#like genuinely put me down like shoot me like take me out behind the shed and shoot me kill me put me down like a sick dog

[allgremlinart]

AAAARRRGHHH

[orchidniins]

Forehead Kisses | Arthur Frederick

Summary: Arthur being the biggest green flag and taking care of his sick partner. Pairing: Arthur TV x gn!Reader Warnings: Fluff Word count: 1.3k+ A/N: Short one to start the week. I have a ton of requests that I'm currently working on at the moment (honestly I'm a lot slower at writing than I thought) and I'm hoping to get out 2 longer fics next week (if work doesn't keep me busy that is) 🤞 Thanks anon for the request! Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

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As you step into your apartment, the door creaks softly behind you. You clutch your forehead, rubbing your temples in an attempt to ease your pounding migraine. Each step you take only worsens your body pains, leaving you feeling as though you've been hit by a truck. You shed your jacket and kick off your shoes, your body craves rest, wanting nothing more than to just curl up in bed. However, thoughts of the work you still have to complete nag at you, not wanting anything to pile up for the rest of the week.

Tossing your keys onto the table, the loud clatter disrupts the quietness of the room and you mentally curse yourself. You try to move as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Arthur, who had mentioned his plans to live stream for a few hours today. And despite your best efforts, an uncontrollable fit of coughing wracks your body, sending a sharp pain shooting up to your head again. You groan out in pain, unable to ignore the discomfort.  

Arthur was in his office in the midst of a live stream, chatting away with his viewers when he heard you from the living room. Pausing the game he was playing, he swiftly excuses himself from the stream, taking off his headset and exits the room.

You glance towards his office, the soft click of his door catching your attention. Upon spotting your red nose and sunken eyes, he doesn't hesitate for a moment, swiftly hurrying to your side. "Hey, darling, are you okay?" His voice is laced with genuine concern as he assesses your condition.

"I just had a bit of a headache, so my boss sent me home early," you shrug as you explain, trying to downplay the situation. "It's probably nothing, maybe just because it's cold and windy outside—" Your sentence is cut short by cough, prompting Arthur's concerned gaze. "Why didn't you tell me before you left for work?" he asks, furrowing his eyebrows. "How long have you been feeling like this?", his hands come to rest on your shoulders, rubbing them soothingly.

"You see, this is why," you remark, sounding slightly exasperated. "Weren’t you going to stream today?" Arthur immediately responds, "Don't worry about that, darling," he assures you, still just as worried.

"I'm fine, babe," you quickly reassure him, not wanting to worry him any further, knowing he'll drop everything to take care of you. "I'm feeling better now that I'm home. I'm actually gonna get some work done." But before you can continue, Arthur shakes his head adamantly. "No work, absolutely not. You need to rest," he insists firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument as he gently guides you towards the bedroom.

“But…I don’t want stuff to pile up”, you attempt to protest. But Arthur remains resolute, his gaze soft as he looks at you caringly. "There are others who can handle your work for now," he insists gently. "Right now, you need rest, medicine, and some tea." 

You look back at him with a small pout, hoping to sway him, "Off to bed you go," he says, as you two step into the bedroom.

"But Arthur," you begin, whining, but he cuts you off with a pointed look. "No, Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look.

Finally, you concede, a sigh escaping your lips. "Fine, I'll sleep for an hour, but promise me you'll wake me up so I can finish up work." Arthur simply nods, accepting the small victory.

After changing out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable, you sit down on the bed "Just stay put, I'll get you the medicine," he says, but you attempt to get up from bed, insisting, "No, no, it's fine, Arthur, I'll get it myself." However, he gently pushes you back down. "No, I've got it,"

"But what about your stream?" you worry, but Arthur dismisses your concern with a laugh. "Just sleep, darling," he urges before leaving momentarily to fetch the medicine. Returning with water and the medicine, he hands them to you. "Here, take it," he instructs, watching as you comply before he helps you settle into bed.

"Do you need more pillows or a blanket?" Arthur asks, but you quickly decline, insisting that you're fine. "You just get back to your stream. Don't leave your viewers staring at an empty chair," you joke weakly. Arthur chuckles, "You just worry about getting better," before you interject, "It’s literally nothing, Arthur. I’ll be fine after a small nap. Just make sure you wake me up in an hour okay?" He responds with a sarcastic chuckle, “Yeah sure darling”, and you soon start to feel yourself getting drowsy. He brushes the hair out of your face, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead before quietly leaving the room.

Ignoring your request, Arthur allows you to sleep for as long as you need to, making sure to check up on you every 15 minutes or so. If he hears even a peep from the bedroom, he excuses himself from his stream to ensure you're okay or to make sure you've taken your medicine, sitting beside you until you drift back to sleep.

After another 30 minutes or so, Arthur decides to end his stream early, apologizing to his viewers before quietly slipping back into the bedroom to check on you. He walks up to you and sits beside your sleeping form, noticing a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead. Gently grabbing a towel, he wipes it, causing you to slowly wake up. "Sorry, sorry, go back to sleep," he quickly apologizes, feeling slightly guilty for waking you. However, you decide to sit up in bed, “No it’s fine,” you say, giving him a small smile.

He smiles softly and leans in to kiss you on the forehead, gently rubbing the sleep marks on your face. "How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Better," you reply with a slight smile. "My head doesn’t hurt as much." Leaning to grab a tissue, you blow your nose before asking, "What time is it?"

"It's around 7 pm," Arthur responds gently. "You've been asleep for about 3 hours."

"You told me you’d wake me up," you start to say, your tone slightly whining.

"Yeah, but you are really sick," Arthur interjects gently. "You don't need more work, you need to rest."

"But—", you begin to speak, but then you cough, a sharp pain shooting to your head. You look at him sheepishly as you groan, finally accepting, "Yeah, fine. I’m sick."

Arthur nods understandingly as he laughs at your admission. "I'll be right back, let me get you some tea," he says, getting up before quietly leaving the room.

He comes back after a few minutes, finding you sitting with your eyes closed, leaning against the headboard. As he walks in with the tea and more medicine, setting them down on the nightstand, he sits on the bed next to you, causing the mattress to dip slightly and the movement wakes you up.

"Hey, I’ve got your tea," he says softly, offering you the cup. "It'll help with your throat."

You pick it up and take a sip, feeling the warmth trickle down your throat, soothing the ache.

You look at him with a small smile, "Thank you, baby."

Arthur smiles warmly, replying, "Anything for you, love. You know I always wanna take care of you."

"I love you," you say softly, placing your palm on his hand that was resting on the mattress.

"I love you too, more than anything," Arthur responds, his eyes filled with affection.

His hand comes up to gently rub your cheek. As he leans in for a kiss on the lips, your hand comes up to cover his mouth, saying, "No, you'll get sick too. And then I’ll have to take care of you, and you’re the clingy type when you’re sick."

He feigns hurt for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Okay, okay, forehead kisses only," he agrees, planting a gentle kiss on your forehead, eliciting a smile from you as he leans and places a kiss on your forehead.

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Check out my other fics and oneshots here. Not working on any new requests currently but feel free to drop into my asks for a chat! 😊

[rotshop]

Heyo ✌🏻! ik know this request can be kinda wierd but...How would the madcom main trio + (anyone you'd like to add) react to a Half-dragon!reader who can actually transforms into a dragon when angry? thx! ~🦉anon

dw its not weird!!! /gen its a rlly neat idea and i am looking so intently,,,also i hope u dont mind i just went w/ tha main trio wyduesdc,,

theres a good title right here i promise

Hank

-this man is so so curious about you its insane. the amount of time you'll just be sitting down reading or watching something and he'll just. come up behind you and quietly ask permission before he jut like. traces your wings / horns really carefully

-he still wont ever like. FIGHT fight with you but he kinda likes to just see what you can do??? if you seem kinda clueless or lost in that field then he definitely tries to help (please consider ; his calloused hands over your own while he readjusts your grip on some weapon, the little pleased hum and quick compliment he gives when you get it right) you out. also if you ever kinda like. headbutt him or something bc of your horns during these he just laughs and its rlly nice :]

-messes with ur claws a lot too, whenever u guys hold hands its a guarantee that he's gonna fidget with them a little. he just thinks they are Neat. also he's like sheriff (/derogatory) in the way that he kinda blanks whenever he sees your sharp teeth. if you ever kind of. use them in fights against grunts or agents he just stares. it makes him go head empty no thoughts

-unfortunately it is VERY hard to carry him when flying so you don't really get that option unless ur pissed :[

-SPEAKING OF, whenever he sees you shift during missions or something he does his best to give you a little space so you don't have to worry abt accidentally hitting him. also he thinks you're fucking legendary with how you can rip and tear through enemies

-after the fights over tho he'll usually just kinda place his hands on either side of your face and lean his forehead against you to try and calm you back down

Deimos

-fire starter x fire starter what could go wrong!!! <33333 you breathe little huffs of smoke whenever you're upset and sometimes he'll just imitate you with his own smoke lmao

-also very very curious about all ur nonhuman features !! he likes messing with your wings a lot whenever you two cuddle and he'll just kinda. 'does this hurt / can you feel it???' as he messes w/ em. does the same thing with ur horns too (if urs are able to like. shed and regrow then mercy on him because he'll just be like. pulling on em a lil out of curiousity when its around shedding time and they'll just. snap off. you can see all the blood leave his face. IMMEDIATELY starts panicking and freaking out,,,pls reassure him you aren't in pain and that this is normal he's GOING To start crying if you dont)

-luckily for u!! it's a little easier for you to carry him around than with hank. really loves it when you do it even tho he was super scared at first you were gonna drop him. sometimes u'll just kinda be. flying home from a mission or sumn and he'll just fall asleep laying on ur back because he feels so at peace,,

-ur claws scare him a little bit tbh BUT,,he relates to the sharp teeth thing, you shake hands on it :] . but also he kind of. chuckles a little when you guys kiss sometimes because he's still not super used to someone other than him having sharp teeth like him

-n e ways!! whnever you shift he admittedly gets pretty nervous abt it,,he'll steer clear too just to be sure but the entire time he's fighting other agents his gaze keeps flicking over to you. he just!! really worries abt u :[ but also he is impressed by ur ability to turn agents to dust and stains in seconds it makes him go 'awooga' under his concerns lol

-whenever its over he always just come over to you and does that gentle little 'hey, hey' before holding ur face in his hands. most times it ends with you resting your head on his lap while he kinda. pets you and reassures you everythings alright and that ur both safe and fine until you feel properly calm enough to go back to ur normal form. he gets a little emo abt it because he genuinely does worry so much abt u pushing yourself too far or someone doing serious damage to you that you couldn't take if you were to shift back

Sanford

-he gets deimos' and sheriff's 'people who can crush me' thing a lot more after he meets you lol. like. at first you might not be super intimidating but after the first few times he sees you fight?? he's gone. done for. 110%.

-admires u all the time, you'll just be chilling or maybe you're talking to deimos about something and the entire time he's jut off to the side with a little smile on his face. if someone points it out to him he just kinda goes blank and gives some really weak excuse, awkwardly stuck between his normal tough facade and relaxing a little.

-you two are a fucking MENACE when you're put together on missions. you both clear through rooms way too fast its crazy, what the fuck is an agent supposed to do when some half-dragon is charging at it with bared teeth and claws while their boyfriend chokes out one of his co-workers while shooting another. what the fuck.

-also traces ur features a lot but he usually only really does it when he thinks ur asleep. he's a little too embarassed to ask if he can touch them when ur awake so he resigns to very carefully brushing his hands over your tail and horns. (if you have any scratches or dents in your horns though he totally asks about them and the stories behind em, he's just rlly curious abt you in general and like. who in their right mind would pass up an opportunity to hear abt their sick-ass dragon s/o about a possible fight they won???)

-but also he gets nervous whenever you shift too. he's afraid of you getting hurt or the possible emotional tolls that it has on you mentally and he brings it up to you sometime after the first few shifts he sees. he's just real concerned about you :[

-very similar to deimos in how he comforts you, he doesn't like leaving unless you've calmed back down, both because he wants to make sure there's no real wounds on you and because he doesn't wanna risk any other agents seeing you and trying their luck. if you're exhausted afterwards then he'll usually carry you, mumbles little words of assurance and praise to you while he does so

[qitwrites]

⬅ Previous || 19 || Next ➡

It isn’t unusual to see Uraraka in the gym. It isn’t unusual at all to see her going at it against a punching bag, striking it with ferocious jabs and strong kicks, well-paced and well-timed.  It isn’t unusual in the least to see her wearing sweatpants and a sports bra, hair pulled out of her face as she sweats it out alongside her classmates.

It is unusual to see her face scrunched up like she’s on the verge of tears though. It makes something in Midoriya’s gut clench unpleasantly.

‘Hi,’ Midoriya says, wiping away the sweat on his neck with the bottom of his tee shirt. Uraraka simply nods, but her eyes don’t leave the bag. She does a one-two combo move, the bag making a satisfying thump with every hit.

‘Are you ok?’ he ventures, crossing his hands over his chest. He keeps his eyes trained on her face, and his gut twists when he sees unshed tears brimming in her big, round eyes. Uraraka wipes at her face with the inside of her elbow before she goes back to the bag.

‘I’m fine,’ she bites out between clenched teeth, and Midoriya knows she’s not okay. He decides not to push it too much though, instead moving to stand behind the bag and hold it steady for her as she pummels it. He can feel the force of her punches through the material, and her face continues to twist and contort till there are tears running down her face.

‘Uraraka,’ Midoriya finally murmurs, voice low, ‘are you hurt?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re crying, you’re not fine-‘

‘I said I’m fine! Leave me alone Deku, just- I’m fine.’

The last time Midoriya had a gut feeling like this, he’d left Iida alone after his brother got hurt and nearly lost him. The last time he’d let his guard down, Bakugou had been kidnapped from right under their noses. And the last time he hadn’t fought to understand, he hadn’t persisted in his efforts, he’d let go of Eri and allowed her to be in harm’s way, an act he would never, ever forgive himself for. So now, Midoriya has a bit of an issue letting go.

‘We don’t have to talk about it right now,’ Midoriya grunts as Uraraka kicks the bag hard enough to jostle him. ‘But you have to talk to someone. Please don’t bottle it in, you know it’ll only get worse.’

Uraraka stops punching then, chest heaving as her eyes find Midoriya’s, and they’re filled with a plethora of emotions- pain, anger, embarrassment, rage, and so much sadness. They look defeated.

‘I am fine!’ Uraraka growls, thumping both hands against the bag. ‘I am fine because I have no choice but to be fine! Because the moment I stop being fine, I will lose. So, all I can do is punch a bag, shed a tear or two in private, and move on with my life because this is a battle I cant lose.’

‘You don’t have to fight anything alone Uraraka, you have all of us.’ Midoriya gestures at the gym, littered with some of their classmates. It’s not packed to capacity, but there are people around, their good friends.

‘I do have to fight this alone though. And I certainly can’t fight this with you.’

‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about. Please talk to me Uraraka, tell me more.’

‘There’s no point Deku. It won’t change a damn thing.’

‘But I want to understand anyway! Just humor me.’

Uraraka barks out a laugh before staggering away from the bag, her body angled towards Midoriya.

‘Fine, you wanna know so bad? Ok, let’s talk.’

She starts unwrapping her left hand. ‘Did you know that for every article or piece of news that goes up about my heroic deeds or my fighting, there are 8 others that talk about my measurements, which colors suit my skin tone, why I am in desperate need of losing weight, or something along those lines?’

Her right hand continues to methodically unwrap the tape with trembling fingers. ‘Every news channel I go to, no matter where, I have to read about how a female heroes’ love handles were showing while she was taking down a villain. Or how someone’s hair wasn’t perfect while they put their life on the line to do their job. And do it damn well.’

She finally finishes unwrapping one hand. ‘And did you know, that for every article written about your heroics, or Bakugou’s, or Iida’s, of which there are so many more than our female classmates’ by the way, there’s maybe 3 articles about things that don’t concern heroics? And they’re always respectful, not too invasive, somewhat curious.’

Uraraka moves to unwrap her other hand, but her fingers are shaking so bad, she can’t even find the end. Midoriya finally stumbles forward and pulls her right hand into his own, unwrapping it gently. He gives it a firm squeeze, urging her to go on.

‘I know the advice- stop listening to the tabloids, let it roll off your back, it’s not important, it’s not relevant. And I get that Midoriya, I do. I will continue to do my job. I will continue working towards being a hero. I will always do my best to save lives and defeat villains and keep everyone safe. I will.’

Her voice cracks, ‘But I also get tired, you know? I get tired of seeing people talk about me like I’m not even a person. I am so tired of seeing the female heroes objectified all the time. For them to be glorified for their looks alone and not their skills. We’re saving lives too, we’re not here to look pretty. We’re here to kick ass.’

Midoriya finishes unwrapping her hand but doesn’t let go, holding it lightly between his own. Uraraka stares at their hands and continues, ‘I want to be taken seriously. I work just as hard as you guys, and I want to be awarded that same respect but I’m not. And I don’t get to say Hey I’m tired today, if someone is disrespectful or puts me down because I’m a female hero I’ll let it slide because every time I do that, we take 3 steps back. I have to fight this fight all day, every day.’

Uraraka pulls her hand away and sinks down, resting her head on her bent knees. She slowly turns to look to the side, and she has a faraway look in her eyes.

‘I have been stared at since I was maybe 10 years old. And it’s not just me, it’s all girls. All women. We’re just stared at. Doesn’t matter what we wear, what we’re doing, where we’re going. I’m stared at. I could be in uniform, could be dressed to go to the mall or enjoy a day at the beach- I will be stared at. People, and men especially, look at me like I’m a piece of meat. I can feel it on the back of my neck, and yes, I can protect myself, but that fact that I even need to, why is that ok?’

Uraraka finally pauses, inhales deeply and a few more tears slip out.

‘I am tired, Deku. I am so tired. And I will continue to fight this battle, I will continue to stand up for Momo and Tsuyu and Mina and Hagakure and Jirou. For all the female heroes. For all women, everywhere. But I am tired of having to fight that battle in the first place. I’m just a little tired today. That’s all.’

Uraraka exhales deeply, and her entire body deflates. ‘I want to be able to walk out on the streets without my guard up because I’m a woman. I want to walk around wearing what I want and not have to worry about catcalls and judgement. I want to exist without the need to be perfect because when I’m not, it feels like I’m letting so many people down. I just want the freedom to exist as a human being, the same freedom so many take for granted. I want to talk about it, I want all of us to fight for it, I want to achieve it so someday, a little 10 year old girl can walk to her convenience store and not worry about the old geysers around the corner leering at her.’

Midoriya doesn’t move to interrupt her, not once. He listens, he absorbs, he aches. Because he knows- everything she says is true, and he can’t relate. He doesn’t face the same treatment. Granted, he faces his fair share of criticism, but his hero persona Deku does. And it’s usually for the way he fights, how reckless he can be, or sometimes how silly his bunny ears look. But never about his body. Never about his personal life. Never about his measurements, at least not in a sexual way.

And Midoriya has never been stared at, especially in a way that makes him feel small or hunted.

When Uraraka makes no move to continue, Midoriya sits on the floor, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap.

‘What can I do? How can I help, if at all?’

Uraraka mirrors his position, and for the first time since he spoke to her that day, there’s a ghost of a smile on her face. It’s a genuine one too, soft and barely there, but honest.

‘You’re a good guy,’ she says, smiling a bit wider. ‘You’re kind, you’ve never made me feel small or objectified or anything. And you don’t speak that way about other people. You speak in terms of strength, and you acknowledge everyone, regardless of gender or other parameters. You’re doing good.’

Uraraka looks to the side, and Midoriya follows her line-of-sight to see Bakugou doing crunches while Kirishima shouts encouragements at him.

‘In an ideal world, people would think more like Bakugou did during the sports festival.’ When Uraraka sees the expression on Midoriya’s face, she bursts out laughing.

‘I’m not saying we need more Kacchans around Deku, don’t worry,’ she reassures him, still giggling. ‘I’m saying he didn’t hold back; despite the backlash he was receiving. He did his best against me because he knew I was strong, and he took me seriously. We need more of that, of being taken seriously, of being on the same ground as all of you. That’s what we crave- being acknowledged as equals.’

‘Uraraka, what’s wrong?’ Iida says from somewhere behind Midoriya. Uraraka quickly rubs at her eyes, trying to get rid of the tear stains.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ she murmurs, shooting Midoriya a look. ‘We were just talking about some stuff.’

Tsuyu sits down beside Uraraka and pulls her into her side. ‘You need anything?’

‘This is good,’ Uraraka says, leaning her weight into the frog hero. Tsuyu tightens her grip protectively, and the girls speak to one another in low voices.

‘She’s fine,’ Midoriya says to Iida as he stands up. ‘We were just talking about how differently we experience the world as male and female heroes.’

‘Ah,’ Iida says, voice subdued. He pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘I’ve read the statistics, it’s honestly disheartening. The number of female heroes ostracized from the hero community for absurd reasons, the number of hate crimes committed against them, it’s outrageous.’

Midoriya doesn’t even realize he’s gone into one of his mumbling rants as he says, ‘Is there anything we can do, like right now? How can we make a difference in the position that we’re in? We are still quite a while away from being pros. We do have licenses though, and we are known in the community. We also have students from affluent families that could help make a difference. But tackling the media is always a delicate matter and-‘

‘Start by taking steps yourselves,’ Jirou says, placing a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder. ‘Of course, all of what I’m about to say doesn’t really apply to you since you do it anyway but speak of us the way you speak about your male counterparts. Treat us with the same respect. Talk about us like we’re human beings with feelings. Just- it’s so systemic, all our biases and all our assumptions and how we treat and view women in society as a whole, so change will take time. We just have to take it one step at a time.’

Jirou takes her hand off Midoriya’s shoulder and shrugs, ‘We don’t want to be coddled, we don’t want special treatment, we don’t want any advantage or upper ground. We just want to level the playing field.’

‘In the meantime, when one of us is tired of fighting the system,’ Tsuyu says, getting Uraraka to her feet, ‘ice-cream and some queer-eye can’t hurt anyone, kero.’

That gets a smile out of Uraraka and Midoriya. The group slowly makes their way out the gym, nudging each other and cracking silly jokes. Jirou confirms that there’s 2 tubs of ice cream in the freezer, and Iida offers to make them popcorn even though he isn’t personally that fond of it. 

There’s an unpleasant clench in Midoriya’s gut, but that’s ok- identifying the problem is the very first step towards fixing it.

And when he looks around him, he thinks they have a pretty good shot at getting it right.

[watermelonlipstick]

Losing

This was written as a request for the eternally lovely @samwisethegr8​. Hope you like it, baby! Idk where the chipmunk stuff came in, I must’ve had forests on the brain or something. As always, I’d love any advice or critiques!!

Title: Losing

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3283

Summary: Losing her hair following a spell makes it challenging for the reader to feel like herself. 

Warnings: swearing, fluff, hair loss

           Dean knows better, by now, than to say anything about the beanie you straighten as you get into the backseat, giving you some soft eyebrows in the rearview mirror that are maybe worse than if he’d kept joking about it. Typical, for the spell making your hair shed like some cartoon pulling out fists in a temper tantrum to be one of the few you’d seen hang on after the casting witch died. You’d been doing research for weeks now on ways to get it back with nothing to show for your efforts except a few stomachaches from attempted potions (and one influencer-inspired collagen and ACV concoction you’d dumped out after feeling ridiculous). Sam had convinced you that getting back into the swing of things might make you feel better, and was trying a little too hard to be cheerful next to his brother in the front seat.

           “The weather’s so nice today—sometimes you forget how good the sun feels, being in the bunker for a while.” He flashes a smile over to Dean expectantly, willing him to say something encouraging too. Dean looks exasperated for a fleeting second before relenting.

           “Yeah, uh, great day for a drive.” You catch the tail end of his tiny eye roll in the rearview mirror.

           “If you guys are going to treat me like an invalid I’m out of here.”

           “Invalid? I just think it’s a nice day out,” Sam says, trying for indignancy through his put-on ignorance and not quite hitting it. Looking back at you over his shoulder, he’s able to hold onto it for about 2 seconds of eye contact before his face relaxes into more familiar kindness. “Okay, fine, sorry. I’m just happy you’re coming.”

           He’s unphased by your glare back at him, keeps up the sympathetic puppy dog eyes because he knows your snark is coming from a pit of frustration and self-consciousness. Just like Dean’s tenderness of omission in not saying anything about it today, it’s simultaneously comforting and annoying. You feel a lump forming in your throat. “Stop looking at me like that.”

           “Like what?” Sam seems a little hurt.

           “Like I’m dying or something. Both of you. I’m serious, you’re making it so much worse.”

           Dean catches your eyes in the reflection. “Kid, you just seem so fuckin’ bummed. It’s only hair, it’s probably even going to grow back.”

           “Easy for you to say, you’re not going fucking bald! So, are we going or are we doing group therapy in the driveway all day?” You can hear that you’re being too harsh but can’t muster up the energy to stop, flopping into the seatback with your jacket balled in your lap. Sam and Dean exchange a look and Dean turns the key in the ignition.

           It really is a nice day, sun streaming through the windows of the Impala and cutting the still-slightly-chilly spring air just enough to be pleasant. You make a conscious effort to let go of your indignation, counting farm houses on the way out of town as a sort of meditation. Dean starts singing along to the Deep Purple tape playing, and when he catches a glimpse of your smirk he really hams it up, banging out the drum line on the steering wheel and pulling faces that would make Billy Idol jealous. After a few bars you can’t help yourself and start to laugh, the excited accomplishment that breaks through Dean’s act to light up his eyes sending a pang right to your heart. He holds his fist up in a facsimile of an invisible microphone to Sam, who plays along. By the end of the next song the Impala is rocking like Madison Square Garden, radio up so loud you can barely hear your own thoughts as you scream-sing until you’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The music changes over the next few hours,  the volume turned down for snippets of conversation or debriefing about the upcoming case from Sam then back up for one of Dean’s favorite B-sides, and by the time the sun is going down you’re genuinely only thinking of how hungry you are while Dean turns into a diner that stands alone sharing a parking lot with a strip mall.

           Dean’s two steps toward the restaurant by the time Sam has the back door opened to offer his hand to you. He looks surprised when you don’t take it right away, standing there awkwardly for an extended beat with his palm outstretched and his head tilted like a curious dog.

           “I’m not going in.”

           Through the windshield you can see Dean stop and turn back toward the car, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets like he thinks he’ll be waiting in the chilly evening for a while. Sam wraps his fingers around the top of the door and runs his other hand through his hair. “Babe, come on, it’s just some stupid diner. No one will even notice.”

           “Sam, I’ll notice. Forget it. I’ll wait here, you guys go—grab me a sandwich or something.”

           His lips tighten into a sympathetic but frustrated line and he looks over the car to his brother, who shrugs without taking his hands out of his pockets. Loud enough that you can hear him through the windows and around the car, Dean calls out, “How’re you planning on talking to the sheriff if you won’t even walk into a diner, hot shot?”

           You match his volume. “Good point—I’m not planning on talking to the sheriff, I’m staying in the motel.”

           Sam takes a deep breath and winces. “You don’t know anyone here and we’ll never see them again. You’ve gotta eat something. Please?”

           “You’re not the fuckin’ Elephant Man, you’re a chick wearing a hat,” Dean offers loudly, absolutely not helping. Sam shoots him a look that says as much and clenches his jaw. Dean shrugs and opens his jacket with pocketed hands as if to say ‘what?’ Sam jerks his chin toward the diner and Dean nods, spinning lazily on his heel to walk in alone. When Sam moves forward, you slide over on the bench seat to allow him to sit next to you in the backseat.

           “It’s just hair.” He says, low and soothing, just above a whisper. “You’re still the same person.”

           You let your head roll back onto the seat behind you. “You don’t get it—my hair was the only pretty thing about me.”

           Sam’s face contorts in disbelief like you’ve just told him not only are unicorns real, but you have one in your duffel bag. “What?”

           “You heard me,” you repeat, training your eyes Dean through the diner window, winking at a woman in her mid-twenties whose cheeks are full and cherubic under bright, friendly eyes. You can see even from here that she bites the inside of her lip to keep from beaming back at him, holding onto his gaze for a beat longer than necessary before taking her tiny notepad back to the kitchen.

           Sam shifts to put himself more directly in your line of sight. “Baby, the pretty thing about you is you. These hands are beautiful because they’re yours, because they, I don’t know, put an extra dryer sheet in with the laundry so it smells amazing, scratch Dean’s back when he can’t fall asleep. Your eyes are the first ones I want to see every day, not only because they’re beautiful—and don’t argue with me about this for once, please—but because they’re the same ones that always seem to notice that last symbol we’re looking for after I’ve read a stupid book of runes 400 times. Your lips—” he pauses, touching your lower lip with his thumb so light it could be a feather, “—are beautiful because they’re the only ones that I can hear your voice through. Was your hair beautiful? Of course. And it’ll be beautiful again.”

           “You don’t kno—”

           He rolls his eyes. “I do know, but even if it isn’t, you’ll still be you. You can borrow mine if you want.” Sam’s eyes are so earnest, so sweet as a tiny smile tugs at his mouth, that you can’t help yourself as you lean forward and press your lips to his. The way he kisses you back is such naked affection and relief, slipping a hand around the side of your neck to cradle your jaw, that it’s hard not to believe it’s how he really feels. 

           The moment is broken when Dean opens the driver’s side, startling you enough to take a sharp intake of breath against Sam’s cheek. “Quit sucking face and look alive,” he says, nonplussed as he hooks an arm over the front seat to hand you a paper bag filled with Styrofoam boxes.

           “That was, ah, fast,” Sam replies, and it’s almost steady enough to hide the stammer.

           “3 BLTs, not like they fucking built the Great Wall. Waitress in there said there’s a motel in the next town over, 10 minute drive.” He waits until you have the bag supported with a hand on the bottom and one taking the handle from him. Sam squeezes your thigh once before slinking back into the front seat, but Dean’s eyes stay trained on you. “Touch my fries and die.”

           You manage to keep your mitts off everyone’s fries until you pull into Walnut Suites a few minutes later, thinking to yourself it sounds like some kind of hotel for squirrels and hope sort of absentmindedly it’s one of the kinds of motels that decorates to a theme; even when they’re stupid—maybe especially when they’re stupid—anything to break up the monotony of thousands of motel rooms over the years is welcome in your book. Sam coming out of the office dangling a room key attached to a plastic walnut is evidence that you might be in luck, and you grab the food as you get out of the backseat.

           Dean already has your duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “This feels light; you bring your gun?”

           You wait a second to see if he’ll figure it out himself, but Dean only raises his eyebrows and juts his chin out like you haven’t heard him. “Hardly need a blow dryer now, do I?”

           If there was more light in the parking lot you’d probably have been able to see Dean’s cheeks flush as he cleared his throat to cover. “Uh, right. Do still need a gun though, so as long as you’ve got that.” He offers Sam his bag and shuts the trunk as his little brother reaches the parked car.

           “Apparently we’re in the chipmunk room.” Sam’s going for above-it-all but he knows you secretly like this kind of shit and drops the key into your palm with a wink. “It’s the only one with queens instead of fulls.”

           “Whatever,” Dean grumbles. “I’m hungry enough I’d eat a damn chipmunk.”

           “What does that even mean?” Sam asked, annoyed in a way only a sibling can be as the brothers trail after you to the room.

           “That I’m fucking hungry, what do you think?”

           “A chipmunk is like, the smallest animal you could possibly say. It doesn’t make any sense; anyone could eat a chipmunk.”

           “You trying to chow down on a chipmunk kabob, Sammy? Aren’t you like 99% vegan now? It’s the principle of the thing.”

           Sam rolls his eyes in over the top sarcasm. “Yeah, I’m vegan now, that’s why I’m about to eat a BLT with mayo, dumbass.”

           “Bacon doesn’t count. And it’s about timing; you said chipmunk room, I said I could eat a chi—you know what, I’m not explaining this to you. You either understand comedy or you don’t.”

           As you open the door, the light from the room illuminates Sam’s bitch face kicking back on his neck. Winchester bickering had already put a smirk on your lips but the décor was everything chintzy you could’ve hoped for; forest embroidered quilts on the beds and a chain of hand-holding chipmunks that appeared to be hand painted in a waist-high border around the walls. The bed frames were made of those stripped logs that could look very chic in otherwise minimalistic Scandinavian architecture, but here they looked impossibly cute and dorky with chipmunk stuffed perched on each bedpost. Dean seems not to notice any of it at all, throwing his duffel on the bed closest to the door and snatching the bag of food out of your hand.

           The three of you eat watching Alf while sprawled on various furniture. When the half-hour flips the programming over to Mork and Mindy, you offer Dean the rest of your fries and get up to stretch your back. “Either of you dying to use the bathroom? I want a shower.”

           Both shake their heads so you grab your ditty bag and head to the reasonably sized bathroom, trying not to be startled at the large Chip and Dale portrait painted onto the back of the door that reveals itself in the mirror when you go to set your things down. It’s clean and the water pressure is good, which is far more than you can say for many similar places you’ve stayed in, and you linger in the shower longer than you need to, shaving your legs twice for an excuse to stay under the water and out from under the oppressive weight of your self-consciousness here where the boys can’t see you. Washing your remaining hair as quickly as possible and chuckling once, mirthlessly, at the lingering reflex to squirt the amount you used to need into your palm, you finally leave the shower with only momentary nausea at the amount of hair you have to grab from the drain to let the water empty. For the ever-growing list of pros and cons for shaving your head you’d been building in your head: no more shucking these sopping hairballs into tacky little wastebins across America. You wrap a towel into a turban around your head more as a reflex of propriety than anything, marveling again at the amount of rituals there are—were—around hair. Maybe being unburdened by that would be freeing. And it feels sentimental in an annoying pseudo-useless way staying attached to the hair that remains, like lingering in the victimization of this stupid spell when you could just as easily shave your head and be done with it, become some kind of Tank Girl badass version of yourself and pretend you’re too cool and tough to care about girly shit like ponytails and the way Sam held his nose to the crown of your head sometimes, took a deep inhale of you and smiled so you could feel it laid on top of your hair like a tiara more precious than any you could imagine. In any case it won’t be right now, so you throw the loose t-shirt you’d gotten from your bag over the towel on your head and slip on some athletic shorts before heading out to the room.

           You were in the shower for even longer than you thought because Dean is in his standard “just-before-sleeping-on-the-road” outfit, having lost the flannel he wore that day as well as his belt. The jeans will come off just before he gets in bed, pooled on the floor with neatly set boots beside the mattress so he can jump into them like a firefighter if he needs to, an old habit that you’d stopped making fun of the Winchesters for when it actually had come in handy a few times. Sam usually folds the jeans and sets them on top of his boots next to your bed. Dean grabs one of your hands and flips it over for inspection as you walk by. “Surprised you’re not a raisin. Going to send this county into a drought.”

           You roll your eyes good-naturedly and toss your toiletries on your bag as you head to your bed, watching Sam brush his teeth in the kitchenette sink. Dean follows with a tight handful of clean tee and boxers as Sam comes back to you, the younger Winchester grabbing the back of his collar to tug off his t-shirt and toss it on top of his bag in one fluid motion before folding back the sheets and getting in. Over your shoulder, the shower turns on and you can hear Dean humming through the door. The beanie you’d taken off was exactly where you’d left it, and you flipped your head over to take off the towel on your head and replace it with the hat as inconspicuously as possible.

           “Babe, you don’t—” Sam starts softly, stopping when he sees you turn back to him with your jaw set.

           “Can we just go to sleep?” you reply, almost succeeding at keeping the sting out of your voice. He bites his lip and nods mostly to himself, flicking the covers on your side back in invitation. You crawl in, turning your back to him partly to be wrapped up by the warm shell of his body and partly so he can’t see your face. A large hand covers your hand where it lays on your sternum, intertwining your fingers in his and pulling you back into him a touch. After a long minute of listening to the shower-dampened noise of Dean going through Skynyrd’s greatest hits, you feel Sam’s voice through the knit on your head.

           “I feel like we’re camping.”

           “What?” you ask, genuinely confused.

           “You wearing a hat to bed, you only do that when it’s freezing.”

           “I really don’t want to tal—”

           “I know you don’t, but I just…you’ve been boxing me out for weeks now. Listen, I know I don’t get it, I know it’s not the same as if it had happened to me, and I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this, but I don’t care about your hair. I mean—fuck—not like that, I care about it because I care that it’s affecting you, but I just wish I could get you to understand that nothing about the way I think of you has changed. You’re always going to be the sweet, funny, badass girl I’m beyond lucky lets me hang around. It’s like this spell took your hair but the real punishment is putting this wall up around you.”

           You take a deep breath to steady your voice and realize there’s no way you’re going to be able to talk without it cracking, instead just yanking the hat off your head and letting it fall to the ground beside Sam’s jeans. He hesitates for a second before pressing his face to you, and you can feel the smile against your scalp. It’s a struggle, but you manage not to wince when he kisses a spot you know is effectively completely bald.

           “You smell good,” he murmurs against you, and you don’t know why it’s that simple statement, after all the flowery poetic things he’s said for weeks and especially today, but there’s something about the total acceptance, no hint of the disgust you thought was inevitable no matter how hard he tried to insist wasn’t there, that melts you. It’s enough to unwrap some of the defensive prickliness you’ve built up, and the amount of emotional energy you’ve been putting into keeping it there dissolves the way it sometimes does the second your body realizes the adrenaline of a hunt is no longer needed and you crash in the backseat of the Impala. The heat from Sam’s body and the delicate sound of his heavy breathing on your neck puts you to sleep before Dean’s out of the shower.

-

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[pies-writes-and-more]

catch in the dark

Word Count: 1,879

Warnings: angsty feels, unrequited love, an ending that might hurt you a bit, mentions of characters drinking alcohol - all assumed to be of legal age!

Pairing: Sugawara Koushi x Fem!Reader 

A/N: as usual because they’re amazing, thank you to @satan-ruler-of-hells and @thisnoodlewritesao3​ for reading this for me before and letting me know your thoughts! I appreciate you both so very much <3  Also, I’m sorry for the sad feels guy haha that’s just how we’re feeling today.  Inspired by: Catch in the Dark by Passenger

Haikyuu Masterlist

Your name flashed on Sugawara’s phone screen and he immediately gave a small smile. He wished he could hear from you more often, but that smile slowly turned sad, because he knew that you only called him when you were broken.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly after hearing your small “Hi” from the other end.

There was a pause but you just sighed and your voice weakly got out, “I know you’ve got work soon. But can you leave your front door open again?”

He told you okay, because it was okay. This had happened a few times before and he always wanted to be there for you. But he hated that this was the only time he would see you. When your heart was at its lowest, your eyes fragile, dull, no more sparkle that he used to see.

Suga closed his front door, leaving it unlocked just as you asked. And as he walked his way to work, he wondered if he really was as dumb as everyone thought. Everyone always told him that his love for you was toxic, that it wasn’t a good friendship to only be called when you needed him to console you. But wasn’t that what friends were for?

It was his fault for falling for you anyways. For letting you run away with his heart and disappear with it, only to get your own broken and return to him.

By the time he got home, you were on his couch, curled up in some old pjs you kept at his place and a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your eyes focused on the old reruns playing on the TV, barely even noticing him come in.

“Are you alright?” He asked, the words feeling like a mantra - something that was always repeated when he saw you.

“I wish I knew what it was like to be hopeful,” you told him softly and Suga could tell that you’d been crying. Your voice crackled with tears and heartbreak and he wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms. “I’ve always been hopeless at hoping... always really bad at coping with this kind of stuff.”

Suga never knew if his words made a difference, but he pulled out some ice cream from his freezer and climbed into the couch with you, holding your hand and gently rubbing your back as you cried over and over again.

“Maybe I’m just not worth being loved,” you joked after you had finally shed your last few tears for the day. Your laugh sounded so genuine, it made Suga’s eyebrows furrow. You were laughing as if you were really joking. How was he going to tell you that you were worth ten times the love that you’ve chased? That you were the sole holder of his heart and that he would give his life just to see you smile for the rest of your days.

“Why don’t you just confess to her already?” Asahi had asked earlier today when Suga told the guys that you were back at his place. 

Suga smiled sadly, looking down at the work in his hands, “She’s never wanted me. It’s always someone else.” He thought for a moment and glanced out the window as he realized how difficult it was to love you. Loving you was like playing catch in the dark, unsure of where you were and unsure if you knew he had thrown something at you. Unsure if you would ever return or if you ever would throw something back. Suga had known since the first moment he had met you that he wasn’t even in the realm of your love life. He was a tear drop in an ocean of flames.

It was Wednesday but Suga knew that it didn’t matter. He pulled out the alcohol and poured you a drink, watching you greedily swallow it down, as if the burn in your throat would make you forget the burn in your heart.

“Men suck,” you mumbled quietly after a few shots, burying your head into your arms. Your watched the liquor in the bottle swirl around as you poured yourself another shot, sighing softly.

“I know,” Suga told you gently, brushing your hair from your face so he could see your eyes. He loved your eyes. He loved how you seemed to carry the whole universe in them, how looking in them was like an adventure.

“Why don’t they ever stay? Why do men always leave?” You seethed in anger, gripping your glass just a bit too tightly. “It’s always the man that leaves.”

Suga’s words were like a broken record, words you had known far too well because it was everything that your other friends said too, “You’re perfect, Y/N. Men come and go but don’t you blame yourself. They’re just trash,” he told you softly. But maybe you would never know just how much he meant it. You were perfect to Sugawara Koushi. 

You just shook your head in response, huffing, “So perfect I haven’t had a stable relationship since high school. I’m so tired of putting my heart out here and getting no where,” you grumbled, banging your head against the table with a pout. Suga winced as you hurt yourself, pulling you up from the hard surface and checking your face for any redness.

“Just got to wait for the right man,” he told you softly, holding your face in his hands and just watching your eyes. How a guy could turn you away he would never understand. He didn’t get why the men you always met up with turned out to be assholes, why you always seemed to be attracted to red flags and toxic behaviours.

“I don’t even think a right man exists,” you murmured, eyes fluttering shut as the alcohol slowly started to take its sleeping potion effect on you.

Suga gave a small smile and laughed out gently, “Probably not,” as if he wasn’t wishing he was your right man. He helped you out of the chair you were practically slipping out of, letting you lean on him while he helped you to his room.

Suga’s apartment was small and only had one bedroom, so every time you came with another broken heart, wanting to be consoled and wishing you could forget whoever you just spent your emotions on, Suga would give you his bed, tuck you into his covers, and take the floor.

Today was no different. He tucked you in, noticing how late it was getting. You were both probably going to be hungover tomorrow and he considered calling in sick for work tomorrow. He pulled his spare pillow and blanket onto the ground with him, sighing as he stared up at the ceiling.

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually,” Daichi had told him, tired of watching one of his best friends take a back seat in his romance life because of someone who only used his heart for comfort.

“If I do, I might lose her,” Suga insisted quietly. “I’d rather stay here in the darkness, waiting for the fact that she might, than lose her forever.”

He was being pathetic, Suga knew this. He shook his head clear of his drunk thoughts, wondering what would happen if he confessed to you now and blamed it on the alcohol. Then he could see how you would take it. Would you be happy? Could you have been waiting for it? Or maybe you’d ignore him from now on, avoid talking to him... your friendship was everything to him, even if he was your designated breakup friend. Even if it was only sometimes, Suga liked having you around. And he didn’t want to give that up for a maybe she likes me back.

“Suga?” You whispered, his eyes shooting over to your direction in surprise. He had thought you had fallen asleep already.

“What is it, darling?” He asked gently, shifting on his side so he could face you.

You gave him a tipsy smile, eyes closed and a slur in your words, “If we’re both single by the time we’re 40, let’s just get married okay?”

Suga’s heart hurt a little hearing those words, “Sure, love,” he told you, even linking pinkies with you when you begged for a pinky promise. He watched how happy you seemed with his promise, flopping back into his bed and mumbling something else about how men sucked. He did, Suga knew they did. But he wished he could show you that sometimes, there were a few guys out there that didn’t suck all that much.

Your promise stuck in his head all night while he tossed and turned. It didn’t matter that it was some drunk promise, Suga finally convinced himself. Because you would never want him anyways. He was used to taking a back seat, being a last resort. He was okay with it, really, he told himself as he squeezed his eyes shut to try and keep any tears at bay. He just wanted you to be happy, even if that didn’t include him.

But what if...

What if he told you he loved you? What if you gave him a teary eyed laugh and shoved his shoulder back, scoffing. What if you’d say, “Took you long enough, idiot.”

What if he kissed you, tasted what that chapstick of yours tasted like? What if he held you in his arms and promised to try and mend the broken pieces that others had left behind? What if he was the reason behind your smile, what if he got to wake up to seeing your sparkling eyes every morning, what if he got to see that face you made when you were really concentrated or when you were talking about all the things you were passionate about?

And what if you loved him back? What if you had been waiting for him to confess this whole time? What if there was a fairy tale ending to this story?

What if there was a future for you two?

All of the what if’s remained in Suga’s head from the time he closed his eyes to sleep to the time he woke up. Maybe... just maybe... it was worth to tell you because what if you two could be happy together?

Suga’s eyes blinked opened slowly as he made up his mind. He wanted to tell you how much he loved you, that it had always been you and that he wouldn’t leave you like every other guy had. 

He glanced at the alarm clock glowing in his room, the one that read 5:15AM. It was now or never. He wanted to tell you. 

Suga shifted to sit up, rubbing sleep from his eyes with one hand and trying to make sure his face was presentable. He was ready. If you two could be happy, it would be worth it right? He turned and reached for your arm in the bed, wanting to feel your warm skin under his fingertips.

Only for his fingers to find empty sheets instead.

“It’s always the man that leaves”, you had said. But this time, you had left him without any warning. 

And just as fast as he got his hopes up, they fell.

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[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (11) || atz

He pulls you through the town, back to the harbor where you can see several ships docked in the piers. But to your surprise, Jongho doesn’t lead you back to the Treasure. Instead, he drags you to a small bakery selling pastries and sweets.

You turn to him confusedly. “Jongho-hyung, what are we doing here?”

“Pick three cakes.” He gestures at the shelves. The establishment is neat and well kept for a pirate town, and the cakes look rather high quality compared to the other shops you saw earlier. It must be expensive. But since he told you to do it, you obey.

The shop owner takes your pastries and puts them in a little paper bag. Then Jongho adds several more cakes to the order, until his arms are laden with bags of sweet treats.

“Let’s sit.” He tells you gruffly, pulling you to one of the tables outside and sitting you down. You continue staring at him in complete bewilderment even as he pulls out your pastry and sets it in front of you.

“Eat.”

Your mouth falls open. Then you lean forward, pressing a palm against Jongho’s forehead as you look into his eyes intently. “Jongho-hyung, are you experiencing any dizziness or discomfort?”

The maknae jerks back at the contact, face twisted in a confused scowl as he shakes his head. “What? No! What are you-”

“You need to be honest with me, Jongho-hyung.” You look into his eyes carefully, searching for wavering pupils or the like and your voice drops to a secretive whisper. “Have you been drinking without telling Seonghwa-hyung?”

“No! Why are you even asking me this? I'm not being weird!” Jongho yelps as he scoots back further from you, the sound of his chair dragging across the stone floor making both of you wince. “I'm not drunk! I’m not sick either!”

“Okay…” You continue to stare at him with worried eyes as you take a bite of your puff, the sweet taste of cream spreading over your tongue. The young battlemaster sighs.

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He glances away from you for a moment to collect his thoughts, before he opens his mouth to speak again.

“I don't hate you, okay?”

His words are mumbled under his breath, so you lean across the table to hear him more clearly.

“What?”

“I don't hate you!” He shouts, clearly embarrassed. His cheeks are tinged pink and you look at him in surprise.

“Shut up, kid!” One of the bakery’s patrons shouts at the two of you and you shy back into your chair, feeling your cheeks burning.

“Oh.” Is all you manage.

You’re a little shocked. With how he’d been treating you this while, you thought he’d hated you, loathed you, even. While you weren’t sure why, you had thought he had disliked you immensely.

“Wipe that dumb look from your face before I smack it off.” Jongho grunts, and you realise that your lips are pulled into a wide grin. Hurriedly, you try to hide your Cheshire Cat smile, but it’s impossible. “I mean it!”

Finally with much difficulty, you press your face into a poor attempt at a serious look, much to Jongho’s chagrin. He sighs, slapping a hand against his forehead.

“I’m just awkward with new people, okay?” You’ve never seen the young battlemaster this skittish. Even in battle, he’s always possessed some kind of quiet, silent self confidence, not an ounce of self doubt in him. “And I was always the youngest till you came along, so I’m not sure how I’m supposed to… take care of you.”

You’re oddly touched by this for a moment. This strong man, who can handle even the fiercest of enemies, awkward and shy… because he doesn’t know how to take care of you.

A giggle somehow manages to leave your mouth. “That’s cute.”

“What! No!” Jongho cries in horror, looking desperate now. “I’m not cute-” A disgusted glower paints his face as the last word passes his lips.

“Boy, shut up before I come over and shoot you myself!” The shopkeeper bellows from behind the counter, and Jongho slumps back into his seat, groaning in despair at your irrepressible smile.

“Forget I said anything.” His words are muffled against the table top.

The two of you sit in peace for a long moment. It’s silent, like how it was between the two of you before, but where there was discomfort, now there is a happy warmth that fills you from the inside. Maybe it is because you’ve lost your memories, but with every new person that you meet, they root and grow themselves in your heart.

“Jongho-hyung…” You suddenly speak up, breaking the silence you two had been enjoying. The young battlemaster raises an eyebrow as he looks over at you questioningly. “What song did you sing when I was tied to the mast?”

“Song?” He frowns, but you can see baby pink blossoming on his cheeks like cherry blossom petals. “I sing a lot. Do you remember the lyrics?”

You recite what you remember. “Born on the wrong side of the ocean…”

“Ahh.” A small, sad smile pulls at the corners of Jongho’s mouth, the look softening his serious expression as he glances towards the harbor. The sun has just begun to set, the rosy light casting Jongho in a halo of warm oranges and pastel pinks. “It’s an old song. My mother used to sing it to me when I was still a child.”

The look on his face is forlorn, a little happy, a little sad, a little wistful. His eyes seem to be looking at something so far away, gazing at some point in his past that you can’t see.

“Jongho-hyung… where is your mother?”

That snaps the maknae out of his thoughts, the smile falling from his face as he inhales deeply. “She’s dead now. Died of consumption a few years ago. Didn’t get the medicine she needed and left. She’s in a better place now.”

You blink once. “That’s sad.” The cream puff is finished off, and you lean back to look at Jongho. His gaze never leaves the ocean as he continues to speak.

“Dad died before she did. In a hurricane offshore. Never got to see a trace of him again except the smashed up remains of his boat.” He points to a piece of tattered white fabric he wears around his shoulders.  “This is from the wreckage.”

His voice is thick with emotion, but his face remains solidly strong. You feel something stirring in your chest, something that seems to want to swallow your lungs whole. You frown and touch your chest. Is there something wrong with you?

“But enough about my sad backstory. What’s over is over, and what’s left for me to do is move on.” Jongho’s voice doesn’t waver at all as he thumps his chest. “They live on in here. I’ll live well for the two of them and never shed a tear again. Can’t let them be worried about me.”

His smile returns, a genuine and powerful one this time. For a moment, you’re so lost in it that you can barely breathe. Jongho is the epitome of strong. Not just physically, but in the heart, and in every sense of the word.

“Anyway, what about you, stowaway?” He cocks his head as he shoves a meat stuffed bun into his mouth. You look confused for a moment. What past do you have to tell? “What’s with that necklace around your neck?”

Ah. Your fingers reach up to stroke the silver chain resting against your delicate collarbones. Your only link to your past, the last thread you have connecting you to who you were before.

“I don’t know.” You murmur softly, feeling a lump rise in your throat. “I woke up with it.”

“I know Hongjoong-hyung said you’re an amnesiac.” Jongho looks at you firmly, but curiosity brims behind his eyes. “But do you really remember… nothing?”

You close your eyes. For a second, white dances behind your eyelids, the sound of sea crashing against the shore filling your ears and rain touches your face.

Then a single, unblinking red eye looms into your mind.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes fly open. You can still see it, a monstrous thing, a dark, hulking shape in the depths that has been forever chasing you… following you…

You’re not sure how Jongho will react right now if you tell him you could hear the voice of a giant squid monster which was chasing the Treasure, so you merely hold your tongue and shake your head.

Jongho is silent for a moment.

Then suddenly he rises to his feet, abruptly grabbing you by the arm. You follow, a little stunned by his strange change in demeanor, and Jongho whirls to look at you with resolution carved into his face.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your nose.” The young battlemaster swipes the sweet smudge off with a finger and licks it off, to your horror.

“That’s disgusting, Jongho-hyung.” You scrunch up your nose, but you’re not sure why he’s suddenly so eager to do something. Jongho begins pulling you somewhere, much to your surprise.

“Where are we going?”

“When I first came to Tortuga, I had just lost my parents and joined the crew.” Jongho tells you earnestly, leading you down past the harbor to a more lively, darker part of town by the shore. Many street vendors and shopkeepers with makeshift booths line the wooden docks, all offering some sort of rare, exotic wares, but Jongho simply brushes past all of them without a second glance. “And by coincidence, I visited a fortune teller.”

“I didn’t peg you for the superstitious type, hyung.” Is all you say as you take in the new environment all around you. The place is a little shady, with suspicious characters slinking away at every turn and dark, hooded men crouching behind corners. But with one glance from Jongho and they scatter, clearly intimidated by the way his fingers inch for the handle of his cutlass.

You remember what Yunho had told you about Jongho just earlier this morning.

He’s a great fighter and he has strong protective instincts. You’re probably safer with him than in the sickbay.

“I’m not superstitious.” Jongho tries to defend himself, but sees the look on your face and sighs. “There’s something different about this fortune teller. I never believed magic existed till I met San-hyung… but this fortune teller has a similar aura I get from hyung.”

You immediately understand what he’s talking about. Your master has a pulse about him that you’ve always been able to feel, like the warmth emanating from the sun and a gentle pulse that draws people to him, a comforting softness.

You’ve never seen San use his ‘inner energy’, as he calls it, but the feeling you get from him is no lie.

“But why do you want me to come to a fortune teller, hyung?” Nerves and a deep sadness twist within you. “There’s no point in knowing what’s going to happen. If I can’t remember my past, what’s the point of looking at the future?”

Jongho then stops you in your tracks, placing his hands on your shoulders. His eyes are both gentle and earnest at the same time, searching yours and for a second you can’t look away.

“You may not have a past yet.” The grin on his face is wild, brimming with confidence. “But we sure as hell are going to be your future.”

[cuppasunu]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

synopsis: where juyeon loses all his memories after a terrible accident. many years later he’s bound to marry another woman—not knowing their photographer used to be his girlfriend of seven years. will he remember their love?

genre: series (fluff; angst; suggestive)

pairing: lee juyeon x fem. reader

playlist: spotify link

status: completed.

w/c: 1.4K words

once more masterlist

kyu is listening to ... take her to the moon by moira dela torre

[2018]

“So, a spring wedding would probably be perfect for this venue, right y/n?” Juyeon’s fiancée, Sihyeon asks, breaking your trance reminiscing about your memories with Juyeon. 

“I’m sorry, I was distracted.. This is where you’re holding the wedding?” you asked, nearly choking on your water.

“Well, the date isn’t until spring next year so we’re still looking for options. It’s funny how my love actually insisted on the idea of having our engagement shoot to be done in a flower field..” she laughs, but hearing that just digs a deeper wound inside you, realizing this is exactly where Juyeon has taken you on dates. 

Taking a deep breath, you excuse yourself and leave the couple to look around the location. Your eyes cannot peel away from Juyeon’s smile, it looks like it could reach from one ear to the other. 

he looks so happy..

Rushing on your way to the back door, you bump into a person.. maybe two (?) coming from the parking lot. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sor-”

“y/n.”

Hearing that familiar voice, your eyes immediately dart up meeting your old friend, Changmin. You glance past his shoulders—there’s Chanhee and Kevin. That persistent feeling of wanting to run away? Oh, it’s back and it’s even more intense. 

Before you can even move your feet, Changmin grabs a hold of your wrist out to the parking lot, checking if the four of you are out of the couple’s sight. 

“Y/n.. did you meet them already?” Kevin’s genuine concern is present on his face, but you’re not really sure if that’s for you or his dear friend. 

“Did you tell him the truth?” Changmin asks.

“Hold on- I think I need some explanation on my end too! I didn’t know I was meeting him today, much less find out he’s getting married and he doesn’t remember me? What happened? Does he remember you? When did the accident happen?” you finally burst, tears streaming down your face. 

You all stood there in silence, trying to make the situation make sense. Changmin looked like he was going to say something, and his expression seems like he wants to burn you alive. 

“..we should have come earlier..” Chanhee hisses out of frustration, while putting the effort of calming Changmin down.

“We don’t owe you anything, y/n. Not one explanation. Especially when you br- when you left Juyeon.”

His stinging words hurt as if it just slapped you across the face. You chose to keep your mouth shut, knowing how much those words may have been painful, it was equally as accurate. 

“Well, you know most of it. Before the accident, he already got rid of all your pictures, memories, everything.. So when we found out he had amnesia, we all thought it would be better to not remind him of you,” Kevin explained, “It’s better this way, y/n. They’re happy. He’s happy, now. And all those memories he had of you, it doesn’t hurt him anymore..”

but he forgot all our good ones too..

You sink down on the bench, processing the mess you have entered. The concrete was rough as you threw your head, leaning on the wall, “Is it too late to back out now?”

“Honestly, yea. Sihyeon has been raving about your work for months now. She’s been so excited about the thought of working with you but obviously we can’t stop her without raising any questions about your past with Juyeon,” Chanhee replies, “That’s why we were hoping to catch you before they did in case it all went wrong.”

“.. so she doesn’t know either..”

“She doesn’t. So please, keep this up. Until they get married at least. If you leave now, you’re going to have to explain why,” Changmin mutters bitterly, “Can you really live with the thought of hurting Juyeon again when he realizes the past five years of his life has been a lie?” 

You shake your head, coming into terms with everything that’s going to happen. You stood up from your seat, fixing your hair and wiping away your tears.

“How long have they been together?”

“2 years.”

[2008  — flashback]

“Y/n, it’s unfair to be pretty and smart and talented AND be in a relationship..” your best friend, Mina, jokingly complains. 

“And I think it’s time I set you up with one of Juyeon’s friends,” you replied, making the final touches on your hair in front of the mirror, “Hm, what about Kevin? Maybe Changmin?”

“Oh no, I’m not a sorry case! I’m perfectly satisfied being single,” she smiles, “Less distractions too, I have college to think about missy.”

“Who said that I’ll be abandoning my dreams for a relationship?” you protest.

“Alright- alright, I know you know better than that. It has worked for more than a year.. “

“Two years! It’s our second year anniversary today,” telling her as your ears perk up to hear the sound of your doorbell, “He’s here.”

“Now, have fun on your date!” Mina fixes your collar before ushering you out the door.

After waving your goodbye, you made your way to the gate, light on your steps. Juyeon is standing outside, sniffing a small bundle of tulips before hiding it behind his back when he hears you coming. 

“Hi hun, happy second year anniversary!”

Juyeon greets you with a kiss on the forehead before presenting the flowers to you, “Hey babe, happy anniversary.”

“As always, you know which one’s my favorite,” you tell him, beaming at the buds of vibrant orange on your hand.

“It never changes, y/n,” he pokes fun at your reaction, “Actually I switched it up this time. It’s orange instead of the usual pink.”

“Ha ha,” you laugh sarcastically.

While walking to the bus stop, Juyeon tells you that today’s location will be a secret. But judging on the basket he’s holding, it’s not much of a surprise.

“I have an idea~”

“That’s not fair..” he huffs.

“You baby. Okay, I won’t ruin the surprise. I’ll wait when we get there.” 

And as you guessed, he picked the Seoul Forest as your picnic location. Thankfully, on this cool spring day, it’s the perfect balance of sunny but windy weather. He lays down a blanket on the shade and sets the food he brought out of the basket.

“Wow, did you make all of this?” you’re amazed at the variety of snacks he made.

“I really should say Chanhee did all the work and I just ‘helped’ but I’m always trying to impress you so I’ll take the credit,” Juyeon sheepishly grins.

“Oh sure, yes. My chef boyfriend,” you say, pinching his cheek.

Juyeon scrunches his nose upon hearing that—boyfriend. It’s been two years since you gave him that sweet yes to his adorable confession, but he’s not going to get used to hearing you call him your boyfriend anytime soon. Of course you notice the way he gets shy when you do, so in every possible moment, you made sure to call him that. 

“Right- my gifts,” you remember, grabbing your bag for the small box you’ve prepared to give him.

With raised eyebrows, his eyes follow the box you’ve given him. Opening the ribbon that tied it prettily, Juyeon scans through the envelopes that carry the letters you wrote. Inside, there’s also a handkerchief neatly folded at the bottom of the box.

“You can read the letters later,” you mumble, “but quick, look at the handkerchief and check the embroidery.”

He touches the edge of the light blue fabric— L J Y with a tiny arrow right beside it. At the same time, you pulled your own handkerchief to show him where you have stitched your own initials at the same place, but instead had a heart right next to it. 

You look at his expression to gauge his reaction, and Juyeon’s face says it all. You swore he was so close shedding a tear or two, his eyes watering at the brim. Now, that genuinely surprised you; he wasn’t the type of guy that would seem to be easily moved. 

“Do you like it?” you ask him.

“Do I like it? y/n.. I love it,” he sighs, cupping your cheek on his hand, “Thank you.”

You got on your knees to reach over the food and give him a peck on the lips. Feeling his smile pressed against you, he goes back in to kiss you again. It was sweet and tender—the way you would describe your relationship.

The rest of the afternoon went by like a blur, but all it reminds you was that it was a day well spent.

previous : next

a/n: oooh we met the rest of 98z !! why are they so mad that y/n’s back.. hm? gee i wonder why :> anyhow feel free to shoot me any asks of your theories muahahahah. i mean the plot is pretty much all done but i’m curious about what you think heehee

taglist:

@fullsunsays @haylo4ever @fleurseoul @deobi-pabo @amajeekies @lsangyeons @mydaintydaisy @sunwoowuvbot @elcie-chxn​ @zyoumeval​ @autumnleafez​ @nyuwings​ @hae-chans​ @mistresskate101​ @heartyyjeno​ @nanadreamies​ @bacardihs​ @sanniescat​ @gughoul​ @hhjvlogs

please let me know if you would like to be included or taken out <3

[holylulusworld]

This is me trying...

Summary: A break-up always leaves you with an open wound…

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: angst, language, heartbreak, break-up, sadness, written in Dean’s PoV, fluff

A/N: written for @herstarburststories​ ‘1541 Followers Celebration’. My song was Taylor Swift’s ‘This is me trying.’

Divider by @writeyourmindaway

Written in Dean’s PoV

I pull the Impala over to slam my hands onto the steering wheel of my Baby. I hate to hurt her, but I hurt my sweetheart even more and I can’t bring myself to not feel my heart clench whenever I think about that day.

I hurt the only woman I ever genuinely loved so deeply that I am afraid there is no coming back from this.

I hurt my love, my everything. – I hurt you.

Sam left for a hunt. He didn’t even ask if I want to join, knowing I’m in no condition to hunt, talk, or even pretend that I’m not a complete mess without my sweetheart.

I hate myself for hurting you. That’s just the way I am sometimes. I panic when someone gets too close to me. Loving you would put you in the line of fire. How could I live with being the reason for your death?

Instead of admitting my feelings like a normal man, I pushed you away. Was I ever a normal man? 

I never was a kid. I never was a teen. Hell, I never even got close to being normal but – you didn’t care. You didn’t tell me I’m a broken man. You didn’t tell me I am a man for one night – not the one you stay with.

You never told me I am not good enough. Cause, honestly – this is how I felt for my whole fucking life. 

All my failures weigh heavily on me. I couldn’t save my mom. I failed my brother more than once. I was a demon. A careless friend. A stubborn man who never wavered.

So many people died beside me that I believe I am a bad sign and will get you killed. That night, I wanted to kiss you so badly and tell you that there is only you but, I chickened out – once again.

I've been having a hard time adjusting

I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

I didn't know if you'd care if I came back

I have a lot of regrets about that

Pulled the car off the road to the lookout

Could've followed my fears all the way down

And maybe I don't quite know what to say

But I'm here in your doorway

I am only ten minutes away from your new home. The one you had to move to after I shattered your heart into pieces. That night, I told you that you are nothing but a liability, but truth is – I am the one who depends on you. Maybe I am finally strong enough to admit you own my heart, body, and soul…

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

Sam said I should’ve called you that night but me being me I refused to listen. I drowned my misery in Whiskey instead of being a man and tell you that you made my heart swell anytime you smiled at me.

I came here today to lay my heart into your hands but now, I’m about to drive back toward the bunker.

Fear, that’s something I barely feel since my time in hell, Purgatory, and the way my father raised me. At least that’s what I like to tell myself. But with you, it’s different. Anytime I got too close, I feared you would reject me.

Today is the day I want to admit my feelings but now I am afraid, shake in fear that it’s too late to win your heart. “Dammit, Dean,” I slam my hands onto the steering wheel starting the engine to drive toward the next best bar but then I remember Sam’s words.

‘Dean, if you don’t want to be miserable for the rest of your life try to talk to Y/N. She loved you and if you are lucky enough, she still loves you. Stop hiding your feelings and to hurt people with rejection. Let someone in, even if it’s not me, Dean. I can’t heal your heart…only Y/N can do so…’

I kill the engine once again. My brain fights my aching heart. 'Fight or flight, Dean,' I laugh to myself as I remember the last thing you said to me before you ran out of the bunker, toward a new life without me. 'Sometimes you need to jump and not look if you will land safely,' I push the fear back down into the pit of my stomach before I start the engine.

They told me all of my cages were mental

So I got wasted like all my potential

And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad

I have a lot of regrets about that

I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere

Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here

Pourin' out my heart to a stranger

But I didn't pour the whiskey

Fuck, my hands shake when I stand in front of your house. I got no clue what to tell you. I don’t even know if I will be able to face you after I let you go over a year ago.

I knock nonetheless…

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

At least I'm trying

I wait for a heartbeat, and another until the door opens and a tall guy looks at me. My heart drops; joins my fear in the pit of my stomach. “Hi, I uh-sorry,” I stammer, and the guy furrows his brows. “I wanted to see Y/N.”

“Y/N,“ the guy hums, eying me warily. I know that I needed too long when you walk toward the guy to look up at him, smiling. 

“I should go,” I run. Fuck, I don’t think I ever ran that fast in my life. Not even on a hunt. My broken heart keeps me going as I can’t see you happy with another man. 

“Dean, fuck,” you call my name, but I keep on running toward my car, toward my safe haven. “Winchester, my legs are shorter.”

I stop in my tracks. I take a deep breath. I swallow the heartbreak to turn around and face you.

“Hi, uh-I, I don’t…I’m sorry,”

You watch me for a while, hands on your hips. “I came here to apologize and tell you that I love you,” I mumble the words. A single tear escapes my eye and I hate you see me so weak.

John, my father drilled me to become a soldier. Cold. Emotionless. Deadly. But deep down inside, I’m a vulnerable man wanting someone to love him. Realizing I lost my only chance devastates me.

“I thought a lot about you lately,” I choke out, finally meeting your gaze. “Jody invited us and we talked about hunts and being on the road. We talked about family and all I could think about was you and how much I miss and love you…”

And it's hard to be at a party

When I feel like an open wound

It's hard to be anywhere these days

When all I want is you

You're a flashback in a film reel

On the one screen in my town

“About damn time, Winchester,” I huff when you do something I never expected. You jump into my arms, wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist before you steal the first kiss we ever shared. “Only took you a fucking year,” you press your lips back to mine, devour my mouth and I must admit, you are a hell of a kisser.

“Sweetheart,” I try to speak but you slip your tongue into my mouth whilst the guy who opened the door clears his throat.

“I assume this means I can give your room to my boyfriend?” the guy snickers before he awkwardly turns to walk back toward the house you shared.

“Now, where is Sam? How is Castiel?” I want to answer all your questions but I am too busy to press you to my chest. I sniffle, even shed more tears as you rest your head against my shoulder. “If you ever hurt me again, I will never forgive you. Tell me what you want…”

“You,” I choke out, looking at you in my arms. “Only you, Y/N,” my lips press against yours and I melt against your lips. “Only you, sweetheart.”

And I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying (maybe I don't quite know what to say)

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying

At least I'm trying

Tags in reblog

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (6)

Heyyy guys! Sorry this has taken so long to get out. Even though I have a lot of chapters written, I’m in the process of overhauling some later chapters and I’m trying to make sure I don’t conflict anything in these earlier chaps. Also I’ve been sooooo busy :(

Also: if you haven’t seen my recent kim possible au, definitely check it out!

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 2307

Warnings: none that I can think of this chapter

% Approximately the 2nd week of October %

Monday you continued to shut down and deflect dumb rumors about you and Tom. The rumors had exploded over the weekend since some had noticed the way Tom pointed you out before his game and walked with you after.

But it was all innocent, right?

In home ec, you started a sewing project of making a pajama set. 

As always, Mrs. Flynn had tied it into the marriage project, requiring that couples sewed each others’ garments and made the fabrics compliment each other. If everything turned out right, the couples would have to wear them during their final presentations.

You laid on the floor over the fabric you’d chosen as Tom marked your hem length for the pants, the main part of the pattern already cut out.

“This Friday is your last home volleyball game, right?” Tom questioned as he rubbed chalk on the fabric.

“Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? It’s been half of my school life longer than I’ve known you. Just like that, it’ll be pretty much over.”

“Have any big plans for your senior night, then?”

You sat up and got off the fabric so Tom could cut it.

“Well, I’m probably gonna do my hair and makeup since they’ll take pictures before the game, and then after we win I’m going out to dinner with my family. My extended fam is coming to town. If they weren’t gonna be here I’d drive over to the football game.”

You laid out the fabric for Tom’s pants and waited for him to lay on it, preparing to do the same as him.

The football game was against the other public school in your town, which was essentially your biggest rival, and this year it was at their field.

“You won’t get to see me win, princess? That’s just sad. I’ll be at your game for at least the beginning. I just have to be over there an hour and a half before kickoff, but it’s not till 7:30. My mom wants to shoot pics so you’ll probably see her.”

Tom laid down.

“Oh yeah? Based on the football pictures I’ve seen, I’m excited for her volleyball shots. By the way, how did the pictures she took this weekend turn out? I haven’t had real pictures like that taken of me since I was probably 3.”

You leaned forward to mark the fabric, but first had to move Tom’s leg to the right position.

“Haven’t seen them. She never shows me pictures until she’s done editing. I also can’t relate to the other thing. She’s had a camera pointed at all of us since the day we were born. I get it, though, it is her career.”

Tom got up and you both went to sit by the sewing machine you’d set up, pinning the fabric cutouts into individual pant leg tubes.

“Tell her I’ll be her subject matter any time, champ. I actually had a lot of fun doing it.”

“WIll do. And you’re really gonna stick with champ?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Kinda rolls off the tongue.”

By the end of class you’d both finished and tried on the pants, and you were surprised at how well Tom had done on yours.

Wednesday, you made the shirts, which, since they were custom made, fit just about perfectly, too. As per usual, you got an A.

%

Friday morning, you dreaded and looked forward to the afternoon. Like, yeah, you were excited to be recognized for your years of hard work, but you didn’t want it to be over either. 

You looked in the mirror, butterflies in your stomach. 

Since it was chilly, you wore some ripped skinny jeans and a dressy long sleeved top with pink flowers. Your hair was straightened and glittery makeup adorned your face. 

You were interested to see how people would react to the more traditionally “girly” side of you at school.

Even your parents were surprised to see you all dressed up as you said your goodbyes and headed out the door.

In the halls, people pointed and stared, but it wasn’t accusatory like the prior week. Instead, people complimented the look and congratulated you on the upcoming evening.

You walked into calculus, flicking your hair over your shoulder as you sat down next to Tom.

“Wow. Finally decided to go for it, huh?”

“Yeah, well. I thought about our conversation a couple weeks ago and decided to dress for myself. It’s been pretty well received so far.”

“Princess, I’m pretty sure people are gonna like you no matter what you’re wearing.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes, preparing to reply when you were cut off by the bell and the start of announcements.

As your game got closer throughout the day, the pit in your stomach grew deeper. You spent the entire free period talking to coach in her classroom to get your mind off the upcoming game.

“Y/n, I know you’re nervous, but this is going to be the best night of your entire volleyball career. I know you and know that you’re gonna crush it. That whole team looks up to you and Anna. I haven’t seen a pair of such magnetic personalities leading my team in years. I’m proud to call myself your coach.”

You gave a watery smile.

“Thank you, coach. I’ve loved having you mentor me these last four years. I promise I won’t just forget about you after tonight.”

“Well you better not. We still have regionals and state the next two weeks,” she joked. “Now bring it in, kid. I don’t want anyone seeing me be a softie.”

You quickly hugged. Once separating, she took on a serious face.

“Now go run along, eat a snack or whatever it is you do before games,” she said seriously, before cracking one more smile and tossing you a wink.

%

You stood outside the gym nervously, flanked by your parents. 

They were about to walk you out and present you for the final time. 

Anna was walking through the gym now with her parents and siblings as people cheered in the stands, and there were nervous flutters in your stomach.

Finally, someone waved you along. You stepped into the large gym and saw the massive crowd cheering and clapping. All of your friends and family were in the stands.

You also noticed Tom in the crowd. He wasn’t overtly clapping and yelling like everyone else, but he did put up a thumb and shoot you a wink when you made eye contact.

As the announcer listed off things from the senior night sheet you had filled out, you found yourself holding back tears, thinking about all the memories you had of the sport.

A few slipped out and you quickly wiped them away so Nikki could come take a couple pictures of your family.

After the announcer finished up, your parents went to join your extended family in the stands as you warmed up on your home court one last time.

After winning the first two sets, you sat on the bench, ready to win one last one as you noticed Tom slip out the gym, giving one final wave.

You quickly pushed his absence out of your mind however, when you got behind the back line and put an ace down on the first serve.

%

Sam opened his front door for you the next day.

Of course, you had won the night before, shed a few tears, and enjoyed the time with your family, who you’d said bye to before going to the Hollands’.

“Hey, y/n. Good game last night. You and Anna crushed it.”

“Thanks, Sam. Julia was amazing, too. Without her, we’d never have good passes to set and hit.”

Sam agreed and talked to you for a little bit when you thought of something.

“Oh, hey. Where’s your mom? I wanted to talk to her.”

“Um, I think she’s in her office. Let’s go check.”

He led you to a part of the house you’d never been, and sure enough, Nikki was sat in front of a large desktop computer, a picture of you jump serving on the screen.

“That’s an incredible shot!”

She startled a bit and turned her chair to face you.

“Oh! Y/n, you scared me. Come on in! I was just going through the pictures I took at yours and Tom’s games last night. While you’re here, let me show you the ones I took last Saturday.”

She minimized the tab she was working on and pulled up a file, the first picture being a black and white shot of you looking down at a notebook, writing.

“Woah. That’s beautiful,” you breathed, looking at every little detail.

“Thank you, that means a lot. You can scroll through them all, if you like. I’m going to go find Tom, I think I heard him and Harry arguing not too long ago.”

You chuckled as she left, looking at each photo. Some she kept in color and others were in black and white. You stopped on the picture of you and Tom laughing at each other.

Your faces were lit up in genuine happiness, and you felt a pang in your chest as you burned the photo into your memory. You quickly changed it when you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey, sorry. Harry was being an ass. You like the pictures?”

“Yeah, they’re incredible. I’d love to have some of them.” you said, scrolling through the last few.

“I’ll ask her to put some of those on the flashdrive she’s making you. She was planning on just putting all the pictures from last week to tomorrow on one if you’re good with it.”

“Oh, yeah. No rush. Ready to go upstairs?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied as you picked up your backpack from the floor and followed him. He continued. “So I hear you guys won last night. Way to end on the best note possible.”

“Yeah, it was a bittersweet night. What about you? I never heard anything about the game.”

“Oh, we won. Not much to it, but it was a tough game.”

Tom closed the door behind him and immediately went to his desk. He pulled out a piece of chocolate and tossed it to you as you sat down.

You worked together for a while, then decided to take a break, just sprawled across the floor on your backs a couple feet apart.

You glanced over at Tom, who was messing around with his necklace.

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“What’s with your necklace? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take it off.”

Tom was quiet for a few minutes, rolling his plastic ring in his fingers.

“My grandad, my dad’s dad, gave it to me a few years ago before he passed. It’s just a saint’s symbol for protection. It was basically his way of saying he’d always be there for me. He was one of the best people in my life, and I wear it to remember him. It also helps me stay grounded sometimes, when I’m anxious or sad.”

You listened intently and looked at Tom for a while, who was just staring straight at the ceiling. There were tons of questions racing through your head, but you narrowed them down to one.

“Why did you put your, uh, ‘wedding’ ring on there, then? I don’t feel like I deserve to be next to him.”

Tom smiled and let out a breath through his nose, then looked right at you.

“Well I definitely wasn’t going to wear it on my finger. At first, I did it just to piss you off, because I could tell that you didn’t like it. But… I don’t know, I just… kept it as a reminder of everything we’ve been through. We still call each other enemies but honestly, I’ve started to consider you one of my closest friends.”

You scanned his face, grinning slightly. Over the past week and a half his bruises had pretty much faded, a little bit of yellow lingering around his cheek and his lip pink with new skin. 

You noticed his hand close by and laid yours on top of it, stroking your thumb over the tops of his fingers.

“Yeah… yeah,” was all you could manage to whisper out loud. 

After a few moments, Tom flipped his hand, pressing your palms together and curling his fingers around yours. All you could manage to do was stare at each other in silence, unsure of what to think or how to act. 

You were startled out of it when there was a knock at the door. Your hands quickly pulled away from each others’ as the door creaked open and you sat up. It was Nikki.

“Sorry to bug you two, but I was just gonna come ask what time would be good for you tomorrow, y/n? We need enough time to get there and take the sports pictures during the day but I think golden hour would be perfect if you wanted to bring another outfit and take regular pictures.”

“Okay, yeah. Whatever time you think. I’m free all day.”

“Well I was thinking we leave here by two so we get there at three and have plenty of time before it gets fully dark around eight. My parents would love to have you for dinner, too.”

“Sounds good with me. I’ll make sure to pack a dress or something to change into.”

“Alright, well I’ll let you get back to it, just wanted to ask before I forgot again.”

Once she shut the door, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You looked to Tom, who seemed just as uncomfortable about everything as you were.

“Okay then, let’s finish up,” you suggested, waking your computer back up.

%

A/N: once again, so sorry it has taken this long to upload ch 6! I’m so excited for y’all to see ch 7 tho like I literally love it. Anyways, I really want to get on a more consistent upload schedule but I also want this story to be the best it can be and school is making that so hard rn

Don’t forget to check out my new work and hopefully I’ll have another one-shot out soon, too!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series tag lists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Story Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @l0lmk, @primadonnasdream, @bookworm06, @thenoddingbunny-blog, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe, @stxfxniexreads 

[norman891]

...

@sleightlyoffhand

“Pardon me?” Edward bristled at Haigh’s tone.  Again, he heard the man mumble something that could be mistaken for a less than genuine apology before wandering away down the beach. He looked at what he assumed had once been a pheasant and glanced at Victor.

“And what does he expect us tae do wi’ this wee birdie?” he asked sarcastically.

Victor shrugged, then took the bird and seasoned it with salt, pepper, and some dried herbs, including some strong-smelling rosemary and sage, then put it over the fire to cook. “The captain will enjoy this.” he remarked, knowing Hook’s fondness for tender white meat. “I’ll be glad when we can go back to ship.  Is too damned hot on this beach.”

“Aye mate,” Edward agreed.  “Bugger all this heat.”

“What did his nibs say to ye?” Victor asked.

“Not quite sure about that,” Edward replied, watching Haigh grow smaller the further down the beach he strolled.  “I think it were supposed tae be an apology of sorts, but it was a back handed one if any at all. He did nae mean a word of it either.” He snorted. ” We’ve been busting our arses for almost thirty hours, and he thinks a pheasant will do for his penance?”

“Bloody assassin,” Victor grumbled. “Tis a mistake the captain took him on, in my humble.”

“Or not-so-humble,” Edward grinned, and Victor laughed.

The bacon was finally cured to Edward’s liking as well as the two turkeys and some of the cuts of venison and wild boar.  The meat was wrapped in cheesecloth or flour sack towels until it could be properly stored on board.

The longboat had returned from delivering its first load to the Jolly Roger, and Victor set about loading it with more provisions with help from the crew. Several men brought the stretched hides to be taken out and set out on the ship’s deck and the boat headed back to the ship to be unloaded.

Hook’s tent and accoutrements were loaded into a second longboat, leaving room for the captain to be seated at the stern. All other frames were taken apart and stowed between two downed trees and covered with leaves for future use. Once a smokehouse was done with, several crewmen would carefully disassemble the large sheets of bark and frame and hid them in a niche under the outcropping of rocks Haigh had been perched on.

The longboat returned from the Jolly Roger a third time, waiting for the Victor to decide if the large venison and boar hams were smoked to perfection. Finally, he gave the word and the last of the meat was wrapped in cheesecloth and loaded into the longboat while the last of the smoke houses were broken down and stored.  The pit the pig had been cooked in had been filled in last night and to the uniformed viewer, the only evidence the pirates had been there were the ashes from their fires.

Victor returned to the ship with the longboat on it’s last ferrying of meat and tools. His remaining pots and pans were on board as well as the cast iron roasting spit. He had stored the roasted pheasant in one of his Dutch ovens with some of the roasted vegetables to serve Hook for his evening meal.

Now that hard work began for the crew. The four cannons were rolled back to the longboats and loaded back to be replaced on the Jolly Roger.  Hook watched his dogs working in unison with high spirits, even more satisfied with Edward’s hunting prowess. He watched the man kicking sand over the last two small fires that had fueled the smokers and dust his hands in a most pleased manner. The two boats with the cannon shoved off and began rowing back to the ship, leaving Hook, Smee, and Elijah waiting on Joe Haigh to return.

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Edward started, “I thought I’d take a quick dip tae get the sweat off me.”

Hook nodded his approval.  “Of course,” he said.  “Why should I mind?”

“Anyone else mind?” Edward asked the remaining hands.

“Go ahead,” Hook insisted. “You’ve worked for over thirty hours. Please, refresh yourself. I understand the water is comfortably cool.”

Edward needed no further prodding.  He pulled his shirt off over his head, shed his kilt, and strolled in until he was waist deep in the ocean, then dove into the waves, scrubbing at his scalp. He washed under his arms, after a fashion, and rubbed the sweat from his chest, then reached down and cleaned his undercarriage. Satisfied he was clean, and muchly cooled off, he sauntered stark naked out of the waves and reclaimed his kilt, which he always wore regimental style. He retrieved his shirt and walked back to the last longboat where Hook and the others were waiting on him. The breeze had quickly dried his torso and arms, so he pulled the thin white linen shirt back on.

“And where is Mr. Haigh?” Hook asked, annoyed.

“He mumbled something about digging clams and went off down the beach,” Ed replied, running his fingers back through his damp hair to keep it out of his eyes.

Hook glared down the beach angrily.  Unless the man was hiding behind the cluster of boulders, he was nowhere to be seen. “Damn that impertinent son-of-a bitch!” he swore.  “I distinctly told him to make himself useful in camp.

“Oh, he did bring several armloads of firewood, and a single pheasant, but that was the most of it,” Edward answered. “That’s when he said something about digging clams and I’ve no seen him since.

“Well, I’m not waiting all evening on him to return.” Hook snorted, climbing in to take his seat. Smee, Elijah, and Edward all pushed the longboat into knee deep water before assuming their places; Smee and Elijah at the oars and Edward sat beside his captain.

“Di’ nae fret about him,” he said to Hook.  “He has a wee boat he can row back in when he’s done wi’ whatever devilment he’s up to.”

“What makes ye think he’s up to no good,” Smee asked, pulling on his oar.

“Because he’s out o’ sight and in defiance o’ the captain’s direct orders.” Edward pointed out. “I know I’m only the cook’s helper, but I know a rat when I lay eyes on one, be it two or four legged.”

“I am beginning to share your opinion.” Hook said angrily.  “There will be retribution for this, whenever Mr. Haigh decides to grace us with his presence again.” He sat staring out at the open ocean beyond his ship, wanting to up anchor and leave this cursed island, and leave Joe Haigh on it. But as many times as they’d tried, no matter what course they set, the island always reappeared on the horizon.  He was trapped here so long as Pan lived, and Haigh was not doing the recon on Peter’s hideout as promised.

“Tis a shame those brats hobbled you, Edward. I think you’d have had the imps hunted down in a matter of days. That was some damned fine hunting you did. Damned fine shooting too.”

“Thank ye, sir.” Edward felt himself blush. “Just doing my part to help out.”  He looked back over his shoulder at the empty beach, wondering just where Joe had gone and what he was up to

Once back on board the Jolly Roger, Edward collected his baldric, carbine, and bow and stored them in their appropriate corner of the pantry.  The room smelled heavenly: warm, smoky, and spicy. The scent of smoked meat was heavy, with meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Victor’s crocks lined the shelves and there was still fruit and vegetables to be dealt with. The apple barrel was full as well as a barrel of oranges and several bushels of pears. He smiled, rolled up his sleeves, and headed to the galley to help Victor. Smee passed him on the way out, taking the captain his dinner.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 2): Close Call

I was trying to figure out how to deal with the whole “Ship” situation and I decided to not have my MC shipped with anyone so as not to exclude anyone reading.  The MC is only 18 in this rendering and in the novel’s canon she could be even younger. So honestly, following the novels, it gets weird quickly. Best to leave ships at port.

Enjoy!

“UKYO I LOVE YOU!” Someone screams from the corner of the crowded dance floor.

The man removed his white cloak and tied the sleeves about his waist to reveal his bare chest to the crowd. He takes several deep breaths, making his stomach rise and fall. The muscles of his arms were sculpted and well defined as he danced on the stage with his sword among the floating cherry petals.

“Oh my god, I’m going to faint!” The woman says next to you before she promptly plops to the floor and is dragged away by a waiter who seemed to be right behind her. You stare silent and still as she’s swallowed up by the crowd of people that parts only briefly before coming together again like nothing happened.

Everyone’s eyes were on this person so it was easy for you to slip towards the edge of the crowd. Mingfei was dressed just like the waiters and there were dozens of them moving in the dark. There was no way you’d be able to pick him out even if he was standing right next to you.

The audience thundered with applause. The man wasn’t a bodybuilder like some of the other guys but you recognize the sword art as genuine and practiced. Sword arts weren’t part of your repertoire - You specialized in hand to hand and shooting - but you knew skill when you saw it.

You squint… wait is that?

It was! It was Chu Zihang! You knew him to be a shy and quiet person, not someone who could perform on stage in front of thousands of people. That said, you acknowledge you didn’t really know him. He was a performer then? Curious, you tilt your head and get closer to the stage. But it was really hard. People were pressing in with the same intent as you to be as close to the stage as possible.to watch the performance. Eventually you had to stop because the crush of people was too great. Your arms are pinned closed to your chest and you have to watch through a window of outstretched hands with cell phones.

A black-clad and masked waiter pushed a two meter long tablet onto the stage, which was covered with ice, on which a whole fish was laid out. You’d never seen a fish that big. This is something that would be a mouthful even for the whales of Siberia! Chu Zihang waved the sword and divided the fish in strong powerful strokes. One slash! And the dark red back meat was separated from the bone. Two! And the soft white belly meat was separated!

The sword moved in a blur and the sections fell into neat perfectly sliced pieces as perfect as a picture.

You, the MC, applauded politely, but the rest of the women behind you screeched like this was some sort of frenzied and spiritual experience. The noise made your skin crawl. 

Something wet splashed on you smelling of alcohol, drenching your cheongsam. 

“Whoops, sorry!” The woman behind you giggled.

“No… no problem…” You mutter, too quiet to be heard.

The cut fish was placed on small plates that were sent down a glowing river of water suspended from the stage. The river floated the plates down to a bar where women on translucent stools lit in many colors. They delighted in picking the fish off the plates with delicately carved chopsticks made out of coral.

In the crowd, at the same time, money was being held up in the air, as well as fingers and fans. They bid on the price of a particular large piece. As the bidding ended, the winning woman was invited on stage and she held up a large rectangular piece of fish over her head like a champion wrestler holding her belt. Meanwhile, Chu Zihang was still busy carving up the rest of the fish. 

The crowd has thinned slightly and you’re finally able to get close enough. You look at him, trying to catch his eyes but he’s too focused on slice after slice. Finally he finishes the section and slides it onto a tray.

“Zihang!” 

Even though your voice was not that loud, he looks at you wide eyed and shakes his head in a quick jerk. A clear message of “Not now.” And goes back to work.

Just then an excited woman rushes the stage with a bottle of champagne and dumps it down his bare back and shoulders. The crowd roars in delight and Chu Zihang doesn’t move a muscle other than his eyes down to you.

Your eyes are as big as saucers. Champagne is dripping down every muscle like golden rivers through valleys of pale skin. Both hands cover your mouth in clear horror. But then he looks away from you and you relax. Was this part of the show too? 

You back away from the stage and decide maybe you should get out of here. As you’re backing up, you run into what you think is a wall but you turn around and someone in a bright purple suit grabs your shoulders. Your body reacts and elbows him hard in the ribs.

“Oof! Easy there, princess.”

That voice! You look up and immediately rear back, stumbling and staggering over your unwieldy heels and falling to the floor. 

“Looks like someone has had a bit too much.” Caesar says.

A waiter comes by to pick you back up, before whooshing away like some suited fairy.

“Basara King! Please tell me you’ll stay!”

“Only if you vote for me sweetheart.” Caesar fondly leans over and kisses the woman’s hand.

“I’ll vote for you every night! The world won’t be the same without you in my life!”

He is in the purple suit, like the color of a bright purple dinosaur named Barney you remember seeing pictures of, but his hair is permed and draped over one of his eyes… eyes that are painted in purple eyeshadow. He was even wearing lipstick, bright red too. The woman goes to find a waiter. She shouts, “Fifteen tickets for Basara King!”

Once she’s gone, he asks. “Where’s your caretaker sweetie?”

You’re gasping in silent horror. “What did you do to your f-”

“Aaaah! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Mingfei grabs your arm and drags you away. “I told you to stay in your room!”

“Someone came in there! Lu Mingfei what happened? Where are we?” You gasp. You turn back but Caesar is already occupied with more women.

He yanks you back to the elevator and mashes the button repeatedly.  “Shh! Shh! Stop! Quiet or you’re going to ruin everything!”

Lu Mingfei looks truly desperate as he pushes you into the elevator and mashes the close door button. He presses his hand firmly against your mouth. “Listen. Swear to me that you won't say a thing about what you just saw in there. Got it?”

You blink at him. He releases your mouth and you tell him, “You’ve got a little… lipstick right…”

Mingfei furiously rubs his cheek - the wrong one - “Look… Look. I know what you’re thinking but just stop thinking! Don’t think! We have to be here. This is the only place we can hide out! We don’t have any other place to go! We lied and said we were illegal immigrants smuggled into Japan to get treatment for you. They don’t care that we don’t speak Japanese so long as we look good and make the clients happy!”

The elevator dings but he holds the “Door closed” button. “But you’re, first of all, not old enough to be allowed in, second of all, you have to stay with us in the men’s area. Also not allowed! And you’re a woman, third not allowed!  But Caesar has a plan to get you to stay but everything has to work out, so please just please…” 

You’ve never seen him shaking this much. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, still against the wall.

“No, it’s just… These women are crazy!” He puts his hands over his eyes and leans his back against the wall of the elevator. He looks seriously like he’s about to weep. 

You pat his shoulder. “There, there.”

“I don’t want to lose my good standing at the college and how will I ever face Nono if…” He lowers his hands. “N… never mind.” He hangs his head.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s okay. You’re stressed out, but I really did have to leave the room.”

He sighed. “It’s my fault. I forgot to put the Do Not Disturb sign on…” he said glumly and allowed the elevator door to open. You hear the roar of the crowd above you and it sounds like a man is on a megaphone hyping them up. Mingfei pauses and continues to lament. “You must be so traumatized by what you saw.”

“How long do we have to stay here?” You ask as he leads you by the hand.

“Right now, it’s a temporary arrangement. We’re intern performers. This is one of the best places in town for this sort of thing so you have to pass muster and win enough popularity. If the people in the crowd love you and want you to stay, they’ll buy tickets with your name on them. You have to have at least 800 tickets and pass an interview with the club owner. Until then… anything we screw up on could get us thrown out and we can’t get thrown out, MC.”

You immediately nod. “How many tickets do we have?”

“Not enough yet. Tonight is the moment of truth.” Lu Mingfei said seriously. He leads you back to the room with the barrels.

“Oh.” You purse your lips. “Right.”

“And even then…”

“Interview.” You said. “Got it. I’ll behave.”

“I gotta go…” Mingfei sighs and leans on the door a bit.

“Can I get something to eat? Sorry…”

Lu Mingfei softens at your earnest expression. “I’ll get you something.”

The sound of popping interrupts and you startle and gasp.

But Mingfei smiles and looks down the hall. “Oh! Firecrackers! That’s good! I think Zih… I mean Ukyou got enough tickets! That also means… every table gets free champagne… damn…” He hangs his head again and blinks away tears. “I’ll bring you some food when I can, okay?” He closes the door and dashes out. Even though you wait for him, he doesn’t come back at all for hours.

You wait, sitting in the closet, your stomach growling loudly. You hadn’t been this hungry in a while but it wasn’t completely alien. The smell of rich foods was wafting down and not being helpful though. The best remedy for hunger was sleep so you shed the boozy cheongsam, shower again and go lay down.

You don’t remember falling asleep but you wake up to voices. Hunger pangs were seriously gnawing at you now and you got up to approach the door The space is full of the fragrant steam from baths mixed with the scent of cigar smoke. They must be bathing, but you’re so hungry. 

“All that’s left then is to interview the owner… Do we have an appointment or something?” Lu Mingfei asks.

“No. It’s up to them when they see us. And they still have to agree to let MC stay here so you need to do better, Mingfei.”

“I know… I just didn’t expect her to wake up today.”

You’d never heard them sound so exhausted before, as if they’d gotten no rest at all since the battle of the streets of Chizuru. Lu Mingfei said that they’d been forced to work here. You don’t know the hours from the looks of things, they wouldn’t be able to ask off because their tenancy depended on performance. But if you hadn’t eaten in three days then you need to eat now, even if it inconveniences them.

You knock gently. “Can I have my food please?”

You’re answered by splashing around, and Mingfei yelping. “MC! Don’t open the door!”

Caesar’s voice. “Will you relax? We’re in the bath. She’s already seen Chu Zihang’s body and she was fine right? Sure, MC… come on in.”

You crack the door open. The three barrels are now occupied with Caesar, Zihang and…only Mingfei’s bubbles appeared to pop on the surface of the water. After a few seconds, Mingfei’s head came up, open mouthed and gasping. “Don’t look! Don’t look! You have to preserve what innocence you have left!”

Caesar pulled his cigar out of his mouth.  He was reclined, covered in hickies and other miscellaneous marks all over his broad muscular chest. The makeup was thankfully gone. “You’re assuming a lot. How do you know she’s innocent?” 

Mingfei was still gasping. “We should assume all young ladies are innocent!”

Caesar nods to the bag on the TV and you hurry to it. Inside is some of the leftover sushi, some rice, and a few pieces of cheese. “Sorry it’s not much but we can’t exactly be caught pilfering food for someone who’s not supposed to be here.”

Chu Zihang was sitting back, eyes on a newspaper.

You grin at him.  “Congratulations, Senpai on your tickets.”

“Ah…” He muttered as the only acknowledgement..

“Little sister, I’m sorry you had to see Senpai like this. You must have been so shocked. This isn’t normal I swear.” Mingfei was still just a floating head in a barrel, determined to keep his body below water.

You stuff your mouth with the sushi. It was fresh and still tasted of the sea. You hum with delight. “This is good!”

“I mean you must feel like… seeing him like that… you… I mean … even the girl’s in the college, they go crazy even when he has his shirt on.” Mingfei peers at you as you’re digging through the bag for the cheese. It’s so fancy it’s wrapped in black cloth and you can smell it through the fabric.

“Don’t eat too quickly.” Chu Zihang murmured.

“MC, can you be a doll and throw some more wood on the fire?” Caesar asks.

You chew the cheese and get a log from the rack and take it to Caesar’s bath. You bend over, open the old furnace carefully and toss it in, quickly shutting the door. Mingfei watches you, quiet. Then you suddenly straighten. “Boo!”

“Ah! Don’t look!” He ducks down, inhales water and starts choking.

Caesar massages his temples.

You giggle at his distress and simultaneously ignore it. “If Senior Brother has never done this before, that makes it three times as impressive.”

“Hey, don't compliment Zihang and not me.” Caesar grumbles.

You rub your chin, “Then, Caesar must work hard to keep up such a muscular chest! I don’t think I’ve seen one like it since the bear hunters passed through the port!”

He bit his cigar and smiled. “Thank you!”

Chu Zihang lowered his paper a moment, glared and then lifted it.

Mingfei moaned. “All of this is so wrong.”

“If it bothers you that much I’ll leave.” You say, grabbing the bag.

“It might help if you answer the question simply, MC. Are you innocent?” Asks Caesar, blows out a puff of smoke.

“Boss, why are you being so direct?!”

“Yes,” you reply, “But I don’t feel that way about any of you. You’re my Senior Brothers.” You pause. “...quite senior in fact. You look nice but we’re not a good fit” You turn to Mingfei with a pointed glare. “And you’ve made it very clear that you’re not attracted to me at all and I’ll let you know that the feeling is mutual.”

“Good it’s settled. Happy now?” Caesar asked, grinning at Mingfei.

Mingfei groaned.

“So what’s the plan?” You ask, tucking into the rice. There was both a spoon and chopsticks. You suspect Chu Zihang had prepared this. Mingfei wouldn’t have thought to include alternate utensils.

“This place is called Takamagahara… as you saw… women come here to spend thousands of yen a night just to support their favorite ‘ikemen’ on the stage.”

“Ikemen?”

“Like an idol… a fantasy guy.” Mingfei grumbled. Still neck deep in the water.

“Both Chu Zihang and I were instant hits. There’s no problem for us. However, there’s no place for a female performer.” Caesar taps the ashes into a golden buddha statue that’s holding a bowl to receive them.  “My goal is to have you stay as a planted guest to help coax more money out of the clients.”

“What? That’s your plan?” Mingfei exclaimed. “She’ll be out there in all those … those guys!”

“That’s called ‘shill bidding’.” Chu Zihang turned the page in the newspaper.

“You saw the auction right? I’m sure that piece of meat could have gone for more. If we had someone who can bid the price up, the club makes more money, and there’s no losing it because she’ll be bidding with the club’s own funds.” Caesar explained.

“She’s still too young to be here?” Mingfei continued to object.

“She’s calm enough. Calmer than you in fact.” Caesar sighed. “For that I’m grateful. None of the men here will touch her. It isn’t that kind of place. She’s safe here. I’m not worried.”

“It’s a good idea, Caesar.” You say. “I’ll do my best. I’m not used to cheering that loud though.”

Caesar’s eyes turn sharkish. “Money speaks louder here. Don’t worry.”

You’ve finished the rice already and put down the bowl. “I know you’re upset, Senpai Lu, but you have no say in this matter. What Caesar says goes.”

“Senpai Lu? When did this happen?” Caesar’s eyebrows raise.

You’re not sure how to answer. “He is, isn't he?”

Caesar regards you for a bit but then shrugs. “Thank you for cooperating. We tried to find a hospital but the Hydra had them all blocked off.” Caesar's expression darkened considerably. “No matter how far we traveled, there was just more and more police. Meanwhile, you were bleeding out! Not only did this place offer to help, but they ordered a private doctor for you. If it wasn’t for them, you’d be dead now.”

A cold silence fell over the group and you could almost feel the breeze from the dream of Black Swan Bay and hear Z’s voice.

You had a very close call.

“Z…” You whisper.

“Hm…?” Caesar asked. He’s staring at you with a little concern. 

“I… I’m tired. I need to lay down.” You hurry back to the closet and shut the door.

[ask-de-writer]

SULA’S SONG : Part 25 : THE END OF THE SUN’S DAUGHTER : A World of Sea tale

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SULA’S SONG : THE END OF THE SUN’S DAUGHTER

Part 25

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

123566 words presently written, WIP

Copyright 2021

All rights reserved. This document may not be copied or distributed on or to any medium or placed in any mass storage system except by the express written consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may   reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge   for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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NEW TO SULA’S SONG?  READ FROM THE BEGENNING.  

PART 1 is HERE

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Jenna started by saying, “The first thing that I thought of is sort of a principle.  If we are going to do a total refit for war, the needs of fighting have to come first. We can fit our people around what's needed for combat.”

Master Guliard interrupted, “That is very true.  I . . .” he paused and visibly struggled to be diplomatic.  “May I put that up in the boatshop for everyone to see?”

Mistress Culark amended that by saying, “We need it up in every shop, Ducky.  Not just yours.”

Sula pointed back to the drawing and asked, “What do you think that we will need, Jenna?”

Jenna bit her lip and fearfully said, “I thought of several things.  To be sure what I want to show you I need to know if we are going to use fire weapons, like the Borens are using?”

Mistress Culark confirmed, “We are, my little hawk.  We are making some that we can throw by catapult.”

Jenna nodded thoughtfully to herself and then surprised them all by saying, “I thought so.  Loading them will be dangerous, won't it?”

Mistress Culark looked at Jenna with a seriously dawning respect and said, “They will be safe enough to handle and fire from the catapults.  If you mean filling them, you are right.  That is the most dangerous part of using them.”

Now sure of herself, Jenna pointed at the drawing and suggested, “Make the Armory a lot bigger and put it right here in the middle of the section.  It should use all three decks.  Make the filling part on the bottom deck and make the floor easy to drop out if there is a loading accident.  That will put both the burning stuff and anyone in there down into the water.  That gives both the crew and the ship the best chance of living through the accident.

“Run fireproof corridors to magazines fore, aft, starboard and port.  While I watched the battle at the Gathering, I saw how we used our catapults and how the Haghunter used theirs.  We need our strongest ones up forward, and one or two strong ones astern, as well as the all of the regular catapults.”

Master Guliard thought for a moment and Sula was pleased to see him start to reject the idea and then get a grip on himself.  Thoughtfully he looked and finally said, “We could do that.  The amount of damage that we already have in the center platform means that we have to completely restructure it.  It will need a lot of calculation to do this but the basic notion is sound.  I especially like the idea for the weapon loading bay.”

Just as Jenna was relaxing some Sula said, “When I asked you to think of these things, Jenna, I didn't expect this.  What made you think so deeply?”

Jenna's young shoulders began to shake. Tears came to her eyes and she sniffled before she was able to get a grip on her emotions.  “Ma'am, I was out with you in your boat at the Starseeker wreck.  All of those people were murdered.  I knew and played with seven of their kids.  I identified them all when we brought their bodies aboard.  I knew children from the Morag, the Morgan and the Lucky Lady too.”  

Even red and rimmed with tears, Jenna's eyes hardened and her back stiffened.  “Ma'am, You gave me a chance to put a harpoon into those killers who have turned their backs on the Law and the Dragons.  I want our ship to send as many of of them to Dark Iren as we can before we get sent to him ourselves.”

Master Guliard regarded the child before him and asked, “Why are you so sure that we will be sunk? We will be better prepared for war than they are.”

Jenna nodded, “True, Master.  They not only outnumber us, we will be fighting in waters that they know. They may simply swarm us until we have nothing left to shoot at them or maybe they might trick us into shallows on a Dragon Tide.” Bleakly, she added, “Like the Strong Skin that killed my mother and father, they don't take prisoners or save survivors.  Mirenda and Master Rokor are good foster parents but I don't expect to live long enough to have a child of my own.  Perhaps I can keep the Borens from killing many other children.”

Sula nodded a sympathetic understanding, her own eyes tearing a little as she said, “I wish that I had your faith in Dragons to sustain me, Jenna.  I won't try to hide the truth from you.  I think that you are almost certainly right.  On all points.  We have to oppose the Boren fleet, even if we die in the attempt.”

After studying the rest of Master Guliard's damage reports and Mistress Culark's weapon designs Sula came to a decision.  “This is all better than I had hoped for. Still, we now need all of the rest of the Masters in on the rebuild. We will have the meeting in the starboard mess room.  Jenna, will you go to find them and let them know, please?”

With a brisk, “Aye, Ma'am!” Jenna left on her errand.

Master Guliard watched Jenna go and commented, “I think that child may be the most dangerous person on Sea.  While the Borens figured out weapons to fight with and we worked on better ones, she was thinking about War, not just fighting. When she is old enough, if we live so long, I want her in my shop. She will probably wind up as an officer instead.”

The End of the Sun's Daughter:

For the next two weeks, Sula nursed her damaged vessel north.  At last they reached 75 degrees North latitude and the legal safety of the Dragon Sea.  The frigid waters teemed with schools of the twenty to sixty centimeter, eel-like gluefish. Boats put out to net the bounty of precious fish necessary to make the many specialized glue formulations needed to repair and rebuild the ship.

As the fishing proceeded, Strong Skins began to attack both the fish and the fishermen.  The harpooners and catapult crews reaped fish after valuable and deadly fish.  Their hides were necessary to make or repair almost anything.

It was quickly apparent that, in these latitudes, waiting for nightfall was wasted time.  The sun never fully set, only barely kissing the southern horizon.  The sun at nadir lit everything with a pale and ghastly light.  Even at it's low laying high noon, it shed little to no warmth.  The cooks needed far longer to get food ready with the big solar ovens.

Seeing that problem, Sula sat down to her big abacus and began to calculate.  After a few hours, she took her results to the now very busy Master Guliard.  He called over Willim, one of his journeymen, to look at Sula's design.

Rubbing his chin, Willim remarked, “Not too difficult.  Tricky to get the first one to fit that curvature exactly, but then we can use it to make a mold and lay up the rest of them without any difficulty.  We will need more Sidejumper scales to line them with than we have in stock at present.”

Sula said thoughtfully, “We just took three of them.  Good sized ones, too.”

Surprised, Willim replied, “Three?  They're usually pretty solitary.”

Sula nodded agreement.  “I know, Willim.  The way that things are going right now, I would almost say that the Great Dragons are helping us.  Pity that I don't believe in them.  I think that we have simply found what a sea untouched by human fishing is like.”

Willim closed and opened his eyes slowly, a respect to Blind Mecat, the Dragon of Wisdom, and said, “Perhaps, Ma'am, it's both.”

Sula grinned and said, “I can accept that.  Now get on these new reflectors for the cooks.  We need lots of hot food and the old reflectors aren't doing the job.

“We also need to process all of these gluefish and our old equipment is falling far behind the catch.”

Willim agreed, “With all of the repairs and refitting, we do need better equipment for the glue processing.  I could take this plan of yours and make one two or three times the size.  Those gluepots are big.”

Sula just said, “That sounds good. Do it.  I will leave the work in your hands.”

On her way back to her cabin and some shred of warmth, Sula saw Nightwatch Allen hard at work.  He was keeping the ship's children enthralled by some tale or other. Instead of words, he seemed to be conveying the story by gesture alone.  The reason for that was obvious.

Neither he nor his charges were cold at all.  They were swaddled head to toe in thick black garments that only showed their eyes.  Even their hands were thickly gloved.  In spite of their faces being fully covered, they sometimes interrupted . . . with gestures of their own.  Nightwatch Allen always responded comically as if he were surprised or indignant.  That always brought a flutter of hands from the children.

One of the children started to say, “But what was the Dragon's na . . .” and was instantly pulled back by a hand over his or perhaps her mouth by a child behind. Embarrassed, the silenced child raised a hand and made a series of gestures.

Those, Nightwatch Allen responded to with gestures of his own.  As she watched, Sula began to realize that there was a genuine language being used.  She wondered how he managed to teach it to the children so easily.

Back at her cabin door, Sula saw a small change.  There was  a ribbed plate attached to the panel.  A small stick like a short chopstick hung from it by a string. Curious, Sula ran the stick across the ribs.  The noise that it made was louder than she expected.  Looking closely, she saw that there was a resonating chamber under the surface, making it a sort of small drum that used the door panel as one of its heads.

Sula went into her cabin.  Since it was not her watch, Jenna was not there.  Sula walked to the chart table and got some crumbs and spread from the dish that Jenna always left there for Little Peep.  She fed him but before he would take any for himself, he first stuffed the craws of his four nestlings.

Sula tried to sleep but, as so often these days, her dreams chased her back to wakefulness.  Apparently she got more sleep than she realized because Jenna was crouching beside her, tucking another blanket over her Captain.  Sula could see that Jenna was smiling at her by the set of her body and head.  Her cabin girl was fully covered by the same dark garments that Sula had seen on the other children at the storytelling session.  

Reflexively, Jenna started to gesture at Sula and then said, “Sorry, Ma'am.  Did you sleep well?  You didn't toss as much as usual.  I brought you a breakfast.  It's on the chart table.  I'm afraid that Little Peep raided your bread roll. I hope that you don't mind beak marks in it.”

Sula smiled and sat up, pulling her blankets close.  “I don't mind sharing with Little Peep at all Jenna.  May I have that breakfast now?”

Jenna managed to look guilty as she put a cover over the plate and set it on a small device.  Sula grinned, “You let the little guy swipe my bun!  What is that thing?”

As Jenna turned her head, her headcloth turned along with her gaze, the eye holes staying firmly in front of her eyes.  “Yes, Ma'am, I did.  He was hungry.  This is a heating device that Mikal made.  He is one of Master Guliard's apprentices. It has an oil reservoir and several wicks.  It lights with this little bulb.  See, I push the bulb and it lights the oil in the wicks with a tiny bit of anhydrous drier.”  Sula watched with interest as her plate heated and steam began to rise from the cover.

When Jenna brought her the hot plate of food, Sula fell to with a will.  Her flashing chopsticks made short work of the food while it was still warm.  Replete, Sula noticed that Jenna had blown out the heater's lamps and covered the device.

Sula asked, “Jenna?  What are those gestures that I saw you using?

Jenna paused and thought carefully about something before saying, “Ma'am, we children were sworn to secrecy by Mister Allen.  Captain, I can only tell you because you are the biggest child on the ship.  Mister Allen calls it Dayspeech because we can use it anytime that there's light enough to see.  We children use it among ourselves so that we won't interrupt or interfere with all of the important work that is going on.  Mister Allen uses it to tell us stories to keep us entertained and out from underfoot.”

Gently Sula pressed, “And how did you all learn a whole new language so easily?”

Jenna shrugged and fluttered a hand before replying, “We didn't.  It's just Drumtalk.”  She held her left hand palm up and placed the open fingers of her right hand into her left palm.  “See?  My palm is the drumhead.  The first two fingers are the signal sticks, the third is the word end stick, the little finger is the pause punctuation stick, thumb is the exclamation and question stick and a short finger clench is a paragraph.  A fist says that you are done.”

Jenna began to slowly and silently beat on her left palm, “It is Dayspeech when we take away the palm and hold the fingers up where we can see the beats.”  She finished with her hand up, fist quickly clenched and released.

Smiling, Sula laboriously signaled back, “That was clever of Nightwatch Allen.

“Where did you get those warm looking clothes?”

Jenna clearly, by her body set, grinning, signaled back, Mistress Malein, the tailor and Mikal working together made them for us.”

Thoughtfully, Sula asked out loud, “Jenna, will you please find Nightwatch Allen, Mistress Malein and Mikal and have them report to my cabin?”

Jenna pointedly looked at Sula's hand. Sula returned another big grin and carefully, but already more quickly, signaled the request in Dayspeech.  Jenna promptly signaled assent and scampered off on her errand.  

Sula laughed to herself at the way that Jenna was including her as one of the ship's children.  In an odd way, that inclusion helped her to deal with the emptiness that she felt where Davaros should be.  Having the ship to distract her mind from her loss helped too.  There was so much to be done.  Thank the Dragons for so many details to attend to.

Sula was at work, redoing the ship's entire mast, rigging and sail plan, her big abacus's beads clicking rhythmically.  There was a clear scratching rattle from the door. Sula clapped her hands in invitation and the door slid open.  It was Jenna accompanied by Mistress Malein, Mister Allen and Mikal.

Sula offered them cushions to sit on and said, “I called you here because the three of you are connected in something that we need for the ship.”

Mikal looked puzzled.  He asked, “What could that be?”

Sula pointed to Jenna and then gestured, “Come here, Jenna.  They need to understand the importance of your outfit.”

Nightwatch Allen's eyes widened as he saw Sula's use of Dayspeech.  He filled in, “The children's clothes are that important?”

Sula nodded seriously and replied, “They are.  We presently have five  of the crew, three women and two men, in sick bay being treated for frostbite or at least severe chill to the point of dangerously reduced body temperature.  Clothes like these could prevent or reduce the problem.”

Sula turned to Nightwatch Allen and said, “Jenna tells me that you came up with the basic idea.  Why black?”

Nightwatch Allen shrugged, “It catches heat easily.  Besides, Mistress Malein has practically a hold full of black canvas.”

Sula chuckled and pointed out, “These are far more than just canvas.  Whose idea was that?”

Mistress Malein said, “When Cole, um, Mister Allen, explained what he wanted I made up a layered cloth. There is the canvas shell, two layers of Master Stimm's thickest knit and a satin weave inner liner.  That is why the clothes are a bit bulky.  At least none of the children are getting very cold.”

Sula smiled her praise and said, “That is quite ingenious.  When Jenna turns her head, the eyeslits stay in front of her eyes.  How is that done?”

Nightwatch Allen pointed at Mikal and said, “His idea, Captain.  The first time that I turned my head and wound up looking at the inside of the hood, I knew that we needed something.  Mikal was off watch.  Since he and I get along, I asked him about it.  He made a small sort of mask out of black finished Strong Skin.  It fastens behind your head and is sewn into the hood. Each mask is specifically fitted to the wearer.

“Jenna, take off your hood so that the others here can see how it works.”

Jenna reached up behind her head and untied the securing string.  She then slid the whole hood loose. Blushing, she handed the hood to Sula.  Sula thoughtfully asked, “Why are you embarrassed, Jenna?”

Ducking her head, Jenna replied, “You get used to being covered up really easily.  It's cold without it.”

Sula replied, “I see.  Mistress Malein, Mikal, this is quite well done.  Can you do these quickly? We need to fit everybody aboard with these clothes.”

Mistress Malein said, “I have the other cloths in plenty for the task but we will need a lot more of the knit.  It wouldn't hurt if it was even thicker or fluffier, somehow.”

Jenna almost fearfully raised a hand. Sula nodded to her and Jenna pointed out, “The knit cloth is easy to make.  I made some for Master Stimms' demonstration.  We kids could make it, if somebody set up the loom for us.”

Nightwatch Allen gestured something at Jenna, who grinned and fluttered her right hand at him.  Sula gestured, “I caught that part about volunteering but what was the hand flutter, Jenna?”

Jenna gestured back, “That's how we laugh without sound.”

Sula promptly fluttered her right hand.

Mikal and Mistress Malein were looking on in bemusement.  Sula explained, “Mister Allen warned Jenna that if she keeps on volunteering, someday somebody will put her to work. I will too.  It appears that we have the answer to this whole problem.  I will leave you to it.  Mikal, if Master Guliard objects, tell him that I have assigned you to this task for now.  Dismissed.

“Mister Allen, please remain.  I have another task for you.”

After the others were gone, Sula said, “The Sun's Daughter sank three days after that squall.”

Nightwatch Allen looked about in mock surprise and commented, “How did I miss that?  I think that I would have noticed it.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[mister-fleck]

one bad day: arthur fleck x reader

prompt: “a nfsw one when he comes home after having a bad day.”

Arthur pushed a hand through his hair, turned over his wrist and sighed at the time displayed on his watch. The bus was nearly an hour late. It shouldn’t really surprise him — the drivers were underpaid and underfed, but it made his nerves grow regardless. He knew that you’d be worried if he wasn’t home soon. Perhaps grow weary with me. He mused, endlessly insecure. Perhaps grow angry.

It was your one month anniversary (something you had found silly, but Arthur cherished) and he was dying to be next to you. To hold you, to see your lips curl  up into that smile you reserved just for him. Dismayed, Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the old wooden bench and continued to wait.

It didn’t help that his mother had been rushed to the hospital two hours previously. Arthur hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Killing those three men had been invigorating, mouthwatering — but plainly careless. He was responsible for somebody other than himself, always had been, and his first taste of crime had placed a roadblock in his daily routine and lessened his capability as a caregiver. Given the hysterical frailty of his mother, he knew it must have been elementary for the two detectives to send her toppling to the ground.

“Such a fool,” Arthur chastised under his breath. He should be home. With you. You were his home.

“Talkin’ to yourself there, big shoots?”

A gruff bark of a voice made Arthur’s thin shoulders jump in alarm. Green eyes lifted and scanned the immediate area before landing on two muscular gentlemen, both of whom were approaching him with a purpose. 

Unsure of how to handle the abrupt confrontation, Arthur quirked his lips into a nervous smile and chose not to respond. He always found it wise to stay quiet, stay compliant. He inhaled deeply. Grimaced. Gotham absolutely reeked with this garbage strike. 

It was the second man’s turn to speak. They were only a few feet away now. “What’s that in your hand? A diary?” 

Arthur looked down to the spiral notebook he kept curled in his fist, then back up at the strangers. He felt the familiar sensation of dread crawl up along his back and spread ice-cold throughout his chest. 

“Just a creative journal,” he managed, feeling small. “Jokes.”

Within moments, Arthur was sandwiched between the two of them — the bench definitely not wide enough for three men to sit comfortably— and he felt his throat go tight. 

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” The first man grunted, and his movements were so sudden that Arthur didn’t get a chance to react as the journal was ripped away from him. 

Arthur’s face twisted sadly, brows furrowing, “Hey, p…please give it back —” 

The man to his left, who smelled heavily of cheap whiskey and gasoline, snorted and shuffled roughly through the pages. “What the fuck is this shit? I have generalized anxiety disorder, but it sucks because it affects me specifically.” A pause. “Is this supposed to be funny?”

If Arthur had been any other man, in any other city, he would have asked himself why he was being harassed for just… existing. 

Just then, something fluttered out from between the pages and fell to the ground at Arthur’s feet. A tattered black and white polaroid photograph — of you. 

Immediately panicked, Arthur leapt forward to grab it from the grimey Gotham concrete (how Murray Franklin could call this city beautiful, he’d never understand) but a large, muddy boot stomped on top of it, halting his efforts.

“Hey!” Arthur croaked, his throat beginning to spasm painfully. He swallowed hard, a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. “Stop that!” 

The man to Arthur’s right snatched the photo from beneath his boot and wolf-whistled, “Now who do we got here?” His eyes lingered a moment too long. “A friend of yours?” 

No longer caring about his journal, Arthur put all of his energy into trying to get ahold of the picture, pulling at the man’s beefy arm.

This photo meant everything to Arthur. It was the only tangible reminder he had to convince himself that you were real. That you existed. That you weren’t some… fantastical hallucination. 

“That’s my girlfriend,” Arthur tried to defend, but it came out in a ragged, choked laugh. “Give — Give it — Give it back —“ 

Both men eyed Arthur before breaking into greasy chuckles themselves. “Can’t even say it with a straight face, can ya?” The one to his right mocked. “Like you could land a broad like this.” He grabbed at his crotch and grunted. “I’d love to give her a good dicking, wouldn’t you, Brad?” 

The one named Brad swiped the photo — just out of Arthur’s reach — before grinning. “Hell yeah. I’d show her what a real man feels like. Poor bitch has probably never been properly fucked, I mean look at this guy —”

Through his strangled laughter, Arthur managed to give Brad an aggressive shove into the lamp post beside them, positively enraged. His palms itched. Fuck. He had left his gun at home. It was starting to rain.

Before Arthur could take another step further, he received a deep blow to the gut, followed by one to the side of his jaw — an unforgiving one-two punch that left him gasping for air on the ground. 

Head spinning, Arthur heaved out a laugh that tore up his throat, tasting blood in his mouth. He saw Brad make his way over and readied himself for punishment when police sirens went off nearby.  The two men froze, hesitated, then tossed Arthur’s belongings to the ground before tearing around the corner to get away from what could be an arrest. 

A foreign sense of relief crashed over Arthur. Had somebody actually stopped to help him? He heard the gravelly noise of wet tires against pavement. The sirens cut off. Still convulsing with laughter, Arthur lifted his head off of the dirty sidewalk and made eye contact with the policeman, an older gentleman sporting a mustache. 

“Th... Thank you —”

Arthur would never forget the look of genuine disgust on the officer’s face as he wordlessly drove away. 

The bus never came.

Thirty minutes later, Arthur was limping into his apartment elevator, drenched in rain water. Sneakers and socks soaked from puddles. Lip busted, ribs bruised. Photograph safe in his pocket. No longer laughing. 

He had tried to focus on you on his walk home. On how light you made him feel. On how you belonged to him. But the mocking phrases from earlier rattled around his skull despite his efforts to push them away. 

What a real man feels like. Arthur angrily scrubbed a wet hand over his face, his face tight with frustration. Never been properly fucked. 

Shoving his keys into the lock of his apartment, Arthur began to breathe heavily, jaw set. “I’ll show them properly fucked.” 

—

There was no way to prepare yourself for Arthur when he stormed in unannounced. You had been pacing wildly in his kitchen, stomach in knots, gripping one of the throw pillows from your his couch just to have something to cling onto. He was two hours late. This was nothing like your Arthur. 

You knew how cruel the world was, just as well as he did. How when the sun went down, crime went up when it came to Gotham City. 

Although it made your heart plummet, you weren’t surprised to see dried blood across Arthur’s cheek — but the absolutely deadly look splashed across his usually gentle little face — that gave you pause.

“Arthur, where were you — mmf!“ 

Like some sort of sinister ballet, Arthur smoothly kicked the door closed behind him, shed his water-sodden jacket and shoved you against the fridge with a bruising kiss. His hands moved from cradling your face to gripping hungrily at your hips to scratching wildly at your sides — he was everywhere, all over you. 

The deep-seeded concern that had been holding you hostage melted away, but the relief of knowing Arthur was safe didn’t hinder your trembling — that only increased, especially with the way Arthur was nipping sharply at your bottom lip. 

“You’re mine,” he gritted out, kissing and biting an aggressive path down along your throat now. “My girl.”

Absolutely panting, you gripped at him, fingers tangling in his wet hair. His unrelenting kisses were making you light-headed. “Baby…” Lashes fluttering, you pressed your body up into him and let out a soft mewl as he bit harshly at your shoulder. “Fuck!” 

Arthur pulled back, green eyes wild, and hoisted you onto his kitchen counter with a strength you weren’t aware he possessed. 

“That’s right,” he husked, his voice an octave lower than what you’re used to. He took a moment to lick his lips and drink you in, seeming to just now realize that you were only wearing one of his dress shirts. It fell just short of your bare knees. 

He raised an eyebrow, an entirely different man now, and yet still so beautifully Arthur. 

You blushed under his stare, trying to explain yourself, but it wasn’t anything eloquent: “It smells like your cologne.” 

Without another word, Arthur slid his hands up underneath the dress shirt, hooked his fingertips around the hem of your panties, and yanked them off. 

You had never gotten so wet so quickly. 

The two of you had made love before, three times exactly, each time sweet and experimental and a little needy, but this — the way Arthur was now on his knees and aggressively spreading your legs — this was a side of him you had never seen before. 

Lifting your legs so they rested over his shoulders, he growled at you. “Hold on to me.”

His mouth was hot against you, lapping broadly, and a gasp tore out of your chest. You scrambled to grab ahold of his shoulders, his head, anything to keep you from falling down as pleasure crashed over you. He was eating you greedily and your body was on fire. “Arthur, god…” 

Arthur moaned against you, a rumbling vibration that made you whimper breathily, one of your hands bunching up the fabric of his damp shirt, the other tugging at his hair. His fingernails dug into your thighs and you wondered through a pleasured gasp if he would bruise you. 

You were going to cum soon, it was evident in the way your own whimpers went up in pitch, and Arthur seemed to force himself to stop. He pushed up onto his feet and began to undo the buckle of his belt.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded, unzipping his pants and swatting away your hands when you tried to help him. You groaned at the sight of him. He was so hard. He grabbed your face and forced you to look him in the eye. “Tell me.” 

“You, baby.” Your chest swelled with the darkest kind of love as you trembled, reaching forward to push hair out of his face. Arthur’s lips and chin were wet and it was the most handsome you had ever seen him. “I’m a-all yours.” 

And with that Arthur slammed into you, looking crazed and satisfied, an animalistic groan ripping out of his throat as he adjusted to how wet and tight you were around him. “All mine.” 

With everything so heightened and sensitive, you had to bury your face in Arthur’s hair, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he finally began to fuck you. “Oh my god, Arthur…!”

His pace was brutal, as was his grip on your waist and somewhere in the back of your mind you heard dinner plates slide off the counter and shatter at Arthur’s feet.

You’d make him dinner again some other time. 

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 92

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

"Are you sure you won't come visit Blake in the hospital?" Ruby asked me.

"Nah. I'll leave up to your team. Might visit next time, sound fair?"

I took Adam Taurus's weapon. I added to my collection. It was in one corner next to Tyrian's wicked blades.

"I-um I guess," Ruby returned. "I really don't think she'd be bothered by it."

"But can you say that she'd be pleased by it?" I asked rhetorically.

"Well…" she hesitated. Her silver eyes flicked away from mine.

" Ahp , you had to think about it. Trust me. I'll just leave it to you girls for now. Next time. Mayhaps."

"What are you going to do around here?" Ruby asked. "If you're not coming with us, that is."

"I'm going to be with Oscar and Ozpin. Helping Winter Schnee get a handle on her new powers," I returned easily. "Don't worry. I won't get up to any trouble."

"Trouble has a way of finding you, Cloud." Ruby smiled at me good naturedly.

I laughed a little in a low chuckle. "Well if it finds me this time it won't be my fault."

"You don't get along with Winter very well," Weiss cut in.

"She actually doesn't get along with me. I do just fine with her."

"You escalate things with her," Weiss pointed out. "You don't ever try and get things to calm down. You try and rile her up. Stop it."

"Not my fault. She still wants to tango despite how bad it went for her the first time," I returned.

"Just try and not drive her crazy. She's the only real part of my family I get along with." I could sort of get that. I wanted to be on good terms with some of my family. Like my sisters. I wanted to be on good terms with them.

But Saphron… She wanted to fight me. She didn't want to try and resist Mother. She liked her servitude. That was unsettling. Was that all I had waiting for me? And my sisters had met my Mother face to face. The things Mother had done to me she'd done with half a world between us. I hadn't actually met her face to face like my sisters had.

It made me shudder. I had no idea what she could actually do to me in person. She'd been able to dominate my mind like it was nothing through that tentacled Grimm.

"I'll do what I can," I promised half-heartedly. "Give Blake my regards."

They walked out of my little Atlas Academy room with little waves goodbye. They were adorable, with Weiss pulling Ruby along by the hand.

I got up and put my sword on my back. I strode out of the tiny Academy place of stay and made my way to the training room. I found Winter inside already with Oscar leaning on his cane.

"Cloud, good of you to join us," Oscar said in a voice that made it unclear whether it was him or Ozpin talking. I stared at him long and hard for a moment. I desperately tried to decipher who I was talking to before eventually I gave up. It was probably impossible to tell at some points by the very nature of the way that they were becoming one.

I was merging in an odd way with my Mother but hey...At least I wasn't Oscar. He was really becoming one with the enormous alien mind. I could at a minimum divide myself between where I began and where my Mother ended. Oscar didn't have that. He just had a steady blurring of lines as he conjoined with the old wizard.

"It's no problem. Just not sure what light I can shed on the subject that you don't already know." I crossed my arms and stared at Oscar. I still wasn't sure who I was addressing.

"You've fought Cinder the most. You have more insights into her powers than anyone else. Some seasons tend to rhyme with one another. This summer with that other particular spring."

I supposed that made a certain amount of sense.

"Didn't you fight her too?" I asked.

"Yes, when she destroyed Ozpin's body, but her powers were only just settling in then. I fear that most of what she used was her semblance not her maiden powers."

"You know what her semblance is?" I wondered. That would be important information to have for those of us who were looking to kill her.

Like me.

"Pyrokinesis I suspect. But it's only a suspicion." He tapped his cane twice against the ground. His Hazel eyes glowed. "It blends rather well into the maiden powers, I suppose."

"What other powers does Cinder Fall possess?" Winter asked. She cut in for the first time. And it was the first time I'd seen her since she became the maiden. She didn't look or feel any different to my senses. She looked the same as ever, tall and in white.

Oscar stood in silence and seemed content for me to take the lead so I shrugged and answered, "she's got control over wind and lightning like you might with dust. And then she can fly, too. Hard to be sure which comes from which maiden part though. She could fly and control wind before she became spring. The lightning seemed new but it's impossible to tell."

"I understand. You believe my own powers will turn out similarly to Cinder's," Winter noted.

"Precisely," Oscar nodded. "We feel that seasons that take shape around the same time frame are a great deal like the others. This isn't always the case, however. Magic can take all forms. Cloud's powers are nothing like that of any maiden from recent memory."

"But I may have this power over the elements as well and flight," Winter interpreted. "Just like dust, then."

"Yes, why don't you give it a try now? Whatever feels most natural when you reach for the maiden powers," Oscar said.

Winter breathed in deeply and shut her eyes. When she opened them again there was a silvery flare to the sides of her eyes. The same color as her aura had been.

She stretched out a hand…

But nothing happened. Sort of anticlimactic.

"I am unsure where to start. I can feel my new powers but can't quite understand them."

"Why don't you try modifying your semblance. Casting a spell that normally requires dust to execute but just with the powers in hand and your semblance," I suggested. "It's pretty much what I do with my own magic."

Winter gave me an even look at my genuine helpfulness but she nodded. She extended a hand and an enormous glyph radiated to life behind her easily enough. Then lightning flared from it. It wasn't strong or very well directed. But there was a crackle of sparks across it that was vectorless.

Winter dropped panting. She'd been holding her breath as she did it.

"Oh and don't forget to breathe," I snarked. She managed a weak glare back up at me where I stood with my arms crossed.

"You know, Cloud ," she emphasized. "I hardly like you being around my little sister."

"Yeah well I hardly like being alive. We can't all get what we want," I bit back. "Why don't you try it again? With breathing this time, that's important."

She nodded and got back to her feet. She breathed deeply this attempt and her eyes flared with that magical sign of the maidens.

A glyph hovered to life above us and ice came raining down through it. A jagged shard bounced off my aura and I hopped back a step.

"Sorry. I didn't quite manage what I wanted," she snarked back at me.

"Did you want to impale me? Because any time you want to go, sister. Let's go, whenever you're ready."

"Now, now," Ozpin chided. "Ms. Schnee just lost control for a moment. I'm sure it was unintentional."

"See, unintentional," Winter agreed.

"Yeah of course, never would have you pegged for childish," I muttered.

"We are all often not as others expect." She smiled cheerfully.

"Why don't we give flight a shot?" Ozpin asked.

"I am unsure how to begin with that," Winter said. Which was fair enough. You give somebody a bunch of new powers and you couldn't suddenly expect them to know how to use them. Especially with something as vague as the maiden's powers which took different shapes naturally.

"I could just drop you from the roof and see what happens," I cut in. "Experiment."

"Any serious suggestions would be appreciated," she returned smoothly.

"Maybe I was serious," I murmured. "Come find out."

"Well Mr. Strife, how is it that you fly?" Ozpin asked. "It has been some time for me."

"Not really sure. It's sort of subconscious. I just did it while my semblance was active. Then I sort of just imagine moving around once I get up to speed to control it."

"Unhelpful," Winter decided. I felt like she wasn't being super fair on that one.

"Cinder can do it so you better be able to figure it out. Can't let her outperform you, she'll be gunning for you next," I shot. "Try to imagine yourself rising on a pocket of air. That helps me."

"What makes you think she'll come for me?"

"You were the obvious choice for Ironwood to pick as the new maiden. It's an open secret how close the two of you work. I was able to figure it out and there's no reason she won't be able to. You have gotta assume she knows that you're the new maiden or close to it."

She nodded, then she closed her eyes in focus and breathed hard. The wind might have picked up a little in the airtight room. A breeze bustling through but she didn't start to rise up off the ground or anything.

"We will keep at this. You've been more than helpful, Mr. Strife."

"That's exactly what I shoot for."

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"Blake’s going to be okay. She was especially happy with the news that Adam is dead," Weiss informed me later that night around the dinner table.

“Dead as a doorknob,” I agreed. “It’s just a shame that my sisters slipped away.”

“What would you even have done with them had you gotten them?” Weiss asked. “They seemed awfully determined to be on Salem’s side.”

“It’s not their fault. They’re brainwashed,” I defended them partially.

My sisters were a touchy subject. They were a shadow of what I could be. What I would otherwise have been. If Mother had her wicked way. It was hard to hate that. It was in a sense like hating my potential self. There but for a flip of a coin went I. I could still end up like them. I could still become a monster.

Mother's influence on me was still there. It was always pressing. And that was without having ever seen her face to face. The sort of mind magic she could bring to bear against me must be unreal in person. How was I ever going to kill her? Or at least cut her fucking head off and bring her as close to death as she could be brought. I didn't have a clue.

“But how are you going to change that?” Yang wondered. “It’s one thing if somebody wants to fight it like you do but they just want to give in.”

“I… I don’t know. But I can’t exactly abandon them or kill them. It wasn’t their fault that this happened to them and besides they're still my… still my family,” I murmured. “You know what I mean? I can’t leave them to that.”

“But if they don’t want to be saved then there’s nothing we can do for them, Cloud.” Yang pointed her fork at me. “You’re different but your sisters seem to want it.”

“I can’t just give up on them,” I protested. “I have… I have so many memories of time spent with them. They matter to me.”

I could remember so much. So much time spent with them. It was all fake but it still made me feel something. Weiss said my feelings were valid it was hard to agree when there was so much fake pressure from Salem.

“But those memories aren’t real. They’re an illusion,” Blake cut in. “The only times you’ve met them they attacked you.”

“Maybe…” I muttered. "It seemed mostly playful though. Like they weren't trying to kill me."

"Playful murder?" Yang asked. "Are you serious or…?"

“Cloud you can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.” Weiss patted my hand. “You need to come up with a real plan to deal with them.”

“I suppose we’ll have to fight them,” I said. “I suppose… that I’ll have to… I’ll have to kill them, if they can’t be saved they can only be put down. It’s what I would want if I fell to my Mother.”

“Do you really mean that, Cloud?” Ruby asked. “That you would want to… you know…”

“Die?” I asked. “Probably, yeah. It's better than being a puppet, you know?”

“I do,” Weiss whispered. “It won’t come to that, we’ll keep you from falling to her.”

"Yeah. I suppose."

"Cloud. We will keep you safe from her. You have to believe in that," Ruby murmured.

"I'm starting to, a little."

And I was. Things had been better with Weiss's and Ruby's help. I'd heard fewer whisperings from my Mother. I'd had fewer command auditory hallucinations. I had a wall erected in my mind between my Mother and I so that less of her spilled over into me. She was like ink in water, spreading out and getting into every gap. Under currents carried her influence every which way only it was inside of me.

It was hard to imagine I'd ever be totally free of her. Her tendrils reached deeply into my mind. I couldn't help but imagine it was the same for my sisters. Only they met her face to face and experienced the kind of magic she could hurt us with for real. It must have been terrible. It must have been beautiful. I imagined giving in for a moment. What it would feel like.

My Mother's influence was unbelievable. It was always present in me but there was a sort of stopping point I'd managed to create that halted her from having total rule over me.

It would feel like nothing else to give into her wishes and do what she wanted. I wasn't sure that sex would be able to compare. And Saphron had made it sound so good. She made it seem so sweet. The way her voice had purred when she talked about submitting. I got that. I really did. I just didn't want it for me. It would me losing everything that I had built up here.

It would mean sacrificing all my friendships and relationships and more. It would cost me my soul. I just couldn't give in even though every day Mother inflicted some new horror onto me. It was agony but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I'd have to immolate all my wishes and desires and dreams to become something else. Something with a new and different and terrible purpose. I'd be a weapon in her hands and nothing more.

I liked having the 'more' it was what made me feel. It made me feel Cetra. I wasn't sure what I'd be without it. So I couldn't give in. But my sisters, they had already slipped under.  

They'd bowed their heads under the surface and they drank from those dark waters deeply. They became something less than Cetra. Saphron had said so herself. It was that which separated me from them and the Grimm too. The Grimm was a part of me but I didn't have to acknowledge it. I didn't have to let it rule me.

Maybe it was nothing and just maybe that was everything. Maybe it was all I needed to resist. I wasn't sure. I couldn't be sure until I ran into her again. It was a trial by fire and nothing else. There was no middle ground.

It meant that I couldn't afford any mistakes when I was next in her presence. It meant I could just collapse and become nothing again like I had before.

I just couldn't tell until next I saw her.  

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-WG

[ruzek-halstead]

saviour

pairing: jay halstead x hailey upton

in 6x14, jay finds hailey covered in blood, chained to a pole, and with her arms and thighs squeezing the life out of her abductor.

"thank you for saving me."

masterlist || ao3 

warnings: swearing, blood, self-defense, fluffery, badassery

as a cop, hailey was always full of empathy. her heart bleeds for the victims and she always tries her hardest to put away the criminals. that was who she was as a cop and as a person.

but here, in this moment, with her hands bound with metal chains and her arms and legs wrapped around her abductor’s neck, she doesn’t have an empathetic bone in her body.

“hailey, i have him!”

she hears the words from her partner, but she can’t seem to release him.

“hailey, let go!”

the voice she hears isn’t kim’s and she can’t see her lips moving. hailey’s ears are ringing but she feels hands on her waist, pulling her away. when that doesn’t work, those same hands grab her thighs and loosen the hold. her abductor is finally free, but antonio is there to cuff him before he can so much as move.

she watches antonio’s eyes as they land on her for a split second. his face is full of pity and his eyes bleed guilt. he quickly cuffs their assailant and turns to kim to check for injuries. hailey watches as kim fakes a smile and says she’s fine, tugging at her jacket sleeves.

none of this is fine.

the hands that were wrapped around her earlier make an appearance again, as they cut hailey’s chains with a bolt cutter. as soon as her hands are free, they drop to the ground; her wrists are sore, and her arms feel like a dead weight.

“hey, you good?” hailey hears antonio say, but she still hasn’t seen who else is in here with them. “i’ll take this dirtbag out and kim to see the paramedics. you got this?”

antonio seems satisfied with the answer because he grabs their assailant and hauls him up the stairs. kim is following closely behind, and sends hailey a small, but genuine smile.

hailey is still sitting on the floor, and she is turned around to see jay, kneeling before her. his face is calm and calculated, but she can see the worry lines on his forehead and in his eyes. “hailey,” he breathes and he wants to ask if she’s okay but he’s looking right at her; he knows she’s not okay.

“jay,” her response is just as breathless, and she doesn’t realize how glad she is to see him until that very moment. there was always a chance that she’d never see him again, see any of the intelligence unit again, but it didn’t hit until now.

jay’s brave façade is slowly crumbling, as he brings his hand to her jaw. there is fresh blood on her face from the struggle and he wipes it away with his shaking hands.

“shit hailey, i'm sorry,” he says quietly. “i should have kept a closer eye on you guys, not let you out of my sight. this never would have happened.”

hailey’s head is pounding, and the pain radiates through her skull and into her vision. she can see his guilty expression and read his sorry body language and she just wants to hit him. “jay, this isn’t your fault,” she replies in a soft but pained voice. she can hardly focus on his face; her headache is becoming too much to handle.

“but i could have stopped it,” he continues, not meeting her eyes. he slowly makes his way to his feet and pulls hailey along with him. his grip on her forearms is tight but necessary as she sways on her feet. “hailey, are you alright?”

she’s hearing his words but they’re hardly registering.

she hears jay swear under his breath and mutter something along the lines of “concussion” and finally, something makes sense to her. she refuses to cry because she did not fail today; she survived. but looking down at her bruised knuckles and blood-stained hands, she is feeling exceptionally vulnerable.

“hailey, come on,” jay pulls on her arm gently, “let’s get you into the ambo.”

she follows him as he guides her towards the stairs. his kindness and genuineness are overwhelming for her at that moment and she finds herself tugging on his arm to stop.

his eyebrows are furrowed in worry and it looks like he’s going to ask more questions, most likely based on her health and how she’s feeling, but hailey beats him to it.

she refuses to cry, but she will admit, her eyes glisten with tears she will not shed.

“thank you,” she whispers, “thank you for saving me.”

she can’t remember the last time she hugged him, if she ever even had. but at that moment, it felt right to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer. if jay is shocked at the contact, he doesn’t show it, nor does he hesitate for a second.

jay holds her close, one hand respectively around her waist. he doesn‘t care that her face is bleeding; he still cradles her head closer to his chest, ignoring the crimson that seeps into his shirt.

when they part, jay shoots her his signature small, crooked smile. “while my ego appreciates the sentiment,” he winks, and his heart skips a beat when she laughs. “hailey, you saved yourself.”

she stares at him in that moment.

jay grabs her hand and tugs her in the direction of the outdoors. it was time they left this horrid memory of a place.

“i’ll always have your back,” he says quietly, with a quick look towards her behind him, “but you don’t need me to save you.”