talk every time he walked into the locker room, reminding himself that it would go back to normal soon. Eventually, they’d realize that nothing had changed. Until then, Michael could take comfort in stealing a few minutes after practice to make out with Alex until he had to go home.

When he spoke to them before and during the game on Friday, it seemed like it was slowly going back to normal. They listened to him, they played alongside him, they were a team. It was a nice feeling after a week of pushing through. Whenever they won, it was a giant dogpile of a hug, none of his teammates too afraid to hug him in celebration. He hadn’t realized how much it’d all bothered him until that moment. Until he felt welcome again.

“You good, Guerin?” Chavez asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder as they headed towards the locker room, “You got that look you get before you break shit.”

“I’m good,” Michael laughed, “Thanks, though.”

“I got your back, man,” he said firmly, grinning before he ran to get to the showers before it got too full.

Michael felt like he was on top of the world.

He got dressed as quickly as possibly, itching to go pick up Alex after he snuck out. He was having a good day. Or, just, a good life. Everything was falling into place. He had Isobel and Max, he had Alex, he had a roof over his head, he had a parental figure that cared about him, he had a semi-job where he could just work on a couple cars with Sanders when he needed money, and he had a future. All that seemed left was telling Max and Isobel about Alex, but even that seemed like it would probably go okay because of how good everything else was going. He was thriving and, for the first time, he wasn’t just waiting for the ball to drop. It was a nice feeling.

“Hey, are you coming to the party?” Palmer asked quietly as he started heading towards the door. Michael furrowed his eyebrows. “Keepin’ it kinda quiet, just the boys, Valenti, Johnson, and Long aren’t comin’, I swear.”

“I kinda made plans…” 

“That’s cool,” he said, nodding, “Maybe next time, though? I know some of the guys have their issues, but fuck ‘em, you know?”

“Yeah,” he said, huffing a little laugh as he thought about Alex as he tended to do, “Thanks.”

“No problem, man.”

Michael nodded his goodbye before heading out and starting to head to his truck. There were still a ton of people around, waiting for their boyfriend or son or friend to come out so they could give him a congratulatory hug. Michael just weaved through them. Max and Isobel came to watch him on the first and last games of the season, but he knew they both found it ungodly boring, so he didn’t push. Sanders came whenever he could make time to, occasionally making time for big games, but Fridays were busy days and he understood. And then Alex had another set of reasons he didn’t want to go which was fair enough.

Michael pulled out his phone as he got into the parking lot. He’d parked all the way to the far end of the lot. It had become a habit whenever he first got the truck and would often debrief in random parking lots. If you were far away, it was less likely people would be close enough to try and look through the windows.

“Hello?” Alex answered.

“Hey,” Michael said, “I’m about to leave and head your way.”

“Cool.”

“The weirdest thing happened, though,” he said, spinning his keys around his finger and using his telekinesis to give it an extra little swing, “Chavez and Palmer both went out of their way to be weirdly supportive. Like it was really weird. Felt very ‘thank you for your service’, just for the random queer guy they know.”

Alex laughed, “It happens. I’m sure they’ll actually go back to normal soon. The overly supportive thing is better than them being dicks.”

“I guess. Just, when we were playing, I finally felt like everyone wasn’t walking on eggshells around me anymore. Then they chose a different kind of eggshell.”

“Give it some time,” Alex said, his voice warm and welcoming. It made him smile. “Oh, by the way, I got a surprise for you.”

“For what?” Michael asked.

“Mmm, you’ll see,” Alex laughed. Michael grinned even wider and, when he got to his truck, he quickly unlocked it with his mind and stepped in.

Which is when he saw his surprise.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Michael said, his heart skipping a beat in complete and utter fear that he just exposed himself. But Alex sat there in the passenger seat and didn’t seem to notice at all.

“Told you, had a surprise,” he said. Michael scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned forward for a short kiss. “I came to your game without technically putting myself around people I don’t like, just supporting you from afar or whatever.”

“Thank you,” he said, slowly trying to make his heart rate normal again, “You’re the best.”

“I know,” Alex agreed. Michael rolled his eyes and leaned in again, but he stopped a few centimeters away from his lips. 

“Wait, how’d you get here? Is your car here? Do you have to go home tonight?”

“Dude,” Alex laughed, reaching out to put his hand on his cheek, “Calm down.”

“I’m fine,” Michael insisted. And he was. But he knew he was a little frazzled like usual, obvious enough that Chavez could see it. It seemed that even on his best days, he couldn’t escape it. He stared at Alex up close, his fingers tapping on the back of the seat and his stomach tightening the longer Alex didn’t answer him. “Please?”

Alex smiled at him fondly and moved his hand down to his neck and then up into his hair. It helped a little; it helped even more as he rubbed his thumb in small circles behind his ear.

“Liz picked me up and dropped me off, so my car isn’t here. And I don’t have to be home until 4:30 ‘cause my dad wakes up at 5,” Alex explained. Michael nodded, licking his lips. 

“Can I touch you?” he asked. Alex took a deep breath and tilted his head like he was thinking about it. The moonlight seemed to reach out and find him in that moment, hitting him and his dark lined eyes in a way that made Michael feel like he was going to explode. 

“Why don’t we go to your house first so we don’t have to stop?”

“Genius,” Michael said, leaning over to kiss his cheek before quickly going to turn on his truck.

“You okay if I sit close?” Alex asked. He didn’t ask for permission as often as Michael did, typically because his body language was much louder than Alex’s was, but it always made him feel special when it happened for whatever reason.

“Of course,” Michael said. Alex slid close on the bench seat and Michael backed out of the parking lot before draping his arm around Alex’s shoulders and heading him.

Yeah, life was really good.

-

There were moments in every young man’s life where he knew he had fucked up beyond repair.

Michael had gone on his morning run like he always did, stopping to get a bagel from the bakery before heading back home. The road was a long stretch of basically nothing. A car would drive by every once in a while, but typically it was dead because of how early it was. He always told Sanders how long he expected to be gone to put the old man at ease. While he knew nothing bad would happen, Sanders always got so worried about really dumb little things.

Though, it made sense. Michael didn’t know too much, but he knew Sanders knew what he was. He’d always known. He’d tell a half-truth here and there, occasionally mentioning his mother. It was enough for Michael to assume Sanders knew what could happen to people like him. Things like him. So Michael eased his worries and told him how long he’d be gone.

He never shared those worries and he probably never would. Michael was safe for once in his life and he wasn’t about to waste that on silly little fears. He’d made it this far without setting off anyone’s radar, he could make it another eleven years and then another after that. Besides, he didn’t kill humans with his bodily fluids, so he felt like he was set for life.

Michael looked around still to make sure he was alone before he lifted the bag of bagels into the air. He didn’t let them go too high, just enough for his own enjoyment as he swung them in figure eights. He never got to do anything really cool with them unless Sander greenlit it and that was rare, so he had to stick with expelling his energy in tiny ways.

And that was all fun and games until he passed the giant rock that marked his halfway point.

He never got to pass it, really, because, just as he was about to, a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and slammed him against the rock. The wind was knocked out of him and he stared wide eyed at the man in front of him who was holding him in place with ridiculous force. His eyes were set, unwavering and unsympathetic.

“I don’t have any money, I swear,” Michael said immediately. The guy huffed a laugh, shaking his head and pressing down harder on Michael’s chest. 

“You think I want your money?” the guy asked. Michael just kept breathing hard, trying to make sense of what was happening and the guy just pressed harder. It was becoming difficult to breathe. “I know what you are.”

“What?” Michael nearly squeaked.

“They’re gonna be so excited that I got one. A young one, purebred,” he said. Michael could see the way his eyes were lit up, overly excited for the presumed praise he was going to get. Michael was scared shitless.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Michael said. Maybe if he lied he would let him go. “Please, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just let me go.”

“You don’t think I did my research? I’ve been watching you and those little friends of yours, but you’re the only one that I’ve got proof. You’re a fucking monster,” he said. Michael couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. He wanted to go home. 

“Okay, okay, okay, but, please. I haven’t done anything. I swear I haven’t done anything! Just let me go!” Michael begged.

“Yet. You haven’t done anything yet,” he said, “You really think I’m gonna just let you go?” 

“Listen, people will notice I’m gone, okay? My-my dad knows where I am, he’ll notice I’m gone.”

“You don’t think I can cover that up?”

“But I’m the quarterback! The whole town will be looking for me! You-you can’t just take me.”

“People go missing all the time.”

Michael gulped, searching his brain for anything to get him out of this situation. He couldn’t think. It was too much and he couldn’t think. He tried to use his telekinesis to push the guy away, but it didn’t work. Nothing was fucking working.

“If you take me, I won’t tell you anything. I’ll keep my mouth shut, I don’t care how much you torture me,” Michael said, trying to sound stern. He wouldn’t say anything. He wouldn’t expose Max and Isobel. But he was finally fucking happy and he was not about to lose it. “But if you let me go, I’ll let you do whatever you want and tell you whatever you want.”

The guy scoffed, “And why would I go for that?”

“Th-think about it,” Michael said, trying to pretend he wasn’t shaking. God, he wanted to go home. “You said your people would be excited about it. B-But wouldn’t they be more excited if you had a whole bunch of information? I-I’ll let you do whatever, seriously, just, just let me go, okay? Just don’t take me.”

The guy was clearly thinking about it and Michael was trying to think of a non-confrontational way to push him more towards it. If this had to happen, if he had to get caught, he was going to try and steal as much time enjoying life as he could.

“And then, then you don’t have to cover it up or deal with anyone looking for me, you know? So it’s easier for you. And I’ll do whatever. No holds barred or whatever, you know? I won’t fight or argue a-and you’ll get all the information to bring your, your group or whatever,” Michael said, trying his best to seem like it only benefited him and not Michael. 

“How do I know you aren’t going to run off?”

“Where the fuck would I go man? You’d just find me again. I swear, I’ll be compliant,” Michael promised. And he would. He was thriving in Roswell right now, he wasn’t giving that up. He wasn’t giving up Max or Isobel or Sanders or Alex. He just wasn’t. “I swear.”

The guy stared for a few more seconds.

“You fuck up at all or lie to me or tell anyone and I swear I will take you and it’s over, do you understand me?” he said. Michael nodded. “Give me your phone,” he demanded, letting up just enough for Michael to give it to him. He pressed down harder and began to mess with it, probably getting his number. But he sat there for a while, for what felt like ten minutes, and Michael figured there was probably some way that he could track him. Yay. 

Eventually, he gave it back and took a hesitant step away from Michael, eyeing him. Michael was frozen. None of this felt real. He just wanted this to be over, wanted to go home.

“You stay honest and listen to me and let me do what needs to be done and I think we’ll get along just fine,” he said. Michael simply nodded. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Michael asked. The guy didn’t say anything, just pointed to behind the rock. Michael obeyed.

They slowly started walking and Michael saw a sandy brown colored car a few yards away that he had completely missed. The guy gestured towards the passenger seat and Michael got in without questions. His mind felt fuzzy and his panic had subsided to numbness. He was going to wake up and he was going to be fine. This wasn’t real.

“First question: how are you so young? When did your ship land?” the guy asked as he got onto the road and started driving, “You’re the youngest purebred I’ve ever heard of.”

“How do you know I’m a purebred?” Michael asked. 

“Because I’m not fucking stupid and I know the difference,” he said, “Now answer the question.”

“As far as I know, I came here on the ship in 1947. I was, uh, in this stasis pod type thing and I came out in ‘97,” Michael answered.

“Stasis pod?” he repeated, “Is that how that works? Do you know where it is?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll show me, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Michael said. He didn’t want to, but…

“Good. Tomorrow, then. I wasn’t expecting for this to go this way and I have plans, so I’ll pick you up tomorrow and we’ll begin truly.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed.

“So, you were in stasis for 50 years. That would explain the age, but not why none of the others did that. But we’ll figure that out later. Now, tell me, have you ever gotten sick?”

And for the next ten minutes, that’s how it went. He asked very basic questions. Illness, abilities, his limits. If Michael wasn’t so fucking scared, maybe it would’ve been cool to talk to someone about all of this. It was always a secret so, no matter how much he wanted to experiment and learn, he couldn’t. Now he finally meets the one person who he could do that with and he had to be terrifying and dangerous.

When the guy pulled up to the junkyard, Michael’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t sure why. The guy said he’d been following him, of course he knew where he lived. Was he the one who was watching Isobel a few days prior? It seemed to fit.

“I’ll find you tomorrow,” the guy said. Michael swallowed harshly and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, opening the car door and stepping out. It took him a second to steady his footing. He took a look at the guy before closing the door, realizing he didn’t have a name. Maybe it would help if he had a name. “What do you want me to call you?”

The guy just shrugged, “Let’s go with Eff.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed, “Eff.”

Eff drove off, kicking up dust behind him. Michael felt sick. He slowly went into the trailer, locking the door behind him and went to his bedroom. He locked that door too. Michael slowly got into bed, ignoring the fact that he was still sweating from his run, and pulled the blankets over his head as he balled up. 

Maybe if he stayed there, it would all go away.

-

Michael sat outside the school in his truck, chewing on his thumb nail.

It’d been over 12 hours since he met Eff, but he wasn’t feeling anymore comfortable. He’d looked over his shoulder more than once and found himself putting on a sweater and sweatpants despite it being hot outside. He felt too exposed wearing his normal clothing.

Alex’s concert was today and, despite really wanting to go, he couldn’t seem to make himself go inside. There was so many people and he just wasn’t up for it. But he needed Alex, so he was here and waiting and ready to go home again. He didn’t know why he wanted to go home. Eff knew where he lived. He wasn’t safe. But he still did.

The parking lot slowly filled with parents and grandparents and students with congratulatory flowers, all happy and smiling and not aware that there was any danger. And maybe there wasn’t for them. Or maybe there was and no one knew about it yet. Michael triple checked that his doors were locked. 

When Alex pulled on the handle, Michael nearly jumped out of his skin. He quickly leaned over and unlocked it and as soon as Alex was in, he locked it right back.

“Hello to you too,” Alex laughed. It was nice and warm and playful and a complete contrast to how shitty Michael felt. It instantly made tears burn in his eyes which was absolutely not cool. “Jeez, how are you not burning up?”

Alex rubbed his hand over his arm and Michael shrugged halfheartedly. He couldn’t find words and couldn’t seem to muster up enough energy to pretend. He was too overwhelmed and too scared and he needed to sleep.

“Hey,” Alex said softly, “Is something wrong?”

Michael took a deep breath and tried his damnedest to be normal. He nodded and tried to meet Alex’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Alex wondered, frowning a little as he reached out to touch his cheek. Michael folded his lips in and he looked away. “Michael.”

“I just wanna go home, okay? Can we please go home?” he asked, his voice cracking. Alex pulled on his shoulder gently, careful enough that if he wanted to push him away he could. But he didn’t and easily let Alex pull him into a hug. He held on tight, only a few tears escaping as he tried to just absorb Alex.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” Alex cooed softly, stroking his hair. This was his reward. Eff let him go. He’d be back, but he left him go. Michael was rewarded more time with Alex and he would be damned if he let that get taken away from him.  “You want me to drive?”

Michael typically didn’t let other people drive his truck, but he trusted Alex more than he trusted himself to drive Alex when he felt like that so they switched places. Michael stayed glued his side, his face staying on his shoulder as they headed home. Alex didn’t ask any questions, simply just held him and drove home.

When they got there, Michael locked all the doors again and got in bed first. Alex quickly stripped down to his boxers and grabbed one of Michael’s t-shirts before climbing in after him. He pulled him into his arms and tucked the blanket around him, surrounding him with his body. It was the first time that day that he felt like he could finally breathe. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Alex asked cautiously, just combing his fingers through his hair. Michael didn’t answer. “Was it just one of those days?”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. Alex hummed in understanding, kissing the top of his head and putting his leg over Michael’s to tug him closer. 

“Well, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it happens. I’m not going anywhere. Tomorrow will be a little better.”

Maybe he didn’t deserve Alex.

[haro-whumps]

Ritual Sacrifice

CW: RITUAL SACRIFICE BABIES I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS SINCE THE PROMPT LIST CAME OUT, lady whumpee, dismemberment, panic, slight body horror(?)(just to be safe), semi-human whumpee, non-human whumper, trans woman naga caretaker, chains, blood

@whumptober2020

--

Marielle brushed her hands down her arms again, smoothing the thick lotion into her bronze skin so that it held an almost golden sheen in the candlelight. Her curly black hair had been pinned back from her face in a series of intricate, jeweled ornaments that matched with the rest of her glinting jewelry: the heavy earrings, the heavier arm bands and anklets, the necklace that was heavier still, and heaviest of all, the shackles.

She’d fastened them herself. It was not as though she had any real desire to run, or anywhere to run away to. Her tail twitched agitatedly at the thought, the thick pink and teal feathers flaring with her disquiet, but she twisted on her stool and forcefully smoothed them right back down. It was an honor, to serve in this purpose. And Marielle volunteering meant the other girls in the roost had another year to figure out a more permanent solution.

She picked agitatedly under one of her talons despite the fact that she’d bathed far too thoroughly to have left even a speck of dirt on her person. Then she preened the tiny, peach-pink feathers of her lower legs and ankles again, touched her hair, stood up, and began to pace. Her toe talons click-clacked against the wooden floor, digging into the grooves between the planks for purchase and filling the room with the only sound beyond the gentle swish of her clothes and the tinkling of her jewelry colliding.

Marielle had expected to be interrupted. Rushed. Hurried along. She hadn’t expected to be left waiting.

“Um, priestess?” she asked, rapping her knuckles gently against the doorframe. If we do not enact this soon, I fear I might reconsider my resolve not to run away.

“Are you ready, little Marielle?” The low, soothing pitch of the kindly priestess’s voice settled some of Marielle’s nerves. This priestess had been the one to teach religious studies during her school years, patient, sweet, familiar. Comforting.

“Yes ma’am,” she said, glad that her favorite schoolteacher was the one who would be guiding her. Really, any priestess would have been fine as long as they weren’t the skinny, wiry one who always dug her talons in whenever she gripped someone by the arm. But Marielle took comfort in the familiar voice.

The door opened and the intricate carvings of the priestess’s mask greeted Marielle, who smiled unconvincingly. 

“Marielle,” she said warmly, softly, reaching out to squeeze two handfuls of her hair before cupping her cheeks. Although Marielle could not see her face, it seemed to her that the priestess looked… sad.

“Priestess,” she returned, leaning into her touch and bracing one of her hands with her own.

“Do you want to hear the words?”

Marielle snorted softly, a quiet rush of air, and shook her head. She knew. That her sacrifice would keep the greed-gods at bay for another year. That the life of one could preserve the lives of many. That she would be honored, venerated, and mourned.

She did not want to hear it. Did not need to.

So she lifted her wrists and let the priestess clip the chains upon the heavy cuffs.

And so we pass the point from which there will be no return. 

She pondered, as the priestess led her through the ever-familiar pathways of their winding tree homes, if she ought to feel the truth of it all setting in yet. That she was going to die. That she was going willingly to her death. That her death was going to be a very bad one. Maybe, she thought as she walked the smooth wood of braided trees, she was numb from shock? Her mind’s desperate way of protecting itself.

A falling flower crossed her field of vision and pulled her from her thoughts, head raising to view its source. Her sister perched on the canopy. Traditionally, it was a woman’s mother who dropped the first flower. But Marielle’s mother never came to the marches, even when it was not her own kin on the trek.

Dozens, hundreds more descended in the first blossom’s wake, littering the path Marielle walked, a vibrantly orange bloom catching in her hair. It was just as easily dislodged when she reached the edge of the roost, spread her arms, and jumped.

Dropping was harder, weighed down by the unfamiliar jewelry, but the wind caught in the ceremonial glider as easily as her homely, family-spun one. The chains tethering her to the priestess were also new, Marielle generally preferring a bit more space between herself and a drop partner, but her tail fanned and caught the wind currents with enough precision that she was able to successfully drift down to the forest floor. Her toe talons sunk into the soft underbrush, and for an inane moment she pouted internally at the fact that she had just washed those.

Then the feeling evaporated, replaced by something much colder. Oddly enough, it was being down on the ground that set primitive, self-preserving fear through her. Nevermind that she was only there in the first place to bring those fears to life. She kind of wanted the numbness back now, please.

“Breathe, sweet Marielle,” the priestess murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The priestess’s glider sleeve covered Marielle’s back like a cloak, and she rested her head on her shoulder with a shallow nod. “It is not far to the altar now.”

And it was not. Last year’s blood, the years’ blood before it, still stained the holy stone. It was huge, square, too massive to lift and therefore something Marielle had never before witnessed, in her life high among the trees.

“In the center.”

Marielle climbed up, her tail flaring out to counterbalance as she perched awkwardly on it. It was uniquely smooth, entirely flat and level without a groove or grip in sight. Her toe talons scratched roughly against the unfamiliar surface, unsure of how to stand.

Or sit, as the priestess locked her right arm’s chain to one corner of the holy stone, and her left to the other. The priestess cupped her cheeks once more, bringing their foreheads together, and Marielle took a deep, shaky breath.

This was the last time anyone would ever touch her. This was the last person she’d ever see.

“Brave Marielle. We will miss you.”

Those were the last words anyone would ever say to her. This was it. It was over. Her life was over, why had she volunteered for this?! She didn’t want to die!

“No,” she gasped, “No, wait! Come back!”

But the priestess was already out of earshot by the time Marielle’s lagging tongue caught up to her delayed fears, talons sinking into soft bark as she carried herself back into the safe embrace of wooden limbs.

“No, wait! Wait! I change my mind! Wait!!”

Rustling, but not from above. Marielle went suddenly still, suddenly silent, as though the gods might not find her.

The greed-goddess that emerged was massive, shaped like a pig--or maybe a lizard--and it was lumbering, hulking, its stout legs crushing the brush. It was less “warty” than the simple state of it was that warts comprised the entirety of its skin, the reddish brown, leathery quality churning Marielle’s stomach. The goddess had no visible eyes to speak of, but its snout ended in giant nostrils that hovered just above its massive, filthy tusks.

The goddess rattled a nearby tree with those tusks, not hard enough to damage the homes above or the structural integrity of the tree itself. Just a reminder of its power, of the fact that it, and all the other greed-gods, could have their fill of Marielle’s people, should they ever fail to present the yearly offering.

Then the goddess turned its snout on Marielle.

“Please,” Marielle breathed, struggling backwards, wishing her ancestors had evolved wings. “Please, no.” Tears were budding in her eyes, the rattle of her chains loud in her drumming ears. The goddess set one massive, heavy leg upon the stone, air rushing over Marielle’s all-too-mortal skin. A tusk, big as Marielle’s thigh--bigger--slid beneath her knee, its snout twitching as it sniffed at her legs. Her breath was caught in her throat, the moment suspended, overwhelming horror choking her.

Then the goddess opened its mouth, two rows of glistening fangs revealed, thick, viscous saliva connecting the lower jaw to the upper. The greed-goddess’s fangs were chipped, rotting, some blackened by spots of mold, some pinkish with the blood of its last meal, some yellow or orange with age.

Marielle screamed.

The pain in her leg was blinding, worse than anything she’d imagined or feared. The goddess’s teeth were grinding against her bone, it cast her thoughts out, her wrists began to bleed where the shackles cut as she struggled mindlessly. She wailed, thrashed, kicked, anything to get away from the horrible beast rending her flesh, gnashing, eating her. Why had she been left conscious for this? Why wasn’t she knocked out?!

Just when she’d accepted that she would die from the pain before the goddess could even bite anything vital, a bellow of pain, too loud to be her own, shook the very treetops. It took Marielle’s lagging presence of mind a moment to catch up, that her ruined leg was no longer attached but also no longer trapped in the goddess’s maw.

The goddess was--tangled?--being--

There was a giantess here. Marielle had seen such people, slithering with their strange snake bodies across the forest floor. Always just glimpses, too far away to see anything meaningful, but she was close now.

The giantess had brown scales on her lower body, green where they caught in the light, and they were wrapped around the goddess’s heavy, massive bulk. Her upper body was more personable, with almond eyes in a sunlessly beige face half-hidden by strange, thin, straight hair. Silky, almost.

And oh, yeah, she had a massive boar spear clutched in both her hands.

The giantess let out a war cry, driving the spear into the goddess’s skull, where an eye might have been on a lesser creature. Black, thick fluid gushed, bubbling, as the goddess howled again. Its thick legs stomped, pawed at the giantess, but she was too firmly wrapped around it for its legs to loosen her grip. It tossed its head, nearly goring her (and a tusk did slice her side, the giantess’s blood a comforting, mortal red) but she held onto her spear and used it to leverage herself, riding the movement out.

Watching her move was captivating, enthralling even (although, that might have been the bloodloss talking). She was strange, and beautiful, and she’d just saved Marielle’s life.

She ripped the boar spear out and attacked the other side of the goddess’s face. Again, one nostril, again, the other. Once more, the final blow, right in the open mouth. Its wicked teeth crushed the spear, wood splintering, but the goddess--a goddess--was already in its death throes. The giantess curled herself around its middle once more, only barely avoiding having her skull crushed by its massive legs, and constricted, and constricted, and constricted, until the goddess went silent, and its body landed heavily atop the scaled coils on the ground.

The giantess rose slowly, arms outstretched, and lifted her face to the heavens.

“Behold Yuiko! Godslayer!!!” she crowed, and birds would’ve taken into flight had they not already been frightened away by the goddess.

“Uh,” Marielle tried, her breath still shallow and too-fast.

“Oh shit!” the giantess yelped with a snap of her head, shoulders suddenly hunched. “You’re still alive!”

“Y-yes?!” Marielle squeaked, alarmed by how quickly she slithered over, by the intensity of her focus.

“Okay, okay shit shit fuck uhhhhhhhh tourniquet!” she shouted, then wrapped her tail around Marielle’s mutilated stump and squeezed. She screamed, thrashing sharply at the fresh agony.

“Sorry! Sorry! I have to cut off blood flow so you don't bleed out! More. Gee, you little folk sure bleed a lot huh?” ‘S why I figured you were dead. Sorry about using you as bait, by the way. I just can’t get ahold of those motherfuckers unless they’re busy--I’ve seen way too many people die approaching them from the front y’dig?--and you seemed like my best shot. Fuck, that makes me sound like a total ass, huh? My--most sincerely--bad, my dude. Hey so my name’s Yuiko!”

“...Hi?” Marielle said, her mind reeling.

Yuiko grinned wide, black blood splatters on her face and up her arms, her eyes squinting almost closed with her smile. Marielle wasn’t sure if she was actually smiling back or not.

“Hey you’re kinda pretty, you know that?” Yuiko stated with the same manic bluntness. “Like all shiny ‘n shit.”

“That… might be on account of the jewelry?” 

“Yeah that too. I’m taking some of that as payment for totally saving you and stuff.”

“You’re uh, welcome, to it?”

“Anyway, let’s get you off this rock, huh? Kinda mean of that other lady to strap you down like this ‘n shit.”

“We, have bargained a yearly sacrifice with the greed-gods, so they, do not take from us all.”

“Whack. We just hide and try to kill ‘em before they kill us,” Yuiko said, undoing the first chain from Marielle’s wrist and leaving it on the altar.

“You people, have been able, to kill them?” Marielle asked incredulously.

“Well hey hey, it’s not as easy as I just made it look,” Yuiko said, slithering to the other side of the sacrificial slab without loosening the end of her tail from Marielle’s stump. “Most people die trying, and we haven’t had a successful deicide in 30 years.” She made two Vs with her fingers and crossed them over her chest. “Until today!”

Yuiko uncrossed her arms and stared at the goddess’s corpse victoriously, her grin wide and boastful, but then she seemed to settle into something more contemplative. Marielle used her newly freed hand to undo the lock on her other shackle, fingers shaking as she did, since Yuiko seemed occupied.

“Hey if I drank goddess blood whaddaya think would happen?”

“I don’t think you should do that.”

Yuiko’s body undulated, and she tilted her head. “Okay, but like, just a taste,” she said, eyes not leaving the goddess. Her head snapped suddenly down, to the drying tar on her hands and arms, and she slowly lifted the back of her wrist, tongue poking out.

“Um, Yuiko?”

Her attention surged back onto Marielle. “Fuck! Right! You’re dying!” She rejoined Marielle at the slab. “Okay tell you what. I’mma carry you back to my burrow and get you to the village crazy lady.”

“What?” Marielle squeaked.

“She’s a healer?” Yuiko said, as though that explained it. “Oh, shit, wait, I can see why calling her nuts would not instill a proper confidence in you. Don’t worry, she is totally legit. I get my girl juice from her on the reg.”

“What are you saying?”

“Okay so you seem sorta outta it. Probs cause blood loss. Don’t worry about it though I will get you totes taken care of I just gotta figure out how to like, move, y’know, without letting you bleed out.”

Marielle stared at Yuiko, and Yuiko stared thoughtfully back, fingers in an L at her chin and smearing god blood on her face.

“Wait I got it!” Yuiko exclaimed, lifting her arms and pulling off her shirt by the back collar. “Oh hell yeah I am so fucking smart.”

Marielle watched her begin to tear the shirt mutely, wondering if maybe she was dead and this was just an acutely peculiar afterlife.

A sound in the woods had both their heads snapping up, breaths quickening.

“The gods smell blood; we gotta bounce!” Yuiko hissed, tearing faster, tying the tourniquet where her tail had been, and threw Marielle over her shoulder.

“Hey so you never told me who you are!” Yuiko commented, slithering across the forest floor at a dizzying speed.

“My name is Marielle.” It was the last thing she said before she passed out.

--

@killtheprotagonist 

[goldenpoison]

new beginnings and starting over || chapter two

read it on Ao3 || prev. ~ next

Adrien messed up. That part was obvious. Why wouldn’t it be when he was dangling off of the Eiffel Tower. All because a goddamn akuma got way over themselves and thought they could seize all of the power or something like that. In the akuma’s mind, to do that, he had to threaten Ladybug by throwing newly returned Paris’ heartthrob off of a tower for everyone to watch, naturally. He really should’ve taken the car instead of walking.

He looks over to Ladybug across the opposite side of the tower. Confidence and wit was still oozing off of her. You can see it in her stance: her puffed up chest, her raised chin, and even in her slightly furrowed brows. Although, as time does to everything and everyone, it wasn’t the same Ladybug Adrien knew. Her outfit has changed, that was the most obvious part. It was more streamlined and mature. There were solid shapes of black at the sides of her hips that meets near bellow her belly and ends at the middle of her thighs, quite resembling a pair of shorts. Her hair wasn’t in those iconic pigtails anymore. It was in a low braid, and it was longer too. There were more changes in her, changes that are deeper and goes way beyond her physical appearance. Changes that he couldn’t quite point out, but he’s sure it’s there, hiding behind her fierce gaze.

But unfortunately, he didn’t have time to dwell on that. Not when the akuma’s starting to loosen his grip of his wrists. Any looser, and he’d fall and be squashed like a pancake. Though he was sure cats always land on their feet, with this high of a fall, he definitely did not want to test it. Even he did, he can’t. He was sure the moment he transformed, the people would fear him, even if he’ll don the black suit. Besides, it’ll most likely shock Ladybug and cause the rift between them to widen even more.

The wind blew the hair out of his face, yet the only thing he saw were blurs of color as he fell. His breakfast— if you could even call a single slice of toasted bread and latte that— rode up to his esophagus, his heart wanting to break out his ribcage, and his brain out of his skull. If he had thought he had a head-splitting headache when he woke up, now he’s sure one-hit Hephaestus himself did the honor of hitting it with an axe and proceeded to chop it up a couple more times and put it in a grinder for extra measure. He could barely hear the screams of someone as the wind becomes deafening to his ears. All he could do is think about all the regrets and mistakes in his life: siding with his father, spending his last weeks of being Chat as Chat Blanc, hurting her. His tears couldn’t even get past his eyes because he’d already cried too much of it.

The scream came from none other than Ladybug herself. Her eyes, on the contrary, are welling up with tears. After what seemed to be the final battle between them and Hawkmoth, and after he left, the akumas has lowered in frequency and in fatality. In the three years following, she never once encountered an akuma that seriously threatened a human’s life.

Naturally, it had made balancing her lives as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, fashion student, aspiring fashion designer, part-time baker, and as Ladybug, the coveted hero of Paris, much more easier. Unfortunately, because of the ease, having another person’s life in your hands has became heavier and made the pressure much bigger.

But she’s not going to let a single tear escape. Not when she still has something to say about it. In a quick flash, she used her lucky charm, a fish hook, to hook open the shield-looking front metal piece of the akuma’s suit which caused it to malfunction and reveal the black butterfly. Wrapping her yo-yo around the metal tentacles holding him up, sliding under, then wrapping them to the tower itself, she races down to try and catch Adrien, tripping the akuma while doing so. The moment her finger grazed his, then her hand grabbing his own, Ladybug’s tear mischievously slipped out. Slowly, she brings them down until Adrien’s feet touched the ground.

Adrien waited for his demise, but it never came. Instead of death’s empty ghoulish eyes, he was met with his own lifeline’s bluebell ones. Here he is once again after what felt like a century of waiting to see her and look her in the eyes once more. All the years of regret started coming back. All the sleepless nights he spent dwelling on the memories of golden roads not taken and the pain of hurting his Lady, and by extension his own soul. All of them enough to restart his once dried tear ducts. Before he could say anything, Ladybug flew up again and purified the akuma.

The seconds after she says the iconic “bye-bye little akuma” felt empty. What once was moments of relief and joy and life, was replaced with a few seconds void of any warm emotion. He should’ve been up there with her, bumping their fists and saying “pound it” after she uses her powers of creation to restore the damage made. Even when the cluster of ladybugs flew by him, he just felt lonely and not energized like before. Had she really lived three years of fighting akumas with this emptiness? If before he related fighting akumas to fencing, an enjoyable necessity, he’d say it’s more similar to doing a cleaning your room after a week now.

Ladybug finally set foot on the ground next to Adrien. She was a whole head and three more inches shorter than him, he noticed. As opposed to before when he can freely rest his chin on top of her head. Not that he did, but he could if Ladybug would allow it. It seems that he changed too.

“Are you okay?” she asked, worry and concern coating every inch of her voice.

“Yeah. Thanks to you,” he said. He shifted his weight on his right foot then his left then right again. “What about you, are you okay?”

Ladybug did not expect that. Out of all the years of doing what she does, she doesn’t think anyone has ever asked if she was okay after. The only person who ever did is gone from her life now. “Oh, um, I’m good, thanks.”

She pursed her lips and her eyes wandered to anywhere but the boy in front of her. Thankfully, she was saved by his phone’s notification sound. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he looked at it and turned his head to look until it settled on a black car with a rather large man standing in front of it

Looking to Ladybug again in hopes of remembering every feature of her face. He looks at her eyes that seemed to have darkened over time. He notices her more pronounced freckles. He notices that her cheekbones are the tiniest bit less round and a little bit more defined along with her jaw. Yet all these changes seemed to do is make Adrien’s heart beat faster.

He looks back at the car then back to her. “Looks like my ride is waiting for me. Thank you, really,” he said before basically speed walking to the car to escape her lingering gaze.

Adrien takes his remaining sweet time of five minutes to just think mindlessly. That is, until he heard a small “psst” coming from the pocket of his shearling-lined leather jacket. Without a single second to waste, Plagg came out of his hiding spot and did what he does best: tease him. “So, you finally get to see her again, huh?”

Adrien just gave him a look. The partition between the front seat and the back was rolled up anyways so Gorilla couldn’t really see what he was doing, but he told Plagg to quiet to his voice just in case.

“She’s so different now. More independent too, it seemed. She doesn’t need me anymore. Not that she ever did.” Adrien’s voice was hushed and turned into a whisper when he said the last part.

Seeing the deep frown on his face and his furrowed brows, Plagg didn’t exactly know what to say, so he just hugged Adrien in the way a small creature like him could. Adrien released a deep sigh and held Plagg in his hands, staying like that for the remainder of the car ride.

When they reached the doors of his former house, he really couldn’t call it a home anymore, Plagg took his place inside his jacket and Adrien tried his best to look as presentable as he could. He looked at his shoelaces, then remembering that he slipped on his black loafers that morning. He adjusted his jacket a couple more times, pulled it down, then the sleeves, then pulled the collar up delicately.

Walking towards the front doors and inside the house, he comes to agree to everyone else. Going back to a place you were once familiar with, no matter how big it was, it will feel so small to you. Unlike the girl in the red and black suit earlier, the mansion is still as cold as ever. Perhaps a tiny bit colder, if such a thing is possible.

Nathalie, his father’s assistant even after all these years, came up to him. “I heard what happened with the akuma earlier, are you alright?” Nathalie, although distant, still acted as sort of a mother to Adrien. She may not be the warmest person he knows, but she was still there to keep track on him and worry about him. It was Nathalie too who had held his crying body that one night years ago. It was her who supported his decision to end his time as Chat Blanc. Adrien was sure that if it wasn’t for Nathalie, Adrien would be completely cut off of his father’s will, finances, and maybe disowned at most.

“I’m alright, Nathalie. Didn’t even get a scratch,” he said and smiled at her. “It’s great to see you again.”

“You too Adrien. Now,” he could tell she’s switching gears to her extremely professional assistant mode with the way she straightens her back, raises her chin, moves her glasses higher, and looks down at her tablet. “Your father has been waiting for a few minutes now, and it’s best not to keep him waiting any longer.”

She opened the door to let him in. His father didn’t even bother for pleasantries. “I sent Gorilla to come get you this morning, and you refused, now look where you ended up.” Adrien wanted to retaliate and point out that it was his akuma but he held his tongue. He wanted to say to his face that the reason why he wanted to walk was so he could procrastinate on seeing him and talking to him.

“I wanted to enjoy the early morning breeze,” he replied, straight-faced. His father only glared at him with his steely grey eyes. The wrinkles around it hasn’t changed much, which is to be expected from an man who is known for having a permanent frown glued to his face.

“Tomorrow there will be a board meeting to further discuss the happenings of the nearing Paris Fashion Week and as the successor of this company you are expected to show. Be on your best behavior and listen. This will be your first official meeting. This will set the expectations of you and let the heads acquire a clear impression of you as a leader. During the nine days of fashion week, you’ll still walk the runway, do photoshoots, and be present as a fit model, with the addition of corporate tasks. At the very end of fashion week, there will be a masquerade ball held to raise money for orphanages. Nathalie will provide you with a flexible paradigm of your schedule. That will be all.”

All of those things he said without stuttering and without the expected welcoming tone from a father to his son. He said it like a stereotypical emotionless and unsympathetic boss talking to his employees, which in a way he is. Adrien doesn’t think that his father had even once mentioned his name while he was gone. Collecting his calm, Adrien did not utter a single word when inconspicuously storming out of the room.

[atmilliways]

On the 3rd day of Dethmas this writer gives to thee…

Dec 15 - Crossover with your favorite holiday song

The Little Drummer Boy is not actually my favorite Christmas song, but it's my dad's least favorite for some reason so it's always held a special place in my heart. 😈

Nathan/Skwisgaar/Pickles, but most of the action is Nathan/Skwisgaar and there’s some sneaky voyeurism going on while Pickles finishes recording his drum parts. Definitely Explicit. 

~

To Lay Before the King, Pa Rum Pum Pum Pum

Before recording sessions, the Klokateers always made sure to set up whichever instruments would be needed first in the booth well in advance. Since the band had spent most of yesterday waiting for Pickles to wake up from a “little lie-down nap” and still had yet to record the last of his parts for the new album so they could be done with this shit in time for Christmas, the drum kit was already in there and ready to go by the time Nathan and Skwisgaar snuck in.

They hid beneath the window so no one would spot them from the outside. Between the two of them, they had a couple bags worth of provisions and several blankets, for padding. While they waited, backs against the wall below the window, they passed a bag of artisanal (read: full of weed) gingerbread cookies and munched in companionable silence. 

Of course, they couldn’t hear what was going on outside. Their first indication that the rest of the guys had arrived wasn’t Knubbler’s nasal voice insisting for the hundredth time that this really had to get wrapped up to-day if they were going to meet the production schedule that Charles had laid out for them, or Pickles groaning at Murderface’s complaining about how unproductive they’d been the day before because someone had selfishly decided to pass out before sharing whatever he’d taken.

“Where’s Skwisgaar and Nathans?” Toki asked, taking his seat on the couch with a bounciness that everyone else in the studio resented. He was also wearing a Santa hat and the garish light-up holiday sweater any of them had ever had the misfortune to witness. 

“Who the fuck cares, dood,” Pickles snapped. “They both bitched me out last night, fuck those douchebags. I don’t need ‘em here to play drums.” And then he stormed around to the booth door. 

That’s when they knew it was showtime. The drum kit shielded them from sight until Pickles sat down, and even then he didn’t notice until he already had the headphones on. Plenty of time for both Skwisgaar to be making exaggerated shushing gestures and Nathan holding up a piece of paper by the time he looked at them and nearly fell off his seat. 

Knubbler must have said something over the mic, because Pickles’ eyes darted briefly between his hidden boyfriends and the window. They had ripped him a new one (figuratively) over missing the stupid recording session yesterday, but. . . .

In big block letters, Nathan’s sign read: 

JUST PLAY 4 A XMAS PRESENT AND U CAN JOIN WHEN U R DONE

Pickles hesitated as he thought it over. “. . . Nnnah, nothin’ man. Just, uh, missed a little, heh. Too much rum nog, tis the season. You know me.” He clapped his hands together and reached toward a back pocket for his sticks, one leg bouncing with sudden extra energy and enthusiasm. “Okay, let’s get this fuckin’ show on the road!”

Nathan flashed a grin and a thumbs up, then stopped the paper to put in his heavy duty earplugs. “You ready?” he mouthed to Skwisgaar. 

Skwisgaar, who already had his earplugs in, tossed his blond hair over one shoulder. “Alsways,” he mouthed back. “Lucky yous, Merry Christmas.”

“Smug asshole,” Nathan mouthed, but was grinning as he grabbed a handful of black shirt and tugged the other third of Dethklok’s creative team into a long kiss. Skwisgaar responded by crowding him down to lay on the blankets they’d spread out on the floor, keeping his hair to his far side so that Pickles would have an unobstructed view. The only sound in the booth was the quiet smack of their lips as they got a steady rhythm going. 

“. . . Christ, yeah, I’m goin’! Fuckin’ . . . now. No, just start the goddamn click track! . . . Okay. A-one, two, a-one two three—”

Between the earplugs and years of damaging their hearing with loud music, neither Nathan nor Skwisgaar heard the violent crash of percussion instruments as Pickles got going, only felt it. With the edibles just starting to kick in, it was like being wrapped in a fucking vibrator. Nathan bent a leg to brace across the floor and Skwisgaar ground eagerly against it while snaking a hand up the frontman’s t-shirt; Pickles skipped a beat and crashed to an abrupt stop. 

“Shut up, I’m fine! Start it again!”

They kicked their boots off. Nathan got a hand in between their bodies and gave Skwisgaar a squeeze through his jeans, smirking into a groan that flooded into his mouth. He expertly got the belt undone (lots of practice) and tugged the jeans open, shoving them down quickly so the zipper wouldn’t catch on anything (lots of freeballing); the rest was all up to Skwisgaar as he scrambled to yank both pants and shirt off without popping up into view through the window. 

Their kiss was an anchor, keeping his head down while his long arms flailed busily. Beneath him Nathan took full advantage of being on his back by only bothering to get his own jeans down to his thighs. When Skwisgaar broke the kiss to pull the shirt over his head Nathan cupped one hand to the back of his skull and helped keep him low . . . then urged him to move down. 

Skwisgaar’s blue eyes flicked to meet Nathan’s green ones, and they both looked in unison towards Pickles, who immediately lost grip on one of his sticks. 

“FUCKIN’. . . . No, Murderface, yer the butterfingers! Go take yer greasy mitts and go fuck yerself with ‘em!”

“Good ones,” Skwisgaar mouthed to Nathan. After all, the more Pickles screwed up, the longer they could keep doing this—and if there was anything he knew as well as playing guitar, it was drawing out pleasure. To that end, he licked his lips and slid down the other man’s mostly clothed body, a great big present all for him to unwrap, savoring the rasp of rough denim on his bare, sensitive skin. When he reached his destination and nuzzled the straining front of Nathan’s tighty whities he had the satisfaction of his hips twitching up in anticipation. 

For his part, Nathan wasn’t really thinking about drawing things out. The carrot was effectively dangling in front of the horse now and Pickles clearly wanted it; motivation achieved. They’d done good. As Skwisgaar slowly exposed him to the warm air in the booth, warmer breath ghosting over his eager cock along with methodical licks and kisses and nibbles, Nathan half wanted to melt into being taken apart piece by piece and half wanted him to hurry the fuck up, wrap those plush lips around the head and swallow him down already. His big hands tangled in blond hair but couldn’t decide what to do from there, so after a moment he just started absently scratching blunt, black-painted nails against Skwisgaar’s scalp the way he liked, earning an unheard hum that just about reduced Nathan to a puddle.

Thankfully, he had Skwisgaar to lap him up. 

“For the last. Fucking. Time. I do naht need a ‘Christmas snack,’ I do naht need a beer, I do naht need more cocaine, I want to hurry up and finish this fucking shit, so turn the gahddamn track back on and hit record or SO HELP ME—”

They couldn’t hear, but the vibrations around them were finally starting to carry the feeling of urgency and violence that the song called for. Skwisgaar noticed this distantly, but his pulse was racing to keep up with the beat and quickly sending more and more blood southward. Especially with the scalp massage Nathan was distractedly giving him sending waves of sensation rippling straight to his core. He licked his way up, dragging his tongue along the nearest convenient vein, savoring the taste of pre-come as he started to suck with one hand coiled around the thick base. His other hand was between his own legs, half fondling and half holding himself back from getting too excited too soon. 

The sensation of Pickles’ eyes on him as he took more of Nathan into his mouth was a thrill, like being plugged into an electrical socket. If it weren’t for that hand, he might be too far gone already for concentrating on teasing the cock that throbbed against his soft palate. 

It was hard to tell how much time passed as Skwisgaar drew the blowjob out until Nathan was practically weeping (not that he would ever admit it) with how much he wanted to just come already. Skwisgaar had him wrapped around his talented tongue, rendering all his brute strength useless (totally the edibles’ fault, he’d swear to it). At some point his hands had slipped from the man’s hair, one mindlessly clutching at the blankets beneath them instead while the other was crammed against his mouth to keep from making any sounds loud enough for the mic to pick up. 

Pickles, meanwhile, was playing so furiously that his entire body shook with the force of it, dreads flying and sweat dripping into his eyes, and even when he blinked it away he could still see the other two going at it. The vision of them was burned onto the back of his eyelids: Nathan with his head thrown back and his back arched while Skwisgaar absolutely wrecked him. Pickles wasn’t even thinking anymore, beyond a basic recognition that this might be some of the best shit he’d ever recorded, and the silent mantra (in tempo, naturally) of soon soon soon soon soon soon—

“Done!” he yelled, after crashing to a final halt, panting from the effort for a few seconds, and then jumping to his feet. “That was . . . theat was good, right?!” 

Ripping his eyes up from Skwisgaar releasing Nathan with a pop and gliding up to kiss the frontman and fondle their hard-ons together. . . . Ripping his eyes up from that, Pickles stared at Knubbler with a desperate intensity that made the producer roll back a bit in his chair. 

“Oh looks,” Toki crowed in amusement in the background, nudging Murderface and pointing for him to look. “Pickle gots a boner from playings drums!”

“What’sch wrong with you, I don’t want to schee that,” Murderface protested, looking anyway. 

“Tell me we’re done,” Pickles growled, eyes still boring into Knubbler’s robot ones. 

“Okay, okay, we’re done,” Knubbler said hastily. “Sheesh.” 

He pressed whatever buttons he needed to press to save the recording, blah blah blah, Pickles already wasn’t paying much attention anymore. He sat back down and immediately realized he was rocking slightly back and forth on his seat, trying to get some friction going. Fucking whatever. They could all think he was nuts and about to fuck his kit for all he cared, just as long as recording was done for the day and they would leave. 

Murderface left first, complaining about boners. Toki was next, saying something about some game he wanted to go play. When Knubbler was finished pressing buttons and whatever, he hesitated. “Hey Pickles, are you trippin’ balls in there?”

Oh god, he was so turned on that even Knubbler’s grating voice through the headphones, saying the word balls sent a jolt through him. “Yep,” he blurted out a little too loudly. “Trippin’ so many balls. So . . . fuck off, get outta here.”

“Okay, if you say so. . . .” Knubbler might have muttered something about Murderface being right regarding the inconsiderateness of not sharing, but he wasn’t holding the talkback button anymore and Pickles wasn’t paying attention except to make sure he left. 

As soon as Knubbler was out the door Pickles ripped the headphones off so hard they hit the wall of speakers behind him. Stranglingly tight pants and underwear were shoved hastily down at least to his ankles; he sent cymbal and hi-hat crashing to the floor and kicked out the base drum in front of him in his eagerness to get to the other side of the room, tripping on it. (They were rich as hell, there were plenty of replacements available.) Then he flailed the rest of the way out of his pant legs, losing both shoes and one sock in the struggle, and finished scrambling to his destination. 

The other two reacted more to the sudden flashes of movement than the sound. Nathan lolled his head around to look, and Skwisgaar looked up and blinked at him dazedly, but both smiled and reached out to welcome him in. He went for their earplugs first, specifically so he could whine “Fuckin dooshbeags” at them, then joined in for a Yuletide roll in the recording booth.

[starlightinhumanform]

Power and Control

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Familial Dark Sides (Anxceitmus)

Summary: Virgil has gotten used to living with the light sides, in fact he quite likes it. But when one of Logan’s experiments goes very wrong, he remembers where home really is.

Warnings: Moderate Language Throughout, Description of Blood, Loss of Control, Memory Loss, Imprisonment, Mentioned Animal Death (Please, please tell me if there’s anything I need to add). 

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort 

A/N: Started off as a vent fic, turned out as... the dark sides being a tight knit family? Writing this really helped me work out some of my internal angst and I hope this can at least entertain you while we get through this uncertain time. Please be careful though— this fic is a lot darker than my usual writing and I would hate to trigger or upset someone. Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨ (P.S. Deceit’s name is Ethan in this)

Ao3    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Virgil woke up to blood dripping out of his mouth. In fact, it was everywhere; gurgling at the back of his throat, coating his tongue, crusting at the corners of his mouth as it flowed over his lips and merrily ran over the curves of his jaw. The fountain finally ended at his hands, congealing in his palms. As his gaze followed the trail of blood, he noticed with a start that one of his hands gripped a raw and ripped hunk of meat. It must have been the source of the blood but why he would have it and, even worse, why he would put it anywhere near is mouth simply made no sense. It fell from his fingers but he didn’t even notice the sickening squelch it made as it hit the floor.

Virgil’s hands were shaking . He felt numb and cold and sick all at once. It felt like every cell in his body was trying to tear in a different direction. Except maybe his stomach. Those were working on condensing into diamond and then forcing their way up his throat, sharp corners scraping along the sides the whole way up.

He was on his knees and the cold gray concrete he sat on was eating through his jeans and gnawing on his skin. He bent forward, retching and coughing and suddenly very very aware of the thing around his neck. It was cold. Definitely metal. Definitely a collar. Leaning forward, it pressed against his throat and only increased the coughs that were shuddering violently from somewhere deep within Virgil’s body. He couldn’t help but scratch at it, slippery fingers useless against the smooth metal.

“Hello there, little beast. We were wondering when you were going to wake up.”

Virgil jerked his head up and was startled to find two other men in the room. Well, if you could call this a room; it was far more like a dungeon. It was a bleak box of concrete, entirely gray and without any source of light except for the open door at the opposite side from Virgil. On the wall behind him, a chain led from a ring and attached to the thing around his neck.

And in front of him... two men stood only feet away. Only feet away but still out of reach. The one who had spoken looked down with fascination at the huddled mess of Virgil. The other was berating him, growling at the taller one for calling Virgil a beast. If Virgil hadn’t already been coughing he might have choked out a laugh. An animal was exactly what he felt like.

“Hey there, Virgil. You had us worried for a second,” The smaller of the two knelt down in front of him. His voice was soft and his gaze dripped with pity as his eyes ran over Virgil’s body. Half of his face was patterned by scales, like something off a snake. It should have been repulsive but somehow it was so familiar.

He shuffled slightly closer to Virgil and slipped the gloves off of his hands. The man reached out with trembling fingers, shushing him quietly as if that would dissuade Virgil from bolting away. Luckily for the other, Virgil couldn’t have moved if he wanted to; between the chain and the convulsions shuddering through his body, he may as well have been sewn into the ground.

Shaky hands ran through his hair and Virgil’s mind was snapped back into that direction. They felt so familiar- he knew those blunt fingernails, the way they scratched gently against his scalp, he even recognized the smooth spots where skin melted into scale. The fingers fluttered away from his face and unlatched the collar.

Virgil raised himself up just enough to collapse into the man’s waiting arms. He nearly felt bad for spitting blood onto the other’s shoulder, “I know you?”

“Yeah, yeah, you know me. I’m Ethan. Sometimes I go by Deceit? We lived together for years,” His voice wasn’t upset or even worried, just tired. Exhausted as if this was far from the first time this exact conversation had played out.

Oh, right. Ethan. His best friend. They had grown up together. They had watched each other change and evolve as Thomas had done the same. Virgil knew every single angle of Ethan’s multi-facetted personality. So how the hell could he have forgotten him?

Virgil glanced up at the other who had strolled over to Ethan’s side and was now mindlessly fiddling with the cape over Ethan’s shoulders. He was muttering under his breath and staring at the wall as if he could look right through it. Very much like- “Remus?”

He jerked his head down and to the side to make eye contact with Virgil, “Hello!”

“H-hi,” Virgil tore his eyes away; Remus’ expression was just a bit too delighted at the moment for him to handle. Ethan was still in front of him, checking over him like a concerned mother and grimacing at the red marks around his neck. Virgil decided to focus on him instead, “Ethan, what the fuck is going on? Why am I like this? Who put me here?”

Ethan had moved on to studying Virgil’s hands but refused to look up at him, “We put you here.”

Virgil jerked his hand away and shuffled as far back as he could without standing up, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Ethan sighed and managed to look at Virgil this time. His eyes were far older than they should have been. Virgil got the feeling Ethan had explained this many, many times, “It’s for everyone’s safety- including yours.”

“Ethan how the hell is chaining me up in the fucking basement for my safety? This looks like a fucking horror movie,” Virgil tried to scoot away further but his back hit the wall. Against the cold concrete, he could feel the sweat racing down his spine.

Remus butted in, cackling, “Well you saw how you were acting- who knows what havoc you could wreck if we let you lose in Thomas’ mind!”

Ethan turned on his heel to glare at Remus, “Which is something we are not going to do.”

“So, what, you’re just going to leave me locked up in here?”

“No, of course not. Only, only when-“ Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose as he stood up and Virgil couldn’t help but flinch away from the movement, “Only when you’re different.”

“Different,” The word felt bitter and heavy as it rolled off of Virgil’s tongue. Or maybe that was just the coppery coat of blood that still lurked in every nook of his mouth. He feared he would never be able to forget that taste.

“Yeah, silly, different. When it’s night and you get just a bit-” Remus had swaggered across the room and squatted down next to Virgil with a bounce. He reached out, dragging one pointer finger along the lines of Virgil’s face and tapping him lightly on the nose as if to punctuate the word, “-crazy.”

Virgil studied the face in front of him. Remus had poison apple green eyes that flickered like he had managed to trap lightening in them and a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat. Right now his eyes looked like a thunderstorm captured in a snow globe; he was either really excited or scared beyond belief. Virgil wasn’t sure which option was worse, “What do you mean crazy?”

Ethan sat down next to Remus so they were all at the same level, “You lose control, turn kind of wild. It’s been happening every night of this week- don’t you remember?”

“I don’t remember this week at all. Ethan, why the hell is this happening to me?” Virgil’s voice was shaking nearly as hard as his hands, still covered in the red grime. He knew exactly what it was but his mind simply refused to accept it.

“I guess it started with Logan. He wanted to learn about what makes a ‘dark’ side different from a ‘light’ one— no bad intentions, I’m sure. You happily volunteered to participate in his research and I’m not sure what happened next. He gave you something and it fucked you up. It was supposed to bring out the traits that make you ‘dark.’ He was just curious about what made us different from them. Except, it didn’t just made you dark; it made you as bad as a side can be.”

“And then they dumped you with us because they couldn’t handle you!” Remus grinned as if he were quite proud of his conclusion to Ethan’s explanation.

Ethan winced, “Well I wouldn’t exactly put it so bluntly. They... tried to help you but they couldn’t manage it. They knew we would be more prepared for this sort of thing.”

Virgil ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. He half expected to find a row of fangs or at least some pointed canines; something to match the snarl he felt building up in his gut and clawing its way to the back of his throat. He wanted to yell, to scream until his voice was too raw to sound anything like a human. He wanted punch his fist right through the concrete wall and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to damage the wall or just wanted to feel the pain in his hand, just as a reminder of what was real. How dare they? They turned him into this and when he was too much, they tossed him aside like a broken toy they had gotten bored off. Them. Virgil wanted to tear his teeth into the neck of one of those pretty little light sides. Wait, no. No. He didn’t want to do any of that. That wasn’t him. That was- No no no no no no no no.

The word ricocheted through his head, one clear point through the murk of his thoughts. Except it burned, far too bright as it buzzed through his mind. His head pounded and the room was closing in and the faces in front of him were swimming. Virgil bunched his legs to his chest, hanging his head to his knees. He was trapped; trapped in this room, trapped in the situation, trapped in the dark slime that suffocated his mind.

“Hey, hey, hey,” A hand smoothed across his back and lightly gripped one of his shoulders, “Don’t go there. We’re right here.”

Virgil raised his head up, somewhat startled by the effort it took, almost as if there was a weight pressing down on his neck. Ethan rubbed his hand over Virgil’s back and reached out with the other. He wiped a tear off of Virgil’s cheekbone with the side of his thumb and smiled softly, “We’ll figure this out, Virge.”

“Yeah, we always fix things eventually,” Remus ruffled his hair maybe a little rougher than necessary, but Virgil was used to it.

He couldn’t help but grin a little bit and, as weak as it was, it felt good, “Yeah, we fix it after you fuck it up in the first place.”

Remus winked, “And where would we possibly be without me being the only one brave enough to fuck shit up?”

Ethan gave a small snort of a laugh, “Maybe you should hold off on causing chaos until we’ve got this sorted out.”

“Ah, well, no promises but I’ll do my best,” Remus suddenly jumped to his feet, “Now come on, are we just going to sit here all day?!”

“He’s right, you know, we shouldn’t stay here and you look like a mess,” Ethan gave Virgil’s shoulder one last squeeze, “Do you think you’re ready to get up?”

Virgil looked down at his hands; they were still tremoring and the red was quickly drying to burgundy, “I’m not sure if I can stand but there’s no way in hell I want to stay here.”

“Ah, no issue!” Remus leaned down just long enough to scoop Virgil into his arms princess-style and stood back up.

Virgil should have been worried; this was a compromised position after all. But somehow, it felt so so much safer than that floor. The floor was cold and rough and covered in a viscous mix of blood and Virgil’s sins. And Remus— well he was warm and safe and secure and smelled like a weird mixture of metal and saccharine flowers. Besides, Virgil’s head was already swimming, his body might as well joining it in floating away.

He let his head fall against Remus’ shoulder and closed his eyes; every part of his body felt like lead, even his eyelids. It wasn’t until they reached the top of the stairs and the warm glow of light washed over Virgil’s face did he realize they had been moving at all.

Remus swung Virgil’s legs down gently but kept one of his arms wrapped around Virgil’s waist, keeping him from keeling over on the spot.

Ethan seemed to be taking advantage of the brighter light to look over Virgil again. He lifted Virgil’s chin gently, grimacing at the marks around his neck and the blood surrounding his mouth, “You really are a mess this time; do you think you could take a shower?”

Virgil managed to huff out a laugh, “I think if it weren’t for Remus, I would be passed out on the floor right now. So, uh, no. Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s ok. Remus and I will help you get cleaned up and then we can all hang out on the couch together and you can get some sleep. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Virgil slouched against Remus’ shoulder and tried to keep his feet from sliding out beneath himself.

“Hey, buddy?” Remus jostled him lightly.

“Huh?”

“We’re walking now. One foot in front of the other, ok?” Remus held him a little closer and started half-dragging/half-supporting him down the hall while Ethan walked ahead.

By the time they made it the bathroom that the dark sides shared, Remus was basically carrying him, one arm looped around Virgil’s body so he just kind of hung at Remus’ hip.

Remus set him down on the counter and Virgil let himself slump back against the mirror. The glass was cold on his shoulders through his shirt but he hardly noticed, oddly fascinated by the spots on the ceiling above him. They looked like mold— probably a result of one of Remus’ experiments. Yeah ok... so his mind was definitely drifting away.

Ethan brought him back to the present once again, handing him a cup of water and ordering him to drink it. Virgil felt like he was out of his body and watching the scene from several feet in the air; at least the picture was starting to come in a little clearer.

“Hey, Virge?”

Virgil leaned his head on the mirror at an angle he could face Ethan from, “Yeah?”

“Can I take your hoodie off?” Ethan’s hands hesitated a few inches above his chest like he was afraid Virgil would bite him at any moment.

Oh that was reassuring. Oh yeah, Virgil, everything’s totally fine but I’m definitely worried you’re going to go absolutely fucking feral and eat me but don’t let it bother your pretty little head because it’s all sunshine and rainbows here.

Virgil was suddenly taken aback by the anger he was feeling. His fists were clenched and his lip was curling into a snarl and he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Maybe Ethan had a reason to treat him like a ticking bomb.

“You,” Remus poked him, “Yeah, you. Snap out of it.”

Virgil shook his head as if he could jumble all the pieces back into place, as if he could make everything normal again, “Right. I’m, gosh, Ethan I’m just really sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Ethan’s voice was steady and soothing but his hands shook as he pulled the zipper of the Virgil’s sweatshirt down and helped him shrug it off his shoulders, “You just need to relax a bit; it’s fine.”

“Ethan, no! It’s not fine! How can you say that? You fucking chained me up in a basement I didn’t even know we had.”

Ethan hung his head. Virgil couldn’t see his eyes but he could tell he was exhausted. Virgil had hated the optimism Ethan had been faking but the honesty of this change was sickening, “Look, Virgil, I have to think everything will be fine. I can’t give up— not on you. I’ve always believed in you and I always will. I have seen you go through so much and I’m not going to lose hope just because we have another obstacle to overcome. And if I’m being honest? I have no idea how we’re going to get through this one. I have no idea how much worse everything is going to get. But I can promise that we’ll keep taking care of you. And Logan will keep looking for a solution.”

“And I‘ll help him!”

Remus’ interruption managed to pull a small smile over Ethan’s face, “Yeah, Remus has been working with Logan while he works on a cure of sorts.”

“I’m a lab rat!”

Ethan reached up to muss Remus’ messy hair, “That you certainly are.”

Virgil looked between the two men in front of him. This was his family. He loved the light sides but when things got terrifyingly real like this, these freaks were the only people he really trusted. This was his family and if there was anyone he wanted to lose his mind around, it was them.

“I love—“ Virgil’s voice broke, “I love you guys.”

Remus leaned down and wrapped his arms around Virgil, squeezing hard enough to make Virgil worry about breaking a rib.

“Ok, enough being sappy, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. Right now, Virgil is still covered in blood,” Ethan untied Remus from around Virgil and started scrubbing at his face with a cloth.

“Hey, yeah, what is that about? I’m not bleeding... so whose blood is that? What the hell was I eating?”

“Oh, that. It was venison— kind of,” Ethan explained casually as he continued attacking him with soap and water, “You were hungry but you didn’t eat any normal food and Remus found this dead deer in the Imagination and you seemed to like it so we just let you have it.”

“You let me eat roadkill?!”

Remus hopped up onto the counter next to him, “Well it wasn’t by a road so technically it’s not road-kill. But, yes!”

Ethan paused scrubbing a moment so he could fully take in the horrified expression Virgil was giving him, eventually just rolling his eyes, “What? I’m sure it won’t hurt you.”

Virgil stuck his tongue out at Ethan, “You say that now but just watch— I’m gonna develop some rare disease or something.”

“God you must be feeling better if you have enough energy to be this dramatic,” Ethan shook his head and started working on Virgil’s neck, definitely being a little rougher than necessary.

After a few minutes of the continued bickering, Ethan had managed to get every speck of blood and sweat off of Virgil— and probably a layer of skin along with it too. Ethan and Remus even managed to get him to change into clean clothes before Virgil got bored off arguing over whether or not he was going to die because they let him eat the deer.

“Bottom line, it’s just disgusting.”

“I’ve eaten worse, and I’m just fine!”

“That doesn’t matter! You’re, well, you’re you; you could eat steel shavings like cereal and it wouldn’t matter ‘cause your metabolism is built like a nuclear waste processing plant.”

“Yeah, I have tried that! It was good!”

“Alright you two,” Ethan interrupted Remus And Virgil’s squabbling and gently pushed them out the door, “I think Virgil could do with some rest.”

Remus broke away from their little group and started bouncing down the hall like Tiger from the Winnie the Pooh cartoons. He pumped his fists in the air, screeching, “MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME, MOVIE TIME!”

Virgil and Ethan watched him with a mixture of horror and admiration.

Ethan chuckled, “I have no clue where he gets all that energy.”

“Maybe it’s the hearty bowl of steel shavings he starts the day off with.”

“Heh, maybe,” Ethan laughed at Virgil’s joke but when he turned to face him directly, concern was written in every line on his face, “How are you feeling? Are you doing alright?”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back as if clearing his bangs from his eyes could clear up his thoughts. How did he feel? Well that was a damn good question. He felt like his brain was made of cotton candy and someone was pouring a cup of water over his head, drops slowly melting away the strings that held him together. He was tired. Above all else, he just wanted a fucking break. He didn’t want to think about how he was feeling or what the future might hold or the fact that he was going to turn into an animal that night, in a matter of mere hours. The idea made his skin crawl and contents of his stomach curdle.

But Ethan was standing next to him, rubbing his hand across his shoulders and looking at him with the big yellow-green eyes that Virgil had known all his life. Maybe he wasn’t ok now. Maybe that was ok too. Maybe being safe was close enough to bring alright.

Virgil tried for a smile, “It’s gonna be ok.”

Ethan grinned back, “You bet your ass it is.”

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, please just send an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @reggieleigh07 @cas-is-a-hunter @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic ~

[drjackandmissjo]

float among the stars and fly to Mars and back

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

OR The Men In Black AU no one asked for

Feysand Masterlist --- Ao3 

Feyre Archeron had, since she had been a little girl, always believed that there must’ve been more to the Universe than their little Solar System.

Granted that there was nothing ‘little’ about a star and the nine planets (Viva la Pluto!) and the many other cosmic rocks that rotated around it, quite the opposite if you looked at it from the perspective of a tiny 7 years old, yet for Feyre, after her school had taken them to the city’s planetarium for a field trip, their Solar System had become undoubtedly small compared to the greatness of the unknown sky above. She had got home that day with stars in her eyes, literally because they had been given stickers of stars and planets, and she and her friends thought it was a good idea to stick them on their faces and eyelids, and had begun to constantly look up.

And she had not stopped since.

Many of her classmates laughed at her interest for the sky, thinking she only thought aliens were real because of movies and the TV, but the truth was that Feyre didn’t even want to acknowledge life outside of the Earth unless she had all the cold facts and hard proves laid out in front of her. To her, the Universe was a big adventure waiting to be explored, full of different atmospheres and gravities and temperatures, and it was simply wonderful. And yes, it was statistically impossible for such a vastity to have only one liveable planet, considering how well creatures could adapt to different environments, but that was not the point.

The Universe was infinite and limitless for some, and Feyre wanted to unfold all of its secrets. And if there were live beings outside of the Earth’s atmosphere, that would be even better than taking the journey into the unknown alone.

Which was why at 25 years of age, fresh off the most prestigious university in Prythian with a bachelor’s in aerospace engineering and a PhD in astrophysics, she had sent her curriculum all over the continent, to the best space programs and some. She had graduated valedictorian of her class, scored the highest marks with her thesis and just genuinely worked her ass off to maintain the full scholarship that had landed her at the Day Court University. She was gonna get what she deserved!

Or at least she thought. Weeks passed and she got no answer at all. She was not expecting to be submerged by requests but, by the Mother, at least some acknowledgement!

“No news is good news” wasn’t part of her vocabulary and she was growing impatient by the hour.

In the meantime, she still kept her job at a local library in her university town, not particularly wanting to go back home to her sisters who had never shown her any support in her academic career. Besides, it was not like they would provide for her anyway: she had learnt since a young age to take care of herself, knowing that if she didn’t nobody else would.

It was on the third week of no reply, that someone walked in the shop during her shift. A tall man in an impeccable black suit strutted in like a model on the runway. As soon as he opened the door, the bell rang, signalling a customer and letting Feyre slip on her Retail Smile, which she had practised for years to make it impeccable.

Coincidentally, it was also the same condescending smile she reserved to people who thought they knew more than her in her own field before she crushed them with stone cold facts without breaking a sweat. “Oh, you believe that astrology and astrophysics are the same thing? Sit your ass down, Tamlin, you’re in for a lecture,” had been one of her best moments, followed by a quick “Nothing’s in retrograde, Ianthe, you’re just a plain basic bitch.”

The customer was her dictionary definition of ‘hot’: elegant, tall, with deep russet brown skin and dark unruly curls that framed his forehead nicely. The stranger also knew how to wear a suit, which was a rarer and rarer phenomenon, that didn’t hurt a bit.

It was such a shame that he was clearly a douche, given that he wore dark sunglasses inside her little bookshop after the sun had already set down.

“Can I help you, sir?” she asked politely, watching as the customer scanned through the files of books mindlessly. He lazily reached up her counter with an entitled smile that almost made her punch him the face. “Could you point me to the sci-fi section, Darling?”

The fact that he looked like a thirty-something made the term somehow less creepy, or perhaps it was the fact that he was attractive. But Feyre could not, for the life of her, let that slide down. “I’m not your Darling” she said in her most saccharine voice while throwing daggers at the customer. She was completely out of fucks to give, stressed and anxious, half an hour away from closing time and with her manager on a vacation far away.

Besides, she doubted Alis would give her hell for mouthing an entitled but attractive customer who was patronizing her. If anything, she’d probably push Feyre to flirt with said attractive customer. Cauldron knew that woman wanted her to have a relationship more than anything!

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, I am truly sorry. Didn’t mean to sound rude nor impolite.”

Feyre was quickly taken aback. He truly did sound apologetic and not condescending at all. But he also could just be a great actor. She crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly looked at him, signalling that she was still not convinced by his behaviour.

She would usually be not this bold with customers, but there was something about the stranger that seemed to put her at ease and to let her nature pass through her nurture.

He scratched his neck, probably uncomfortable with the energy Feyre was radiating, and finally took off his sunglasses, revealing the most gorgeous pair of violet eyes she had ever seen.

Immediately, Feyre went from thinking he was a douchebag to understanding that his pretty eyes didn’t work. Which was probably why he didn’t take off the sunglasses at night.

But then why in the Hell would he take them under the store light and not outside, where it was already dark?

She was on the fence, too many contrasting details that sent her rational side derailing, looking for answers that she knew she wasn’t gonna get. Unless she played her cards right.

“Apology accepted” she claimed, truly smiling as she saw the hot stranger visibly relax.

“If his eyes are purple, that means that he’s basically blind, so where are his prescription glasses?” she wondered, eyeing him up and down as she would with any specimen to analyse for a lab. She was a scientist, after all, and Cauldron Damn Her, she needed answers to each and every puzzle that came in front of her.

“I am looking for the sci-fi section. Would it be possible for you to show it to me?” His voice was sensual and low, a rich baritone that seemed to be able to get to her very bones, if she wasn’t careful enough.

“Would you rather me show you our audible or kindle selection for the genre?” she quietly asked, trying to be as tactful as possible. She was only making assumptions with the tiniest bit of information by her side, after all, so she had to be careful not to make an ass out of herself.

“No, what for?”

There went it. The ease with the customer had said it made it completely clear that she was utterly mistaken. She quickly tallied her notions of genetics, trying to understand how such a colour could be created without a damaging mutation.

Realizing she still hadn’t answered and was actively zooming out, staring into the space between the stranger’s brows without really realizing it, Feyre shook her head, saying a quick “Never mind,” before leaning over the counter to point to her left.

Counterintuitively, that had not been the greatest of ideas. There she was, already on a rollercoaster with a rather pretty stranger in an empty store, leaning towards him without thought or restraint. “It’s down that row, you can’t miss it,” she quickly said, moving fast into her original position to avoid any more embarrassment, “There’s a sticker of a Martian next to the tag.”

The customer raised one of his brows in a RDJ-esque way, sparking even more interest in Feyre’s stomach. “How do you know what a Martian looks like?”

“I’ve been scarred by the Tim Burton movie, I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to forget them anytime soon!”

He nodded along, “Ah, yes. Apparently there had been a revolt after that film was released due to its controversial portrayal of the Martian Race, by making them look like a green oversized Arquillians. Such a bad political move, if you ask me, considering we’re right in their direct laser trajectory!” The stranger then laughed, a crystalline sound that resonated throughout the store as he began to walk away towards the direction Feyre had indicated.

She had been so entrapped by his laugh that it took a minute to register his words. He had already disappeared between the rows and all she could do was dumbly stare at the spot he had been as her eyes widened in shock.

“No fucking way in Hell!” her mind screamt as she stumbled to find a different solution to the situation at hand. He was clearly pranking her, saying words that didn’t really make sense. He had asked for the sci-fi section, after all! So he must’ve been a nerd, albeit a really hot one, that was just referencing some sort of obscure specie from an equally obscure piece of media.

The only problem was that she was a nerd that knew all of the obscure sci-fi knowledge. She had spent most of her life looking up at the stars and wishing to know more about them, and what better way to start than by watching and reading everything that had to do with her favourite topic. She was used to be on forums, to talk with people that had her same interest and to explore all her crazy theories.

And never once in her entire career as a proud nerd had she heard the term ‘Arquillians’. Vulcans and Krill and every single type of alien that made the Star Wars universe, sure. ‘Arquillians’, never once by mistake in the deepest bottom of reddit.

Feyre was about to debate with herself whether or not she should’ve run to the stranger to demand explanations, when he appeared in front of her, holding a copy of ‘The War of the Worlds’ by H. G. Wells, one of the most iconic books ever written and one of her personal favourites.

“He’s definitely messing with me” she reasoned as she grabbed the book and scanned it, ready to place it in a bag, when she noticed an envelope laying on her counter. It was a non-descriptive, black envelope with some sort of a six electron configuration in minimalistic drawn atomic orbitals. The image was wrong, depicting the electrons in a specific spot on the ellipse rather than in a general area in which they were thought to be empirically.

She raised her head up, looking expectantly into the stranger’s eyes and telling him as such. One of her hands also crept under the counter, towards the baseball bat Alis kept down there just in case.

“Wow. Took you less to realize it than most people!” he cheerfully said, his violet eyes shining with some unknown feeling behind them.

“Realize what?”

“That those are not electrons.”

She snorted at that, unable to keep her sarcasm in. “And what should they be? Wasps?” she asked, amused by their exchange as she grabbed his credit card to pay for the book. It was pitch black too, apparently like everything that revolved around the pretty stranger who was going to get his head open like a melon if he kept up with his antics.

“Why don’t you tell me, Miss Degree in Astrophysics.”

Feyre froze with her hand mid-air as she was giving him back his card. Her expression shifted in cold distance as she sobered up. They were getting on dangerous territory

She was far from powerless: she had a weapon at hand and several years of martial arts by her side, but she doubted she could take down someone the side of her customer in her skinny jeans and Avatar: The Last Airbender shirt. But there was also the counter separating them, which seemed protective enough for Feyre to answer his question.

“First of all, it’s only theorized and not proven, that planets could share an orbit around a star, but I fail to believe that three pairs would form this symbol without colliding against each other and disrupting the harmony of the system. Second, who the fuck told you that?”

“Well, you did, when you sent your exquisite curriculum around” he replied smoothly, without missing a beat.

That was the last straw of weirdness she was willing to witness. “This is getting very creepy and I’m gonna ask you to leave” she said coldly, grabbing the bat with both hands and leaning it over her shoulder, ready to attack if the necessity arose.

The stranger blinked twice and then took a step back, raising his hands in a placative motion. “Pardon me, I still have not grasped human social skills to the full extent, despite my long stay.”

“You are human” she retorted back, unable to keep her voice from shaking. This was absurd, ridiculous, impossible. This was everything she had ever hoped for since she was a child. This was a walking nightmare.

The smile he gave her didn’t look human, nor the way his violet eyes reflected the light, seeming to sparkle with amusement. His lips opened as his tongue wetted them, revealing sharp canines. Feyre had never seen a scene more captivating than when the stranger moved a strand of curly hair behind his ear with deliberate slowness, showing off the pointed tip of his ear. “Correction, I look humanlike.”

“You’re messing with me” she rationalized, refusing to believe that it was possible. Anyone could buy fake vampire teeth and elf ears at any Halloween store or online. But they usually didn’t look this real. Perhaps it was make-up: she had seen so many videos on YouTube and Instagram of artists literally transforming in different things with make-up.

He just shrugged, unaware of Feyre’s rocked existence. She both wanted to believe him and not. She didn’t know what she truly wanted.

“Why would I? I was just sent here by my agency to give you personally the invitation for a job interview, which I think you’ll find fascinating.”

She was speechless. Couldn’t even begin to think about where to start speaking.

This had to be the cruellest prank someone had ever pulled on her.

The stranger cleared his throat and moved once closer to the counter, resuming his initial position. Since Feyre didn’t seem to be hitting him anytime soon, he took the liberty to lean on the counter with his hands splayed out. He had long and lean fingers, like the ones of someone who played an instrument, a piano or a violin, and Feyre ignored the twist her stomach did at the sight.

If he wasn’t messing with her and if he was in actuality a fucking alien, would that be even allowed? Moral? Ethical?

“Look, I know you have an analytical mind, so I’ll be quick,” he began, his smooth voice washing over Feyre in an equally calming and disruptive way, “In case you have wondered why you still haven’t gotten a single reply for your applications, it’s because something big in Velaris is calling out to you. And my agency believes in dibs.”

“What’s there for me in Velaris?”

He smirked at her, a cocky gesture that made her want to strangle him quickly. “Don’t you wanna find out?”

Damn him, damn his perfect face, damn everything. Feyre had many strengths: she was patient, passionate, artistic, kind. But her downfall would always be her curiosity, her desperate want to know.

“I don’t particularly want to get murdered, so no” she tried to play it cool, but inside she was burning alive. Every muscle was taut, every nerve active. She hoped he couldn’t see through her bluff, she prayed the Mother he didn’t think her to be a pathetic little girl.

The Alien, it was impossible in her mind to call him that even if he had confessed it in the most subtle way possible, regarded her with shiny eyes and a grin that promised trouble.

Feyre had always been terrible at staying away from trouble.

“Pity. We could’ve used someone with your talents. If you change your mind…” he motioned to the black envelope, that still laid on the counter untouched. Too many Mission Impossible movies told her that the message was most likely to destroy itself after it opened.

Slipping his sunglasses back on, the alien turned around to leave and suddenly Feyre realized she didn’t want him too. She had too many questions.

“Wait!” she called as he had his hands on the handle. He slowly turned around and looked at her expectantly. Or at least she thought he was: there was no way of seeing his violet eyes behind the black lenses. Suddenly, all of the questions that had filled her mind a moment prior escaped her grasp. Except one.

“Let’s pretend I believe you. What are you?”

The smile he gave her was genuine, blinding and warm. “I am an Illyrian, but I doubt you know of us.” Then, as if in an afterthought, he added. “I’m Rhys, by the way.” She couldn’t understand why he looked sheepish out of the blue, it was almost as if he was a teenager revealing a secret crush.

“Feyre.”

“Well, in that case. I hope to see you soon, Feyre Darling.” And with that, he left her utterly alone, with a black envelope and stars in her eyes.

Part Two: The Letter

Feyre had waited until she had gotten home to even think about the black envelope, least of all to open it where someone could immediately walk in with their prying eyes.

Not that she would have had any, after all she was just about to close shop for the weekend and the only people she was in speaking terms with were Alis, who would never call her at such a late hour, and the stray tabby cat that lived near her building and for whom she always left some milk and some food whenever she went out to work. She had playfully began to call him Lucien, after a former college friend she had fallen out with that shared the same ginger hair with the cat, and constantly damned her landlord for his ‘no pets allowed’ policy, but alas, she couldn’t do more.

She had always appreciated her privacy, but lately it had become very close to loneliness, with her being too engrossed with her work to maintain a social group of friends. Not like she missed the assholes she used to hand out with in college anyway. They could all rot in their expensive clothes and expensive cars and expensive degrees, cause Daddy Dearest is a powerful donor and alumni.

Yet it wouldn’t have been so bad to have someone to hang out with when her mind became too loud.

Not too bad, if the alien, “Rhys” she reminded herself, was to be believed. The Night Court was adjacent to Day, but she had left nothing there worth justifying the trip back in case she did move to Velaris.

Velaris. The city of starlight, they called it. Feyre had always wanted to visit, but never could afford it with her tight budget and her focused plan to graduate valedictorian. In the end, she only got that, her impeccable career, which was truly the only thing she cared about. Loneliness was feeble compared to her fear of failure in what she believed was her destiny. It is a funny thing, destiny, it smacks you in the face when you least expect it, and smack Feyre in the face in the form of a very attractive stranger with possibly the best news ever it did.

She had almost expected him to appear out of the blue as she walked back home. Thankfully, he didn’t, but that didn’t mean she slowed her pace before being inside her complex doors and that didn’t mean she didn’t have her keys at hand throughout the entire journey.

It almost felt like she couldn’t breathe properly before she got inside, door locked twice behind her as she leaned against it to help her mind to stop spinning.

Too many things had happened in a too short time for her to cope properly. She needed answers, but she equally needed a strong drink.

It wasn’t until she had managed to calm down her beating heart, that Feyre sat down at her desk and placed the black envelope on her closed laptop.

“This better not be a sick joke” she thought as she ran a paper cutter through the edges. She had wasted too much time on this already for it to be fake or, worst, disappointing.

The paper inside was, predictably, black. She could start to see a theme, linking everything that had happened to her that evening.

The silver writing was subtle and not to bright, perfect to not cause her an headache reflecting the light from her reading lamp.

Feyre almost expected to see alien signs and letters, to not be able to understand what was written as some sort of challenge to test her knowledge. Luckily for her and her dyslexia, it was in English. Still a struggle, but very doable.

“Doctor Archeron,

We have been sent a copy of your resumé from one of our affiliates. We apologise if this letter comes out as brusque due to the circumstances of your possible recruitment.

We are more than pleased to inform you that we have envisioned your request. Our Agency specializes in your field and your accomplishments are remarkable. We are particularly interested in your research in the attrite of different materials against the atmosphere, which you created a masterful thesis around, we were mostly drawn by your detailed research with the Martian atmosphere.

We know that was not part of your resumé, but we have read it and it is very insightful.

We would appreciate if you were willing to come to Velaris for an Interview with our Head of the Research Department. We think you would be interested in a position and we are open to discuss a fortuitous partnership.

In case the way you received this letter was not direct enough, Our Agency values privacy and secrecy above all, and therefore we would request for you to not discuss of this with anyone.

Attached you will find your scheduled meeting time with the address, plus a train ticket to reach Velaris and the booking of an already paid room.

We are truly hoping to be able to work with you.

Our Best Regards,

MIB”

Feyre had to read the letter three times, for the meaning to stick in her head.

Any thought of it being a joke flew out of the window. No one in their right mind would ever read what her supervisor had claimed to be a ‘monstrosity of twenty pages without pictures about materials and Star Trek’ simply for a joke. No matter how well thought the joke could be, the Mars piece was the penultimate point of her research, before the conclusion and not even featured in the syllabus.

Her mind became crowded with a thousand different thoughts. Her emotions were all over the place, running around and doing flips and diving into her subconscious.

She leaned back on her chair, letter momentarily forgotten on her desk as she covered her eyes with her hands and just focused on her breath.

In, hold, out. In, hold, out.

She could rationalize this, just like she did everything else in her life. She had jumped to conclusions with her emotions only once in the past 10 years since she had started college, following her loneliness and the pressure to date the guy that screamt red flags for many reasons, yet she had ignored them all because he was gentle at first, filthy rich and nice looking.

Never again, she swore to the mirror after she had managed to end the toxic relationship that had developed.

Feyre did what any rational person would in her situation: grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote down a list of pros and cons.

PROS:

Job opportunity in my field

ALIENS?

Secret Organization

Area 51?!

Already estranged from family

Secrets!

Velaris!

Best food

The Rainbow

Seaside

Best Library in Prythian

Snow in the winter

Fresh Start

CONS:

Moving

Finding a place

Totally new city

Know literally no one

Have to quit job with Alis

Already told her I was waiting for replies

She has a replacement ready

Could still be a prank

Too complicated to be a prank

Definitely an opportunity

Am I really thinking about saying no?

It took her longer to come up with cons. Besides, her gut told her to do it, and so far it had never lead her astray.

Worst case scenario: she comes back and waits around for another reply to her resumé.

Best case scenario: the job of the literal dreams, that can possibly exceed expectations, in her favourite city in the entire world.

Besides, she already had a paid train ticket to and from Velaris and an already paid room in what, if the website was to be believed and it was, was a 5 stars hotel in the creative centre of the city.

Before she could doubt herself even further, she grabbed her phone and shoot a quick text to Alis. The older woman didn’t believe in phone calls past 8 pm, considering her nephews would be already asleep by then, or at least she hoped they would.

Her thumb ran over the keyboard as she frantically wrote, in the most cryptical wording known to womankind, that she would have a job interview in the Winter Court on Monday and that she needed the day off. It didn’t matter that she was going to the Night Court and that her meeting was scheduled for Sunday at 11 am, she figured that, if she had to be secretive, better start as soon as possible!

Feyre didn’t move from her position with her phone pressed tightly in her hands until, ten minutes later, Alis replied with a thumbs up emoji, followed by ‘you’re wasted at retail’.”

Feeling lighter than she had in months, she rushed into her room to begin to pack for the upcoming weekend. The train would leave the next afternoon and would get her back Monday after lunchtime. She had to prepare, in case she could go out on Sunday night for a ‘I JUST GOT THE JOB OF MY DREAMS!’ celebration and shenanigans.

Perhaps with a very cute and nice alien with violet eyes, she thought as butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea.

Part Three: The Agent

Her old pencil skirt clashed with the aesthetic of the entire building.

At first she had thought that the whole black attire Rhys was wearing when they met was only due to personal preference, and that the black letter was used to be more secretive or something along those lines. Yet when she hopped, literally hopped on the pavement out of excitement, off the taxi she had taken from the hotel, she immediately realized her error.

To say that they were peculiarly attached to their aesthetic was an understatement: floors, walls, dresses, desks. Everything stuck to the black and white palette, making Feyre extremely aware that she had underdressed as she stuck out like a sore thumb.

In her defence, that was her lucky outfit: hair tight in a professional bun, glasses because she couldn’t be bothered with contacts on important mornings, white blouse and beige skirt she had bought for her graduation in high school and that she had worn to every job interview since then.

Of course, she had brought a full professional black outfit from home, but she had decided that morning not to take a chance. So far, that combo had never failed her, and it wasn’t going to betray her now, by the looks of it.

Upon arriving to Velaris the night before, she had spent the entire time daydreaming about what would happen that morning. Countless of scenarios had created and resolved themselves in her mind. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as soon as she walked into the address the letter had given her.

It was a perfectly non-descriptive building, something akin a factory that had been converted in offices or lofts, inconspicuous amongst the other nearly identical buildings. Perfect if you didn’t want to be found. But while the outside looked like it hadn’t been renovated in over a century, inside it was completely different.

It was modern, sharp and very Tardis like. And it apparently had several levels underground, so it was ‘bigger in the inside’!

She couldn’t keep her awe in, because not even a few steps in and a short and scary looking woman came approaching her, her silver eyes blazing. “Every human has the same impression” she said in lieu of a greeting, and Feyre could only stand there and nod dumbly.

The woman, if she was human at all, reached to shake her hand, “My name is Amren, I am the chief of MiB. I assume you are not familiar with our Agency, correct?” her voice was cold and dangerous and Feyre had no doubt in believing that she might not be from Earth at all, if her ancient like eyes didn’t give her away.

“No, ma’am, I’m not” she replied curtly, unsure of what to say. No, she had not heard of their Agency. Stars, that was the first time someone had referred to it with its proper name! But she had also dug as deep as she could, trying to find information about all that crazy situation, conscious that her every move must’ve been tracked.

Amren gave her an appraising nod, as if she knew every single detail of Feyre’s life, “As you should” she said calmly, before beginning to walk away, motioning for Feyre to follow her through a maze of bodies and beings and desks. She was kind enough to point a race there, a post here, but refused to get too much into detail. “You’ll find someone else to ask” had been her curt reply before resuming her random naming game.

She only stopped leading her around when they reached a black shiny door that was open, revealing on the inside the only colour in the entire building, or at least that was what Feyre thought. Inside, there was one of the most gorgeous females Feyre had ever seen, long golden hair in contrast with her tan skin, a red dress that hugged her like a second skin, and a smile that could blind and that could counter as a weapon, if needed. When she saw them approach, she immediately jumped to her feet with agility and elegance. “Hello! I am Mor!” she chirped with enthusiasm, avoiding Feyre’s outstretched hand and going straight for a hug. Amren loudly scoffed, “Be professional, Morrigan,” she reprimanded the blonde, who simply winked at her before returning to her side of the desk, motioning for Feyre to seat.

She awkwardly looked at Amren, trying to convey her disorientation through her eyes alone. There wasn’t a name tag at the door, not any indication of what was going to happen. For all Feyre knew, they could be about to wipe her memory clean and dispatch of her in the garbage.

“I hope I will see you around, Dr Archeron” was her only reply, before leaving her alone with Morrigan, who still hadn’t diminished her smile.

“If they made me come all the way up here just to kill me, I’ll be pissed.”

“Dr Archeron, please have a seat, we have quite a lot to discuss.” Morrigan then proceeded open an enormous folder and began to pull out all sort of wavers, undoubtedly that Feyre would need to sign to give her life away. Mother Help Her, what had she gotten herself into?

“So,” she began, her energy still up and running as she maintained a kind and comforting expression, “Feyre, can I call you Feyre? Am I pronouncing it correctly?”

She could only nod quickly, before she was once more submerged by the blonde’s voice.

“Marvellous! I’m sure you want to know what in the Cauldron is happening, right? I mean, you get a letter that basically tells you to uproot your entire family and that you’ll have a job, but it’s described as vaguely as heck and you get here blindly and possibly terrified. Trust me, I know the feeling, it sucks. But it does get away pretty quickly. Now, you’ve got questions, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Please, call me Mor.” Her eyes were kind, a deep brown that harmonized perfectly with the rest of her, and Feyre didn’t have it in her heart to disagree. After all, if things went well, as they seemed to be going, they’d be on first name basis. Stars, maybe they’d even be friends!

“Mor. Very well,” she gave her a quick smile, trying to keep her nerves down, “Will you be the head of my department?” “Cauldron no!” she laughed, so crystalline and contagious that Feyre almost followed suit, or at least she would have, if her heart wasn’t practically beating out of her chest. “That’s Azriel, you’ll meet him soon. I’m just HR and well, I’ll walk you through this major life change. Is it okay?” “Oh, yes, of course. Truth to be told, I don’t even know what I’m here for.”

How pathetic it was of her, to go to a foreign Court without even knowing what she could be facing. But, no matter how much she thought about it, her brain couldn’t wrap around what a secret agency could want for little old her. Sure, she was brilliant and hardworking, but she was also young. And employers didn’t like young.

Mor gave her a sympathetic smile, slightly nodding her head as she moved some papers around, looking for something. “I know, I hate having to be so secretive whenever we recruit, it only leads to confusion. The number of people that refused to be interviewed just because they thought it was a prank it’s concerning.” “I did believe it to be a cruel joke in the beginning…” she trailed off, still not 100% positive that it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry about that. That’s the downside of being in a Secret Agency that deals with Aliens! But let’s get down to business!”

Feyre couldn’t resist: in the quietest voice possible, she filled the space Mor’s voice had left, uttering the most indiscernible ever “To defeat the Huns!”

She knew she had made a mistake when Mor stopped with a sheet of paper mid-air to look at her expectantly. ‘SHIT’ was her only thought as she stumbled to apologize in the least embarrassing way possible: “Sorry, I don’t know what came to me, it’s just a silly song from…” But Mor cut her off enthusiastically. “Mulan, yeah! One of my favourites. I’m pretty sure we’re on the way to become best friends, Feyre!”

Her smile was blinding, and for the first time since she had stepped foot out of the Velaris train station, Feyre felt herself relax. It had been quite a while since someone didn’t mock her for still knowing all the words to Disney Songs and it had been quite a while since someone seemed to truly want a friendship with her. She wasn’t used to this anymore.

Her throat constricted and all she could do was nod, suddenly filled to the brim with emotions. “I just have a couple of questions that you have to fill out for me, before we can move on to what you’ll do and, most importantly, how much’ll be. Spoiler alert, high secrecy means high cash!”

“That should be your slogan!” She accepted the pen that was given her, ready to start and finish this. Nerves wore out into excitement and she was about to combust. “I’ve been trying to have them change it for ages.”

She chuckled lightly, before giving her entire razor sharp focus to the piece of paper. She could already imagine the questions: was she able to do this mathematical equation? Could she resolve that chemistry problem? Did she know this and that Law Of Physics?

But nothing, truly nothing, could have prepared her for the little array in front of her.

For on the paper, there were written five questions, with adjacent a ‘YES’ or ‘NO’ to be crossed.

Feyre could just raise her puzzled eyes up at Mor, who gave her a shrug and went back to re-apply her blush and highlighter.

She expected to do calculations, to waste time. She didn’t expect to be done in less than three minutes.

‘Do you have living relatives?’ YES

‘Are you in contact with any of them?’ NO

‘Do you have a relationship or partnership?’ NO

‘Are you able to keep calm under pressure?’ YES

‘Are you able to swim?’ YES

“That’s it?” Feyre asked, unable to put together the pieces in front of her. To be honest, the thing that was bugging her the most was the last question. That was the most out of it.

Mor simply smiled at her, giggling a little, “Yeah, we wouldn’t have sent you that letter if we weren’t sure you could take it,” she happily said before taking the paper and scrutinizing with analytical eye. “You’d be surprised by the number of people who can’t swim” she stated, answering her unspoken question with a disbelieving look and a shake of her head.

“Excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you, it was a pretty hard test!” Feyre joked, momentarily terrified of having said the worst thing, before Mor followed her suit with her laugh.

“I know! But it’s mostly to check finally what we already knew.”

Feyre snorted at that, “Good to know I was being watched.” It wasn’t that big of a problem anyway: every single social media used their private information to get money, so of course a secret agency about freaking aliens would keep a possible employee in check! “If it’s any comfort, you won’t be from now on. It’ll be like you never existed or…” “Died?” “Yeah. Morbid, I know, but it’s the price of the job,” Mor claimed, sliding a folder with her name on it over the glass desk. “Not really a problem, I’ve got no one that would miss me too much,” she quickly said, opening it up and almost falling off her chair. The first page was a detailed list of what she would earn and it was a lot. Probably more than her entire tuition would have costed if she hadn’t managed to get a scholarship, and all of that for one year?

“You weren’t kidding about the slogan, uh?”

On the next few pages there was written down a non-disclosure contract, which was understandable, and the secrecy policy she would have to follow. Bye-bye Instagram! Not like she used it much anyway, there were too many pictures of marriages and babies for her liking, and she didn’t like already to share every minute of her private life over social media.

And, finally, on the last page was the thing she was most scared and excited of: the inscription told her that she would work on the research department, studying what she loved the most and finally getting all the answers she needed. She could be able to explore the stars from her desk and also in person, with trips to adjourn her curriculum and work! A tiny little clause on the bottom also read that she could be assigned intergalactic! field! work! alongside of an agent, if the situation arose.

She couldn’t help herself when tears started to swell her eyes and fell down her cheeks in two streaks, nor she cared if she was ruining her make up.

She had never been happier.

“What do you thing, Feyre?” Mor was suddenly nervous, as if doubting that her answer would be anything other than a big fat yes. Probably seeing her cry didn’t seem like a good sign and all Feyre could do was nod enthusiastically as she gladly accepted the box of tissues the blonde woman was handing her. She knew she must’ve looked awful and batshit crazy.

“Where do I sign?” she asked finally, after having managed to regain her composure, wiping the rundown mascara from her cheeks, trying not to smudge it all over her face.

What followed was a quick work on the paperwork, the proper signature and stamp and boom! “Welcome to MiB, Dr Archeron!” declared Mor, jumping to her feet to cross the desk and to bend down and hug.

Feyre held her just as tight, trying to keep all the emotions away. Later, after getting back to her hotel room, she’d have all the time in the world to cry as much as she wanted, but now there were more pressing matters. “Ready?” asked Mor, dragging her away from her office and into a maze of halls that Feyre didn’t even bother to try and memorize. She’d have all the time in the world to do so, after all.

Their first stop was on the wardrobe and armoury, where she got her measurements taken and was fitted in the most exquisite looking black suit she had ever seen in real life, the materials soft and luxurious under her fingers.

“This feels like a 007 movie,” she joked, marvelling at the figure she cut in the mirror, immediately finding Mor grinning at her.

“Our gadgets actually work,” Mor fired back, causing Feyre to go into a fit of giggles that had the blonde join almost immediately.

It was a wondrous feeling, being able to connect instantly with someone. She had rarely had meaningful friendships and relationships in her life, some of them were entirely faked from the other side and she was just used for someone else’s gain, but she hoped that what was beginning with Mor could fall into one of those categories.

Truth to be told, she didn’t think having any romantic relationship would be the best thing when just moving into a new city and a new job, but she was a sucker for Friends To Lovers trope and who knew? Maybe the future could be bright for her, and not only in her work life.

There was also the topic of a certain pair of violet eyes that had occupied her mind for the previous two days, but she was pretty sure that was a hopeless route: no one in their right mind could take a liking of her, especially when they looked like that.

She was so lost in her own mind, trying to scratch away the way Rhys’ smile had made her insides turn into gelatine, that she didn’t realize Mor had taken her in front of a slightly ajar black door. Without seeing the label on it, she could understand where she was by Mor’s little excited squeal as she pushed the door open with a flare.

If it was possible, Feyre’s eyes would turn into anime hearts and stars, in a typical Sailor Moon fashion. Inside, after a set of stairs, there were rows of desks, surrounded each by microscopes and spectrometers. Humans, or humanoids, and aliens alike wore black lab coats, contrasting with the white of the walls and the equipment, working alongside each other in harmony. There were several grand doors, religiously black, on the back of the room, which she assumed lead to the bigger equipment.

She had never seen anything more beautiful. At university their laboratory had been severely restricted and she would have to rely on other’s data, but here the possibilities seemed to be endless.

“Pretty, right?” asked Mor, a smile on her face. Pretty didn’t even begin to cover.

“For a specialist, pretty would be an understatement” a quiet voice chimed in, seemingly out of the shadows and making Feyre jump to her feet and hold to the rail for dear life. The voice belonged to a man wearing a white lab coat with black accents, politely extending his right hand at Feyre to shake it. “Dr Archeron, I am Agent A.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” came her trepid reply. She didn’t know why, but she immediately was washed over by the impression that this man, if he was human, was more dangerous than he might let on. Be it the fact that he looked like he blended in the shadows and belonged alongside of them or be the act that he had freaking wings? Holy Cauldron how had Feyre not realized that he had wings, proper angel-like feathery wings that grew from his skin and seemed to ruffle under her gaze and, Dear Mother, she was about to faint.

She knew her eyes must’ve reached a comical stance as she took them in, when Mor gently pushed her with her shoulder. “You can call him Azriel. After all, you’re the one with a PhD!” the blonde cheerily said, winking at her and bringing her back to the reality at hand.

Feyre gave him an apologetic look, trying to make amends for the staring, but he didn’t seem bothered at all. He gave them a soft smile and nodded his head gravely alongside Mor’s words: “Unfortunately, that is true. I did not attend Earth university. In Illyria we have a different education” he explained, beginning to walk towards the door at his back and motioning for them to follow.

“You’re Illyrian?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering her first alien encounter as her cheeks heated up. She wondered if she might be able to see him again, even only to thank him for bringing her the envelope. She knew that he must have been only following orders, but he didn’t have to stay and make sure she didn’t freak out too much.

She was met back by a puzzled stare from Azriel and a shrug from Mor, who momentarily looked at each other as to confirm that that was probably an information she wasn’t allowed to know yet. “And you are familiar with our specie because...?” began to ask Azriel, a suspicious tone in his voice that made Feyre froze from the inside. It wasn’t even her first day and she had already fucked up big time, that was a new record!

She was about to reply, to defend herself, when a deep voice came from the door, which opened from the inside and revealed two figures standing there: one had matching wings as Azriel’s and the other was someone she didn’t think she’d meet again so soon.

“Because I introduced her to our existence, dear brother” Rhys said, violet eyes sparkling as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

She couldn’t fight the stupid smile that took up her face at his sight, nor she could control the way her cheeks flared up, the redness there for anyone to see.

The man that stood next to him eyed her up and down with a puzzled expression, his brown eyes twinkling with understanding as he, not so lightly and not so subtly, elbowed Rhys on the side, causing him to wince. “First of all: Hi, I’m Cassian,” he started, holding his hand out for Feyre to shake, “Second: You’ve met?” he asked, gaze running back and forth between them as his eyebrows shot up comically and emphatically.

If the ground decided to open up at that specific moment in space and time and swallow her whole down, Feyre would be okay with it. Extremely okay with it. Actually, she’d bring a shovel to sink down lower if necessary. “He brought me the envelope…” she whispered, trying to draw the least attention to herself and justifying the entire thing in the least embarrassing way possible. “Of course, cause mailing it would’ve been too mainstream, right, Agent R?” Azriel chuckled, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the doorframe casually, wings folding behind him.

Rhys fretted nonchalance with a wave of his hand and a bored expression: “I was going to be in the city anyway, I thought, why waste money on stamps?”

Out of all the things that had happened to Feyre in that weekend, that must’ve been the weirdest. “You were going to mail it? So much for secrecy!” she exclaimed in disbelief, eyes darting to Mor as if asking confirmation about it all and at the same time trying to understand if they were secretly pranking her.

“You’d be surprised about how many postal offices rely on aliens to work” came her curt reply, followed by a solemn nod from the three males.

She’d have all the time to understand if they were pulling her legs or not, and all the time for an eventual payback, she reasoned, dropping the subject without too much fuzz. “Alright,” she croaked, shrugging her shoulders and turning expectantly to Azriel, waiting for her superior to say something.

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together, ushering both Rhys and Cassian away from what Feyre assumed was his office. “All of you, that’s enough! I have to finalize my work with Dr Archeron before we’re ready to properly start.”

“Not so fast, brother!” Cassian yelled, chest puffed out as he languidly strolled over to where Feyre stood, towering over her. She had to resist the urge to clutch to Mor’s arm for dear life.

“Do you know how to fight?” “Ten years of Karate when I was a child and 4 of Krav Maga between high school and college,” she replied without missing a beat, raising a brow in a silent question as she held his stare.

After a couple of heartbeats, Cassian’s face broke into a wide grin: “Impressive! I’ll hold you to that one of those days,” he said, leaning almost conspiratorially and blocking Azriel’s face from her view, who yelled in outrage a very shocked “Agent C!”. He was pointedly ignored by Cassian, or Agent C, ‘What’s up with that?’ she wondered as she looked up at him, who kept on talking.

“I’ve got only one more question: do you know anyone in the city?”

She didn’t know how to reply nor why it was suddenly their topic of discussion? Was this guy hitting on her in the most random, yet not the most  uncalled, way ever? She should mention that long hair was a turn off, no matter how manly and in style the man-bun was supposed to be. “I can give you two replies,” she cockily stood her ground, crossing her arms at her chest and assuming a defensive stance, just in case she had to headbutt him in the chin, “no and technically I shouldn’t be supposed to so…”

He took one look at her before clasping his hand on her shoulder with raw force, giving her what seemed to be the most platonic expression of affection ever: “Okay, I officially like you! But you’ve just got a new job, you ought to celebrate!”

Feyre considered it. On one hand, she had brought an outfit specifically in the case she got the job, which she clearly had just gotten and had to work out only the minimal details. And partying alone in a city she didn’t know at all was not an option. On the other, she really didn’t know these people.

But one look into Mor’s direction and instantaneously she knew that she’d love to hang out with them all.

Her only reply was a quick yes in affirmation, but she was soon overpowered by Mor’s cheers. “YES! We can go out together! We’ll show you Velaris’ night life!” she cried out in happiness, hand up to high five Feyre as Cassian held her closer to his side and fist-bumped the air.

She was having quite a bit of trouble, not liking small spaces and Cassian’s side hug was definitely a tight fit. She wanted to remove herself from the position, to try and regain the control of her breathing that was starting, so very subtly, to accelerate alongside her discomfort.

These people seemed nice and wanted to include her, her rational brain knew that, but old wounds didn’t always manage to mend right and panic was rising. Feyre tried to speak, but her throat felt constricted, and her eyes darted around the two, hoping one of them would stand down a little.

Luckily for her, her knight in black armour arrived just in the nick of time before she erupted like a volcano. “Let her breathe! Mor, Cassian, back off from poor Feyre,” Rhys intervened, helping her untangle from Cassian’s limb and letting her have her space. He quickly let her regain her breathing as the pair moved to Azriel, their next prey. The man was shaking his head as they both raised valid arguments and Cassian ‘Triple Dared’ him not to be a killjoy.

That scene alone served to strengthen her resolve to hang out with them, only to be able to witness the pure and unadulterated chaos that would come out undoubtedly.

All of the sudden, it felt like she and Rhys were in a different plane, the others to engrossed in their planning of the night to pay them attention. “Thanks. But, yeah. I have no idea where to go and I suppose I deserve it” she joked, laughing lightly while cringing internally at her own awkwardness. She had always been able to flirt her way through any situation, be it with men or women or anything in between, yet with him she felt like an high school girl with a crush. Perhaps it was because he was a literal alien that looked like an ancient Greek god and had a smile that managed to lit up Feyre from the inside.

Smile he was now giving her freely and without restraints. She could feel the butterflies in her stomach, count each one of them.

“How are you finding out agency so far?” he asked, as a hint of colour appeared on his cheeks out of the blue. A blink and it was gone, so quickly that Feyre thought she might have imagined it.

She was about to reply that she hadn’t done much sight-seeing, self-doubting whether or not she should push herself to ask for a tour or if it was too forward too soon, when a loud voice interrupted her train of thought.

“Shut up!” Azriel bellowed from behind her, causing both hers and Rhys’ attention to turn to him expectantly. “All of you have more important things to do other than bother me and Dr Archeron. And no, Agent C, while we’re at work we use our titles so stop talking! We’ll tune in the details later, Agent M, but I assume you have other more pressing business to attend.”

“Actually…!” Cassian had begun to disagree, but Rhys had been quicker and had planted his hand over his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

He quickly nodded to Azriel as he struggled to maintain his hold as Cassian put on a childish fight, that culminated with him licking Rhys’ hand like he was some sort of overgrown five year old on the school ground. Feyre couldn’t help the laugh that got out of her at Rhys’ affronted face.

“That’s enough!” he yelled, moving to shoo away both Cassian and Mor, who pulled Feyre in a tight hug before leaving and whispered in her ear ‘I’m so glad you’re part of us now!’. She could only respond back with a squeeze, her throat constricting with sudden emotion.

“Agent A, we’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Thank you, Agent R, I appreciate that!” came the exasperated reply from Azriel, who immediately disappeared inside his office, undoubtedly to avoid any more anarchy, motioning for Feyre to follow. She turned around to salute and wave goodbye at the improbable trio leaving, only to find Rhys standing in the doorway, looking at her.

He winked, causing Feyre’s cheeks to heat up, and bowed gracefully. “Welcome on board, Feyre Darling,” he said, before disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways and glass that made up the MiB headquarters.

Feyre pinched herself, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. One more step and she was done, she would finally have her dreams answered.

She’s have her answers, her opportunities, what she worked her entire life for. And if she could manage to have the life she had always wanted, with people that cared about her, that would be the icing on a perfect cake.

A part of her brain whispered that she didn’t deserve it, that she was an imposter and that everyone would realize it. But Feyre had had several years of experience in dealing with her own negativity, considering herself a pessimist as a coping mechanism because it was easier to expect the worse in every situation, and immediately shut that voice down, focusing her breathing to steady her beating heart.

Sending up a prayer to the Mother, she closed the door at her back and took a seat in front of Azriel, slipping on her glasses and putting her hands flat on the table.

“Shall we begin?”