#look i like crack fics with a lot of typos and all the cursed fics have those

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

what’s your super specific toxic phannie trait i’ll start i don’t read serious phanfic because rpf makes me uncomfortable and a tiny shameful part of me that i try to shove down feels morally superior about that but i’ve read all the cursed phanfics of dnp doing terrible and graphic things to each multiple times just for shits and giggles

[teklarn]

I NEED A PART TWO FOR BAUKGOU’S AWKWARD CONFESSION!!

𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾 𝓹𝓽. 2

character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

a/n: k the first one kinda blew up and i've been on tumblr for like a week and it made me rly happy receiving the requests ty <33 thank u for all the reblogs too !! this is a bit later than i hoped it would come out b/c half of the original fic was deleted by accident, but i’m on summer break until sept 5 so hopefully i’ll still update frequently. 

𝕣𝕖𝕓𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕔��𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕!

summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you. 

genre: lil angsty, fluffy at the end

warnings: cursing, one-sided pining, gave reader a quirk, the fighting scene is bs i cannot write action scenes at all im so sorry lol,  second hand embarrassment for our dearest dynamight :(

word count: 2507

pls don't mind any typos! i try to edit to the best of my ability but i tend to type fast and i might miss a few or a lot of things. 

- - -

read part one here my loves !!

you found yourself bored, cheeks puffing out as you swirled around the drink in your glass cup, sitting across from midoriya. he was muttering again, which you’d always found cute, however you weren’t listening this time at all. 

part of the reason you’d rejected bakugou was due to the fact midoriya had requested your attention first, and not as friends. if you’d told bakugou that, it would just wound his delicate ego on top of the fact that you truly had no interest in him whatsoever. 

at the moment, though, he was the only thing on your mind. there was no sudden spark of attraction you’d felt when he’d confessed. of course, anyone would find it flattering that the katsuki bakugou found you attractive. his standards were higher than the clouds. 

at the moment, it felt like something was blocking your chest from feeling something for him, however you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. 

“—it was amazing, right, y/n? y/n?” 

your eyes flickered up to meet the emerald, wide-eyed eyes of your friend. you contemplated lying, but it was no use. shaking your head softly and pursing your lips, you set your drink down. “i’m sorry, midoriya. i’m just kind of...out of it, i guess you could say?” 

he cocked his head to the side. “’out of it’?” he repeated. 

“yeah,” you sighed, head pounding. 

“is everything alright? maybe today isn’t the best time for this.” 

“yeah,” you agreed. “maybe.” 

“do you want to go back to the dorms?” 

you nodded, massaging your temples. “yeah, yeah let’s go home.” 

midoriya let out a soft chuckle through his nose, smiling. “alright.” he offered his hand, and you gladly let him heave you up. 

“i’m sorry about this. honestly, midoriya, i enjoy your company, i really do. but i never assumed you’d catch feelings for me too—” 

“too?” he blinked. the two of you continued on your way back to Heights Alliance. 

you gulped. “yeah, there’s—” 

“are you saying you caught feelings for me, as well?”

your eyes fell blank, lips parting in question. “no, uh. you know what? never mind.” you giggled gently in hopes the two of you would laugh it off without another thought. perhaps you should keep you and bakugou’s quiet interaction to yourself. midoriya and bakugou were already rivals enough. 

- 

the following week was agonizing in many ways. sitting beside bakugou guaranteed that you would get strange, judgmental looks. it never guaranteed his stolen glances. when you’d catch him staring, his cheeks would flare up, and you swore he had smoke puffing out his ears. 

each time, he looked as if he would explode. what can you expect from a guy like him? 

it was easy to assume you’d just pissed him off, though. you weren’t the type of person to tell everyone you’d been asked out, but you needed to speak to someone about it. the thought had been nagging you, stuck at the back of your mind but just on the tip of your tongue. 

you even found that you were distancing yourself from midoriya, who, after asking you out, had insisted you begin calling him izuku. over everyone else, you’d choose him to speak to about the matter, but ever since you’d discovered he had feelings all along, it was strange being around him. 

you viewed him differently. he shot you glimmering smiles and blushed softly when you said his first name. 

“y/n?” 

you twisted around to see mina rocking on her heels behind you. “yes?” 

“are you okay? you seem...how do i put this.” she tapped a pink finger against her lips. “off. you seem off. is everything alright?” 

your brows raised. “oh, yeah. i’m good. thanks for checking in.” 

“is there anything you want to talk about?” she adjusted her hero costume. you and the rest of the girls were currently changing for another training exercise. 

yaoyorozu fixed her hero costume. “i don’t mean to impose on anything, but i have to agree with mina, y/n. of course, there’s no pressure to tell us anything. you’re under no obligation to unless you need and want to talk to someone, but we’re here if you need us, okay?” 

you nodded, smiling softly. “thanks you guys.” 

- 

it was the same training as before, however you were able to select a partner of your own. being that there were 21 students in the class, there was always ought to be a group of three, or one person left out. you’d come into yuuei out of pure luck, as some like to put it. 

you’d found it offensive they’d assumed it was that and not your own pure skill. it’d taken a while to re-convince yourself that you were worthy of being in the class, even if you were usually the odd one out. 

most students had already bonded by the time you arrived here, so finding a partner wasn’t always easy. once you and midoriya had gotten close, you two did most things together, however at the moment, you weren’t quite feeling it. 

surprisingly, your eyes caught bakugou standing alone, eyes scanning the room for a partner. kirishima must have partnered up with another friend, then. it was always them together. 

unfortunately, you weren’t quick enough to avoid either of them. bakugou was already trotting up to you, eyes locked on your figure just as midoriya began jogging to your side. 

in perfect unison, they asked, “be my partner?” (in two very different tones, of course.) 

you blinked between them, about to answer when aizawa came up behind you three. 

“are you guys in the group of three?” your teacher deadpanned. 

your shoulders slumped. “yeah, i guess so.” 

“get to work. you’ve already wasted five minutes standing around.” 

you nodded politely. “yes, sensei.” 

you swallowed. bakugou’s crimson gaze was pinning you in your spot, and midoriya’s lips thinned with a lack of enthusiasm when bakugou looked back at him. 

“get to work, you three,” aizawa repeated, walking away. 

“i can take on both of you.” bakugou cracked his knuckles. 

you clenched your fists. “we already know you’re at the top of the class, bakugou. there’s no need to rub it in our faces.” 

he averted his eyes, cheeks flushing red. it was like a sad, silly way of letting you know you won this fight. 

“i’ll go against you two,” you said, adjusting your hero costume. 

midoriya’s eyes widened. “what? y/n, but—” 

“but i’m not strong enough?” you finished for him. you knew where they ranked in strength, and while yours was just as powerful, if you let one thing slip, your arrows would disappear and you’d be dust. “that’s exactly my point, you two are practically at the top of the class with your quirks.” 

“tch, don’t hold back,” bakugou said, readying himself. 

“don’t go easy on me,” you mocked. 

“y/n, do you really think this is a good idea—” before izuku could finish, you and bakugou launched yourselves at one another. 

you charged forwards. an arrow flew from your hand, twisting its way right through the smoke of an explosion. when it cleared, bakugou was nowhere to be seen. 

a gasp fell from your lips as you turned around just a little too late. your ears rang terribly as your back collided with the ground. 

izuku cried out. green lightning flashed, and he was at your side in a moment. “kacchan!”

you groaned, sitting up. bakugou cut through the smoke with an arm. “fight me, damned nerd. there aren’t any pauses in a real fight.” 

you wriggled yourself away from midoriya. “midoriya, you’re my enemy in this.” 

“bu—” 

“no buts. fight me. and don’t hold back.” 

midoriya noted the determination in your eyes and stood, giving you a sure nod. you were back on your feet in a second. bakugou flew in the air and came crashing down just as fast as he conjured a blast in his right hand. 

attacking wasn’t your best option right now. you were smart enough to know that. an arrow appeared flat at your back and pulled you from where bakugou was targeting. 

cement flew into the air. 

that blast could have wounded you badly. possibly killed you, if he’d hit the right spots. 

in the air, you examined their zealous features. midoriya’s brows were furrowed in that determined smolder. 

bakugou, as always, looked angry. as expected, he charged first, shooting himself into the air. his foot nearly collided with your face, missing my barely an inch. you took your shot, revealing the arrow you’d hidden behind your back. the tip collided with his chest. 

you left the arrow to complete its command and stick your blonde opponent to the wall and trap him there while you went after midoriya. 

while he bested you in strength, you did the same to him when it came to speed. you dodged his punches like they were weak attempts at hitting a ball in a park. 

you grinned. in a battle of strength and speed, whoever landed the first hit would win. there was no question. 

twisting in the air, you allowed the ball of your foot to shove midoriya to the ground. he cried out as his face was crushed into the cement. 

it was perfect timing, as bakugou ripped free of your hold, the arrow keeping him in one spot dissolving into air as soon as its purpose was lost. 

your head whipped around to see him charging for you. 

your fingers curled. the headache pounding at your temples was beginning to get hard to ignore. 

bakugou launched himself at you, spinning in the air like a missile. he really wasn’t going to howitzer you...right? 

when he didn’t slow down, you threw your body to the right, the attack just barely missing your leg. it scorched a bit of your thigh. a groan fell from your lips as you cupped the area around the burn, shuddering with pain. 

bakugou’s chest was puffed proudly as he marched up to you, hands cracking with excited explosions. 

he pulled back his right arm, ready to spark up another fight as midoriya recollected himself. you bit your lip to hide the fact you were quivering. 

it was sudden, but bakugou paused when he saw your hand fly up. 

“give me a minute...” you gasped out, skin still sizzling. 

“y/n! are you alright?” 

you didn’t respond. midoriya smacked his friend’s arm. “kacchan! what’re you thinking?”

“midoriya, i’m fine. don’t stress over it.” you limped to your feet, rejecting the extended hand from your green-haired friend. “i’ll just go see recovery girl.” 

“do you need—” 

you smacked midoriya’s hand away, a little bit more rude than you intended it to be. “i’ll be...fine.” you offered a weak smile to hopefully make up for your tiny outburst. 

although you could see in his eyes he wanted to help, midoriya nodded and stood by, hand falling back to his side. you clutched around the patch of burned skin. the sting had faded a bit, however there was a soreness to the wound that felt like a constant stabbing to your leg. 

you swallowed the pain down, marching towards the exit with determination and a bit of a limp.

you looked back to see midoriya had gone off to tell mr. aizawa what was going on. your teacher nodded, understandingly. 

there were a few worried glances and offers for help in the hall, but you’d neglected them all and found yourself relieved to see recovery girl in her office, typing away. 

she turned as the door opened. “please knock beforehand next time—oh, dear. y/n? are you alright?” 

you gave a tense nod. “mhm. just got a bit banged up in training today.” 

the old woman pursed her lips, smile lines becoming evident. “i see.” she led you to the small cot reserved for patients such as yourself and directed you to sit down. 

she examined the bruise. “it’s fairly bad. what happened?” 

you made a gesture to the door. “i was brawling with bakugou and things got...intense.” 

“that boy has quite an extreme side to him, as i’ve come to notice.” 

“mhm,” you agreed. 

“unfortunately, y/n, i have no ointments to be able to treat this properly.” 

you nodded sheepishly before the old woman smooched your cheek. a soft green glow radiated around you. 

when she pulled back, she said, “now, your body will be trying to catch up on the healing process. that’s what my quirk does. speed up recoveries. since it’s sped up, you’ll require some rest, preferably sleep. i’ll make sure your teachers know you’re excused for the rest of the day, sound good?” 

“yes, thank you recovery girl.” 

she pushed herself out of her rolling chair and left the room, smiling at you.

your eyes fluttered shut not long after that. 

- 

the sun was gone when you woke up, the hallway light flickering off. 

“good, you’re awake.” 

you looked to the left. you cried out, gathering the white sheets around yourself despite being completely clothed. “bakugou! what the hell? you stalker! you creep!” 

bakugou took the slap you gave him on his arm. it was light, and didn’t do much damage. 

“what...what do you want?” 

even in the dark, you could tell bakugou’s cheeks were burning red. “about...about the other day. i wanted to talk to you about it.” 

your chest fluttered in unwanted hope. “there’s nothing to talk about.” 

“dammit, y/n, i wish there wasn’t anything to talk about. you’re insufferable and annoying and i can’t stand being around you because no matter what’s going on, you make my chest feel all funny. it’s stupid, and i can’t take my eyes off of you.” 

heat rushed to your cheeks. “i’m flattered, really. but i-” 

“i’m not asking you to reciprocate my shitty feelings. if anything, it’s better if you don’t.” 

“bakugou, i wasn’t...” you paused. 

“you what?” he snapped, voice soft despite his tone. 

“i was going to say that ever since you...ever since you asked me out, i’ve been conflicted about my own feelings.” 

“the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“i’m not sure if i like you back or not, bakugou. but hearing you say all this...makes me want to give it a shot. sort of. also, why the hell are you watching me sleep?” 

bakugou swept hair from his eyes. “don’t go and try to change the subject on me, dumbass.” 

you gulped. 

“so what’re you saying?” 

“i’m saying,” you started, “i’m saying that maybe i want to go out on that date with you.” 

“say it again.” 

“what?” you looked up, his eyes boring into yours. 

“i said i want you to say it again. tell me you want to go out on a date with me.” 

it startled you how sure he was when he knew what you wanted, too. this was unlike the last attempt to ask you out. 

“katsuki bakugou, i want to go on a date with you.” 

he grinned. “where to?”

[highsviolets]

of hyperdrives & hands: engineer!reader x obi-wan

summary: you’re fixing the hyperdrive on the Negotiator when a mysterious being pays you a visit.

word count: I honestly have no idea bc i wrote this whole thing on my notes app in the car lmao. (sorry if the formatting is weird/there are typos!!)

rating: G. but also, this is basically a love letter to Ewan McGregor’s gorgeous hands.

A/N: fulfilling a request for the lovely @aty-cgca7! ily, chasity! I hope it’s everything you were looking for 💖 also I know nothing about engineering or computers or hyperdrives so don’t come for me y’all 😂

of hyperdrives & hands, a fic by corellians-only

Brow furrowed in concentration, you squint in the hazy light. Reaching up to your forehead with your left hand, you slide your fingers across the surface of your skin, batting away renegade wisps of hair that had fallen away from your bun.

Maker, but it was warm down here, in the maw of this behemoth ship. You curse softly to yourself as a bead of sweat hovered perilously close to your eyelash, threatening to obscure your vision as you strain to locate the loose wire that had sent you onto the Negotiator in the first place. Hadn’t your father always warned your that space was cold? When you told him you had joined the Civilian Engineer Corps to help with the war effort, he had even cracked a joke about adding extra layers to your uniform.

You frown. Clearly, accomplished pilot though he was, you father had never been in the hyperdrive control center of a Republic Venator-class Star Destroyer.

Catching your distraction, you shake your head. No. You needed to focus. Now was not the time to question your father’s supposed space travel wisdom. There’s a job to be done. Hyperdrives did not fix themselves.

There she is. Rather than simply becoming disconnected, the wire had split in two, snapping under the pressure from the processing core directly above the unit. This was going to be more complicated than you thought.

For a few hours, the only sounds that filled the room were soft snip of wirecutters and the gentle thrum of the engines. As you start re-routing the stray wire, your mind begins to wander.

You had heard stories about Star Destroyers with entire hangers of processing cores for the shields alone. That their nav computers were the most accurate in the galaxy. That their holo encryption system was unbreakable (it wasn’t. You had written and sliced a viral code into their data key a few standard months back, just to see if you could). This was your first time on such a warship when it was in space, and while it was impressive, at the end of the day, it ran like any other ship.

Tali had been even aboard General Secura’s flagship, the Liberty, for a supply dump once and she swore that their weapons systems were the most flawless thing she had ever seen - barring General Kenobi, of course, she had added with an impish grin tossed your way.

Your not-so-subtle crush on the dashing General was an open secret among your platoon of female engineers. Most of them assumed it was because he was pretty and famous — he was on nearly every holomag cover, after all — but you knew better. You knew he was a good man. His hands told you so.

The first time you had seen General Kenobi, you had been playing in the undercity of Coruscant when a boy a little older than yourself had stopped to ask what you were building with the rubble left behind from an explosion caused by the nascent Black Sun cartel a few days earlier.

“I don’t know,” you had responded belligerently, upset at your endeavors having been interrupted - and by a boy, no less. “Why do you have a braid in your hair?” you continued. “I thought only girls had braids.”

The boy had adjusted his stance to stand up taller. “I’m going to be a Jedi,” he proclaimed. “I’m Obi-Wan,” he offered with a smile. His eyes flashed suddenly, and with a quick thrust, his hand extended into the dusty air. A sheet of durasteel that had been hovering precariously at the tip of the heap was now suspended in midair, mere centimeters from crashing down on your head. Even in the grim half-light of the slums, you could see sapphire eyes earnestly fixed on the hunk of metal. Strong, lithe fingers gestured gracefully. The object fell with a great crash a few meters away.

You could only stare in awe.

The faint sound a male voice calling had caused him to twist his head and listen. “I have to go.” He frowned. “Master Qui-Gon is calling me. I hope I see you again some day.”

He bowed slightly, then turned and trotted back toward his Master.

You had never been quite able to forget the teenager with pretty hands who had saved your life.

Nearly two decades later, you had seen him again. You and Tali had been sipping cups of caf before your shifts in the makeshift mess hall of a personnel loading area when you sensed his presence. Not in a Jedi way - you didn’t have a lick of Force sensitivity, you knew - but in the way you noticed that everyone seemed to speak a little softer and trail their eyes after the passing figure in white armor.

He had strode past the the two of you, hardly sparing a glance at two female civilian engineers and pointedly ignoring the sheer weight of the gazes trained on him. Later, over a pint of lomin ale, Tali has raved about his hair, and how “he had a shoulder to hip ratio that was sharper than a vibroblade, didn’t you notice?”

You had taken a sip of your drink and laughed good-naturedly at Tali’s antics. You had noticed him, to be sure, but you had been transfixed by his hands, not his muscles.

Back in the days before the war, when you were still a little girl, your father Aves had always told you to take note of a being’s hands. In the present moment, you smile as you refit the access panel on the hyper drive’s core reactor as a the memory comes to mind.

Even though he was a good father, Aves had been a man of mystery. Whatever it was he did for a living, it had blessed him with an intimate knowledge of guns, starships, and computers, and he had passed everything he knew on to his “blazing sun,” he used to call you affectionately.

“Blazing sun,” he would instruct you, “you can tell a lot about a being by their hands.” When he was satisfied he had captured your attention, the impression of a smile glowed across his face. He resumed cleaning his carbine rifle as he spoke, his voice low and smooth. “You can tell a lot about a being by their hands,” he intoned again. “Their trade. Their social class. How they hold a weapon. What kind of weapons they use. If they can pilot a ship. If their mind is focused or skittish.” The tall man had shrugged gently, an action that seemed counterintuitive to the grade A contraband blaster now resting comfortably in his expert grip. A new power pack slapped into place with a precise snap. “If you ever want to know someone” — he tucked a stray hair behind your ear tenderly, the other hand still clutching the blaster — “look at their hands.”

You begin tapping out routine codes on the core reactor to test the replacement wire. The various combinations of letters and numbers in basic and binary were muscle memory, and you stared in awe as your own fingers punch in the digits seemingly of their own volition.

Yes, it was General Kenobi’s hands that most enraptured you, you decided. Slender, calloused (you supposed - not that you had ever had the pleasure of testing that theory for yourself), extensions of strong, well muscled arms that indicated a strong degree over his motions. He had held them so softly at his sides that day in the mess hall. They had gestured animatedly as he walked alongside a clone commander, a graceful arc to his movements that made you think he would be a good dancer — or a formidable fighter.

The klaxon of an alarm drives you from your reverie. “Oh, kriff.” The latest code you had entered seemed to have caused the wires to short circuit, tripping an internal safety alarm.

“Kriff, kriff, kriff.” You continue to swear violently as you all but run over to the central computer console and entering a code to kick-start a program to halt the shrieking din. Within the minutes, the alarm bells stop, and you sag against the console in relief.

“Is something the matter?” a rich tenor voice asks from behind you.

Immediately you tense. In a singular, practiced motion, you pivot on your left heel and whip your blaster into your right hand simultaneously, turning to face the voice in a fighting stance.

“Freeze!” you call into the shadows. Your eyes scan the cavernous room methodically before settling on a spot a few meters in from the doorway where the light seems distorted. You take aim with your blaster.

“Justice, freedom, faith,” the disembodied voice replies calmly from the same spot.

Your eyes narrow. Whoever the being was, they had given the correct password. But the upper-class Coruscanti accent didn’t belong to anyone in your platoon, and who else would be prowling around the underbelly of General Kenobi’s flagship? There had been faint rumors of a lightsaber wielding Separatist operative. Maybe they were coming to sabotage the ship? Well, not on your watch.

“Step into the light,” you order, durasteel edging into your voice. “Keep your hands above your head.” The contours of the blaster are cool, comforting in your grip, soothing the blood rushing just beneath the surface.

A tall auburn-haired man steps into the light, arms raised. “Will this suffice?” he asked wryly, amusement playing across his features as you feel shock and embarrassment creep up your neck and onto your cheeks.

Stars above. I almost shot General Kenobi. A thousand thoughts race through your mind faster than light speed - some witty, some pragmatic.

But of course, what slips out is neither of those.

“Fierfek, you startled me,” you manage to spit out instead. It’s only your steel will that prevents you from collapsing from embarrassment on the spot. Feigning nonchalance you decidedly do not feel about almost murdering a war hero and childhood crush, you holster your weapon and turn back to the console.

“I gathered as much,” he returns, amusement still coloring his tone.

The room fell silent for a few moments as you run system diagnostics.

“What is it you’re working on?” This time, he’s so near you can feel the heat of his breath on the back of your neck. Well honed reflexes are faster than your brain, though, and it isn’t until you feel a gentle pressure on your elbow that you realize it’s raised to jab him in the throat.

General Kenobi’s chuckle seems to fill the room. “Are you sure you aren’t trying to kill me?” he murmurs. A shiver runs up your spine despite yourself and you feel your stomach start to coil.

You stare at the data steaming on the console until your eyesight begins to blur. “That depends. Are you trying to kill me, sir?” Maker, but you were mouthy today. What was wrong with you?

Kenobi releases your arm dropping his to his side. Immediately, you feel bereft somehow with the loss of his touch.

Peering over your shoulder, he asks, “hyperdrive problems?”

Kriff, does that man not realize what he is doing to you, muttering in your ear like that? Of course he doesn’t, you dolt, you tell yourself; he’s a Jedi. Not his fault you’ve had a crush on him since you were nearly eight years old.

“A replacement wire short-circuited the system and triggered an emergency code,” you respond as evenly as you can manage. A fresh sweat breaks out across your forehead as another complex code dances across the screen.

“What code is that?” He reaches out as though he could absorb the masses of data contained in the system through osmosis. Maybe he can. You’re not a Jedi.

The movement serves a different purpose for you. Something wet and bright glistens as his hand moves into the blue light of the console.

“You’re bleeding.”

He glances down and grimaces. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look like it to me.” Blood is starting to gather around an incision slashed across his right hand.

He opens his mouth to retort no doubt, but you beat him to it. “Don’t give me that bantha dung about Jedi business.” A grease stained finger jabs in the direction of his chest.

Kenobi’s face remains impassive. When he doesn’t respond, you roll your eyes, and, tugging at his elbow, drag him over to the glow lamp near your workstation.

He continues to scrutinize you, and you look down at yourself, wondering what he’s staring at. Your coverall sleeves are rolled up, there’s sweat gathering at your collarbone, and you feel the grimy mixture of dust and stale perspiration coating your face. You’re a hot mess if there ever was one.

Resolutely, you ignore the flush on your cheeks and the steel of his gaze and rummage for a bandage in the care pack attached to your hip. Several excruciating seconds later you find one and tear it open.

It’s when you’re grasping his hand in one of yours the he finally speaks. “I’ve seen you before.”

His cool composure inspires a sudden flash of irritation. “You seem rather certain sir,” you say as you apply a bacta salve.

“Because I am,” he responds mildly. His hand grips yours tightly when you apply the bandage, and you almost asphyxiate on the spot. You were right — his hands are calloused.

“Well, consider this your repayment from saving a girl from durasteel in the Coruscant under-levels about twenty years ago,” you answer with a quick smile. It’s hard to be angry when Obi-Wan Kenobi is in effect, holding your hand.

Reluctantly you release him from your grasp, letting your hand drift down to your side.

The General inclines his head in thanks, then glances back at the computer. “Is the hyperdrive fixed, then?”

You nod, stuffing supplies back into your pack. “I modified the code and replaced the wire so it should be okay.” You meet his eyes. “I’ll be with the ship until it returns to Coruscant, so if there any problems I’ll be available to assist, sir.”

You turn to leave, but he reaches out and catches your hand. “And who do I have to thank for such diligent caretaking of both my ship and my hand?” he inquires. His touch is like satin against your dirty hands and you grin in spite of it.

You consider for a moment. “A blazing sun,” you tell him.

You smile as you make your back to your quarters. Yes, you could tell a lot about a person by their hands.

[anonymous0writer]

The Third Rule II Kiara Carrera

Summary: Kiara is finding it hard to fit in at the Kook Acdemy, but quickly finds solace in the beautiful Sarah Cameron. She finds more than just solace, but when a certain member of the Cameron tribe find out, it scares Kiara away from the people she loves most. Which leads to the third rule of the Pogues pact that begin used.

Author: @anonymous0writer

Word Count: 4,629 (I know, I’m sorry but I’m not sure how I feel about this?? This is probably the longest fic I’ve ever done)

Pairing: Kiara x Sarah, Kiara x Pogues, 

Request: A platonic pogue imagine where kie and rafe have a history. lots of people think they had a past and rafe has a soft spot for her but i think he did something to her/hurt her because of how mad jj was when he called her hot. so i was wondering if u could write an imagine where something bad happens between them during her kook year and then when kie returns to the pogues they find out what happened which sparks the tension between the pogues x rafe?

A/N: I’m sorry it’s 2am and I just finished it and I really want my anon to read this on their trip!! And I’m sorry anon, I just realized my fic isn’t totally based off your request, but I really hope you like it because I’m kinda of proud of it?! Also, Rafe is homophobic towards Kie but I swear it’s only once. Also this blog and myself fully support anyone and would never stand for homophobia. If you do, please get off my blog.

Warnings: Typos probably. Cursing? A homophobic Rafe (we do not agree) and I think that’s it.

Rule Number One: No Pogue on Pogue macking.

Rule Number Two: Never leave a Pogue behind.

Rule Number Three: Pogues= Family. Families love each other no matter what.

Kiara Carrera was a lot of things. Her friends, the group of ragtag boys that somehow roped the girl into their little family, would call her fun. Plain and simple, she fit the word. Fun to be around, fun to hang out with and to cause trouble with. She would weedle free food from her dad and feed them, clean up after them and make sure they kept out of serious trouble. Though Kiara was quite like a mother to the three boys, she was just like them. A surfer through and through, knowing the flick of the waves and the adjustments she needed to make with her board to master them. She also loved the music the boys cared for, and was often called on to DJ their car trips. But most importantly, she would keep up with them.

Kiara matched their energy, and was possibly the only person on the island that could handle them, and all at the same time. She was good with Pope when he talked about his dream job, nodding and keeping pace with the brainiac and able to string together a somewhat intelligent sentence or question to fire back. Kiara was able to keep up with JJ, with his ideas that spun wildly out of control, or the days with his dad. She wasn’t bothered or flustered by his never ending flirts, knowing it was just JJ begin JJ. And she knew John B. Kie could figure out his moods and help him out of the dark places he went to when his father didn’t come back, and she matched his lust for adventure.

To her classmates at the Kook Academy, she was different. Too Pogue to fit in with the pristine halls and designer bags and expensive laptops and gadgets. Sure, Kiara had the money, but that didn’t make her a Kook. Not when all her time was spent on the Cut with the dirty lowlifes nicknamed Pogues. And to Kiara, the money was her parents. If she was asked, she was a Pogue with parents that got money. Which was in part true, her father originally from the south side of the island, which might have sparked Kie’s distinct loyalty to the certain side.

To other Pogues, the other throwaway fish and lowlifes, Kiara Carrera was sun. Bright and cheery, she lit up everything around her. Her straight, easy going smile was infectious, making everyone, no matter what mood give a smile back. She was warm and kind, caring and thoughtful when the Pogues were thought of as rough kids from the wrong side. And her outfits reflected her personality, bright with swirling patterns and stark colors. Her outfits were always envied and her unruly curls were often admired. Kiara was beauty and light in one and often became fast friends with any person who set their feet on Kildare’s sand.

But one thing Kiara Carrera wasn’t, was easy. And no one knew that better than the notorious Rafe Cameron. The Kook was drawn to the newcomer for some reason no one but the universe knew. Not even the boy knew his reasons for attraction to the pogue. It left him utterly confused when he saw the girl in the halls of his gilded house, smiling like there wasn’t a care in the world. But no matter his confusion, his eyes were glued to the girl as she giggled and followed his sister, and his breath left his lungs when she passed him, a soft smile gracing her features as her smell washed over him. The strange girl smelled like coconuts and the sea, which was all the more intoxicating.

Though Kiara Carrera wasn’t easy to win over with his cerulean eyes and his devilish smirk, he didn’t give up. He wanted the challenge of having to work a little harder for a girl. And Rafe Cameron wasn’t one to be refused, and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

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Kie’s first year at the Kook Academy hadn’t been the picturesque landscape of manicured lawns, pretty and popular students and good grades. While the experience wasn’t the best, it wasn’t the worst and Kie knew that. She also knew that the ‘Kook Academy’ was much better than Kildare County High School and her fussing mother made sure she would never forget it. But as the weeks progressed and Kiara felt increasingly lonely at the school, the girl was finding it hard to appreciate the school.

For one, she was missing her boys terribly. Missed when JJ cracked a joke in the back of the class, his comment made the whole room erupt into a fit of laughter as the aggravated teacher tried desperately to calm the students. She missed the way John B.’s smiles eased her worrying about a test or the way he’d fling notes on her desk as Mrs. Higgin’s droned on. Kiara also missed the way Pope would ramble with his answers, eventually getting too flustered and putting his hand down. She missed the way he’d leave books in her locker, the pages littered with little notes and comments about the passages. But perhaps most of all, Kiara missed the way she was with them. The boys were her true home, not even the comfort of her pillows made her feel as safe and loved as she did when she was hanging out with the three. At lunch, they’d rush out of class, meeting at Kiara’s locker as she took out her lunch, handing JJ her apple, and debating with John B. at which item of her lunch he’d steal today. Pope would grab his own lunch as they bickered and the four made their way to the quad, settling in the grass with their bags. JJ leaned back, a fresh blunt plucked from the waistband of his cargo shorts. Pope took out his books as he tried to take notes but failed miserably as he countered John B.’s B.S and returned conversations. It was impossible for the boy to focus around his friends. Kiara would crack a joke and spread out her healthy alternatives to bad foods and snacked quietly on them while her phone belted out Marley into the grass.

————————

She missed the days JJ wouldn’t be seen in class and would interrupt her classes by poking his head in and saying, “Hey, Kie! Emergency meeting.” And with that, the two slipped away to meet with the other half of their group. The four would move off campus to an abandoned parking lot and smoke and drink their worries away.

But no matter how much Kiara missed her boys, they weren’t going to show up. She was stuck, lost in the gilded halls and drowning in a sea of nasty boys and fake girls. Kiara was desperate to escape but couldn’t find a way to get out. Kiara was ready to give up. On the school, the people and, quite frankly on life.

That is, until she met the famous Sarah Cameron. The blonde practically strode through the halls, her loaded boyfriend and the illustrious Scarlet by her side. Her dazzling smile and pretty brown eyes landed on Kiara. And as soon as Kiara returned the pleasantries, the two became fast friends.

And soon enough, Kiara was invited to the massive Cameron residence. Kiara has already gotten the tour of the property and was following her best friend when she ran into Rafe Cameron. The eldest of Ward Cameron and the famous Kook around the island, known for his suspicious resources when it comes to drugs. Kiara knew the rumors, every one did. But she still smiled and walked right on by, giggling as Sarah held her hand and shut her door.

————————

Since their unofficial first meeting, Rafe had been persistent. Flirting shamelessly with the girl constantly in his house and ignoring Sarah’s grumbles and mocks. Kiara has refused his advances and shook her head as a little laugh escaped her throat when Rafe asked her out. She had to give it to him, he didn’t give up.

————————

“Why don’t you want to go out with me?” Rafe asked one day, as the Cameron siblings and Kiara lounged on the deck of the Druthers. Rafe towered over Kiara’s lounge seat, casting a shadow over the girl.

“Rafe, I’m just not into you.”

“Why? Am I just,” He paused, still unwavering from where he stood- much to Kiara’s dislike. “not your type?”

The statement made the girl glance up, the sunglasses perched on her nose sliding down as she looked up at the boy. “I don’t dig blondes, Rafe.”

The elder boy scoffed, but left the conversation as Sarah made her way over, two hard pink lemonades in hand.

“Get lost, loser.” She huffed and Rafe nodded and left. He missed the way his little sister cuddled up against the Pogues side and quietly asked, “You still dig me, right?” The boy also missed Kiara’s immediate reply as she laughed. “Of course I do.” So the Kook walked away, blissfully unaware of what was really unfolding. Kie’s words still rung in his head. But for some reason, he didn’t believe that the only reason the curly haired girl kept turning him down was just because of his hair color.

————————

The next time Rafe asked, he got his real answer. His sister and Kie were getting ready for Midsummer's in the room a couple doors down, their laughter floating through the halls. Rafe listened to the muffled voices of his tongue sister and the girl he’d been strangely pining over for half the school year. They were laughing and Kie’s signature music floated down the hall and into Rafe’s bedroom. Kiara was going as Sarah’s date because she had cheated on her boyfriend again. So the girls decided to couple up.

Sarah leaned forward, the brush coated with soft gold painting swiftly over Kiara’s eyelids. Sarah leaned back and smiled, satisfied with her handiwork. Kie laughed and shoved Sarah’s hip lightly to see herself in the mirror. Sarah grinned and moved so she could continue curling her friend's hair, her hips swaying with the music. Kiara laughed at Sarah’s antics, admiring her in the mirror.

“Beach waves,” Sarah mused, deciding what to do with the front parts of Kie’s hair. “It’d frame your face.” Sarah leaned down, her breath fanning Kie’s ear as the blonde put her hands on Kie’s shoulders. “You’ll look so pretty, baby.”

Kiara beamed at Sarah’s comment, trying to hide her blush. Sarah was a natural flirt, so the fact that she said that wasn’t a surprise, but the pet name made Kie blush. Even in their secret relationship, Sarah hadn’t far breathed a whisper of any affectionate name other than ‘Kie.’ The dark haired girl giggled at her girlfriend and shifted in her seat to crank up the music. Soon the rise and fall of Bob Marley’s voice filling the carefully decorated room. Neither of the girls heard the eldest Cameron shuffle around in his room, his footfalls heavy in the hall as he approached Sarah’s door.

“You could kiss me, you know.” Kie smirked, taunting Sarah with her brows in the mirror. They locked eyes and it was Sarah’s turn to blush, her cheeks already dusted a pink. But she complied, spinning her girlfriend in her chair and pressed a heated kiss to her lips. Kiara hummed and reached up to cup Sarah’s face, not able to hear Rafe as he pushed open the door to his sisters room, a question on his tongue.

“Hey, could you-“ He stopped dead, eyes trained on his sister and the beautiful girl he’d been trying to get, lips locked. “Holy fuck.”

The girls broke apart, eyes wide and mouths popped open in surprise.

“Rafe!” Sarah screamed, rushing forward to push her brother out of her room, hands shoving at his back and slamming- and locking- the door shut.

Rafe stood shell-shocked outside his sister's room, mouth agape. Kiara was kissing his sister. Kiara was gay.

————————

The three; the two Cameron siblings and the pogue that they practically adopted, didn’t talk about the incident for exactly two days until the subject came bubbling to the surface. And in typical Rafe Cameron style, it was raging and messy.

Rafe glared, eyes trained on Kiara as she giggled at something Scarlet said as they leaned against their lockers. Rafe hadn’t seen Kiara since the incident, ignoring her at Midsummer’s and never coming out of his room the rest of the weekend, but now, Monday morning, he was beyond furious and disgusted. Not only did the girl shoot him down so many times, she lied. Of course he wants her type, he wasn’t even the gender she was attracted to. A shiver ran down the boy's spine as he thought about the curly haired beauty liking- kissing- his sister. He hated it.

“Kiara,” He barked, hand gripping her just above the elbow rather harshly, hard enough to bruise. “We need to talk,” He hissed in her ear as he hauled her away from Scarlet and into an empty classroom.

“Rafe!” Kiara huffed, stumbling into the classroom, free of his death grip. She stared at the boy, wondering briefly if he was high. Rafe Cameron was addicted to the powder he snorted at parties, so it wouldn’t surprise Kiara if his eyes were red and he seemed even more violent than usual. But his eyes were normal, and he seemed fine.. just furious. “What the hell are you on?”

“You're gay.” Rafe spit like it was the foulest word on the planet. Kiara’s eyes went wide. She never said the words out loud, and quite frankly, it scared her a little. With Sarah she didn’t have to hide who she was. But with everyone else, her parents- even the Pogues- she had to hide. But with Sarah it was fun, easy. Sarah got it and Kiara couldn’t think of a better person she wanted to be with.

Kiara fumbled with her words, the infinite possible combinations of words and sentences getting clogged in her throat, so she just stood there, gaping at her girlfriend’s brother as he seethed. Rafe glared, brows slanted over his darkened blue eyes. His eyes reminded Kiara of the waters when a hurricane ripped through them, dangerous and fury born.

“You're disgusting. You turned my sister into one!” He spat, making Kie’s heart clench. This was her nightmare. People finding out and their face recoiling in disgust when they heard the words, “I’m gay.” And maybe that was the reason Kiara never uttered them, not even to herself, perhaps fearful her own face would do the same in the mirror.

But no matter Kiara’s inability to defend herself, she defended the only girl who accepted her as her. Even though her gut pinched at the thought that Rafe looked at different sexual orientations as a ‘disease’ which was nowhere near true, it still hurt nonetheless. “It’s not a bad thing, Rafe. And Sarah’s bi!”

Rafe grimaced, and by the way his face warped, Kiara could tell he didn’t have a clue of what it meant. Kiara swallowed, the sudden fear of Rafe’s knowledge crowding her thoughts. What if he told the rest of the student body? What if he told her parents? What if he told the Pogues? The last thought sent a shiver down her spine. Even though she wasn’t officially out, she didn’t care if the student body found out. Not really. Her fears were about her parents, and if they’d react as badly as Rafe had or worse. But the Pogues? If they acted even a bit like Rafe had, her heart would break and Kiara would lose them. And that thought scares her the most.

So she leaves Rafe, ripping out of the classroom to race toward the bathroom, knowing her tears will spill soon. She cries over the bathroom sink, hands gripping the counter as she sobs. The first period bell rings, but the girl doesn’t trust herself enough to clean up and head to class. Instead she sniffles and glances up at the mirror. By now, her thoughts have turned into horrendous scenarios of the Pogues freaking out, convincing her that the boys aren’t going to accept her. So as she makes eye contact with herself in the mirror, Kiara takes a deep breath; if I leave first, it’ll hurt less.

————————

Kiara was wrong. She couldn’t tell, but it hurt probably even more than if the Pogues left her. She hopes, keeping the flame small, that the three troublemakers will come knocking on her door, asking why she ignored and blew them off for the whole week. But they’ve never set a foot inside her house, and now will not be the time they start. So she locks herself in her room, red eyes and Disney movies on an endless loop to try and block out the pain of letting go of not just the Pogues, but Sarah too.

When Sarah found Kie crying in the bathroom in the middle of the passing period, Kiara couldn’t find the words to tell her that her brother was a homophobic piece of shit that scared the living shit out of her. So she shook her head, passed it off as a mean joke someone said and brushed past her, trying to keep her shaking hands under control as she made her way to class.

But that was a week ago, and Kie’s phone had been blowing up with texts and missed calls on Monday, but slowly tapered off by the time Saturday rolled around. Kiara secretly hoped Sarah would just barge into her room, demanding to know what was wrong and would kiss away her worries, but Sarah wasn’t showing up and the number of missed calls from the blonde had started to dwindle.

But even if Sarah wasn’t a knight in shining armor, someone was.

————————

Kiara glanced up, brows furrowing over her dark eyes as the knock on her door sounded again. Her mom had already come by to try and coax her out of her room for lunch, so it couldn’t be her, the older woman quickly finding it best not to bombard her daughter.

“Kie?”

She would recognize that voice from anywhere. Pope. He’d come to save her, and Kiara’s heart soared at the thought. She clumsily made her way off her bed, knocking off some tissues in the process, but made her way to the door, cracking it open to reveal not only Pope, but all three boys. Kiara’s eyes widened as she took in the boys- her boys. She choked on a sob as she widen the crack of the door, letting the boys shuffle into her spacious room.

“Got a nice place here, Kie.” JJ commented, and Kie was thankful for JJ’s jokes even as her heart throbbed at the sound of his voice.

She really did miss them, and she knew seeing her for the first time in a week like this- dressed in dark blue and white checkered sweats and a white crop top with a wave of messy hair to top it off- wasn’t the best thing. All three of them turned to look at her, and Kiara was hit with the sudden need to apologize.

“I’m so sorry,” She croaked.

Popes dark eyes widened at her exclamation, the first real thing she said to them in almost a week. John B. started, unsure of what to say, but JJ reached out, hands wrapping tightly around his best friend.

“Don’t say that ok? You have nothing to be sorry for.” The blonde murmured, a soft kiss pressed to her hair as he held her. Kiara buried her face in his chest, too overcome with emotion to speak so she cried softly. John B moved quickly to add to the hug and soon, all four of them were in a big group hug.

They pulled back, and Pope slipped his hand in Kie’s to reassure her that he was there as John B. spoke to his movements.

“Kie, we’re always here for you. You know that, right?”

The girl nodded, still unable to meet their gaze. But she sniffled, and nodded, hairs falling into her face as they came loose from her behind her ears. They stood in silence, not knowing where to start with all of this. So Kiara said the thing that started it all.

“I’m gay.”

The words hung in the air untouched before all three spoke at once.

A soft, “Kie, that’s perfectly fine.” came from Pope.

JJ nodded, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he murmured, “That makes so much sense.”

“We support you no matter what.” John B. confirmed with a half smile.

Kie stopped, the responses unlike anything they said in the wicked scenarios in her head. Her mouth popped open into a surprised ‘o’. But her face split into a sad smile as she made eye contact with her friends. At the realization that they supported her and loved her for it, a happy sob bubbles up from her throat. Kie’s dark eyes lit up as she threw her arms around the rest of her heart. They hugged her back, John B’s arm thrown around her shoulders as Pope squeezed her hand and JJ hugged her waist.

“I love you guys,” she sniffled, pulling back with the first genuine smile of that week. They grinned back at her.

“We love ya too, Sunshine.” JJ’s familiar dimpled smile warmed her heart as his hand came up to ruffle her hair affectionately. She missed his smiles and his nickname for her. He called her that since the first hour they met, and it stuck ever since. Kie smiled at the surfer and quietly thanked him.

“Did you really think we were gonna cut you out?” John B asked, his honey colored orbs gazing lovingly down at her. Kie leaned into his chest, his arms tugging her close. “You know we could never do that, bubs.” He soothed, restating his chin on top of her wild curls.

Kiara let her eyes wander to the boy yet to speak. Pope stood there, unmoving as Kie smiled at him until he jumped with a realization. “Oh!” He exclaimed and immediately started patting himself down in search of something. Within the confines of his cargo shorts, Pope pulled a tiny book with a worn cover but displayed it with pride, extending it to his friend. “Here, for you.” When Kie sent him a questioning look as she took it, Pope rambled on. “A recent poem book I read. And I.. well I pretended to be JJ when I wrote notes in it.”

Kie’s laugh was sudden and stark, but made Pope grin at her reaction and the other two boys smile at the happy sound. In the beginning, when Pope first gave Kiara a book he read and thought he’d enjoy and she returned it with lightly written notes about passages on it, Pope immediately started the tradition of giving Kiara a new book with his thoughts every month. And as Kie would go through the chapters she’d write her own thoughts and then discuss them with the boy. But once Kie placed the book down in front of him as they hung out at the Chateau, brows furrowed in confusion. “What is this?” She asked, pointing to the notes Pope made in the top corner. Confused as to why she was asking, Pope leaned forward and reread the note, laughing. “Oh, well, I had a thought about JJ reading the book and figured to do the whole book like JJ wrote it.” So it then became an inside joke between the two.

Kie flips the book in her hands, fingertips tracing the outlines of the small cover. She particularly loves the months where Pope gives her poetry books because partly, he gives her a new collection on them each week because she goes through them fast and secondly, because poems are her favorite. She admires the slightly yellow pages and the soft sketch of Pope’s handwriting.

“Thanks Pope. I love it,”

She closes her eyes and feels at rest- almost. She finally got her boys back. Kiara finally got home. Back in the arms of the three boys who hold her heart equally. So she agrees when John B. gestures to the screen displaying the laziest Disney movie she watched- Beauty and the Beast- and suggests a movie marathon. Except JJ somehow got a hold of the remote as they climbed onto her bed and settled in. The surfer quickly changed the theme from Disney Princess to Horror Night. Pope rolls his eyes and John B. cheers as Kie gasps at the choice he made. It’s ‘Silence of the Lambs’, old but still a classic that’s not too scary for Kie and one of her favorites. The four friends curled up and soon they were too invested in the movie to remember why they were even here in the first place. Kie smiled and admired her friends, grinning as JJ caught her eye and winked. She was back home.

But there was one thing left unsolved: Sarah Cameron.

————————

The Cameron residence never seemed so daunting as it did right now, looming above Kiara in its glimmering windows and architectural beauty. Kiara swallowed, knowing no one but the girl she loved was home but still getting anxious when she thought about the boy who lived under this roof.

The doorbell rang twice before the grand doors cracked up as Sarah answered it. Sarah opened the door with a bounce in her step but stopped as she lay eyes on who rang her doorbell. Her throat went dry and her mouth fell open. Kiara admired her girlfriend- unsure of the title they still had- who was dressed in white shorts and a pale blue tank top of Kie’s that had three small hearts in the middle. She was gorgeous.

“Kie?”

“Hi,” Kiara swallowed unsure of how to proceed. “We need to talk.”

Sarah nodded, wordlessly opening the door wider to allow entry to the dark haired girl of her dreams. Sarah had been lost without her girlfriend. Kiara seemed to drop off the face of the earth after Sarah found her in the bathroom. The blonde called countless times, but each ‘Hi! This is Kiara! You know what to do!’ broke her heart a little more. Sarah couldn’t tell you how many times she showed up outside of the Carrera house, hand poised to knock only to have her doubts make her turn back. Sarah was deathly afraid she’d done something to Kiara unknowingly, but after her brother spat in her face about her preference of lovers, she understood exactly what happened. Which is why when Kie stepped into her foyer, she blurted,

“I’m so sorry about my brother,”

Kiara was taken aback by the outburst, but glanced down at her feet quickly before nodding and meeting Sarah’s sadden gaze.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve told you right away, I just-“ Kiara struggled with the words, shrugging slightly. “I was scared and was so stupid to push you away.”

Sarah took a tentative step forward, aching to touch the breathtaking girl before her. She smiled softly. “I needed you and you pushed me away,” It was true, Sarah struggled about her sexual orientation and how and if she wanted to come out. And she needed Kie there, but the girl had refused to answer. “But I need to know you won’t do that again if I’m going to let you back in.”

Both girls knew that Sarah was gonna accept her back with open arms either way but Kiara nodded, stepping so they were toe to toe.

“I promise I won’t ever do that again.” She whispered, voice a little broken as she pressed her forehead against the blondes.

And with that, Sarah surged forward, lips attaching to a Kie’s in a loving apology from both sides. And within the kiss, Kie found herself truly at peace.

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Tag list

All: @jayjaymaebank​ @rudys-pankow​ @maaybanks​ @everydayimfangirling​ @outrbank​ @thelocalpogue​ @lyricalimerence​ @ahhireallydontknow​ @never-ever-too-many-fandoms​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @insanitysparkles @mcarignan​ @copper-boom​ @haharudy​ @x-lulu​ @pit-zuh​ @socialwriter​ @alwaysasadaesthetic​ @jjmaybanqs​ @magnuolia @bellaguarneri​ @diverdcwn​ @diverrdown​ @drewswannabegirl​ @drew-starkey​ @mahleeyuh​ @divcrdown @youfookendonut​ @dpaccione​ @starkeymarkey​ @outerbanksbro​ @jjs-housekeeping​ @teenwaywardasgardian​ @traumaflavouredjuulpod @ad-infinitums​

Kiara, Rafe, Sarah & Pogues: @talksoprettyjjx​ @manicmee​ @notaninstagrammodel​ @oxmaddy​ @obx-direction-sos​ @newhopenessie​ @alternativehp​ @obxmxybxnk​ @sarapage89 @emsma11 @fangirlvoice​ @danicarosaline​ @timmyswrld​ @gmwlover100​ @bxbyyyjocelyn​ @teamnick​ @jjmbanks​ @thesurfingsnail @lulubutton34​ @obxsummer​ @katiaw2 @yeehaw87​ @poguecollins​ @jessica-1120 @yxseminx​

[slytherflynn]

In Hogwarts Hallways

Blaise Zabini x Slytherin!Reader

word count: 989

a/n: greetings, friends! slytherflynn here, I finally got around to making that moodboard for the completed fic, I hope you like this story! I wrote it a few months ago, and it’s not very long, but it’s a little fluffy read to get me started on more writing :) enjoy, and please give me feedback! what you liked, what you didn’t like, note any typos, things I could improve on etc <3 thanks in advance for your comments!

“What is a person of your sort doing in the halls this late at night, may I ask?” A voice breaks the silence behind me.

I whip around. “Who are you?” I counter defensively.

The tall, dark-skinned boy smirks. “Blaise Zabini, pure blood. Your turn.”

“I was going to the Room of Requirement,” I state. “You’re no prefect, so you shouldn’t really care anyways. I best be going before I get caught by someone else, however, so excuse me.”

“Seeing that I have no intention of being caught either, would it be terrible if I tagged along? Considering I know where the prefects happen to be, as I was strolling about myself before I happened upon you.”

I roll my eyes. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Come on, rich boy.”

“So I’m rich?”

“Don’t please yourself by thinking I stalk you or your family in the papers, Zabini. You‘re a pureblood, it’s a reasonable deduction to think you’re rich.”

“What are you, a Ravenclaw?”

“No, a Slytherin, like yourself, only far more observant than you appear to be at the moment. This way,” I grab his arm and tug him along, “A prefect will be coming down that hallway in a few seconds - their light charm is really bright for no reason.”

“So what might the room of requirement have in store for you tonight? Just wondering.” Zabini muses as he follows closely behind me.

“A crowbar, a shovel, zip ties, bleach, a mouth gag, and a body bag.” After a couple seconds of silence: “Kidding.”

“Honestly, the killing curse and a simple reducing spell would do the trick, as long as you made sure to sweep their remains into a dustbin.”

“Yes, but the muggle way is easier to do in the wizarding world since for some reason we only look for spells to solve crimes - and vice versa.”

“Good point, I’ll be sure to relay that to my mother when I write her next.”

“She likely already knows, but be sure to say a girl told you that, I do become a bit of a... killjoy, when men take credit for women’s smarts.”

“That... had a double meaning, and one of those meanings is not how the word is used...”

“Glad you caught that.” Our chatter stops as we get to the main area that the room was likely to be found in.

We follow standard procedure for getting the room to appear, and pretty soon we enter a room made entirely of brick - save for a mirror. Zabini gives me a peculiar glance, but I ignore him as I walk up to it and stare.

He comes up behind me and places his hand on my shoulder. “I know what this is. What is it that you seek?”

I look at him, to see if any false motives are reflected in his eyes, but there are none. I look back at the mirror and say, “My family.”

“And? Do you see them?”

“No. I see- I see nothing.” My voice cracks on that last word. “It’s- it’s frustrating. No matter how much research I do, I can’t find them. No records. Not even a birth certificate. It’s like I just... existed all of a sudden.”

“Stranger things have happened in the wizarding world, you know,” he says, “I’ve had about seven stepfathers and counting. That’s pretty odd if you ask me.”

“Well, it can’t exactly be even.” My joke elicits a slight chuckle from Zabini.

“I’m sure you’ll find your family eventually. Care to take a stroll back to our common room, using the secret tunnels instead of the halls? It’s awfully late.”

“I don’t know where those tunnels are, but sure.”

On our way to Slytherin’s common room, we have ourselves a fine time whispering in hushed voices. I find that Zabini has a lot to teach me, and I him. He’s funny, kind, intelligent, and quite the charmer based on the stories of his many admirers all over the world - they like him, but he’s not a fan of the attention.

We finally reach the end of the last secret tunnel, and I hesitate. Zabini stops when he realizes I am no longer following him, and comes back to me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just- I don’t know.” I sigh. “Tonight was fun, and I’m not used to having fun - or at least, I haven’t been used to it for a long time. I don’t want to go back to the common room, because I know tomorrow is going to be a repeat of today, save for this little escapade. That’s gonna be crushing.”

“This can happen again tomorrow. Meet me right here after curfew, okay?” Zabini says.

“Really, Zabini, you don’t have to-“

“-call me Blaise, and of course I have to. I’ve gotten to know you very well tonight, and I want to know more.” He winks. “Like your name, for example.”

I gasp. “Oh! Right, sorry. My name is y/n. Y/n y/l/n.”

“Nice to make your acquaintance, y/n y/l/n. It was a pleasure being in your company tonight.” He gently takes ahold of my hand, bends down and lightly plants a kiss on my knuckles. Then he adds: “And I’m not just saying that to be proper. I mean it.”

I’m pretty sure he can see the blush on my face as he smirks and backs out of the tunnel. “Goodnight, y/n.” And suddenly I’m alone again, wanting to call him back, but also wanting to catch my breath, as I realize I‘ve been holding it since the moment he took my hand.

I smile to myself and roll my eyes, semi-hating the fact that I can’t contain it as I usually do.

That stupid, sweet, ridiculously attractive Zabini may have just wedged himself into a tiny space in my heart. NOT that big, of course not. But maybe, just a little teensy bit.

[readerstories]

A Stranger in a Stranger Land -  Donquixote Doflamingo x fem!reader - part 2/?

Slowly crossposting my fics from AO3 to here too. If you see any typos, please tell me. (AO3) (Part 1) (Part 3) 

Warnings: swearing

Wordcount: 744

Summary: Waking up in another world instead of on your couch is confusing as hell

You hate this. You hate this. You hate this. Apparently running from an angry seller in the market who yells 'thief, thief' after you have become the norm now. You run as fast as you can, weaving between all the people, trying not to lose your precious bag of loot, consisting of apples, oranges and bread.

You take a look behind you to see if the man is close behind you, so you don't notice the crowd thinning and then you suddenly run into something. Or rather someone, as when you fall on your ass and look for what you hit you see a familiar leg. Swearing you look up, seeing the same grin from a few days ago.

"Oh fuck off, not you." The pink fucker laughs. Before you can make a move to get up, he grabs one of your legs and pulls you up so you are dangling in front of him. You grab your bag tighter and make sure it doesn't open when your world shifts upside down. Your new (sorta) coat flaps around you.

"Ffu, ffu, ffu, did no one ever teach you some manners?"

"No you fucker. Thought you got that the first time, so let me go you flamingo bastard," you yell and try to kick his hand with your other leg. The fucker just laughs at your futile attempt to get loose. You then hear the yelling from the seller again and curse. The bastard seems to hear it too, and he grins even wider.

"Oh, what is this, you have become a thief?"

"I was hungry, fucker, and I got no money, so yes. I hate repeating myself, so let me fucking go." You are too busy yelling at the bastard that you do not notice the almost deafening silence that have gathered over the crowd.

"Ffu, ffu, ffu, no money and yet you got a new coat and shoes. Hope those were easier to steal."

"Someone gave them to me because I was fucking cold and miserable, so fuck off." At that moment the seller from the market reaches you, and takes in the scene before him.

A tall man he recognises from the wanted posters holding the thief he was running after upside down after just one leg.

"Is this the thief you were looking for?" The seller stiffens in panic before he remembers it's probably wise to answer.

"Yee...yes... itt... it ii...is." He stutters like a damn fool.

"Is she.... with you... sir?" At his word you somehow manage to half turn towards him and yell at him.

"Fuck no, I'm not with this bastard in any sense of the word, he just won't fucking let go of my leg!" You kick after his hand again.

"Ffu, ffu, ffu, ffu, there is your answer." Angry that he won't let you down, you reach for your last resort, the knife you had stolen (a lot stealthier) at a booth just before the yelling seller. You make a move as to slash the throat of bastard holding you.

At this angle you actually can't reach it, it would have only reached his chest if your hand hadn't been stopped in its track by the tall bastard's other hand.

His grin is mostly gone, and even though you can't see his eyes behind his glasses, you can sense he's annoyed. Before you can say anything or react, he flings you straight into a wall. The brick cracks and breaks under the force of the the throw and the weight of your body. There's a huge dent in the wall and brick dust in the air.

"What a pity, she was fun to play with for a little while." The man sighs with a small grin. He turns away with your knife still in his hand, intent on going to get some booze. Then, to his surprise, he hears a single cough behind him before the sound of running feet. He turns around, and there you are, up and running away from him and the seller. Apart from some scrapes and dirtier clothes, you seem just as before.

You look over your shoulder, seeing the bastard and the rest of the crowd frozen. You turn back around and the fucker's laugh start up again. You ignore it and run around a corner and out of his sight.

"Ffu, ffu, ffu, ffu, interesting." The man in the pink coat says while flipping your knife in his hands.

[chelsfic]

Chapter 5/18 - Safety - Bucky Barnes x OC Soulmate AU

Masterlist

Summary: Soulmate AU! Bucky/OC. Our soulmarks appear at the moment of our soulmate’s birth. The Asset’s mark appears in the Spring of 1987. The words imprinted into the skin of his forearm. “Please! Don’t hurt me…”

A/N: I wrote this fic over the course of 2017-2018 and it was originally published on AO3. Recently, I decided to do some light revisions in order to fix inconsistencies in the POV, some awkward diction and typos. Please note–I’m aware that a lot of people love this fic just as it is. This is not a rewrite, I won’t be changing major plot points and I’m purposely leaving most of the writing alone. Just sprucing it up. Since I wrote this before I started posting fic to Tumblr, I decided to take the opportunity of posting the revised chapters here as I edit them. If you got to the end of this A/N: thank you!!!

Warnings: Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Eventual happy ending

The next morning, SHIELD HQ, Washington D.C.

Director Fury sat behind a desk, fingers steepled, watching as Steve Rogers absorbed the information on the tablet in his hands. Natasha Romanoff sat beside the Captain, glancing at the screen over his shoulder, face impassive as always. 

Steve’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “I don’t understand what I’m seeing here. This is…”

“James Buchanon Barnes,” Fury finished the sentence. “Alive and apparently untouched by time, if nothing else.”

“But how?” Steve looked even more like a golden retriever puppy than usual as he sat there in confusion and sorrow, his eyes shining with the sting of unspent tears.

Fury sucked in a short breath, “The short answer is...science. SHIELD has kept files on the assassin known as the Winter Soldier for about sixty years. Many good agents have died trying to gather intel on him. A lot of people in the intelligence community think he’s a ghost. Well, I can assure you, as can Ms. Sophie Reynolds, he is most definitely flesh and blood...and metal.”

Natasha spoke up, “The girl, where does she fit in?”

The images on the tablet showed grainy surveillance footage of James Barnes, the Winter Soldier, exiting an apartment building via a fire escape with a woman thrown over his shoulder. 

Fury looked uncomfortable for the first time, “She was a mistake. We never should have let her leave the Tower, even with a tail. They met two days ago....she’s his soulmate.” 

“WHAT?” Steve almost shouted. “He...Bucky’s soulmate? But he never had a mark…” 

Steve’s words drifted off as he realized the reality of the situation. Natasha spoke, picking up the thin file on Sophie Reynolds, “Well, no, he wouldn’t have. Says she was born in 1987.”

“That’s right,” Fury responded, “and she was our best bet at a capture until he made off with her in the middle of the night. Cap, you’re the closest thing we have to a connection to this guy, where would he take her?”

Steve Rogers shook his head. He didn’t have the answer. The Bucky he knew wouldn’t kidnap a young woman out of her home. Or murder intelligence agents. Or launch an assault against SHIELD in the middle of downtown Manhattan. He didn’t know this person at all.

Natasha glanced between Steve and Fury before speaking up, “I have some ideas.”

---

Sophie was awake and pretending to be asleep. She’d conked out almost as soon as they entered the hotel room last night and hadn’t had a chance to reflect on...everything. But one thing was becoming very clear to her: she could not trust this man. She could feel that he was close. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘this soulbond thing is weird. Also the whole not having a name to call my new soulmate...weird as well.’ 

She kept her eyes carefully closed and tried to regulate her breathing as thoughts crashed through her head. ‘So, the number one rule about this kind of situation was that you were NOT supposed to allow your kidnapper to take you to a second location. So, obviously failed on that.’ But she knew where she was. So the big thing now would be to absolutely under no circumstances allow him to take her wherever the hell he thought they were going. 

She felt a stab of guilt thinking these things. Her rational self was screaming at her to escape this crazy person. But her very soul was singing out that he was the missing piece she’d searched for and he would never harm her and they should just hurry up with the whole happily ever after thing. She felt the urge to cry again but she didn’t have it in her. Why would she be fated for someone who treated her this way?

“Get up, we’re leaving.”

‘How romantic, I feel like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice. The beginning part where Darcy is still an asshole.’

Sophie stretched her limbs under the thin hotel blanket and cracked her eyes open. The man was sitting in the same chair he’d sat in when they arrived last night. 

“Did you sleep?” she asked incredulously.

He narrowed his eyes at her and grumbled, “We’re on a deadline, let’s go.” 

She took a deep breath before responding. She felt a little ridiculous having this standoff with him while laying in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin. “No. I can’t go with you!”

There was a long moment of cold silence. Sophie felt her stomach drop and for the first time since they’d met, she felt truly afraid of him. Up until this moment the warm blossom of their soul bond had been a continual comfort. But when she’d directly refused to go along with his orders she felt the bond constrict, almost as if it was shrinking in her chest. It hurt. 

The man, her soulmate, stood up and slowly stalked to her bedside using all his height to loom over her. His face looked like a thunderstorm.  

“Get. Up. Now.” He ripped the blanket away from her and pulled her out of bed by her arm, wrenching it painfully. She felt the skin pinch where his metal fingers met. 

“Ouch! Stop it, let go of me! Please!” He dropped his arm abruptly away from her as if he’d been scalded by the contact. She staggered several steps away from him, backing into a corner in fright. She felt the aching constriction in her chest ease a little and the twang of his emotions just barely reaching through. She watched him standing still in the middle of the room, chest heaving, staring down at his own hand as if it were a foreign object. 

He turned toward her without meeting her eyes, “I’m...get ready we’re leaving in five minutes.”

With that he turned and started to re-equip himself with the dozen or so weapons he’d apparently been categorizing, or cleaning, or whatever you do with weapons, while she’d slept. They were arrayed on the small kitchenette table. Knives, guns...grenades? Sophie was in way, way...way over her head. She cursed herself for ignoring the grave warnings her SHIELD interrogators had given her about this man. She’d been so blinded by the newly formed bond. 

A minute passed with Sophie staring, mesmerized, at the astonishing assortment of weaponry this man apparently found necessary to bring along on a trip to visit his soulmate. She spoke, her voice coming out thin and small, “I can’t go with you. I won’t.”

He straightened his back and sighed. “What did they tell you about me? When they interrogated you?”

She spoke to his back, “You’re...a spy or something.”

“Wrong,” he said, turning to face her, “I’m not a spy. I’m a weapon. I’ve been trained to do one thing very, very well. I hurt people. Most of the time I cross them off entirely. I...I don’t want to hurt you. But it won’t be difficult for me to subdue one small, weak girl who’s being stupidly defiant. Time’s up. Let’s go.”

Ouch. When Sophie was a little girl she imagined her soul mate as this knight in shining armor character. He would save her from some nondescript danger and carry her in his arms to safety. Never, ever had she imagined that her soulmate--the one person in the whole world who was meant to love her unconditionally--could be so...mean. She felt stricken . Her face contorted in pain but still...she had to resist. 

There was nowhere for her to run. He stood between her and the door. She was literally backed into a corner. But she was also feeling increasingly desperate. The adrenaline of last night was gone and now all that was left was the cold, plain observation that this man did not have her interests at heart. He was clearly following orders to bring her some place. And she would bet her last dollar it was some place...unpleasant. Sophie had never been in a fight in her life. Never even taken a kickboxing or self defense class. So...she fled. Or tried to.

It was almost comically pathetic how quickly the man responded to her attempt to dart out around him. He simply put out his arm to block her. He was so solid she would have fallen right over if he hadn’t caught her. As soon as his arms closed around her she began to struggle, screeching, scratching, hitting and bucking. The only good it did was to at least assure Sophie that she was doing her damnedest to fight him. It just wasn’t enough. By a lot.

When she’d exhausted herself she fell limp in his hold and--again--started to cry. He tightened his hold on her and growled, “Are you going to walk out of this hotel room with me or do I need to incapacitate you?”

Even if Sophie was in a calm state of mind she wouldn’t have known how to respond to such a question. Instead she let out a keening sort of wail and slumped over, trying to move as far away from him as his grip would allow. Slowly, he let her go and stood as she sagged onto the floor. She heard a metal clicking noise before she felt him take hold of her wrist and lock a handcuff around it. She barely reacted as she watched him attach her to the foot of the bed. She watched him stand up and walk to the door of the motel room. When he opened it she could see the sunlight flooding the parking lot outside. He paused for a second, “I’ll be right back.”

Oh, good.

@watsonwise​

[searchingwardrobes]

Someone to Watch Over Me: 14/24

Finally, another update of this fic! This story was giving me SO much trouble! Finally, I ended up scrapping everything I had planned from this chapter on and starting over. Remember when I said Regina would stay full on Evil Queen in this? Sorry, but the muse went in a different direction. Still, I'm excited about where this will go.

I also sincerely apologize for chapter 13. I must have been really tired or something when I posted it because, good Lord! there were a lot of errors! I went in and edited it, and I am so embarrassed it has been sitting here for all the world to see, full of typos and verb tense shifts. So sorry about that!

You know that saying "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"? I've personally always thought it should be "Hell hath no fury like a mama bear when you mess with her cub." Hence this chapter title . . .

Summary: Emma Swan is ten when she first sees the pair of bright blue eyes through the cracked door of the wardrobe. She thinks it’s just an imaginary friend until she sees those same eyes again at 16 and 23. Inspired by this prompt: a child is kidnapped, and the monster under the bed isn’t happy about it.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: attempted rape and violence in chapter two (violence because the “monster” gets pissed)

Words: about 2,000 in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @kday426 @thislassishooked @teamhook @bethacaciakay @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @vvbooklady1256 @mythologicalmango @shireness-says (Let me know if anyone wants to be removed/added to the tagging list for this fic.)

 Chapter 14: Hell Hath No Fury

Killian gently stops Emma as she races out of Granny’s with his hook around her elbow. She sighs as she spins around. They’ve had many good-natured, teasing arguments about who’s faster, and normally she could outrun him no matter what he says, but these days there’s a definite waddle to her gait, much as she’s loathe to admit it.

“Now don’t give me that look, love,” he says with a gentle smile.

“We can’t just sit around while the Dark One plots his revenge!”

“I know that,” he tells her softly as he steps closer, “better than anyone, but even with your powerful magic it isn’t wise to go up against the bloody crocodile alone.”

“I can’t believe I was so naïve,” Emma mumbles against Killian’s chest as he draws her close.

Another hand cups her head and another one rubs her back. She looks up from the shelter of Killian’s embrace to see her parents on either side of her.

“No Emma,” Snow says gently, “you weren’t naïve to give Henry a chance to know his father.”

Emma steps back with her fists clenched. Her entire family regards her with worried expressions, even Martha who’s being held in her grandmother’s arms. At the outpouring of love and concern, she deflates.

“You’re right,” she admits, “all of you.”

“We’ll deal with the Dark One, love,” Killian assures her, “but we’ll do it together.”

There’s a sudden commotion heading down the street: Grumpy and the rest of the dwarves shouting and shaking their picks in the air, other residents screaming and ducking behind vehicles and into the nearest storefronts, and in the middle of it all is Regina Mills making her way with angry strides down the street. Whenever an irate citizen lobs a rock or piece of trash in her direction, she incinerates it casually with a fireball, her stony gaze fixed on the family gathered outside of Granny’s. Emma pushes her family behind her and raises both hands which light up with magic. Her husband and her father both draw their swords. She's sure her mother would pull out a bow and arrow if she weren’t rushing Martha back into the diner. Emma chuckles when she sees Granny march out with a crossbow to stand at Emma’s side.

“Oh for God’s sake, put down the weapons,” Regina snaps when she gets close enough, “the reason I’m here is something we can all agree on.”

“I seriously doubt that,” David snaps.

“I don’t have time for your witty villain/hero dialogue,” despite her sarcasm, Regina’s façade cracks. “It’s Henry.”

“Henry?” Emma asks, lowering her hands.

“Rumplestiltskin has him,” Regina tells them, her voice shaking as tears well up in her eyes, “and I can’t do a damn thing about it because I can’t cross the town line!”

“She’s right,” Happy speaks up, immediately earning him punches from his fellow dwarves. “Ow! What? It’s true. We pushed Sneezy over and now he doesn’t know who he is.”

“You pushed one of your brothers over the town line?” David asks.

“He drew the short straw,” Grumpy argues.

“Shut up!” Regina screams. “My son has been kidnapped!”

��And how do we know you aren’t in league with the Crocodile?” Killian asks. “How do we know we can trust you?”

“He’s right,” Emma agrees, lifting her hands again. “You cast the curse. Why wouldn’t you be able to leave?”

“I don’t know!” Regina shouts, her hands shaking. “Rumple cast a spell or something. He’s taken Henry to New York, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it!”

The sound of a cell phone ringing pierces the tension, and Regina pulls her phone from her coat pocket. “Henry?” Eyes wide, Regina looks at Emma. “It’s for you.”

Emma takes it from Regina, and though she’s wary, she has to admit the woman seems truthful. Everything about her demeanor says she is distraught and desperate for help. She still refuses to take her eyes off the Evil Queen, however, as she puts the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Swan, good afternoon. You never told me we were practically related.”

Rumplestiltskin.

“There’s someone here who wishes to speak with you,” he tells her smoothly.

“Emma!”

“Henry!”

The adults around her surge closer at her exclamation. Emma lifts a hand to still them all, Henry clearly isn’t distressed, and she doesn’t want to put him in any danger.

“Hey, kid. What’s up?”

“Dad is taking me on a trip to New York, isn’t that cool? My mom even said I could go!”

Emma glances over at Regina, who has clearly heard Henry’s words. Her eyes widen, and she gives her head a quick shake. The woman is clearly telling the truth – she had no idea Neal and his father were taking Henry on a trip, especially not to New York.

“And guess what else? Mr. Gold is my grandpa too! I mean, I hardly had any family at all, and now look! All because you broke the curse. I knew you would fix everything!”

Emma presses her lips together. “Speaking of, kiddo, can you put your dad on the phone?”

“Sure!”

“Ems -”

“Don’t Ems me, Neal,” she hisses into the phone, “how could you do this?”

“Do what? Protect my kid from a town full of bat shit crazy?”

“Oh, really? So you take off with your father, the freakin DARK ONE?”

There’s a rustling sound, and then Rumplestiltskin is back on the line. “Let’s all get along, Ms. Swan, after all, we’re family. Henry is in good hands, believe me.”

“We will find you,” Emma hisses, “we will find you and get him back!”

“Find us? Out here in the Land Without Magic? Now won’t that be interesting to see.”

Then the line goes dead. Emma squeezes the phone in her palm, her entire body trembling. The Dark One has just pissed off the wrong mother. She glances at Regina and for the first time feels a bit of solidarity with the woman.

Correction, he just pissed off two dangerous women.

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

“How do we know if we can trust Regina?”

David’s question is the same one on everyone else’s mind as Emma paces the living area in their room at Granny’s. Martha is napping in her and Killian’s bed, thankfully.

“Listen,” Killian says hesitantly, “I know my history with Regina isn’t as complicated as yours, but I of all people know how having a child changes you.”

Emma stops her pacing and smiles fondly at her husband. “I know that, babe, but has it changed Regina? She mistreated Henry, made him think he was crazy.”

“Was that because she was evil,” Killian asks sincerely, “or was it because she was afraid he wouldn’t love her back if he learned the truth?”

“That’s no excuse!” Snow exclaims. “None of you have any idea how good she is at manipulation.”

“On the contrary,” Killian sighs, his eyes downcast, “I’m afraid I do. She and I once worked together. It isn’t something I’m proud of, believe me.”

Killian rolls his shoulders back, and Emma’s heart swells with pride as he looks her father head on. “One thing I know, I’ve never seen Regina frantic like this.”

“Maybe not,” David argues, “but how do we know she isn’t working with Gold? How do we know this isn’t their plan to lure the savior away?”

Killian locks eyes with Emma, unwavering faith shining in his eyes. “You used your superpower, right love? Was she lying?”

Emma chews on her bottom lip. “No. She wasn’t lying. She had no idea Neal and his father were taking Henry to New York.”

“But we still don’t know if Gold is luring you away,” Snow points out.

“You’re right,” Emma sighs, “we don’t, but what can we do? We have to get Henry back, and I’m the only one who can go.”

“That’s not true,” her father says, voice intense as he gazes first at Emma and then at Killian. “Your husband should go with you. He was never under the curse, he can cross the town line.”

“What about Martha?” Emma exclaims.

Snow steps close and puts an arm around her daughter. “She has her grandparents.”

David nods, “Don’t worry, Emma, she’ll be safe with us. You don’t need to go alone.”

Emma watches a variety of emotions cross her husband’s face, and her heart breaks a little bit at the shock displayed there. He still doesn’t feel worthy, and she hates it.

“You . . . you trust me, mate? A pirate?”

David slaps a hand to Killian’s shoulder. “I’m trusting my son . . . in-law.”

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

The boy will be your undoing . . . the boy . . . your undoing . . . then I’ll just have to kill him . . . kill him . . .

Rumplestiltskin hobbles down the streets of New York, the words from so long ago playing in his mind. He’s found his son, actually has a chance at a good relationship with Bae, and yet the prophecy hangs over his head. The Dark One magic thrums through his veins, hissing, snapping, practically commanding him to just kill Henry. But he’s his grandson. Baelfire’s own boy!

He expected to feel his magic fade away the minute he crossed the town line, and while it did dampen somewhat, it still remains. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword. Part of him is relieved to still have his magic at his disposal, even if it’s subdued, even if he has to limp around the city. The magic is there, and that means he isn’t impotent. He can solve this little dilemma. Of course, the Dark Magic controls him, seduces him, in a way no one can comprehend or understand. Belle never understood. Neither does his son. Both of them wanted him to give it up. Don’t they know they ask the impossible?

Rumple doesn’t know the city, but he knows magic, and he’s been following a trail of it for an hour now. Baelfire and Henry are asleep back at his son’s apartment, but this magic called to him so incessantly, he couldn’t ignore it.

He stops in front of a storefront in Chinatown: The Dragon? He pushes on the door, a bell tinkling to announce his presence. A man in traditional Chinese garments turns to face Rumplestiltskin, and he instantly knows: this Dragon person isn’t from The Land Without Magic. His person and this store reeks with magic. So much so that the Dark One breathes deep of it, and Rumple smiles sadistically.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, I need magic.”

The man chuckles.”Oh really? And what sort?”

“The kind that can dispose of an . . . inconvenience.”

The boy would not be his undoing.

[shastelly]

Ocean - March Klance Prompts from MonthlyKlance - Day 19

Yes, it's April, no I don't care :)

This fic brought to you by Seagram's extra dry Gin…enjoy responsibly...the typos took longer than usual to edit out, perhaps drinking and writing aren’t the best combo

  Day 19 - Ocean

  It didn't happen in slow motion.  He didn't get a time-lapsed forever to weigh his options and make his decision.  It was not like the movies at all, but even now as his air and time were running out, he would not have made a different choice.  Even now he knew that split-second decision had been the right one.

  Three Varga ago…

  The plan was solid.  They would infiltrate the Galra cruiser when it was docked at the fueling station on Alien Waterworld.  Lance did not remember the name it had way too many consonants in it to pronounce properly and besides it was totally alien Waterworld, covered nearly entirely in ocean.  The fueling station was a tower that soared up out of the water into the pink sky.  The water was somewhat surprisingly blue, and Lance really appreciated its resemblance to Earth water. 

  Pidge explained that the tower was converted electrochemical energy produced in the alien ocean to fuel.  It was not ecofriendly, and they were slowly killing the planets ecosystem with the three fueling stations towers.  She had suggested that once they completed the mission with the cruiser data retrieval that the castle blast the other two towers as well.

  The towers were manned primarily by droids according to intel and scans.  The team would use Green and her cloak to get into the tower and then sneak aboard the cruiser as it was docked.  Then Lance, Keith, and Hunk would place a series of detonators in key spots around the ship while Pidge and Shiro hacked the mainframe and copied the prisoner records and troop movement information they needed.   When they had the information they needed, they would take a pod and drop down to the ocean where Green waited and Pidge would set off the detonators.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy.  And Shio had rolled his eyes when Lance said it, but it was, it was supposed to be.

  Another brilliant plan ruined by stupidity - Galra stupidity.  One of the detonator's was discovered, one on the starboard engine.  The brilliant detective decided to mess with the bomb and set it off blowing himself and the engine to bits.  Lance is sure that's what happened, because Keith apparently saw the bomb go off as he was trying to stop the idiot from setting it off.

  Now, Lance thinks, maybe being next to the bomb going off wasn't Keith's best plan and that they definitely need to get that boy a long-range weapon of some kind.  At this point Lance thinks a sling and some rocks would be better than nothing.

  "Shit!"

  "Keith, are you okay?"  Shiro yells in the com.

  "Yeah, yeah, mostly."  Keith's breathy voice almost echoes.  "Blast busted my helmet.  The visor is cracked.  Stupid patrol set off the bomb.  I think we're going down."

  "No kidding, did the free fall clue you in?"  Lance snarked as he clung to the wall in the hall he was in, not far from Keith. 

  "Everyone to the pod now, we need to get off of here before we hit the water."  Shiro ordered.

  Keith was the furthest away and had to make a detour around damaged sections of the ship as doors were sealed in attempt to keep the thing in the air.  It wasn't working, but it was causing Keith a lot of issues.  Lance wasn't having much more luck as he wasn't much ahead of Keith.  About two dobashes after the ordered retreat they found themselves in the same hall.

  "Pidge?  Help?"  Lance asked.

  "I'm in the pod with Shiro.  I can pull up a map."  Pidge's typing could be heard over the com.

  "I'm almost there.  I see the pods."  Hunk yelled.

  "Shit, we have three dobashes to waterfall."  Pidge yelled frantic.

  "Go then!"  Keith yelled as he and Lance moved faster, still not sure how to get to where they needed to be.

  "Don't wait for us."  Lance echoed.

  "We can give you one more dobash."  Pidge snarled.

  "Won't make it.  Get Hunk and go."  Lance panted.

  "Hunk's on board."  Shiro stated.

  "Go Shiro!"  Keith yelled.

  "Pidge, launch."  Shiro ordered.

  "No, we can give them…"

  "They aren't going to make it in time.  Keith, Lance - You are too far out to get to the pods.  Find a secure location and brace for impact.  We will give you the count."  Shiro commanded, sounding sure that they would be okay.

  "Fuck."  Pidge cursed as she pressed the button to launch the pod.  "You have 2.5 dobashes."

  "On it."  Keith answered, though his voice was weak.

  Lance could see the blackened marks on the red paladin armor and the shattered visor and cracked helmet revealed bleeding cuts on Keith's face.

  "Here?"  Lance nodded to a small room to the left of the hall.  It looked like a dorm room, complete with desk and bed.

  "Yeah."  Keith agreed.

  The bed seemed to be bolted into the wall.  They both crawled under it and braced themselves.

  "This sucks."  Keith growled.  His breathing seemed shallow and Lance worried that there was more wrong with him than he had told.

  "Yeah, I've heard of hiding under the bed from a monster or a tornado or maybe a fire, but not a shipwreck and the others never work out either."

  "Lance, you're babbling."

  "I'm not babbling, I am pretending not to be freaking out about our imminent deaths by talking about random things to distract myself.  Where you aware that cows have four stomachs?"  Lance knew he was babbling, he didn't care.

  "No."

  "They do, it's so they can digest grass and stuff, which humans can't because of just the one stomach.  I had to have my stomach pumped when I was six and drank an entire bottle of tequila that I found in the kitchen cabinet."

  "Really." 

  Lance wasn't entirely sure that Keith was paying attention, but he did seem to be humoring him, "Yeah, I got a popsicle and a night in the hospital.  Hospitals aren't so bad when the nurses are nice.  I went out with a nurse once when I was at the Garrison.  She was like five years older than me.  I'm not sure why she said yes when I asked.  She was a good dancer.  We went to three clubs and did shots of tequila.  Then at like 3 am we went cow tipping."

  "Are all your stories about cows and tequila?"

  "Important hallmarks for my childhood."  Lance snarked, though his voice shook slightly.

  "One dobash, are you guys safe."  Shiro asked over the com.

  "We found a good spot.  Riding this thing in."  Lance came back trying to sound confident.

  "Okay.  Hold tight.  Get to an outer area of the ship as soon as possible and we will get you out if we have to make a door."  Shiro responded.

  Something about their leader's voice seemed to fill him with a sense of safe.  Shiro wouldn't let anything happen to them.

  "Okay, Shiro, be careful yourselves."  Keith responded.  He was well aware that Shiro would throw himself into fire if he thought it would save his team.

  Pidge's voice shaking came over the com, "Ten, nine, I love you guys, five, four, three, two, one."

  At one the world shook.  The sound was like a thousand trains running into a thousand cliffs and blowing up.  The paladins were bounced hard against the bed and back down to the floor several times.  Clutching desperately to the bed and each other they tried to minimize the impact and stay contained in their little corner.  They didn't realize they were both screaming at first, the sound covered by the monstrous noise of the crash.

  When Lance came to, he was pressed between the wall and Keith, clutching the former like his life depended on it.  The bed had apparently come loose at some point and Keith was clutching the bed in front of them like a shield.  All in all, Lance decided he wasn't doing too bad.  He felt stiff, his back hurt and his arms and hands were so stiff he had trouble convincing his fingers to let go.

  "Keith?"  Lance jostled him a little as he tried to remove his arms from around the Red Paladin.

  Keith groaned and apparently let go of the bed as it went crashing to the floor.

  "LANCE!" Pidge's scream left his ears ringing.

  "We're here Pidgie.  I'm okay, a little stiff but no damage.  Checking on Keith now."  Lance answered.

  "Quiznak don’t scare me like that again!"  She growled.

  "'m 'kay” Keith slurred.

  "Yeah, not convincing, mullet."  Lance carefully climbed around so that he could see Keith's face and the rest of him.  He didn't see anything new, but that didn't mean he was okay.  Keith blinked a couple of times and then managed to focus on Lance.  "Okay, so head injury from explosion or crash?"

  "Um…both?  I think my helmet's damaged or maybe my headache is just getting worse."  Keith answered squinting at Lance.

  "Okay, well, definite helmet damage because the explosion blew out your visor.  Can you sit up?"  Lance reached out to steady him when Keith wobbled, but he managed to sit.  He closed his eyes and then snapped them open.

  "Dizzy."  He muttered.

  "Okay, you guys get that?"  Lance asked.

  "Yeah, we hear you."  Shiro answered.

  "Lance, we need you guys to get out of the ship, Pidge is sending you the quickest route to an exist.  The blast left a pretty big hole and the ship is starting to sink heavily on that end."  Hunk came over the coms nervously.

  "Route sent."  Pidge returned almost immediately.

  "Okay, Keith, we gotta go."  Lance helped him up.  The fact that he didn't say a word and just did as Lance asked kind of freaked him out a little.  "Moving."

  "We read you.  I'm monitoring your progress."  Pidge offered.

  "Okay."  Lance was nearly carrying Keith by the time they got to the second hallway.  He wasn't sure if it was the head wound or something else, but he was worried.

  "Guys!  You need to hurry!"  Hunk's panic bled through the com.  "The ship is breaking up."

  "What?!"  Lance leaned down and managed to lift Keith up over a shoulder.  "Quiznak you are heavier than you look!"

  "Lance?"  Worry colored Shiro's voice.

  "Keith's too slow, I'm going to try to move us faster."  Lance panted managing to move to a jog.  Keith growled from his back but broke off into a whimper.  Lance tried to move faster.

  The sounds the ship had been making were getting louder.  The rocking from the waves made on impact had accompanied groans and creaks, but now there were louder metallic noises that filled Lance with a kind of dread.

  "LANCE!"  Hunk called out just as the floor in front of him split open with a shriek.

  Lance may have joined the floor in shrieking as he scrambled backwards.  The ship in front of him split and tilted forward, falling away and forward.  He scrambled as the ship rocked hard sliding them back and forth across the hall.  Lance clung to Keith.

  "LANCE?!"  Hunk cried.

  "Ow!  Quiznak!"  Lance slammed hard into the wall and the two section of the ship separated.  The far section moved farther away bobbing like a cork in the ocean.  While the section they were in shifted and started tilting forward, trying to drop them into the ocean below. 

  "No, no, no."  Lance tried to push them back away from the edge, Keith was clinging weakly to him and despite his efforts they were sliding forward. 

  "Lance?!"  Hunk yelled again.

  "Falling, falling, shit."  Lance's outstretched arm managed to grab the corner of a door, but the jolting stop caused Keith to slide out of his arm and he was now clinging to his legs.  "Stopped," he grunted.

  "Lance, where are you?"  Shiro called.

  Lance couldn't focus enough to answer, his arm burned, and Keith was slipping.  He saw another hand hold further down and letting his one go, he managed to get a grip on Keith again and grab the next door.  This time expected the jolt he was able to brace himself and keep his grip on Keith.  Keith groaned.

  "Hanging on."  Lance muttered.  The water was rising.  They were about thirty feet above it.  Their part of the ship was continuing to tilt, and Lance wondered if it would go completely upright and if he could hold on if it did.

  "We are coming to you."  Pidge gritted out.  "We've made it to Green."

  The ship jolted and it was as though an entire level disappeared into the deep blue ocean.  The ship shuddered and shook, and Lance found his grip loosened again and they were sliding and Keith was sliding faster.  Lance gave up all pretense of trying to stop their fall and desperately grabbed for Keith.

  They were almost to the edge and Lance almost had him.  He saw Keith reach out his hand and Lance reached out his.  They were less than an inch apart when Lance's armor hung up on debris from the hall and he was jerked to a stop and Keith slid off the edge and out of site.

  "NOOOO!"  Lance jerked himself free of the debris and slid to the edge.  Keith was just visible sinking into the water almost thirty feet down.

  "LANCE?!"  This time it was Shiro that yelled.

  "Lance, Keith isn't showing up on the scan!"  Pidge shrieked.

  "Water must block the scan, Pidge, you'll have to fix that."  Lance spoke calmly and stepped off the edge.  He crossed his arms over his chest and kept his legs tightly together trying to aim himself after Keith.  That was the moment.  No slow motion, no questions about their fate, no thoughts other than "go".

  "What?  Lance?  Water?" Hunk sputtered.

  It hurt hitting the water that fast, but he his armor protected him.  He searched for Keith and spotting him began swimming for all he was worth.  Keith was sinking further into darkness.  His eyes closed and face slack.

  "nonnonnononnonononononono…" Lance didn't even realize he was talking until another voice answered.

  "Lance.  What's going on?  Talk to us, buddy."

  "nonononononononnonononnonononononono…."  Lance finally reached Keith hands grasping his armor and pulling his body to him.  As he did the water around him darkened like night falling.

  "Lance, the ship!"  Hunk yelled.  "Please!"

  Lance looked up to find the ship and tilted on over and was now coming his way at an unfortunate speed.  He grabbed Keith and began trying to swim away, but the water displaced from the ship was pulling them back.  He had to get Keith air, he had to get him out of the water.

  "nonononononono.." Lance panted breathlessly.  The ship was getting closer.  Soon Lance was swimming up into the ship, dodging between halls.  He realized about two ticks later that the ship had stopped moving.  He just needed to find some air.

  "Need air."  He growled.

  "Air?  There are pockets in the ship, try to reach one.  I don't know where you are because you are in the water."  Pidge fretted.

  "Keith?" Shiro uttered his name like a prayer.

  "Needs air."  Lance gritted out.  He broke the surface of the water in a hallway.  Up and to the right was a doorway.  Lance managed to pull Keith up with him and hauled him out of the water.  Later he would wonder how he managed it, but at the time it was just what needed to happen.

  He pulled Keith's helmet off and his hair spread around wet and dark behind him.  His face pale and unmoving.  A sound came out of Lance like a wounded animal before his lifeguard training kicked in and he began CPR.

  "Breathe damnit!"  Lance hissed as he felt Keith's ribs crack under the pressure.  "Breathe, you stupid mullet!"  Lance wailed.  "BREATHE, PLEASE KEITH!"

  And then he was sputtering and spitting out water, his body jerking and moving, and Lance rolled him to his side sobbing in relief.

  "Lance?"  Shiro begged.

  "Breathing, he's breathing."  Lance choked out.

  "Thank you."  Shiro whispered, Lance wasn't sure if he was talking to him or Keith, but it didn't matter at least the idiot was breathing.

  To be continued in Day 23 Hands

[just-castlevania-imagines]

Period Woes ~Alucard x Fem!Reader~

Okay, Mod Alucard is suffering in her bed so time to write another Alucard x Reader fic. If you haven’t noticed I do this a lot and I don’t proof read on normal occasions so really expect some typos in this one.

“Yes, Dear.” Alucard said showing himself out of the room with a couple blankets in hand. He sighed, unsure of where to take these. He held onto them, muttering to himself a number of things that he needed as he made the way down to his father’s wine cellar. “Some hot water.. maybe some- no that’s ridiculous. Maybe mother had some books-” “ALUCARD!” He gasped, hearing a deep bellow from the lower levels of the castle. He recognized the yell and groaned. Not him. Not today. The vampire made his way to the foyer, seeing The speaker magician and the hunter milling about. He threw the blanket he was holding under his arm, snapping his fingers once to get their attention. “Belmont. It’s called knocking. It’s a lot more polite than yelling-” “I need your help.” Trevor said desprately, knocking the vampire off guard. “It’s ,...um..” Sypha suddenly glared a Trevor, turnign her back to him and taking a couple steps away. Her unusually cold behavior confused Alucard greatly. Trevor urged Alucard to come closer so that he could speak to him discretely. “...It’s Sypha..” “Trouble in paradise?” “No. Well, I mean- technically. Look, your mother was a doctor.” Trevor started, collecting his thoughts. “Surely she knew how to handle..um.. you know?” “I know a lot of things.” Alucard smirked, “Clearly more than you do-” “Yeah yea, You’re a bastard, I’ll be mad later. Sypha is..bleeding.” Alucards eyes shot wide open and he took a step or two back from the hunter. “N-No-” “Please, you have to help me -” “Belmont I can’t-” “And why not?! She’s suffering?” Trevor nearly shouted. He looked back to make sure he hadn’t upset Sypha. Alucard simply shook his head, unravelling the blanket in his arm to reveal a large blood stain in the center. “Because I can’t handle 2 at once...”

“Alucaaaard!” “Trevor!” “God, someone kill me..” Trevor begged, leaning against the hallway wall. Alucard  began pacing, hearing the women yelling for them but trying his best to ignore it. Laying Sypha down and giving her something for her pain was a start but it didn’t even begin to alleviate what you and Sypha were feeling. At least you both had one another to complain to, buying Alucard and Trevor some time to think. “And the book said nothing?” “I read it cover to cover.” The vampire said, exhausted. “It told me why this is happening, which just sounds like church fear-mongering  but no way to help with it. We’re fucked.” he couldn’t help but laugh a little. “I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die.” “We have to figure something out.” “ I’ll try and look for something sweet for them... Something to distract them from their pain-” “And the anger.” Trevor commented. “That’s what’s going to be the death of me.” “Right. Regardless-” “Alucard!” You  yelled, whining a little. He couldnt’ help but hear the pain in yoru voice, immediately rushing to the bedroom and taking your side. You and Sypha laid beside one another, groaning and just generally hating everything. Trevor poked his head in the door, a little afraid to enter. “Yes, Love?” “...I want hugs.” He seemed put off but Sypha immediately started to laugh at your little answer.  “Treffy~” Sypha whined. “I want hugs too.” “...This is happening right?” Trevor asked Alucard. “Could have sworn they were pissed off and angry a minute ago...” “..T-They were...” Alucard looked down at you, melting at the sight of that adorable little smile on your face. Of course I can hold you, Y/N.” “Maybe things are getting better.”

Alucard and Trevor laid with you both, holding you close to them and for a while things were fine. They didn’t mind the cuddly change and they certainly didn’t object to the little kisses and rough touches. They didn’t understand teh shift in moods at all but it was welcome...for a while. “Ugh, Trevor you smell like a pig.” Sypha complained, waking you and causing you to groan.  “Can you shut you fucking mouth for one second?” You spat, trying to cuddle up to yoru vampire and go back to sleep.” Trevor and Alucard just watched on in shock. She tried to roll over to face you, only managing to look over her shoulder. “You can NOT talk to me like that. I didn’t recall asking you anything.” “I did, I asked you to shut up-” “Ladies, please.-” “You know what!” Sypha shouted, her voice cracking a little as she interrupted Alucard. “I-I don’t know why I bother!” She sniffled, tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Trevor panicked, holding her close and shushing her gently. “No- Sypha I’m sorry!” You started, beginning to cry now yourself.  You nuzzled to Alucards chest to hide your face and both men were just terribly confused. “...The fuck just-” “Let’s not question it. Do you want to live Belmont? We do what we’re told.”

“I thought you were hungry?” Trevor asked, a little annoyed honestly by Sypha’s change. “I don’t feel so good. I don’t think i could eat.” “But I-” “Y/N, Darling, please eat something.” Alucard begged, a variety of fruits at your side the moment you asked. Suddenly though you didn’t even want to look at food. “I-I got your favorites-” “I feel sick.” You said, putting a pillow over your head and rolling over. Sypha copied, desperately trying to get away from the meat Trevor was offering her. “Damn, I miss the cuddling.” Trevor mumbled. “That was easier to deal with.” “I just want this to be over... Alright fine,” Alucard surrendered. “I’ll get it out of here.” “Thank you.” You said weakly as Alucard began to leave. Trevor followed, mumbling curses to himself. When they were in the hall and the door was closed Trevor felt comfortable to be angry out loud. “What the hell are we doing wrong?!” “We’re doing what we can. Don’t worry. Just a few more days of this.” “You say that like that’s simple.” The hunter said, clearly exasperated by the last few hours alone. “If she’s not screaming or crying she wants to cuddle. She switches from hungry to sick in seconds-” “Oh please. At least her flow isn’t as heavy.” Alucard complained. “Do you have any idea how much blood I’ve cleaned up today alone?” “I don’t want to know or even think about blood.” “Me either.” “Ironic for the vampire.” “Shut up.”

The men kept the routine for 5 days. Each day seemed to get harder but thankfully it eventually stopped. The world seemed to turn back to normal and the men could rest easy. You and Sypha were giggling to one another, talking privately as Trevor sought Alucards assistence to pack up the carriage. “I’ve... never been care for like that.” Sypha admitted. “Normally I just...suck it up and suffer..but to have someone care for me and let me complain to them.. it was nice.” “I know. I didn’t know having someone in your life to complain to could make things better.” You said, both of you eyeing your men from a distance. You both couldn’t help but admire their heavy lifting, paying special attention to their muscles at work. It was almost as if You and Sypha were thinking the same thing. “...I’m rewarding the hell out of him after all this.” “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

-Mod Alucard is writing self indulgent crap.

[ifridiot]

Maybe

this fic is, uh, something like six years old? I’ve edited it a little for typos but otherwise it’s not revised. posting for the relaunch of the @ask-the-becile-boys blog.

warnings for swearing, violence, and consideration of self-harm

Some things you can only do alone, in private, with a gun in your hand.

They all know you like guns. Hell, they’d have to be blind not to know, and while your family (for lack of better word, for what is blood to those who have none?) is a lot of things, none of them are blind.

So they know you like them, and they’ve got to know you have at least a couple; Father gave you one for Christ’s sake so it’s not like it’s a big secret.  And there’s only so much you can do about the stench of gunpowder and burning oil from your little… exercises.

What you don’t think they know is how many of them you’ve collected over the years. The Thompson they all know about (Father’s sneering little gift, a nod of acknowledgment to your being his little assistant, his loathsome pet), and maybe about the neat little Schmidt M1882, since you bought it yourself instead of stealing it, paid a whole thirty bucks in some back-alley bargaining when it was new and have treasured the thing ever since.

But about the others, no, you don’t think they know. Hare might have an idea; the little rat’s full of so many half-baked theories about what everyone else thinks and does that it wouldn’t surprise you if he thought you maybe had one or two more. And you know now that he’s got himself convinced that you’re out shooting people, out there killing for that jackass you call Father or Master.

You let him think it. Just like you’ll let him go forever thinking that you kicked his narrow aft to hell and back without regret, that you don’t hate yourself for almost killing the stupid shit in your rage. It’s easier to let him think what he wants because he’ll never understand anything else.

To date, you have collected twenty-six guns of various firing speeds and size. All but the first two you’ve stolen from passed out drunks in bars or plucked from the hands of trigger happy brawlers looking to plug lead into something they can’t kill. A couple you’ve hustled in dark corners of seedy sub-markets, trading or bullying for something you want more than what you’ve already got.

Some of them are tiny things; they feel like toys in your hands for all that they could end a life with a careless gesture. Others are complicated, none quite as powerful as the Trench Sweeper but still intimidating in your grip. You’re particularly pleased with the Winchester M97, the severe click-snap of the pump-action striking a base chord in your processor that’s very much like pleasure.

It’s never been exactly made subtle that you look threatening. Unsmiling, stiffly postured, you look colder than your brothers, quieter and more insidiously menacing. From all three of you violence is expected; you’re thieves and bullies and thugs, and of the trio, it is from you people expect the most evil, for you are quieter, more restrained, clearly calculating while Hare is all direct action and Jacky is a mad whirligig of untamable, unpredictable energy.

In reality, you don’t care enough about most things, most people, to be calculating anything. Hare’s the ambitious thief, plotting ways to put money in his pocket. For you, you’d rather just watch, just remain in the backdrop. Failing that, you have no problem reinforcing the idea that you’re the measured one, the scary one; you keep your silence, photoreceptors boring into the eyes of anyone stupid enough to start staring at you.

But contrary to the image you project of the clean-cut criminal, you’re not looking for a fight. Hare will willingly scrap with anyone stupid enough to pick a fight with a metal man, but you’d just as soon walk away. And even Hare isn’t out looking for the fights, even Hare, who wants so badly to let out some of the aggression that been ground so deep into him it might as well be hardwired, isn’t going to provoke a fight.

Because the truth of it is, you’re not programmed for it. You’re perfectly capable of lying and cheating and hurting if you have to; it’s not going to break you to break them, but nine times out of ten, a glare can suffice, or a puff of dark smoke – hell, a raised fist if you must, but that’s enough to send most humans scurrying. And at the end of the day, you’re all of you cowards. You don’t have the guts to be killers; you’re pickpockets and hoodlums and low-down societal dirt, yeah, but none of you are killers.

It makes you feel just that much more complete to have a gun in your hand.

To be clear, you have no desire to become some mindless weapon, to be pointed and fired. You do not romanticize or moon over the idea of killing humans. The idea is actually in its own right quite repulsive to you.

With a gun in your hand, though, you are not the same automaton who must do as Master Becile wishes. You are not the bot who has come to the realization that the only way to keep your brothers in any semblance of safety is to pretend to be their enemy. With a gun in your hands, you wouldn’t have to watch your creator mete out punishment, knowing that anything you did against him would only worsen the situation. You could stand up for your brothers, finally be really on their side instead of quietly placating and suggesting and politicking your way through your Father’s moods.

“I would kill you in a second,” you growl, voice low and muttering though there is no one to hear you. Your hand snaps out, sweet little Remington clutched against your palm, the crack of gun fire shattering the silence of the evening. The barrel smokes, the bottle your bullet crashes through seems to explode off the fence. Roughly seventy yards between you and the target, and it’s nothing short of perfect. You feel good, but it’s a dark good, muddied with pent up rage, a sort of budding mania that often overtakes you on these little outings.

Fanning the hammer, shots fire rapidly, the line of rusting cans and glass bottles disappearing as they either burst or fly off the fence. The harsh grind of your voice raises with the thunder from the gun, biting out words buried deep inside yourself. “Shoot you down like a rabid mutt.”

The Remington is only a six shot, and you toss it, not quite carelessly, back down when it’s spent and grab another handgun. Though this little piece of land is quiet, out of the way and inhabited only by the occasional vagrant, you’ve never taken out either shotgun, and especially not the Thompson. Besides, power aside, there’s something so much more personal about the handguns.

It’s something about how they explode in your hand, smoke and thunder and the acrid stench of gunpowder; each pull of the trigger like hooks inside you, dragging out emotions you pretend not to have. All the anger, all the rage, all the built-up bitter hatred, ripped from you and screaming through the air, ripping into metal and glass and dispersing into nothingness.

It becomes rhythmic, automatic. Fire, fire, fire; six shots, gun spent, drop, new gun. Begin again.

Shots tear through the little field, rocketing into the targets you’ve meticulously placed on the surrounding fences; on stumps and hanging from the crooked branches of nearby trees. As you fire, you talk to yourself, voice rising and falling. Growling and shouting.

You curse your Father, the only man you ever expected to give a single fuck about you or your brothers. The more anger you pour into your words, the hotter your furnace burns, until you feel fire spitting from your maw with each word. And still you scream. You call him a bastard, you call him selfish; you tell him (though you’ll never say it to him, never in life) you wish he would die, that you wish you could kill him. Why, and you want to know so badly; why build us if you hate us? Why keep us around if we’re such garbage?

The words spew out of you, a vomit of wasted emotion. All your hate, all your rage, every single negative thing that you’ve turned back in on yourself, twisted in your guts like barbed wire. And that’s exactly how it feels, it hurts exactly that much, like you’re wrenching barbed wire from your guts and out your mouth. But it must go on.

At some point around the time you’re picking up the sixteenth gun (Smith and Wesson .32, for what it matters) you realize that the words aren’t so much coming out as words anymore; just an increasingly harsh yelling. Giving in to that is good; no more words, just the energy tearing through you, all the blackness pouring out like the bullets, like the flames.

In the end, by some mistake or some unconscious fluke, you’ve expended every target and you’re left holding a gun with one bullet. The gun is your favorite, that little honey of a murder machine, the Schmidt M1882.

Suddenly the intake of air required to keep oxygen on your flames is ragged, your grip on the gun too tight. Your arm is actually shaking from the exertion of the last fifteen minutes’ shooting, or maybe from the weight of the gun in your hand, and you find yourself staring at your hand, willing your fingers to release or at least slacken, but they don’t.

With measured slowness, as if you must be very careful in the action, you lift the gun, turn it, and press the muzzle against your temple. It’s hot; a perfect circle of heat, and you shudder.

Photoreceptors click off, the gun steadies. Why not? What exactly have you got going on that’s so wonderful? Your father is a selfish, moody prick who cares absolutely nothing for you or your brothers; your brothers, one of whom is as close to a drunk as he can be and hates you, and the other who is glitched beyond help and terrified of you. And you care so little for yourself. You’re nothing, a shadow of a man, not particularly successful in your endeavors to protect your brothers and there isn’t one single thing you can think of to redeem the hateful, horrible things you do in your father’s name. You deserve to eat this bullet just for your little meeting with Hare, even if the rat was looking for punishment.

So why not.

Just why the fuck not?

With a sigh, very soft and rasping with embers and soot, you lower the gun, hand finally relaxing as your photoreceptors click back on.

You sit on the grass and pull out the maintenance kit from the bag in which you stash your little collection, fingers glancing fondly over the barrel of your Winchester, still securely folded away in the bottom of the bag. Before you can go, the guns must all be cleaned, oiled, and reloaded; made ready for the next time your anger reaches a point where it might escape in some other way.

As you clean, you do not think about your actions prior; you content yourself with the repetitive action of breaking the guns down, cleaning, oiling, tending to them. You don’t want to go there. You don’t want to think about what you may or may not have done, even though the smell of your overheated system is accosting your olfactory with the reek of burnt oil. It’s better not to go there, not to try facing it. Bury it, throw all the other dark things in on top of it, and shoot it down later.

Because you are a coward, and you are unjustifiable, and you are too low to bother wasting bullets on.

Because you love life even if yours isn’t worth anything.

Because maybe somewhere in that pit of hate and venom, Becile doesn’t hate you. And maybe Hare will understand one day what you try to do, why you’re the bastard that you are.

Because maybe, just maybe, there’s a point to it. You just have to find it.

[a-tired-bitch]

You Should Know Better Pt.17

23 Parts:  I  -  II  -  III  -  IV  -  V  -  VI  -  VII  - VIII  -  IX  -  X  -  XI  -  XII  -  XIII -  XIV  -  XV  -  XVI  -  XVII  -   XVIII  -  XIX  -  XX  -   XXI  -  XXII  -  XXIII

MASTER LIST

YSKB MASTER LIST

Summary: After asking Dustin for a favor, Joe arrives home to a surprise.

POV: Joe

Characters: Joe Merriweather, Dustin Ayers (Italics), Claire Merriweather (Indented Italics)

Word Count: 3187

Author’s Note: After over four months of not writing, I present you with the best Joe Merriweather fic out there. The majority of this chapter is driven by dialogue. I really have to get into the swing of things again. I didn’t get this beta’d or read over, so have fun reading and excuse any typos.

Quote: “You trying to intimidate me has as much luck as a crack whore turning down crack – you see, it’s just not going to work.”

“Dustin, buddy, just listen to me for a second.” Despite driving down the desolate road with no passengers, Joe spoke and gesticulated his hands as if someone sat beside him. “Ever since we’ve become brothers, I’ve done a lot of favors for you, like a lot, whether they be in a personal or professional sense, and most of the time I’ve done so without questions or complaining, but the one time,” Joe raised his index finger before clenching his hand on the steering wheel, “the one time I fucking ask you to come to one of my classes and hang around for a bit, you decide to keep me hanging.”

Just as expected, a moment of silence flowed throughout the Jeep, the only audible noise was the outside rumbling of the engine, pulling the vehicle forward.

As compared to most other times, instead of reveling in the solace of the silence, Joe knew, at least to his own thinking, silence had no chair at this table.

With a long exhale that was accompanied by a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, Joe spoke yet again. “Usually the hardest part of communicating is listening, but you’re doing a damn good job right now.”

“Look, Joe, if you want me to be completely truthful, I don’t wanna do it.” The man’s annoyance laced voice finally booming through the speakers. “Plus, I don’t even have the free time to do that - I picked up an extra shift to get that good ol’ fat overtime check like I did yesterday.”

Fully prepared for the answer and excuse, Joe smacked his tongue along the roof of his mouth. “Oh, Dustin,” Joe whispered under his breath in a disappointing tone, “of course, I want you to be truthful and I appreciate the truthfulness, but that’s not the answer I want to hear, and I would really hate to intimidate or force you into this by threat or guilt.”

A booming laugh traveled throughout the speakers, forcing Joe to lower the volume. “You? Intimidate and force me? God, Joe, that’s one of the better jokes you have ever told. Seriously, you should look into a career in comedy because that shit has me almost pissing my pants.” The burly laughs turned into nothing more than a few chuckles. “You trying to intimidate me has as much luck as a crack whore turning down crack – you see, it’s just not going to work.”

With raised eyebrows, Joe straightened in his seat as a mix of shock and dismay claimed his features. There was no doubt, that what Dustin had just said was true. In the eyes of most people, whether they share a level of intimacy or not, Joe could be a pushover and claim the title of an easy, calm, and docile soul, but nevertheless, there were times where it was necessary for him to assert his dominance and this was one of the occasions.

Narrowing his sights on the road before him, Joe cleared his throat. “Tell me, Dustin, since I assume you’re currently patrolling prostitution lane due to your little joke, I take it that you’re in your vehicle since you’re on your phone.”

Not only did the dinging of the laptop notification confirm Joe’s assumption, there was also a verbal confirmation. “Prostitution lane is my favorite place to be – you know, deterring crime, getting a  comedy show, and other shit. But anyways, why do you ask?”

“Good, because I want you to do a couple of things in order to put our professional relationship into perspective. Don’t worry, though, you can do all of this in the comfort of your seat and I’ll be sure to say my orders in a nice, clear, and slow manner.”

There was a delay in Dustin’s response, but it came sooner rather than later. “What the fuck?,” he questioned, “professional relationship into perspective?,” the man asked, repeating Joe’s underlying threat, “what kind of bullshit mind games are you –.”

Interrupting the rambling of confusion, the orders began to flow. “Shut up and listen very intently to me – what I want you to do first, is to look around that SUV.  Go ahead and take a second to revel in the smell of that vehicle – I know you usually have a citrus smelling air freshener, so take a nice, deep whiff of that.” Joe paused for a moment, allowing the man to do what he was ordered. “Next, go right on ahead and run your hand along your thick, worn-in duty belt until you come along your cuffs.  When you find your first pair, let the coldness of the steel spread across your skin. Once that happens, glance to your right and admire that shotgun that’s stationed in its holster – it’s a pretty view, isn’t it?” Yet again, another pause came. “Lastly, peel away those sunglasses and take a nice, long look in that rearview mirror, but make sure you get a glimpse of that beautiful cage that’s right behind you.”

There was no doubt that the orders pouring out from Joe’s mouth were, in some ways, strangely sensual and sexual. “Do you know why I want you doing these things?”

“I have no fucking clue what kind of bullshit you’re trying to do, but it sure sounds like you’re trying to have some strange, kinky session of phone sex with me and although I appreciate the attempt, I don’t want to rub another one out in the car right now.” An attempt to cut through the tension that was radiating from the other end of the phone was made, but ultimately, all attempts failed.

“Phone sex is usually my thing, but right now, with you, it’s not my thing,” Joe admitted, allowing for the comment to cut just a sliver of tension away. “But anyways, I want you aware of how much you’ll be missing that SUV when your ass is on desk duty. I want you to also be aware of who owns you. I want you fully aware that I am your superior when you’re sitting in that car. I command you and you listen to me.”

Yes, in the eyes of both Joe and Dustin, the whole speech was a threat in a sole effort to assert dominance, but truth be told, it was more than likely an empty threat that would never happen.

Turning onto his street and eyeing his empty driveway, Joe listened as a defeated sigh sounded through the speakers.

The smile that began to claim his features was a direct result of Dustin’s submissiveness.  Deep down, both of the men knew that the older, more experienced man would come out on top. “Remember, Deputy Dustin Ayers, I own your uniformed ass when I deem fit.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re hitting below the belt with your low blows, aren’t you? Pulling the whole ‘I can tell you what to do because I’m your superior and you are required to listen to me without any resistance’ card.”

“You’re damn fucking right I am.” Joe asserted, nodding his head. “You see, when certain circumstances arise, I’ll fucking pull that card and put it to good use. It’s a rare occasion when I do that, but when I do, things usually pan out in my favor, am I right?” His voice dropping, becoming more threatening.

Thankful for the commencement of radio traffic, Dustin listened intently before it died down. “Fine, fine fine,” he repeated as if he were a broken record. “I’ll think about it, but no promises, but tell me, when is it? Where is it? What time would I need to come? How long would I have to stay? And what would I have to speak about?”

Although the answer was neither a definite yes not a definite no, the older man was content since he knew, that deep down, Dustin would appear and help him out.

“Look on the bright side, think of it as a sort of community policing and getting an eye on some future colleagues,” a string of low mockingly chuckles panned out before the answers commenced.

“Next Wednesday which is a week from now. Ugh,” Joe went quiet for a moment, visualizing the shift in times to accommodate the exam week. “Let’s see, you can come at four and we’ll shoot the shit in my office for a bit before going into the class – if you do that, you’ll be there for about three hours.  As for the last question, feel free to talk about whatever the fuck you want – everyone there is grown and knows what that line of work entails. And don’t worry, I’ll talk to whatever supervisor overseeing your shift – which I believe is Schultz – and tell her what’s going on.”

Pulling into his driveway, fully unaware of the events that were about to unfold, Joe brought the Jeep to a halt.

“Talk about whatever?” Dustin repeated. “You sure about that? You’re not going to put any restrictions on anything? Might end up regretting that.” Dustin jokingly teased.

Glancing over at his truck, Joe fiddled with the garage door opener that rested in one of the cupholders. “Man, you know what I mean – tell some stories, crack some jokes, do whatever the fuck, but if I have to cut you off from rambling too much or getting too deep, I’ll do so.” Pressing the button on the garage door opener, Joe turned his attention to the door. “You’ve seen some of these people before, so just bust their balls a bit. Make fun of them. Tease them. Don’t worry —.”

Suddenly, with just enough space to see into the garage, Joe noticed a car in his spot.  

Resting in the garage was a black Mercedes, a color matching the coldness and blackness of the person who owned it.

A string of derogatory slurs and disrespectful curses filled the confined area before Joe abruptly said a goodbye to his partner, closing the call before the man could say anything.

With anger pulsing throughout his veins, Joe hopped out of the vehicle, nearly forgetting to shut it off and put it in park before storming into the garage.

With long and heavy strides, it took just a few steps before Joe was before the door, pushing it open and catching the handle just inches before it crashed into the wall behind it.

The smell of steak frying in a pan filled his nostrils.  The sounds of sizzling meat pierced his ears. The sight of Claire standing before the stove in a pair of heels, tight jeans, and a black shirt filled his vision.

It was almost as if his loud entrance went unnoticed by the woman – she continued to calmly stand before the stove, tending to the meat.

“Ugh, are you fucking deaf or are you stupid?” Joe called out, slamming the door shut.

             Gently placing the fork down, Claire slowly turned to face the man who was dressed in a full-blown black on white suit. “No, I can hear you loud and clear and since I can hear you loud and clear, there is no need to get loud because, you know, my ears are just fine. Also, no, I’m not stupid either because here I am, in our house, cooking us a nice dinner. If anything, I’m a nice person, not a stupid one.” Claire sassed, watching as the enraged man stopped just feet away from her.

With squinted eyes, Joe quickly looked her over before locked eyes with her. “Our house? A nice dinner? A nice person?” Joe falsified a laugh, “you were always one to have a shitty and dry sense of humor, but looks like a lot can change over the course of a few months.” Taking a small step forward, Joe lowered himself just slightly. “Cut the shit and tell me how the fuck you got in in my house and why the fuck you are in my house.”

             Holding up a finger, Claire turned back around, giving the steak one last flip and baste before turning off the stove. “I thought you were always three steps ahead of people in thirty different directions.” Claire mocked. “If you’re that smart why don’t you tell me why I’m here then.” Turning around, cold, blue eyes stared relentlessly at brown squinted ones.              

              She waited a moment to see if he would answer, but as expected, Joe remained quiet, leading for her to answer the questions for him. “You must have either known or hoped that I would come back because you never changed the locks or the codes – either that, or you forgot to do it, but you aren’t a man to forget things.” She paused for a moment, searching his face for any minor changes. “As for why I’m here,” she tilted her head slightly, tearing her eyes from his, gazing past him, “well, I would be lying if I said I knew the answer to that.” 

Silence began to envelop the room – on one hand, Claire stood there with her eyes latching onto Joe as she awaiting a response from him and on the other hand, Joe turned a cold shoulder to her, his head dropping, and a hand coming up to rub the side of his bearded cheek.

It seemed as if an eternity passed with neither of the parties daring to break the streak of silence.

Strangely, for Joe, it seemed as if this small moment of time, particularly the layout of the conversation and the silent interactions between the two, rang a bell in his mind, serving as a sort of deja-vu.  The underlying tension in the air, the wandering glances, the shoulder-turning-head-dropping-cheek-rubbing-disappointment, and not to mention, the smell of cooked steak, all took him back to the moment Claire sat him down, told him she was leaving him for another man, and explained how she wanted a divorce.

Letting his hand run up from his cheek and into his hairline, Joe cocked his head back, letting out a long sigh before resting his sights on her again. It was almost as if she was frozen in time for she had yet to move an inch.

The view of his wife didn’t last long before he turned away and walked towards the cabinet. Reaching out, he opened the white surface, retrieved a glass, and gently closed the door.

This situation called for a drink.

Examining the small array of liquor bottles, he had restocked after drinking a day or two of his life away, Joe opted for the usual.

Pouring out the amber liquid of a Jack Daniels bottle, he was careful to pour no more than the usual amount before placing the bottle back into its respected spot.

Finally, turning around, glass in hand, Joe spoke, “Well, if you won’t say it, I’ll say it for you: you’re fucking lying.” He then proceeded to take a sip.

Not only did the burning liquid ignite a small fire within him, but it seemed as if a fire started within Claire as well.

             Whipping around, a shocked, yet flushed-face Claire locked eyes with him. “I’m lying?,” she questioned almost in dismay as she brought a hand to her chest, “No, no, no, Joe, you’re lying,” she rebutted, waving a finger at him, “and I would like it if you didn’t use your little police-reverse-psychology-interrogation questioning-bullshit tactics on me.”

Placing the glass beside him, Joe raised his arms up defensively, “Look, I work with people all day long and I can sense and smell a lie from a mile away. Not only that, but I know for a damn fact that no one in the right mind just happens to show up in their ex-spouses, but apparently in our fucked-up case, their spouse's house without telling them and just ‘doesn’t know why they are there.’” Joe pulled his eyebrows together, letting out a fake chuckle. “If you ask me, that’s burglary which is a crime and not only that, but it’s a shit move on your part.” Lowering his arms, he leaned against the counter.

             Weighing her options, Claire battled with wanting to continue the bickering match the two of them were engaging in and wanting to cut the shit and get down to business with or without the help of some seduction on her part. “Yeah?” She asked, ignoring the majority of his reply. “And what are you going to do, whip out those cuffs we often put to good use and take me to jail?”

              There was a handful of distance between the two - Joe continued to lean against the counter while Claire stood in the middle of the kitchen. She blatantly gave him a look over and in that moment, just like many others, she once again realized that there was no doubt that she still felt a level of attraction towards the man. In this moment, she wanted to approach him and loop her fingers through the visible belt loops on his slacks and him towards, but not only was it too early for that, but also far too dangerous – dangerous not in the terms of its true definition, but dangerous in the terms of not wanting to overstep the boundaries. In addition to wanting to approach him, she wanted to manipulate him, but they both knew that Joe was too smart for that now, especially after how things panned out over the last few months – any attempt at persuasion, seduction, or manipulation would more than likely fall apart.

Digging his hands into his pockets, Joe dropped his head, a laugh slipping through his lips, breaking his façade. “No,” he answered, leaning off the counter, “I’m not going to use the cuffs on you nor am I going to take you anywhere.” He finished, another laugh escaping before finishing off the rest of the amber liquid. “But you know what we are going to do?” He asked, placing the glass down as he proceeded to open the cupboard again.

              Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, she watched as the man retrieved a set of plates. “What’s that?” She questioned, knowing fully, or at least to some extent, what his answer would be.

Without answering right away, he walked before the stove and instantly a frown claimed his lips at the sight. “Well, since you cooked only one steak – who cooks just a single steak when you break into someone else’s house -, we’re going to split this sucker, sit down, and have a nice and cordial discussion as to why you’re here and what you want.”

Moments later, the two of them sat down at the dining table, half a steak on eat plate, and a glass of wine placed out before them. After exchanging a smile and a longing glance, Joe went to pick up his knife before Claire reached out and stopped him.

              “Before we do anything, I’m going to lay this,” Claire quickly dug into her pocket, pulling out a golden band along with a black and blue band - the one Joe wore while on duty - before settling it down on the table, “and this down,” she then pulled out her own wedding ring and band, “and by the end of this discussion, dinner or even the end of the night, I want both of us to know whether we should put these back on and work things out or keep them off and go our own ways.” 

[rndmnwierd]

Mending Bridges

OR 

A Very RWBY Christmas

I wrote this as a present for the wonderful @faunus-4-life because I started this before you told me what exactly you wanted for Christmas. So, here! Something that’ll actually get to you on time. Also, I wrote this while dead tired, so there’s probably a ton of typos, please excuse that.

Anyway, on to the fic!

Blake was always a light sleeper, an unfortunate side effect of faunus hearing coupled with her former on-the-run lifestyle. Even though she was safe and at Beacon, she still found herself jolting awake in the middle of the night because one of her teammates shifted in their sleep too loudly. Still, that did mean that she always knew what was going on in their dorm room, like knowing when a certain speedy leader was getting up in the middle of the night to do…. Something secretive.

Blake slowly cracked an eye open to watch Ruby climb down from her bunk, struggling not to disturb Weiss, still sound asleep underneath her precarious perch. Slowly, carefully, nearly silently, Ruby snuck around the room, pulling various boxes out if many hidden places. Blake blinked curiously, watching as out of those boxes, Ruby pulled… decorations?

Yes, garlands and lights and even a tiny tree, such was set up around the room making things look quite festive. Blake sighed quietly, but she couldn’t help the small smile. Leave it to the pure Ruby to secretly set all this up.

“I thought we agreed not to celebrate the holidays.” Blake whispered and Ruby shrieked, toppling over and into a box of bells. Blake had to cover her ears at the cacophony that arose, hearing Weiss and Yang jolt up in their beds.

“Wha, what’s going on?” Yang hopped down on unsteady feet, and suddenly Blake’s vision was obscured fully by her backside.

“It seems your little sister here was trying to set up for Togetherness Day.” Blake sat up fully and tugged Yang to sit on her mattress, uncovering Ruby’s guilty visage to her eyes.

“I, I wasn’t, I was just….” Ruby stuttered, then slumped, “Yeah, I was. But! I just wanted us to all celebrate before we have to be split up for the week.” She looked at them all with pitiful eyes. Blake knew bit one of them was immune.

“Ruby….” Weiss sighed, voice rough from sleep, “You dolt, we all celebrate different holidays, that’s why we agreed we wouldn’t make this a thing. If you wanted to do something together, you could have just said something.”

“Well, yeah, I know, but…” Ruby looked down sadly, then pulled a small container out from behind her back, “I made cookies.”

Blake was surprised when Yang chuckled next to her, “Weiss, it can’t hurt. Especially since she went through all this trouble. Please, let us set up a Xiao Long-Rose family traditional Togetherness Day for you two.” Then she gave Ruby a big wink.

Blake felt like she was missing something when Ruby smiled gratefully, but she was always kind of touched seeing the love the two sisters had for each other. “What can I do to help?” She seemed to have caught everyone by surprise, but just blinked innocently, waiting for a response.

Her partner snapped out of her surprise the quickest, a warm smile spreading across her face and making Blake’s heart beat faster. “Well, how about you grab some stuff from Candle Lights Festival? Decorations, traditions, we’ll throw it in with our stuff and learn about each other’s holidays.”

“Yeah! What do you say, Weiss? Want to do the same with Mantle Nights?” Blake heard Ruby ask, but she didn’t look away from Yang’s pretty purple eyes to see. She assumed Weiss responded in the positive, though, because Ruby cheered, “Awesome!” but Yang was all Blake could see.

She’d been having feelings for her partner for some time now and she was beginning to think that they were mutual. She knew that there was a tradition for people to confess to their loved ones on Togetherness Day. Blake had been reading up on it in preparation for the holiday and Ruby’s little scheme was going to be the perfect opportunity.

Now, she just needed to find a good time…

~~~~~~~~~~~

Like deja vu, Blake awoke from her dream, exactly a year after that time at Beacon. The memories of that night assaulted her now, even though at the time, it had been a warm moment of peace and love. She’d never actually gotten around to confessing, but that had been fine. She had just known that she’d have all the time in the world.

Except that she hadn’t had time. And now, in the middle of an all out war, there was no thought for celebrations or love. She’d lost her chance of that.

When she had come to Mistral, an army at her back, ready to fight her demons, she hadn’t expected to find the rest of Team RWBY, training to fight the same, yet different battle. She’d been shocked, thrown off her game, even though Ruby and Weiss had been ecstatic to see her. Everyone else had welcomed her, too, Ren, Nora, Jaune, even Qrow.

Everyone except Yang.

Yang could barely be in the same room as her, hadn’t spoken two words to her, and was just barely below hostile. Ruby and Weiss assured her that she just needed some time, yet here it was, weeks later, and Yang was still acting the same way.

Sighing, Blake swung her feet over the side of the bed and quickly crept out of the shared room, making sure she didn’t wake Illia. Maybe some tea would help her feel better and she could go back to sleep. So she made her way down the stairs and towards the kitchen, freezing when she heard the clink of metal on ceramic and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

It seemed someone had the opposite idea as she did; Blake tiptoed to the doorway and peeked around the corner of the wall. There, with messy blond hair and still in her pajamas was the object of her melancholy, Yang, leaning against the counter holding a mug in her prosthetic hand.

Blake watched her for a long moment, watched her until her chest began to hurt and her eyes stung with tears. It took her a moment to calm down, deciding to just turn around and head back to bed, but when she stepped back, her elbow scraped against the wall.

The noise brought her to Yang’s attention, the blonde calling out quietly, “Who’s there?” Blake winced, now she had no choice but to reveal herself. She stepped around the corner and gave what she hoped was an apologetic smile.

“Oh… It’s you.”

Ouch, Blake felt her ears droop. She was obviously not welcome, “I couldn’t sleep. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were up. I’ll go.” She needed to escape before her tears started to spill over. She spun around and heard Yang curse quietly behind her; she had only taken a few steps before a warm hand wrapped around her upper arm, prompting her to stop.

“No, wait.” Yang sighed, “You came down here for something, don’t let me chase you off.” Blake felt her breath hitch as those tears became harder to fight. It seemed even Yang noticed, though, because she tugged Blake until she spun around, worry on her face, “Blake?”

That was all it took to make the dam break and tears and words came rushing out. Blake was sure she was babbling, but she just had to get across her scrambled thoughts. “I’m, Yang, I’m so sorry, I should have never left, I should have been there when you, when it, but I was, oh god, I was so scared and there was so much blood.” She took a huge gulp of air, that all immediately rushed out again, “I thought he, he said he’d, he’s going to kill everyone I love, Yang, and I just, I, you, that….” Blake trailed off, gasping, unable to catch her breath.

Vaguely, she was aware that Yang was leading her to the kitchen, leaning her against the counter and then her familiar warmth pulled away. Blake sobbed, burying her face in her hands; she wished she could go back to before everything was so messed up. Back to when the holiday just meant they could all spend time together and they only had to worry about who drank the last of the eggnog.

“Blake…” She heard Yang’s voice, quiet and strained, then a cool glass was pressed against the back of her hand, “Drink this. Slowly.”

Giving her a thankful look, Blake carefully took the glass and drank the cold water inside. Yang always seemed to know just what she needed, she always had, Blake had never had someone read her as well as her partner. The thought made her chest ache just a bit.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Yang’s apology nearly made Blake choke, either in surprise or in a rush to tell her she wasn’t the one that needed to be sorry, Blake wasn’t sure. Yang shushed her when she tried to get any words out, though, “You’ve been back for weeks now and I haven’t been giving you a fair chance.”

“I don’t really deserve one.” Blake insisted, “I’m the reason you-!”

“Ah, wait.” Yang sighed, cutting her off, “Look, it’s almost morning. How about you and I go out to the balcony and talk privately, so we won’t be interrupted when everyone else wakes up?”

Blake looked up hopefully and Yang gave her a tiny smile, eyes shining with something that Blake had sorely missed, “Please.” She whispered, then hesitantly added, “It would be a good Togetherness Day present.”

Yang blinked at her in surprise, then laughed lightly, “I nearly forgot what day it was. I’m surprised you didn’t.”

Blake chewed on her bottom lip, “Learning about that with you, being together like that with you, it was the happiest I’d been in years.” She swallowed, feeling Yang’s hand slide into her own, “Let me put some water on for tea, then we can go outside.”

“Of course. I think we have more to talk about than just what happened during the Fall.” Blake nodded slowly, looking up into those mesmerizing purple eyes. Yes, they had a lot to talk about and, this time, Blake wasn’t going to let her chance slip away.

[ddaengnabbit]

Malec Fic, Post 2x20

When I’m not so busy I’m gonna add a big smutty part 2 to this, but for right now, this’ll do. Malec & what happened after they left the party. I’m not usually one for shameless teeth-rotting fluff BUT.

Written EXTREMELY quickly so please ignore typos and awkwardness.

It’s a portal home, to Magnus’s loft—urgency, perhaps, or maybe walking just felt a little too mundane for the evening’s events. It’s the culmination of everything, all Alec had lost and gained—his parabatai, his soul; and Magnus, his heart—that left him feeling like he’d been pulled through a wringer and left out to dry. He can hardly breathe.

“Drink?” Magnus says, the neon brightness of the portal fading behind them as they step into the living room. Home, Alec thinks, that’s what this place was becoming, before it all went wrong. The Institute, that’s duty and birthright and necessity. But the loft, this home, Magnus—this is where the weight comes off, and warmth settles in. This is what he nearly lost and the pain of it is like the sharpest blade between two ribs.

He doesn’t want a drink—he hardly ever wants a drink, really, and mostly they’re just decoration for whatever significant moment he’s having with Magnus. Breaking the ice, going on that first date, Dutch courage tonight, to ask Magnus if they could talk.

He wants to say no, to keep a clear head, but Magnus isn’t looking at him yet—like he can’t quite figure out how to be—so Alec says yes, and he waits awkwardly by the window, and he waits.

Magnus goes to his drinks cart, all frenetic energy and beauty, but he pauses before laying his fingers on a glass. Pauses, and looks down for a moment, suddenly so still and quiet that Alec tenses all over.

Then Magnus turns and looks him in the eye and Alec sees it all there—sorrow and regret and pain and so much love. He swallows past a dry throat and silently wills Magnus to speak.

Magnus does, haltingly but with purpose.

“I have a lot I need to say,” he murmurs. “These past few days have been…” He stops, gives his head a little shake, drags his hand through his hair in a gesture so desperately un-Magnuslike that Alec aches in sympathy for him. “My behaviour this week—”

“No,” Alec says, because he can see where this is going and there’s no way—“No, Magnus, none of this…you can’t—” He takes a step forward, desperate to reassure, but Magnus holds up a hand. Please let me speak, it says, his expression mirroring it. I need you to hear me.

So Alec goes still, and listens to Magnus over the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears.

“I’ve been in this world a very long time, Alexander, and there are certain things I’ve learned to avoid. It has been…a lifetime…since I’ve given someone the power to crack open my heart—”

“Magnus…”

“It’s a pain,” Magnus pushes on, “that I’ve long forgotten how to endure.” His hand clenches into a fist at that, like he’s remembering how it felt, looking into Alec’s eyes that horrendously fateful day and knowing the monumental, soul-changing lie that sat between them like a curse. “So my behaviour in response—”

“Please, Magnus, you don’t have to do this,” Alec says, pleading almost, because he understands Magnus’ need to talk but he doesn’t want him to take any blame.

“I never want to hurt the things I love, Alexander,” Magnus continues, as if Alec hadn’t said anything at all. “The person I love. I was damaged and—and angry—”

“You had every right.”

“Yes,” Magnus concedes, eyes a storm of emotion. “I had a right to anger, but that doesn’t mean you no longer mattered to me, and I made you think that was true…” His voice breaks, a slight waver at the end, and he sucks in a shaky breath before adding, “Because you do, Alexander. You do matter. And I never want you to feel like—”

Alec has had enough of the space between them, the distance—takes the few steps forward until he’s close enough to breathe in Magnus’ air and swallows the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. “Please,” he says, reaching for Magnus’ hand and almost choking out something like a sob when Magnus doesn’t refuse him. “Please stop thinking that you need to explain yourself. What I did was unforgiveable—”

Magnus smiles, soft and intimate. “It’s already forgiven.” It’s not true, Alec knows that, not really—there’s a lot to work through, but hearing those words, watching Magnus look at him with, if nothing else, the intent to forgive, it’s enough to make Alec feel almost dizzy with relief.

Magnus lifts his spare hand and brushes a stray lock of hair from Alec’s forehead, eyes shining when Alec leans into it, just a little. “And you need to stop thinking the burden of blame lies entirely with you. Neither of us should be particularly proud of ourselves.”

Which—okay. Maybe it’s the best way to leave things, for now. They could go around in circles all night trying to assign fault but the fact is, Magnus is set on owning his side of things and regardless of whether Alec agrees, he knows nothing he says here is going to make a blind bit of difference. I’m going to spend my whole life making it up to you, he thinks, but out loud he murmurs, “Well I’m proud of you,” smiling gently and hoping, wishing, that Magnus would take that final step forward and open his arms to him. “The way you dealt with that rift today…”

“Hmm.” Magnus brushes Alec’s hair back again, hand lingering this time, fingers trailing down behind Alec’s ear until settled on the side of his neck, thumb stroking over the rapid pulse point. “I am pretty impressive.”

Alec is filled with the abrupt urge to hold Magnus close, the desperation of it all rearing up in his chest and swelling around his heart, stealing his breath. So he wraps his arms around Magnus and gathers him in and Magnus goes with it, clings onto him, presses his face into Alec’s neck and sighs.

It’s a moment or two of pure bliss, of feeling love and forgiveness and home, then Magnus tilts his head so he can press his lips to Alec’s skin, the soft underside of his jaw, trailing up until he rests his forehead against Alec’s temple and breathes a soft, “I’ve missed you,” into Alec’s ear, both of them with their eyes closed. His hand comes up Alec’s back, fists in the material of his jacket between his shoulder blades like he’s clinging on for dear life, breath coming out in a stutter and a tremble to him, all over, like a release of emotions taking over his body, a flood of something hot and perfect that Alec can feel reflected, growing, in his own veins. “I need you to stay the night with me,” Magnus says then, like it was ever a question. Like Alec ever has any intention of going anywhere other than into that bedroom, into that bed, into Magnus’ warmth.

He holds Magnus tighter and smiles.