#m/m ships is something addictive and I’m trying to stay away from it

[llinstarr]

Listen I’m a jily girlie trough and trough but I’ve just watched something jegulus and for a moment just one moment I got y’all.

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[mypoisonedvine]

Perks of the Job | dark!Boba Fett x reader x (soft)dark!Din Djarin

summary: the only thing worse than one bounty hunter on your trail is two.  the only thing worse than a bounty hunter who wants to abuse you is a bounty hunter who wants to make you into a lesson for his makeshift apprentice.  the only thing worse than a villain is a villain who thinks he’s a hero.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: smut (noncon, including vaginal, oral m receiving, anal, and dp… so you know, basically everything), a specific kink of mine which I have dubbed "no, not there!" or NNT for short (betcha can guess what that means), din catching feelings lowkey, hair pulling, choking, bondage, forced begging, all the good stuff

Boba had proven to be unendingly useful in bounty missions, even if he was a little bit rough around the edges and slightly more ‘shoot first ask questions later’ in his attack style.  Still, Din was grateful for his aid and was happy to tag along when Boba explained he was tracking a target to Florrum— just a smuggler, wanted by the New Republic for trafficking death sticks all across the Outer Rim, nothing too serious or high-profile.

Turned out Din was less useful than he wanted to be, because only Boba was able to get into the club he’d traced your beacon to, so Din was instead left to wait on Slave I and try not to get into any trouble in the meantime.

After less than an hour of resting his eyes in the cockpit, he heard Boba’s voice come in through the comms system.  “Target acquired,” he rasped, and Din instantly noticed the distant sounds of struggle and the destruction he must have left in his wake.  “Be ready to take off when we board.”

Din leaned forward to hold down the blue button; “Roger,” he replied quickly as he kept an eye on the camera feed of the loading platform, opening and extending it so the hunter and his bounty could board easily.  The man appeared on the visual soon after, dragging a woman by the scruff of her neck.

It was you, with your hands tied behind your back and your mouth restrained by a makeshift gag.  You were putting up quite a fight, but not nearly enough to stop a man as ruthless as Fett.  The second the two of you were inside, Din triggered the loading platform to return to its upright resting place as he started the engines, the ship’s gyroscopic insides tilting against the lift-off sequence.  He turned his attention away from the screen as he saw Boba toss you to the ground, focusing instead on his task of exiting the atmosphere and getting the ship into hyperspace so you could be returned to those who sought you.

Hyperspace was quieter, which meant he could hear the sounds of your resistance more easily even with you in another part of the ship entirely.  Wondering what all the fuss was about (and, secretly, a bit curious about this feisty young woman Fett had captured), Din made his way out of the cockpit and towards the cargo bay where Boba was wrestling with you.

It didn’t really seem like a fight, in the traditional sense of the word, since a fight implies two opposing forces— it seemed more like you were giving everything you had to try to wrench out of his grip (and go where?, Din was forced to wonder, we’re in hyperspace) while your captor was merely humoring you by not immediately knocking you out and freezing you in carbonite.

Your desperate grunts and whines were muffled by your gag, screeching to a halt as Boba used one hand to hold your torso and pull your back against his chest, the other gripping your jaw tightly.  “Stop fighting, little girl,” he hissed, “you’re just going to get yourself hurt.”  That deep commanding voice enough to intimidate even Din; thankfully, Din was on Fett’s good side, for the moment, and was pretty sure his own ‘bounty hunter voice’ (as he referred to it only in his own head) was at least 80% as scary.

You made this little motion like you were considering disobeying his instruction, but your rebellion was quelled by a gloved fist tangling into and subsequently tugging your hair.  You winced, but relaxed a bit as you gave in to the reality that you’d been bested.

Din didn’t understand what was happening when Boba bent your bound-and-gagged form over a console, but he knew it couldn’t be good: not with the way tears were pouring down your face and soaking the cloth tied through your mouth, not with the way you struggled underneath his grip in your hair and on the back of your tunic.

“What are you doing,” Din asked, although it didn’t come out quite like a question without that uptick at the end, his voice firm and steady and deep even as his heart started to race.

“What do you think I’m doing?  I’m taking my bonus,” Boba answered plainly, kicking your flailing legs apart to slot his body between them.

Boba must have seen the younger man’s confusion, even through his helmet, because he took a pause from his work to look back at Din.

“You can fuck ‘em before you chuck ‘em, you know,” Boba informed him, like it was obvious— like this was open secret that he was amazed he hadn’t already acted on.  Truly, the thought hadn’t really crossed Din’s mind before.  His upbringing had been devoid of any sexual education, even to the point of drawing a clear line between right and wrong.  Then again, right and wrong were always a blurry mix in his mind as a bounty hunter: instead of that dichotomy, he was taught that there was the Code and nothing else.  And the Code didn’t have anything to say about this, specifically, even as guilt and fear tingled up his spine along with the sickly addictive feeling burning in his gut— arousal, as he realized with a little gasp.

Fett leaned down to push his helmet against your ear, as if you’d be able to hear him any clearer even though the helmet’s modulator made it all sound mostly the same anyway.  “Don’t try to fight me,” he insisted again.  “Just stay still and keep your mouth shut.”

After a shaky breath, you nodded a little, and Boba sat back up, letting go of you with both of his hands— Din was pretty surprised to see you actually stay still, clearly the threat had gotten to you.  Fear, as the Mandalorian had learned many times, was a much more powerful tool of control than force.  Boba had you beat in both regards.

There was a little grunt from the man behind you as he reached down to fiddle with his trousers, finding the belt and opening which he reached into.  From where he was standing, Din couldn’t really see what exactly his travel companion was doing, but even he wasn’t so naive not to figure it out.

A harsh, cracked sound spilled from your mouth, muffled through the gag, as Boba roughly pulled your trousers down and slid his cock between your legs, teasing you— taunting you.  It wasn’t enough to violate you, apparently; he had to degrade you, siphon every drop of terror as he reminded you what was happening.  You shook your head, and even though your words were objectively unintelligible, it was apparent to Din that you were pleading with your captor to stop.

Din got the sense that he should leave, but his feet were welded to the floor.  His eyes were trained on you, shaking and breathing unsteadily where you were bent over and your head was turned to the side to press on the cold metal.  You closed your eyes tightly, and Din recognized the expression as ‘bracing for impact,’ although in your case, it wasn’t that you were about to be impacted but impaled.  Of course this couldn’t be right, Din knew enough to know that, in fact he was pretty sure it was illegal on some planets, but they weren’t on any planet right now, and Din had done things that are illegal on every planet.  Maybe this really was normal bounty-hunting fare, and he was just too inexperienced to realize that.  Maybe this was a relic of how hunters operated in Boba’s time; and Din, of course, had a lot of respect for tradition.

Maybe, more than anything, Din had lost track of the part of himself that cared if it was right or wrong, overpowered by a much more primal part of himself that had been chained and suppressed for far too long.  The funny thing about monsters is that they get hungrier the longer you keep them caged up.

The way your fists clenched and shook as you were forced to take the hunter’s cock inside you, the way your teeth ground together and a hiss leaked out from between them, the way you whimpered and cried and he could see the shiver run up your spine… Din was obsessed with it, and his chest burned with a foreign emotion that could be described as jealousy, but that wouldn’t explain all of it.  It was more than that, indescribable even to someone much more fluent in the language of feelings than Din was.

You sobbed quietly as your body went limp underneath his tight grip on the back of your tunic, just between your shoulder blades.  He was already moving his hips quickly, chasing the pleasure he stole from your body.  Din could see that he was hurting you, pain unmistakable in the way your expression twisted, even as the rest of your body seemed to have resigned itself.

Din wished, against every instinct of justice still firing wildly in the back of his mind, that he was hurting you like that, and not his companion.  Although, he also fancied himself noble enough that, given the opportunity, he would treat you fairer than Boba would.  And he was right, but then again, to be less cruel than Boba Fett takes little chivalry.

Your cries were sharp, loud enough at times to echo around the ship’s interior, other times completely silent as the brutality of Boba’s movements knocked the wind out of your lungs.

“Take her mouth,” Boba offered, “it’ll be a good way to shut her up.”

Din’s head was spinning as he tried to process that.  It was like his body was moving on pure instinct as he stepped closer, his trousers getting tighter as you looked up at him.  Your eyes were pleading for something: mercy, presumably, but he felt helpless to do anything but obey Boba’s order.  It was an order, right?  He had to do it.  

A gloved finger tucked under your gag and pulled it out of your mouth, the fabric falling around your neck as you licked your dry and cracked lips.

“Please,” you whispered.

He kept one hand weaved into your hair as the other opened his pants, his cock bouncing free the moment it was given any space to do so.  He held it at the base tightly, afraid it would all end too soon if he didn’t.  

“Please, don’t do this,” you insisted, whimpering a little as he rubbed his cock around your lips, smearing the clear precum over your cheek.  

The hand he’d tangled into your hair moved to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and he gently pushed his cock inside— barely enough to rub his cock on your tongue, to feel the humid moisture of your breathing.  You didn’t close your lips until he pushed his cock deeper, enveloping him in the silky skin of your mouth as he tried to keep his cool.  How it felt was one thing, but how it looked was another entirely— your lips stretching over his girth, your cheeks bulging where the head of his cock pressed against the inside, your eyes blinking up at him as they brimmed with fresh tears.  He hadn’t even been creative enough to imagine something like this those few times he’d gotten himself off with his hand, those few times basic biological need overcame confusion and naivete and ineptitude.  Now it was going to be the thing he thought about every time, which was why he was doing his best to commit it to memory now.  

Every groan and whimper that Boba forced you to make was vibrating through his cock, making Din sigh shakily and hold your head with both hands.

“Maker,” Din whispered as his head fell back, even though he didn’t believe in the Maker.  At least, he hadn’t before.

“Good, isn’t it?” Boba encouraged, his voice tinted with the curl of a grin.  Din couldn’t imagine what Boba was getting out of sharing his spoils with him, but he wasn’t one to question the nature of a gift when it felt like this, like your hot, wet tongue massaging the underside of his cock.

“Yes,” Din agreed hoarsely.

You yelped around his length when Boba brought a gloved hand down to smack your rear, the sound almost as erotic as the way your flesh rippled and shook with his aggressive touch.  “Go on, suck him harder, give ‘im a real show,” Boba instructed to you darkly.  You whimpered but did as he’d said, hollowing your cheeks and creating the most wonderful pressure as you sucked on Din’s swollen head.  

Boba shed himself of his right glove, tossing it aside to palm at where your flesh had turned red in the shape of his hand already.  Din shivered as he watched Boba’s thumb move inward— he couldn’t see where it was, but he had a pretty good idea based on the way your entire body tensed up, a weak whimper of confusion echoing around Din’s cock.

Instinct told him to take his cock out of your mouth, even if the idea of not feeling you for a moment was unpleasant in so many ways.  Still, he figured he needed to hear whatever it was you had to say.

“Don’t,” you pleaded with Boba.  “Not that.”

“Bet you’ll like it,” Boba assured, and he must have pushed in to the first knuckle because your whole body jolted forward, running from the sensation as you winced.  “Relax,” Boba instructed firmly.

“Stop,” you whimpered, and Din’s heart twisted to see you in pain.

“Do what he says,” Din suggested— not a command, just his best proposal of a solution.  In situations of inequitable experience, Din deferred to Boba liberally; certainly, Boba knew more about this than he did, even if that was a very low bar.

“Please, make him stop,” you whispered to him, more of a conversation than the two of you had had before.  He was almost tempted to honor your request, even if he would never consider standing up to Boba, but his body was pulsing with need and it overrode any sense of decency left. 

“I’m sorry,” was his only consolation as he pushed into your mouth again, and though it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t very useful to you, either.

He held your neck as he pushed himself deeper, his sense of shame deteriorating in favor of pleasure.  It was embarrassing enough to be doing this at all, let alone with Boba right there, watching him— well, Boba didn’t really seem to be watching him, too preoccupied with watching you squirm beneath him, but still, he could see it and that was a fact Din preferred to ignore.  He imagined instead that this was a private, intimate moment the way it ought to be, the way that he had deduced these activities were usually conducted.  He also imagined that you wanted to do this to him, that you were on your knees willingly as opposed to bent over a table by force.  It was so easy to picture you wanting it, begging for it, even.  Let me do this for you, I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, you would offer as you knelt down, and he would still feel guilty for it but he wouldn’t stop you, either.  Din hadn’t previously allowed himself to fantasize about having a companion of that nature, but as he indulged himself in his imagination now, he decided you would be unendingly generous: with your time, with your love, with your body.  In return he would protect you… from exactly the sort of thing he was subjecting you to right now.  

Renewed guilt seared through his chest as reality hit: you’d never care about him, you hated him, he could see that clearly in the way you looked up at him while he used your mouth.  And he didn’t blame you for it at all, although he wished you would appreciate that it was Boba’s idea in the first place and that his crime was far worse than Din’s.  Fett seemed to get off on your reluctance, relish and savor it, while it was just a compromise to Din.

You closed your eyes with a little sigh through your nose, relaxing your mouth further for him to thrust his hips forward into.  He realized that you were trying to relax like Boba had told you, and for good reason— Fett had replaced his thumb for two fingers, and Din was almost curious enough to lean forward and try to get a glimpse of your puckered hole opening up to him.  You looked pretty with your eyes fallen shut, those eyelashes delicately resting on your cheeks, but it wasn’t as good as being able to gaze right at you.

“Don’t close your eyes,” Din instructed quickly.  When they opened again, he saw your stare dart around his helmet, seeking somewhere to latch onto.  “Right here,” he clarified, releasing one hand from your throat to tap on the tinted visor.  When you looked at where he had told you to, it was almost like you were really looking him in the eyes— although, truthfully, he was sort of glad that you couldn’t because he was sure you would find more there than he wanted you to see.  It would be impossible to hide his nervousness, his inexperience, his fear if it weren’t for the beskar in the way.  Even now, your bright eyes threatened to pierce right through him.

“You’re gonna come, aren’t you, girl?” Boba rasped, the closest Din had ever heard him to beaming with pride.

You shook your head against the intrusion in your mouth, and Din pulled out to give you a chance to talk.  (Perhaps it also served the secondary purpose of delaying Din’s orgasm, which he had been holding back for so long now as he found himself oddly insecure about his stamina, but that’s neither here nor there.)  “No,” you denied, but your voice was wavering as your eyes darted to the floor.

“She’s lying,” Din announced.

“I know,” Boba replied.  “I can feel it— on the inside,” he hissed, and Din wasn’t sure if he was addressing him or you but it made a jolt of electricity shoot up his spine either way.  You seemed to react strongly to that, too, although any verbal reaction was lost to him shoving his cock into your mouth one last time— yes, this time he had no intentions of stopping until he pumped his come right into your throat.  

It was all happening so much faster than he intended, due in part to your moans shooting right down through his shaft to his balls, which grew tight with his impending release.  He’d never felt anything like this— he hadn’t realized before that it would feel different when it wasn’t his hand.  I mean, of course everything before the orgasm would feel different, but he imagined that the peak itself was the same.  That assumption was beyond inaccurate— he’d never fucked his own hand the way he was fucking your throat, he’d never moaned the way you were making him moan now, he’d never tightened his fists like he was now, and even if he had, it wouldn’t have meant choking you and hearing all your cries come to a sudden halt.

Without your noises it was only the slapping of flesh and the occasional filtered breath through a helmet.  He missed your moans, and yet he relished his power to take them away so suddenly.

He could feel the shape of his own cock through the thick skin of your throat, bulging into his hand, accentuated by your pulse just nearby.  He could feel you fighting for air.  He understood now why Boba had more fun with this than he did with hookers in cantinas— your helplessness was his power.  Your weakness was his strength.  And Din had never felt so strong.

He relaxed his grip to give you a chance to swallow as he came, pumping into your throat, grunting with each pulse of his cock filling your mouth.

Suddenly the sensation felt like it would become too much, forcing Din to pull his cock out of you and step back.  At the same time, Fett stepped back too, which was odd because Din was pretty sure he hadn't finished: if he had, he was a lot more subtle about it than Din was.

“You want your turn, don’t you?” Boba addressed Din, making the latter feel awkwardly exposed.

“I thought this was my turn,” Din answered.

“With her pussy,” Boba clarified, and Din was sure that he had managed to blush hard enough that it was somehow visible through the helmet.

"And you?" Din asked, not wanting to impose.

"I'll be attending to… another matter," Boba explained with that audible smirk in his tone, and Din had a few ideas of what that could mean, all of which caused him to swallow thickly as Fett grabbed you and pulled you up to stand before unceremoniously dropping you to the floor.  Din joined you there, not quite sure what he should be doing but figuring he should get on with it as the other man knelt down behind you.

Pulling you onto his lap, you spread your legs to straddle him in an unexpected show of submission which Din thoroughly appreciated.  One arm held you up while the other grasped his cock, still hard and hopefully not too sensitive so he could actually do this— he could actually fuck you.  It felt unreal; it felt beyond real, hyperreal as he started to slide his cock through the soaked and swollen intricacies of your sex.  You must have come like Fett said you would, otherwise he couldn't imagine how you'd become so wet… he could even see it glistening on the inside of your thighs. 

When he found the opening he was looking for, all Din had to do was lower you down onto him, gasping slightly as he watched and felt you sink down onto and around him, a little grunt coming out of you as your hips met his.

It was lucky that he’d already come once, in your mouth, because otherwise he would’ve lost it right then and there— you were so warm inside, soaked thoroughly such that his movements were smooth and easy as he instantly started to fuck you, groaning at how perfectly your body accepted him.

“Slow down,” Boba grunted, “I need to get in.”

You cried and shivered as the other man pushed into your available entrance, your head falling exhaustedly onto Din’s shoulder.  He looked down at your face, then, and brushed your hair away so he could see it better, peeling strands from where they had been stuck to your forehead and neck by the thin layer of sweat that covered you.  He wanted to comfort you, to promise that the pain would ease soon, but he couldn’t really think of anything to say; so, he just held you tight as he began to move within you again, and saw the other hunter do the same.

He made a conscious effort to not look at Boba’s cock, for fear of comparing it to his own.  It was disturbing enough to be able to feel it, slightly, through the thin barrier your body provided.  How inconceivable that Din had woken up a virgin and would fall asleep tonight with the memory of this lodged in his mind forever.  In one day of sexual activity he’d gotten more done than many would in a lifetime, and yet he still lacked the most common things: love, passion, consent… perhaps someday he’d find those, even if it could never be from you.

Not worried anymore about an attempt to fight or flee, Din reached back and untied your wrists from each other, hoping he wouldn't get scolded for it by Fett who thankfully remained silent aside from his own restrained sounds of pleasure.  You clung to him instantly, your freshly-freed hands clutching at his back, and he decided to interpret it as a token of affection even if he knew that was a bit of a stretch.  If nothing else, maybe you recognized him as the lesser of two evils.  

He opted to take credit for the way your moans were different from before; even in his wildest fantasies could he not convince himself that he was better at this than Boba was, but he could swing at the idea that you preferred him because you were meant for him.  It was probably more outlandish, yes, but it was so easy to believe that you were made to be his when you felt so good around him.  Din hadn’t even known anything could feel this good.

Something Boba had said earlier gained clearer meaning when Din felt your inner walls seize up and shift around him.  Trying not to be too loud, he resorted to coping with the feeling by gripping your waist tightly.  The idea that he could leave bruises on your skin excited him more than he would have anticipated (if, of course, he had anticipated any of this).

Another tug on your hair from Boba wrenched your head back.  "Gonna come," he grunted at you lowly, "in this tight little ass.  You want it?"

"Please," you whispered, not quite sounding enthusiastic but managing to give him whatever he was looking for, apparently, as another choked noise signalled his release.  Your body reacted strongly to that, clenching down hard on Din's cock.

"You like it," Din posited.  "I can feel it," he reminded you when you tried to deny it with a shake of your head, "from the inside."

Boba took his time pulling out, the most peculiar sensation that made Din shudder a bit.  As tight as you were when you were full in that way, Din preferred having you to himself.

"I'll be in the fresher," Boba announced as he stood up and tucked himself back into his uniform, looking so composed in a way Din envied; he was sure, somehow, that he looked a complete mess even with the armor covering him.  "I'll leave you to your fun.  Don't take too long."

“I— I won’t last much longer,” Din stammered, wondering immediately if it was too much information.

“Not inside,” you begged suddenly.  

Boba chuckled a little as he left, and Din wondered if it was what he said or what you said that made him laugh.  The thought was forgotten as the hunter left, and he suddenly felt a wave of nerves wash over him— the way he always felt when he was alone with a pretty girl.  Not that he'd ever been alone with a pretty girl quite like this.

Not sure what to say, he opted to just not say anything as he held you tight and bucked his hips up into you.  You wouldn't let him off that easy, apparently, as you reiterated yourself: "You can't come inside, please don't—"

"This isn't a negotiation," Din reminded you firmly.

He was too close to imagine stopping now, anyway; the snug grip of your insides was too good to be ignored, his body was incapable of slowing down as he fucked you deeper and faster than ever.  He noticed which angle of his hips made you moan loudest, hoping to feel you come around him just like Boba had.  

“Come for me,” he instructed, hearing an impression of Fett in his own voice as he tried to come across as dominating, “I wanna feel it.”

You shivered a little, whimpering into the crook of his neck before he lifted you by the jaw to look at your face.  You looked exhausted, eyes blown wide and dark, lips swollen and bitten red, hair tangled and unruly from being used essentially as reigns.

“Can you do that?  Can you come?” he pressed, grinding his hips up into yours and watching you whine at the sensation of being filled so deeply.  You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him.  “Say it.”

“Yes,” you answered, “I’ll— I’ll come.”

“Good,” he praised plainly, doing his best to hold himself back until he got his chance to feel you reach your peak.  

Your head fell back as your hands weakly tugged at his shoulders, and Din hoped that tearing your tunic down the front to grope your breasts would speed things along for you.  He hadn’t taken off his gloves, but even so he relished the weight of them in his palms, curiously pinching at a hardened nipple which made you flex around him again.

“Are you close,” he asked, losing that intonation of a question again, focusing instead on trying not to sound exasperated.

“Yes,” you hissed, “I’m gonna— fuck,” you interrupted yourself.

You were moving a bit on your own now, instead of him holding you still and letting you limply take it like a ragdoll— no, you were rocking your hips in time with him, pushing down against him.  You wanted it, obviously, and Din was more than happy to give it to you.  He slammed into you with each thrust, held you down so you couldn’t squirm, groaned when he felt your body pulse around him.  A new surge of wetness gushed between your bodies, your broken cry echoed right against his ear— if this wasn’t a dead giveaway that you were coming, he wasn’t sure what was.  Unable to hold back anymore as you sobbed and shivered on top of him, he finally released into you, everything building up so fast only to snap in a moment, an embarrassingly weak moan slipping from his lips.  

He was sure he had never been so exhausted, but it was the most incredible feeling as well.  A little tear fell down your cheek— from terror, maybe, or disgust, or even pleasure… he had no real way to tell.

As he began to catch his breath, he wondered if he should say something; and, if he should, what that would be.  Thankfully, he felt the lurch of the ship leaving hyperspace— the weight of gravity sinking a little heavier as you slumped down on top of him.

He picked you up and set you down on the floor, standing as he delicately stuffed his cock back into his trousers.  “Looks like he’ll bring you in soon,” Din mumbled, but you didn’t really seem to care much, just laying on the floor and staring into nothingness.  He watched his seed leak out of you and onto the steel, making a mental note to clean that up later, hoping you weren’t too angry with him for disobeying your request that he finish elsewhere.  “You’ll need a new tunic,” he noticed as he realized it was probably less than ideal to bring in a target who had been so obviously violated.  “I’ll bring you something to cover yourself with,” he decided.  

Heading for his sack to search for an old cape or blanket that you could wear, he passed by the cockpit where Boba was steering the ship.

“I’m keeping the reward,” Boba interjected suddenly without turning back to look towards him, making Din stop walking, “since I was generous enough to share the… fringe benefits.”

“Of course,” Din nodded, not having expected a share of the bounty in the first place since all he’d done was keep lookout during the actual hunt.  He was ready to walk away, but Boba spoke again as he turned the captain’s chair and faced Din, finally.

“Did you do what she asked?” Boba pressed.

“What?” Din choked, taking a moment to remember what he was even talking about— when you asked him not to come inside, apparently.  “Oh, um, no.”  His face warmed beneath the beskar as Fett chuckled to himself.

“Good,” he nodded.  “Never take commands from a target, or a whore.”

Din shuffled nervously but said nothing, considering he had no idea how to respond to that.

“Besides,” Boba continued as he turned back to the controls of the ship, “if she’s pregnant that’ll be the New Republic’s problem.”

Din figured he was free to go now, taking a moment to glance over Boba’s shoulder at the planet ahead before continuing ahead.  His quest for a cloak for you was nearly forgotten as he tried to clear his mind of what Boba had said so casually.  He needed a shower, desperately, but he didn’t have time before the ship landed— and Fett probably intended on making Din complete the transfer and bring the credits back, since the older hunter wasn’t exactly a friend of the Republic.  

He ended up grabbing an old shirt of his, tossing it at you when he entered the room where he’d left you, finding you standing with your trousers pulled back up.  Silently he wondered if you had made any effort to clean yourself of his come or if it was still there between your legs, but neither of you said a word as he put you in more formal shackles than the rags that Boba had tied you with originally.

The New Republic officer definitely reacted to your appearance when Din brought you forward, all but dragging you as he gripped your arm.  “When’d she get so roughed up?” the young officer interrogated as he handed Din the credits he was owed.  

“Found her like this,” Din shrugged.

He didn’t seem to buy it, with the way he scanned your form and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything else as he motioned for two guards to take you away.  Din considered looking back but decided against it, returning to the ship and immediately surrendering the credits to their rightful owner in Boba.

“Next job’s on Dantooine,” Boba informed him gruffly as he piloted the ship out of the atmosphere.  But Din wasn’t listening, instead watching your new prison shrink and disappear into a dot, hoping to find in himself the carelessness that Boba had already mastered.  He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask his hunting partner— Is this how it always goes?  Will it happen again?  Do you really think she could be pregnant? — but he wouldn’t even consider speaking any of them aloud.  It was almost funny that they had shared something so disturbingly intimate and Din still felt unable to be direct with him, although neither of them had the sense of humor to appreciate it.

“Thank you,” Din blurted out.  “For teaching me about the job.”

“My pleasure,” Boba replied gruffly, and with a jump back into hyperspace, the ship was submerged once again into silence.

[imma-potatoo]

For the bthb, may I request Logan and U!Patton with Thrown Down The Stairs? Maybe with some Remus or Janus comfort later? Idk, I just like your writing style and am crazy for Logan angst.

@badthingshappenbingo

Send me a prompt with a character! Please specify ships! No romantic prinxeity, r*mr*m or U!Janus and U!Logan please!

You wanted Logan angst? You got Logan angst~

Prompt: thrown down the stairs.

Warnings: U!Patton, blood, gore, choking, scratching at throat, concussion, thrown down stairs, pinning, graphic abuse, punching, slapping, ask to tag

(I'm really sorry this took so long. Wifi problems and family shit)

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Love

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Logan walked out of his room, humming a small song (Crofters the Musical, but that was only for him to know) dress shoes clicking softly on the wooden floors while he skimmed over the book in his hands. The mindscape was just as bustling as usual, he could hear Janus lecturing Remus in the darker half of the mind about how stealing Roman’s sword and turning it into a dagger was inappropriate and that he’ll have to make Roman a new one. Roman himself was sulking in his room playing Burn from Hamilton on loop because “Remus is dead to me like Hamilton was dead to Eliza”…. Logan didn’t get it. Virgil’s music was turned on max; like always but this time he was trying to drown out Roman’s complaints with My Chemical Romance. Patton was most likely baking in the kitchen once again.

Logan flipped open to the page he left off on; he had just started this book so he wasn’t too far in. He couldn’t help the grin that spread on his face as he started to read,

The person who was supposed to love me the hardest-the most unconditionally-has always wanted me gone. No matter how hard I tried to be perfect. Now, this boy-who knows all my imperfections and has seen all my hurt laid bare-wants me to sta- Logan’s reading was interrupted by a door clicking open.

Logan looked up to see Patton closing his bedroom door. An ear to ear grin plastered on his face, it was a little too much teeth for his comfort. Patton locked eyes with the blue side, “Hiya kiddo!”

Logan slipped his bookmark back into the thin pages, “Greetings Patton.” Logan waited for a second or two for Patton to walk beside him; after all, when someone comes out of their door, you have to wait for the other to join you on your walk.

And Patton did, they started towards the staircase; Logan tracing the book pages with his fingers. “So! Where ya headed kiddo?!” Logan had always thought Patton was a little too cheery for his tastes, but that was just the father’s personality, he couldn’t change that.

“I’m headed to the imagination to read,” for a brief second, Logan forgot who I was talking to, “It's actually quite an interesting book! The Dangerous Art of Blending In is considered a must-read for pride month and is based on the author's true story,” Logan continued to talk; eyes twinkling with excitement and pure joy as he went on to explain the main character’s arc so far.

The blue side steeled his expression to his happy grin, “That sounds interesting kiddo! Can I see it?”

Logan grew stiff, but continued walking with Patton until they made it to the top of the stairs, Logan shifted his eyes downward and handed the book to Patton. Morality swiped the book straight out of Logan’s hands, he pulled it open to a random page and started to read. Logan watched in horror as the older side’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to confusion, to disgust, and finally to anger.

“Why are you reading these horrible things, Logan?” Patton’s smile was gone, eyes cold and disapproving as he stared into Logan’s eyes. “This is something Remus would read. Why. Are. You. Reading. It.” Patton stood tall, teeth formed into a sneer as he stepped closer.

Logan took a small step backward, “I-I-”

“Shut up.” Logan hit the wall when Patton hissed through his teeth, “Come on Lo-Lo! If you read stuff like this, you’re just as bad as Remus and Janus! You don’t want to be like them, do you?” Patton was inches away from Logan’s face. His breath hot on his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Logan gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “W-well, I thought that Even and Henry’s story was a sweet story about overcoming hardships, even when you’re put in a bad si-” The stinging pain of Patton’s hand hitting his face stopped him in his tracks. Tears leaked down as Logan raised his hand to his cheek.

Logan looked at Patton with wide eyes, “y-yo-” The blunt end of a punch struck his face, Logan could only stand in shock as he felt his lip start to leak crimson, “Patton stop!”

The so-called father pushed his hand against Logan’s neck, keeping him in place even while Logan clawed at his hand and own throat, attempting to pry Patton off. His nails dug into his flesh, small warm droplets of blood pricking out of the skin as Patton tightened his hold.

“You, Lo-Lo-Bear, need to learn when to shut up~” Logan was sure that his neck was going to be bruised, all he could do was wheeze a suffocated breath in response. Patton applied his sugar-sweet smile once more, looking into Logan’s eyes with a twisted fascination.

Logan attempted to speak, he knew that he couldn’t. But words were his weapon. Without his voice he was helpless, and he refused to give in to the father figure’s torment. Patton had always been particularly touchy, touching them when it wasn’t necessary. Hands grazing over their shoulders or swiping things from their hand to look it over. Patton had also always been particularly violent. Pushing them against walls over little things and whispering threats. It didn’t make these situations any less terrifying though. And this was the first time Patton had taken it this far.

Logan’s hands were covered in blood. His blood. Gore covered his fingers and Patton’s hand, a few small beads hitting the floor; as well as Patton’s cartoon-themed sneakers. Long thin scratches ran up and down his neck, his nails had thick pieces of skin underneath the nails.

Patton raised an eyebrow at the side’s attempt to pry him off, he huffed a breath and let go of Logan’s neck.

Logic fell against the wall, hands immediately wrapping around the sluggish bleeding at his neck, Logan breathed in short ragged breaths eyes wide and staring at the floor. Breathing in the sweet addiction of oxygen.

Patton smiled, eyes skewed shut while the side on the floor held himself tightly. “There! Didn’t you learn your lesson kiddo?” Patton waited a second or two for Logan to respond, his breathing calm and steady as he swirled the crimson liquid on his hand. “Right kiddo?” Patton bore his cold eyes onto the crumbled side, he barely waited a second before seizing Logan’s wrist and pulling him to his feet.

The cyan side held Logan by his tie, right in front of the staircase. Logan could barely process anything before the side in front of him smiled, locking his eyes. And then, he let go and pushed Logan down the steps.

Logan fell, hitting almost every stair on his way down. He could feel his blood vessels burst as his arms scraped on the wooden railing, splinters indenting into his flesh. His head spun when it hit the stairs, glasses flying off. Logan could barely tell what was happening to him as he hit his head repeatedly, he knew that he heard a crunch from his left arm and right leg when he hit the bottom landing.

Logan laid on his face, breathing hard and rapidly. His mind was fogged over, no coherent thought could pass through as the ringing sound that suddenly plagued his mind filled his senses. He couldn’t hear his father figure climb down the steps, taking care to step over the blood spatters that covered them.

Patton poked Logan in the ribs with his shoe, giggling when the side groaned in pain. “You really should be more careful kiddo! Stairs can be pretty dangerous you know!” The cyan side took one last look at his victim before pulling Logan’s book from his pocket.

Patton opened the book to its center point, before grabbing each side of the novel and ripping it in half. Pages floated down like butterfly wings, gracefully falling as they surrounded the broken side in bitter mockery of the book. Patton threw what was remaining of the book onto Logan, his demeanor just as peppy and upbeat as ever, even while covered in another’s blood.

“You really need to be more careful with your possessions, Logic, such a tragedy, you know I love a good book.” Patton walked back up the staircase to his bedroom, while Welcome to the Black Parade blasted from Virgil’s speakers, Logan barely responded to the father figments door slamming.

Logan had no idea of how long he let his blood stain the carpet, but his mind grew even fuzzier as the room grew black. He allowed the sweet bliss of sleep to cloud his function telling him to stay awake. He closed his eyes, only to have someone shake him.

“-GAN! LOGAN WAKE UP!” The panicked voice of the deceitful side flooded his head, he tried to force his eyes open; muscles spasming. “There we go! Come on starlight! Stay awake! Remus is coming back with the medkit! Just stay with me!” Logan followed his voice, the smoothness and composed attitude of the yellow side was gone. Logan hated seeing the silver-tongued side like that.

“I-I see you have a copy of The Dangerous Art of Blending In! It’s such a good book right! I l-ove how the author wrote Henry! Don’t you? Come on Logan, stay awake!” Logan looked into the terrified side’s eyes. The enchanting yellow and brown eyes kept his focus even if they were clouded in fear, he wondered why he never noticed the flecks of green surrounding the slivered pupil before.

“I GOT THE MEDKIT!” The horse voice of Remus broke his concentration on the pretty eyes, why did everyone call Janus a monster anyway? Was it the scales? Logan could only wonder as the two dark sides hastily applied the first aid. Voices scared and rushed as they faded into the background, Logan could only focus on how Remus’ mustache was perfectly curled into its position, even when it was soaked in tears. Tears? Why were they crying? Patton said that they were monsters, and monsters don’t cry. Then again, monsters don’t help people either… 

Logan watched the two sides dig into the kit as fast as they could. Janus even removed his gloves.

Logan gazed at them tiredly, mouth lightly sagged open, “There we go! I think we can move him now Jan!” “Good! Let’s get him out of here before Patton comes back, I think he did this…”

Logan could feel his body raising to meet the ruffles of Remus’ tunic. The small teeth that embellished the ends of the fasteners rubbed against his shoulder. He didn’t have the energy to make any noise as the two sides took him back to their side.

He doubted he would ever return to the picture-perfect family he once belonged to ever again. He had his actual family, ready to help him through everything.

Janus bought him a new copy of his book too.

[cywscross]

From @lightveils on Twitter (free to use wherever!). I’ve been meaning to do this for a while. I definitely have enough fics to fill it lol~

-0-

A Fic You Love Without Knowing The Source Material:

I was born for this by esama (Assassin’s Creed | Altair x Desmond | M)

Juno did her best to lead him to her preferred fate, but the end is coming and Desmond has doubts.

A Fic With A Premise That Shouldn’t Work But Does:

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

A Fic You’ve Reread Several Times:

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

A Fic You Still Remember Many Years Later:

All True-Hearted Souls by mardia (Temeraire | Laurence x Granby | G)

“For God's sake, if someone doesn't talk Laurence out of these constant heroics, I wouldn't bet a farthing on his chances; no, and not ours either.” Four times that John Granby helped save William Laurence's life. Laurence/Granby. Spoilers up to Empire of Ivory.

A Comfort Fic:

Nothing Improper by Bunnywest (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | G)

“How long since someone touched you, sweet boy?” Peter asks, his voice barely a breath in Stiles’ ear. “Days? Weeks? Months?” Stiles nods imperceptibly at that last one.

“After…after everything, after Allison,” is all Stiles manages to get out.

A Cathartic Fic:

Swing by ShippersList (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles wants to fly.

A Fic You’d Print And Put On Your Bookshelf:

Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai (HP | Tom x Harry | M)

While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?

A Fic You Associate With A Song (x2):

Strange Duet by BelleAmante, thiliart (thilia) (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

The past three years have been a series of shocking, or not so shocking, successes for 2018 Tony award winner and two time Grammy nominee, Stiles Stilinski. You don’t typically find classically trained opera singers singing alternative folk rock to crowds at Coachella. Nor do you find indie singer/songwriters winning best actor awards at the Tony’s for their Broadway debuts. Stilinski has made it his lifetime habit to defy and exceed all expectations.

-or-

A Steter fic loosely based on Phantom of the Opera

~

Full Circle by Nike Femme (FMA | Roy x Ed | T)

Edward Elric returns with amnesia. He has lived the past four years as Auric, a Gatekeeper. But there are some battles that only he can fight. Will his friends be able to awaken Ed, and what happens to Auric if they do?

A Fic That Inspires You:

Off the Line by esama (FFVII | Cloud x Vincent | T)

In which Cloud gets a Virtual Reality Dream Console – ShinRa's latest in virtual reality technology. Aaand everything pretty much goes downhill from there.

A Fic That Brought You On Board A New Ship:

Me and Mine by linndechir (Fast and the Furious | Deckard x Owen | E)

The last time they'd spoken, Deckard had told Owen that he was tired of cleaning up his messes. But the first thing he did after breaking out of prison was to take Owen to the other end of the world so they could lick their wounds and start planning their revenge.

A Fic You Wish Could Be A Movie:

Moving In (To Every Single Aspect of Danny’s Life, Including the Boring Bits like Dry-Cleaning) by westgirl (Hawaii Five-0 | Steve x Danny | T)

It felt wrong for Steve to sound unsure of his place in Danny’s life. His place in Danny’s life was at Danny’s side, driving him slowly insane. Steve should feel secure about that.

A Fic That Led To You Making Friends With The Author:

Begin and End by Rikkamaru (Log Horizon x HP | G)

This is how it begins: a boy rejected by his family, a boy reunited with his brother by his sister-in-law's intervention. A boy who found a family in an online game. But how will it end?

FREE SPACE:

Reverti Ad Praeteritum by Batsutousai (Fullmetal Alchemist | Roy x Edward | M)

Unwillingly forced to serve as a human trial for a crazy alchemist experimenting with time travel, Edward Elric finds himself standing across from Truth in the moment it takes his leg from him. Armed with the knowledge of what's to come and burdened with guilt for the choices he'd made as an adult, Ed sets out to fix every mistake he ever made and save every life they ever lost, no matter what it takes.

A Fic You’ve Gushed About IRL:

Designation: Miracle by umisabaku (Kuroko no Basket | M)

It's been three years since seven human experiments, called "Miracles," escaped Teiko Industries, alerting the world to the presence of super-powered children. Now they're finally integrating into society-- going to normal high schools, playing basketball, falling in love-- and trying to find out if it's possible to truly escape their past.

A Fic You Associate With A Place (have to self-rec for this one):

Safe Harbour by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles x Chris | T)

Peter didn't think he'd find a home here. He certainly didn't think he'd find a home with two other men.

Chris and Stiles prove him wrong.

A Fic That Made You Gasp Out Loud (kind of? it was suspenseful):

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | E)

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

A Fic You Found At The Right Time:

slow increments by Areiton (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles)

Peter is enigmatic, egotistical, sometimes barely sane. He's sharp and cutting and takes more time to care for the pack than anyone.And sometimes, John catches him watching Stiles.

A Fic That You Would Read Fic Of:

if you try to break me, you will bleed by Dialux (Game of Thrones | Jon x Sansa | T)

It had been a slash across her chest from a White Walker’s sword that finally ended her life. Sansa’d landed in a puddle of her own blood, and she’d died quickly, quietly.

And then she’d awoken with a gasp, trembling, in a bed that had burned under Theon’s betrayal.

A Fic That Made You Laugh Out Loud:

The Path towards Unwilling Godhood by Sky_King (Bleach | Kisuke x Ichigo | G)

Ichigo has never had the most normal life, and this latest chapter of it is no different.

"I'm not a god!"

A Fic With A Line (Or Two) That You’ve Memorized By Heart:

Atlas by distractedKat (Star Trek | Spock x Jim | T)

Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning.

A Fic That Gave You Butterflies:

The Rest of Our Lives by mia6363 (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

“I don’t know, as a kid I watched a lot of movies, you know? And at first I figured like… I’d be on some great adventure that would take me away from it all, you know? Like Indiana Jones comes around and is all, ‘Hey Stiles, buddy, come with me we’ve got to go save the world.’ Then… you and… everything happened… then I just… I figured I’d die before I was eighteen.”

A Fic That Embodies Something You Value In Life:

The Boy Sleuth by Shey (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is eight when he discovers a box of his mom’s old Nancy Drew Mysteries in the back of the guest bedroom closet.

A Favourite AU:

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | M)

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

A Fic You Stayed Up Too Late To Finish Reading:

Of Dwobbits, Dragons and Dwarves by ISeeFire (The Hobbit | Fem!Bilbo x Fili | T)

Bilba has been a slave her entire life. All she knows of the outside world is what she sees from time to time outside the gates of Moria and the stories her mother used to tell her. Stories of a place called the Shire where her mother once lived and a placed called Erebor where, as far as she knows, her father still lives. Stories of dragons a thousand times larger, and more intelligent, than the beasts the orcs rode and of a strange concept called freedom where one was allowed to live as they wished with no one to tell them what they could, or could not do.

The stories meant little to Bilba. The only future she had was to live, and die, as a slave as countless number had before her.

And then the orcs dragged an injured female firedrake through the gates, her rider screaming obscenities behind her as he fought to reach her side...and everything changed.

A Fic That Made You Feel Seen (another self-rec lol):

i am addicted to death (so remind me what it’s like to live) by cywscross (Teen Wolf | Peter x Stiles | T)

Stiles is sixteen years old. He has already died seventy-eight times.

[miss-pearlescent]

Universal Differences (5/7)

Trapped in a dilapidated spaceship, you kidnap an alien to help you gain your key to freedom: marriage to a safe and trustworthy diplomat.

As a rich and handsome son of billionaires, Kai is bored of his repetitive party life. It isn’t until he’s kidnapped by a little human with a mission that he realizes the fun he’s been missing.

Rated M for smut (๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) ♡

[ 1 | 2 | 3ᵐ | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 ]

---

[5/7]

Get rid of me?

You bit your lip as the small, snazzy spaceship landed. It was a new, beautiful thing that Kai had ordered to pick the two of you up from the port, straight to the party. It made tight turns look like a breeze, and you couldn’t hear a sound from the engine.

But you couldn’t stop tapping your boots. What did Kai mean back on your ship when he told himself he needed to get rid of you?

You thought the two of you were on the same page. He was being a kind teacher, helping you fill in gaps to all the digital notes you had collected in the past year. You learned that his hair was a silvery white because of a native plant all newborns ingested at birth to immunize themselves from a deadly disease only found on his planet. You found out that his people were much better at metabolizing waste in the body, which was why he rarely had to use the bathroom.

You also realized you were slightly addicted to the way these people had sex. Kai took his time studying your body and gauging your reactions. Then he would always show you something new every round. It was amazing, to say the least.

Too bad he wanted to be rid of you. If your future husband was half as good as Kai was, you’d be satisfied for a lifetime.

“Nervous?” Kai’s voice interrupted your thoughts and you jolted in your seat.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

Toying with the zipper on your black combat boots, you searched for an answer. “I brought two dresses with me on my research trip but didn’t bring matching shoes. How stupid of me.”

He glanced down. “Aren’t those the same boots you wore when we met last week?”

“Yes, but back on Earth, I would pair this dress with some heels.”

Kai’s face let you know that he wasn’t quite getting it.

“You know, to give me some height. Make my legs look better.”

“You’re little,” he said, completely disregarding your shock at his blatant comment. “Your legs look just fine to me.”

Men really are dense, huh? No matter what planet they’re from. No matter that you spent the last week sharing a bed together.

“We’ve arrived.” The driver up ahead pulled a lever, and the side door opened, revealing a series of steps. “Pleasure,” he said, tipping his helmet as Kai offered his hand to you.

Gingerly, you stepped down and immediately sucked in a breath, blown away from the beauty of the building before you.

White, polished pillars loomed at the entrance. Dim lights sparkled around the edges of windows and doors, all of which were lined with a dark brown trim, resembling wood back home. Honestly, it reminded you a lot of castles and government buildings you had seen in history books. But what made things different was the people.

You didn’t even have time to absorb all the different looks people sported. Kai was pulling you along, your hand in the crook of his elbow, as you tried to memorize all these unique hair colours and facial features into your brain. Not to mention, the clothes. Drapes of material you couldn’t identify. Odd shapes of hats and jewellery. Shoes that had moving parts you wanted to add to your ship.

You couldn’t wait to get back to your notebook.

“Watch your step,” Kai whispered, tightening his hold on you.

You looked down and saw that the stairs going up to the entrance were floating. How they managed that technology, you couldn’t understand.

He smirked at your amazement as you stared at your feet. “I’ll teach you how we levitate objects later.”

You looked up, excited about the future lesson, but when you met Kai’s eyes, the realization hit the both of you at the same time. There wasn’t going to be a “later.”

Kai cleared his throat and stared ahead. “It’s not hard, though. Anybody can show you the mechanics of it.” You nodded at his words, but your mood dropped a little bit. You liked the way Kai showed you things. He was careful and considerate, and he also listened when you talked about similar inventions on Earth.

You could only hope your future husband was the same way.

When you made it past the entrance, you saw that the inside was really like an 18th century ballroom. You almost expected to smell sweaty bodies and powdered wigs except the air was just as clean as the outside, if not a tad warmer.

“Good luck.” Kai pulled your fingers off his arm. “Your husband is any one of those men with the red coattails.”

Your eyes darted between Kai and the group of men he was pointing to. But as he walked away, you wondered where he was going to go. “Are you staying?”

He shrugged, giving you a wry smile. “Maybe for a drink or two. I’ve got things to look after on the farm. Thanks for the ride, though.”

I need to get rid of her.

You clasped your hands in front of you, trying your best not to wring your fingers. This was his way of saying goodbye, then.

Putting on a smile, you waved. “All right. Have fun. Thank you for...for everything.” Strangely, a heavy lump was forming in your throat.

He winked, teasing you for the last time for all the strange human things he said you were always doing. You figured nobody waved around here, huh? “You can do this, little human. You don’t need me.” Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

You turned the other way, gulping down deep breaths of air to brace yourself as you locked eyes with one of the older gentlemen with the red coattails. All you had to do was seduce him. Same as you did with Kai last week. Easy.

But your feet dragged as they crossed the ballroom. You had never felt so alone in your life as you ventured toward your future husband.

---

:) :) :) Please forgive me for this short chapter! As the weeks go on and the news continuously changes, it’s really burnt me out a bit! But please stay safe and healthy, everyone hehehehe find lots of books to read :) :) :)

[ofbeastsandwizards]

This Is My Mess - Part 2 [Avengers x Teen! Reader]

Series Master

Timeline is a bit jumbled, because I don’t really know how many days have passed in the movie, and I’m too lazy to do 5 minutes of research.

Summary: The reader, a teen marvel addict who is *kind of* badass, gets transferred from the real world dimension to the Avengers’ dimension, ends up helping to defeat Loki’s army of Chitauri.

Warnings: Swearing, Violence.

I’m writing the rest of this mini-series in 1st person.

————

The information hit me like a truck. I began to space out, taking shallow breaths. Finally, I broke from my trance and shook my head. How was this even possible? 

I reviewed my memories. Okay, so. A woman who looked exactly like me but older tried to kill me by pushing me off a building...wait. She was going to jump anyways...the portal must have been right off the building!

I grinned to myself at my realization, before an overwhelming sadness overtook me. What about Nana...? I sighed, and looked back up, defeated.

At least I knew the Avengers like the back of my hand. If it was 2012, and I’m in Stark tower, and not Avengers Tower, and Pepper seems to be with Tony, than this must be around the time of the first Avengers movie. I stood up. I probably shouldn’t fangirl anymore about this. I decided to wait until later to tell Tony about my dimension traveling. But whatever happens, I needed to stay with the Avengers. Because if anyone could help me figure this out, it would be them. 

First, I needed to find out how long I had until Tony joins in the fight to stop Loki. I stood from the bed, slightly dizzy. With a large step, I made my way to the door. Placing my hand on the door handle, I turned it slightly and pushed open the door. On the other side, was a long, white walled hallway that led to the elevator. To my left was a stretch of hallway that led to another doorway.

Quickly, I made my way towards the door and quietly, I opened it. On the other side was Tony Stark’s penthouse, but it was extremely dark, save for the lit hologram screen of Tony’s computer. I cautiously made my way inside, when I noticed Pepper, standing at Tony’s desk, starring at me wide eyed.

I slowly shut the door, and offered a cheeky smile. 

“I thought I told you to tell JARVIS to come and get me?” She asked. 

I stopped for a moment. “Well, uh, you did. I just...didn’t listen.” 

She smirked. “You remind me of Tony.” I grinned. I didn’t quite know how to take that. 

I walked a bit further into the room. “So, you ready to go home?” She asked. I bit my lip.

“Well, see that’s the thing.” I stated. I guess I’d be telling them after all. “I- I don’t have a place to go...” I muttered.

Pepper tilted her head. “Hm? What was that?”

I took a prolonged breath. “I don’t have a place to go!” I blurted. Pepper looked at me with raised eyebrows. 

“Oh.”

I sighed, and slumped against the wall. “Well, you can stay here until Tony comes back. He’s just getting the tower ready to run on the Arc Reactor.” I nodded. 

“It’ll work.” I mumbled. She tilted her head, and smiled. 

“I like you’re optimism.” 

I shrugged, and slid down the wall, sitting on the floor cross-legged. Then, I heard Tony’s voice over Pepper’s screen. My heart practically leapt out of my chest at hearing it. I mean, yeah. I get it, I’ve heard it before. But never in a million years would I expect to hear his voice in real life.

The two talked for a moment, as the lights suddenly flickered on, and I got  good look around. Pepper was still talking, and I glanced out the window to see something red and shiny flying toward us. I swallowed my fears and stood up quickly. 

I rubbed my eyes, and watched as the suit landed on the landing pad, Tony’s robots getting to work on taking off his suit. I stared on in awe. 

Tony entered the room, and glanced towards me momentarily, as I fidgeted with my hands.

“Levels are holding steady, I think.”

Tony smirked. “Of course they are, I was directly involved. Which brings me to my next question: how does it feel to be a genius?” 

I watched the two curiously, already knowing what was going on. But a few minutes later, I couldn't help but laugh at the situation. Tony glanced to me. 

“Oh, who do we have here?” He asked. I froze, completely shocked he had even mentioned me. Pepper smiled. 

“This is [Y/n], the girl I found outside, remember?” Tony looked towards Pepper.

“Yeah. I remember.” Tony then looked back at me. “Why are you still here though?” He asked, rather harshly.

I shrugged. “Beats me, Mr. Stark.” I decided to throw in a reference he would never understand, at least not yet. Tony raised an eyebrow. “I’m still wondering why I’m even here in the first place.” I crossed my arms.

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I like you, or hate you.”

I let a casual smirk fall on my lips. “Hate’s a strong word, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony looked slightly annoyed by my attitude. Perfect.

 Tony decided to ignore me, and went back to talking with Pepper, while I walked towards the window, and stared out, examining this dimension’s New York, which wasn't all that different. 

Then, JARVIS came through the line. “Sir, the telephone. I’m afraid my protocols are being overwritten.”

“Stark, we need to talk.” My heart jolted at Coulson’s voice, and I frowned. I still can’t get over how sad his death was. I turned away again, not paying much attention to the conversation, until Phil came out of the elevator. 

“Phil! Come in!” Pepper exclaimed, getting up to greet him. 

I smiled as I mouthed along to Tony’s words. “Phil? Uh his first name is Agent.” I giggled. Tony turned and pointed a finger at me. “You, need to stay quiet. This is adult talk. No giggling.”

I snorted and nodded. I watched the exchange, examining everything. If this was a one time thing, I want to embrace the moment as much as possible. I sighed, slightly excited to join the Avengers on their mission. No matter how much I hate Loki in this movie, I know it wasn't him. But still, I needed to help defend the earth, and they could use another pair of hands, no matter how small.

Then, I heard Phil acknowledge me. “Uh, who’s the kid?” Phil asked awkwardly.

I smiled. Tony sent me a glare. “She’s nobody.”

“Uhm, excuse m-”

“Ah! What did I say?” 

I crossed my arms again. “No giggling. I wasn't, I was talking, smart guy.”

Tony sighed, and turned around, visibly aggravated.

I tuned out once again, going back into my own little world of thoughts, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I jumped dimensions. Then Tony and Pepper made their way back to the computer. 

Then, they kissed, and I audibly gagged, despite how much I shipped the two. PDA was just gross. Tony shot me another dirty glare. I stuck my tongue out childishly, and placed my hand on my hip.

He rolled his eyes. Pepper said her goodbyes, and left with Phil, without further explanation. Tony looked over the Tessaract, worriedly, he then started working a bit, and talking to, presumably, himself.

Then he turned his head. “So, when exactly are you leaving?” 

I sighed. “Uhm, I’m 15, Mr. Stark, not 22. I can’t just walk around at Night.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Seriously, can I call you’re parents?”

“My parents are dead.”

I stated, emotionlessly. 

Tony looked on with wide eyes. “Oh.”

“Since I don’t have anywhere to go, you’re officially my supervisor.” 

“Uh, no. Where I’m going, will get you killed. You’re going home.”

“I don’t have a home, so I’m going with you!” I argued. 

Tony shook his head. “Listen, Kid, you’re not cut out for what’s happening. It’s better if you don’t know.”

I laughed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yes, I do actually. I know you’re a 15 year old girl, who does not want to get herself involved in this.”

I rolled my eyes, rather aggressively. “But, I do, Mr. Stark. The Avengers are the only people who can help me!”

Tony stopped. “Wait, how do you know about the Avengers?” He asked.

I leaned forward, using my arms to gesture where he was when he was talking earlier. “Because you were talking about it right in front of me!” I yelled. 

Tony pursed his lips. “Okay, okay, this is fine.” He took in a sharp breath. “Why exactly do you need our help? What, you want an autograph?”

I groaned. I couldn't tell him yet. It needed to be everyone. “No, I don’t want an autograph, Mr. Stark. I need- I just...I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Because you won’t believe me. At least, not yet.”  Tony looked confused. “What do you mean, not yet?” 

“I know everything that will happen, alright! I know about Loki, and the Tesseract! I know the outcome, and I know everything!” I exclaimed. 

Tony stopped. “So, you can see the future...?” 

I sighed. “Yeah, something like that...I guess....” 

“You, guess? You either can, or can’t.”

I threw my hands into the air in defeat. “I don’t know! I can’t see the future, I just know, because- I can’t tell you yet!” 

Tony sighed. “Okay, fine.”

“Great!”

“But, you have to understand that what I’m going to do, is extremely dangerous.”

I crossed my arms, giving him a challenging look. “Oh, I know.” I smirked. “My dad was in the FBI. We trained everyday, on hand-to-hand combat. I know how to operate several types of firearms, I know how to weild a katana, courtesy of my mom, I can use knives, know how to safely use a grenade, and have almost killed several people. On accident of course, I was only defending myself.”

Tony looked partially astonished, and partially scared. I pulled out my pocket-knife, and threw it in the air, gracefully catching it in my palm as I flicked it open. 

“See?” I was smiling now, and Tony let out a single breathy chuckle. 

“It seems you’re more than qualified then.” 

I smiled proudly. “I know.”

“You’re really making me sick of the sentence ‘I know’, by the way.” 

I shrugged, and put my pocket-knife away. “So! When do we start?”

“Tomorrow.” He paused. “Can you jump from buildings?”

I nodded slightly. “If they aren’t extremely high, I guess. And, y’know, won’t get me killed.”

“I make no promises.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.” I looked around awkwardly. “You do have weapons for me, right? I can use basically anything. A stick will do.”

Stark looked to me, “Kid, I got weapons. You don’t have to use any sticks.” He chuckled. “You said you can use a grenade?” 

I smiled mischievously. “O-ho, yeah!”

————

I dunno, did I make this one too short? 

You can ask to be tagged when the next chapter comes out!

Tags: 

@amillionworlds

@ewitsceleste

[sigritandtheelves]

I know you just poste but... PLEASE MORE!!! (whenever you can, this not ment for pressuring you, this is to let you know i love simple and can't stop reading it)

💗

Simple

Chapter 8

Other Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

M | 3.3k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: There’s some uncustomary angst here, but nothing too heavy. The good news is, it feels like the story has an actual emotional arc now. 😂

_+_

Wednesday - Stanford

He didn’t call her on Monday, after her terrible day, or on Tuesday, when she really hoped he would. On Wednesday morning before her flight, she tried his apartment, but got only his machine. She left him a message.

“Hi, it’s me. I guess you’re not back yet from your case. My flight gets in in at 7:30 tonight, and they’re putting me up in a hotel downtown, the, um… Hotel Harrington. I guess it’s just around the corner from the Hoover building. Anyway, I hope the case is going well, and, ah… I’ll talk to you soon.”

She hung up and tried not to be disappointed. She reminded herself that he was busy, that he was saving people’s lives, that he could even be in a dangerous situation for all she knew. Dana would not be the jealous type: not of his job and not of his partner. She would do some reading on the plane and she would wear her good suit tomorrow, and she would make a strong impression at the FBI, even if Fox couldn’t be there. So she ignored the mild ache in her heart, the sense that everything was somehow turning sour. She wasn’t even sure why she worried. Because she couldn’t reach him? Because recruitment by the FBI seemed too good to be true? She didn’t believe in signs and omens. She wasn’t Melissa.

Dana double checked her light switches and plugs and gave her single, sickly plant a final splash of water. Suitcase in hand, Dana locked up and went down to meet her cab.

—

Friday - Baltimore

Melissa Scully returned home later than she’d wanted. There had been a difficult case involving a drug-addicted mother and disputed custody: a grandmother trying to keep two sweet-faced children fed and looked-after. As she hung her coat and scarf, pushing down the static of her hair and stepping out of her shoes, she noticed something different in the feel of the house. Its air seemed thicker, and not just with the warm smell of dinner. Then, voices from the kitchen: a visitor.

“Sam?”

The voices quieted and Sam called out, “I’m here.”

There were two familiar bags beside the stairs, but she was still surprised to see Dana perched on a stool, slump-shouldered and tired-eyed. “Hi Missy,” she said.

Melissa felt her mouth drop open. “Dana? Oh my god, are you okay? What are you doing here?”

Dana tried to smile, but her lips trembled, and Missy quickly enveloped her sister in a hug. Dana melted bonelessly into the embrace and breathed in deep. So much fear, she sensed. And an angry wad of shame, balling itself up inside of her. Something must have happened.

Over Dana’s head, Melissa looked to Samantha. What is it? she mouthed, but Sam just made a face that said, I don’t know.

“Day,” she said again. “What’s up?”

Dana shook her head, red hair turning to fuzz against Melissa’s shoulder, words muffled into her sweater. “I took the train from DC. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have changed the ticket, but I thought he’d be there.”

“Who, Fox?”

A nod.

Missy looked again to Samantha, who shrugged and then waved her hands at the sisters, shooing them out of the kitchen to talk in private. Melissa tugged on her sister’s arm. “Come on,” she said. “Couch.”

Dana refused to cry while the whole story came out: Daniel (a name she hadn’t known before this) first spying on them during Fox’s surprise visit, and then confronting her with threats and accusations; her recruitment by the FBI; her fear about their father’s reaction; and finally Fox, promising to be here, or at least to call, but then leaving on a case and not returning her messages for days.

“I know it’s not his fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have changed the ticket without talking to him, but I would have hated to not change it and have wasted the opportunity for time together.”

“You mean your plane ticket?”

“Yeah,” Dana said. “I’m flying back Sunday.” She looked up at Melissa, eyes wide and blue and sorry. “Can I stay here until then? I don’t want to have to explain to mom and dad.”

Melissa sighed and drooped an arm around her little sister. “Of course,” she said. “But you know you’ll have to tell them soon, right? I mean, did the recruitment go well?”

Dana nodded. “It did. It’s actually really exciting. Scary, but in a good way.”

A little squeeze around the shoulders. “Then let’s be excited. Let’s have a beer and some dinner and I’ll read your cards and then we can watch sad movies, hmm? A cry always helps. You can sleep ’til noon tomorrow.”

Dana laughed and nodded and they went back to the kitchen where Sam was hanging up the phone, a little too quickly.

“Who was that?” Melissa asked, eyes narrowed with a skepticism all the Scullys could do.

“No one,” she said, again too quickly, and began handing them plates piled with vegetables and rice and tofu.

—

Saturday - Alexandria

It was a short flight, but it had been a long week, when Fox Mulder finally unlocked the door to his apartment and dropped his bags on the floor at just after nine in the morning. He’d returned with more questions than answers, and a dead suspect, but the case was by all outward appearances (and filed paperwork), closed. Most of the answers he wanted would require military information, but all inquiries in that direction had been shut down right quick. Fox wiped a hand over his face and went to start a pot of coffee: the dinky cup on the plane had done little to relieve his week-long headache. Good work it may have been, but the non-answers at the end of walking in circles didn’t leave him with much sense of closure. The worst was that Diana had set up long hours of stake-outs throughout the first half of the week, and by the time he’d gotten to a phone with his calling card, he got no answer at Dana’s apartment. He’d missed her before she left, and he didn’t know where she was staying to call her once she got here.

While the coffee pot dripped, he went to his answering machine where the number 6 was flashing at him in anxiety-inducing red. First was a call from his landlord, reminding him about some work on the smoke detectors. Then one from Dana, letting him know about her flight and her hotel—he grabbed a pen and paper to take down the name, but then realized it was Saturday and that he’d probably already missed her. “Shit,” he said. Then her voice came back in a second message from early yesterday morning:

��Hi again. I’m sorry to bug you. Just an update: I’m touring Quantico and the labs this morning and then I was supposed to have an afternoon flight home, but…” There was a brief pause, and her voice was a bit cooler when it returned. “I’ll be checked out of the hotel in a few minutes. I’m sorry I missed you.” And then a quick click and the message was over. But what? He thought. “Goddamnit,” he murmured. He had fucked this one up good. She’d been here, just minutes away from where he now stood, and then at the same airport he’d flown into less than an hour ago. But they’d missed each other like ships in the night.

Two more messages played, first a hang-up, and then an automated call offering new long-distance pricing. He took a deep breath and started to do the math on when he could reasonably make a call to California, when his sister’s voice emerged from the machine in its final message:

“Fox, you dope. Your girl is here and she looks pretty fucking sad. What did you do? She flies home late Sunday morning. Don’t be an idiot,” and then the click of the receiver as Sam hung up in a hurry.

A smile spread out over his face as his heartbeat caught up to his mind’s realization. He hadn’t missed her. She’d just gone to Baltimore (and not told him). He could be there before noon. Fox barely waited for the machine to stop dripping before he sloshed some coffee into a travel mug, grabbed his keys, and ignored his still-packed bags on his way out the door. He thought maybe he could still salvage this mess of a week.

—

Saturday traffic in February wasn’t bad, but he may have committed a few minor misdemeanors on his way. He pulled up in front of his sister’s house at 11:48, swallowing the last of his now-lukewarm coffee. He thought for a moment, popped a mint into his mouth, then hurried for the front door. He was going to scoop Dana up, take her back to his place (six hours of travel today be damned) and make love to her until they both fell asleep from exhaustion. When they woke, he would feed her (preferably by hand, preferably naked) and listen to every single minute of her life over the past week.

“Oh hey,” Samantha said as she opened the door, looking smug. “Got my message?”

“I did,” he said. “Is she here?”

Sam stepped back to let him enter. “Mmhmm. Couch.” He was already walking toward the living room, but Samantha caught his arm before he could plow past her. Her eyes were brown and serious. “She’s had a week, Fox. Be gentle, okay?”

He frowned at that, a little confused. “Okay,” he said, wondering if the recruitment hadn’t gone well, if some jackass had said something to her. God knew there were enough sexist pricks at the FBI.

In the living room, Dana was curled around a throw pillow on the couch, eyes glued to the TV, freckled and beautiful and still in pajamas. Fox stood awkwardly a moment in the doorway before she caught sight of him and her eyes went wide.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, pushing herself up to sit.

He smiled, letting the warmth of her proximity wash over him. “Hey you.”

“You came back. I thought… How’d you know I was here?”

He pulled off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair. “Sam left me a message. Mind if I sit?”

She shook her head and shifted to make room. He lowered himself beside her and hooked his index finger over her pinky, gave it a little tug. Something seemed off, he noticed. She seemed… hesitant, a little less excited than he’d hoped. He thought of Sam’s warning: be gentle.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment of her fiddling with his fingers with her left hand: rubbing them, staring down as if she were nervous.

“For what?”

He tugged again at her hand, trying to get her to look at him. “For missing your calls.”

Dana shrugged and moved her eyes to the coffee table, to the remains of her breakfast cereal and a worn paperback. “You were working, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have… anyway, it doesn’t matter. How was your case?”

“Frustrating. Too long. Hey.” With that, she finally looked at him, and he could swear she looked afraid. Fox raised his hand to her cheek and was relieved when she leaned into it. “Tell me about you.” He leaned in and touched his nose to hers. She smiled, just a little twitch of her lips, and it warmed his hopes. He braved a kiss, and she responded with a gentle pressure of her own lips. There she was. “Hello,” he said with another little kiss. “I missed you,” he murmured, and he let his fingers toy at the hem of her top. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“Hi,” she said. “I missed you, too. And it’s okay.”

“Were you sufficiently wooed by the FBI?”

Dana smiled again. “I think so. I toured the Hoover Building first. Very impressive. Many important men in suits.”

“Hmm, yes.”

“And then the labs at Quantico.”

“And?”

“Amazing.”

“They let you slice up any dead bodies?”

Dana sighed, in mock regret. “Unfortunately no. I brought my own scalpel and everything, but I guess they want me to go through training first.”

Fox laughed and tugged her into his arms. She fell heavily against his chest with an “oomph” and a little laugh. He squeezed her tight, relieved at the warmth of her, here and solid and his. “And you will, you think? Go through training?”

She leaned her head back to look at him, and though she smiled, there was some distant and foggy look in her eyes. “Yeah,” she said.

—

The sight of him in the doorway should have overwhelmed her with joy, as it had three weeks ago when she’d found him waiting for her. But it was as if the earth had undergone a tectonic shift, or a tilt in its axis, that changed their orientations toward one another. Or hers toward him. She wasn’t sure. The feel of his palm on her cheek still set beating the small wings of her heart, but it was with anxiety now, as well as excitement. His lips on hers still felt exactly, perfectly right. And yet, she was afraid. Seeing FBI Headquarters, imagining herself there, stiff-backed and strong under the daily onslaught of authoritative men and their rigid expectations, was a thing difficult enough. Imagining him there, too, as one of those wielders of authority,  who could sway the opinion of those who judged her… He could touch her in a hallway out of only affection and accidentally ruin her.

(Are you fucking him to get a place there?)

Daniel’s voice was a poison in her memory that she tried to shove away. But her recruitment by the FBI changed them, she realized. It gave Fox a kind of power over her she hadn’t considered at first, even if he would never use it. She would be, once again, sleeping with a colleague, and that recent burn still stung. Now, as she rested her head against his chest and felt his arms around her back, she wondered once again if she’d been too hasty with her affection. Take a step back, Dana. Armor yourself.

They both said goodbye to Melissa and Sam. She thanked them for the cozy room and dinner, and let Fox bring her back to his apartment. She was quiet on the ride, listening to him unravel the details of his case. She tried her best to offer words that didn’t want to come.

When they pulled up at his apartment building, Dana felt the tingle of nerves again, all the way into her fingers. She tried to carry her own bags, but he waved her away from the trunk. She bit her lip, surprised by her own irritation. This small gesture, meant with affection, now felt weighted down with assumptions and misguided chivalry. Inside, he juggled the bags and his keys to unlock the door. His apartment was much larger than hers, but a bit dim, even with the lights on. Well-decorated, though. Her lips twitched up at the sight of his fish tank. Fox nearly tripped over his own bags on the way in, then carried them all, waddling awkwardly, into his bedroom. When he came back, he stopped and stood before her, watching her watch him there in his foyer, still in her coat.

“I won’t bite,” he said after a moment, a little sheepish. “Mi casa, and all of that.”

She tried to smile, and tugged off her coat, hung it on the coat rack.

“Dana,” he said while she fiddled with the pockets and straightened the fabric. Slowly, she turned, and the worry on his face hurt her heart. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay. Sam said you had a week. Will you tell me?”

Dana closed her eyes and breathed. Telling him would mean explaining the situation with Daniel, the whole situation. And what would he think of her then? Fox stepped closer, and his fingers brushed her elbow.

No, she thought. She wouldn’t break in front of him. She wouldn’t cry and tell him about her mean ex and beg his comfort and let herself be held, she who had stupidly thought he might rush back to see her. He couldn’t want this much complication, not so soon, and she suddenly couldn’t imagine letting herself seem so weak in front of him. So she swallowed and put what she hoped was a smile on her face. “Work stuff was stressful, that’s all. Because I had to take the three days off.” She tucked hair behind her ear and tried that smile again, but she could see that he didn’t quite buy it. It wasn’t a lie, she thought, not exactly—the trip had set off some trouble… which had unfolded at work. “And I’m not great at flying,” she added. “Cross-country trips stress me out a bit.”

Fox nodded, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “Okay,” he said, and ushered her into his living room with his hand on her back. His fish tank burbled and his couch was green. She sat down on it and looked out over his desk through the window. “Should I order us some lunch? I don’t have much here.”

“Okay,” she said, not looking back from the window. “That sounds good.”

So they ate in unfamiliar awkwardness, their noodles and egg-drop soup and chicken, and Dana felt she had maybe ruined everything. Here was this man who seemed to genuinely like who she was, not who she might be or who he wanted her to be, and she would either ruin it all with her neediness or push him away with her coldness. Dana swallowed a lump of baby corn that felt like a brick in her esophagus, knowing suddenly that she had done wrong. She had loved too much too soon at a time when she was too unsettled. Now, she was sure, they would suffer for it.

They spent the afternoon watching TV, and she clung to him wide-eyed, face against the warm cotton of his shirt, while he kissed her head and she convinced herself this might be the last time they shared this kind of quiet comfort. He hummed pleasantly against her scalp while she fought back tears he never saw. They took a walk to a small park down the street, and she twined her fingers around his like they were a lifeline, like they could save her from ruining this.

Shouts echoed on the playground until clouds purpled the sky. Children on skateboards and bikes wheeled home to their dinners, and soon she and Fox turned back, too. When it grew late, they swallowed leftovers and she curled into his bed in the dark. His fingers found her. His words poured into her ear: Dana, you feel so good, while skimmed his heavy palms over her body and she pressed her flesh to his. He slipped her panties down, and god she wanted him to, more than anything. She was glad of the dark that hid the depth of her love and sadness: the crease in her forehead, the wobble of her lips. She moaned into his clavicle, arched against his fingers, spread her legs and accepted him inside of her, all while thinking she could not keep him.

At the airport, she managed not to cry, and if he mistook the shine of her eyes for the sadness of temporary partings, she did not correct him. Again, she wanted to tell him she loved him, but hadn’t the courage. He palmed her cheek and kissed her lips in that way he had, like he was holding a secret. “Call me when you get in,” he whispered. And though she nodded (feeling ripped open, feeling hollowed out, feeling like she’d stepped on something beautiful in her clumsiness and broken it), she did not.

— end chapter eight —

Go to Chapter 9

[last-thing-i-knew]

The Addict Addicted To A Memory.

The world’s a cold place. We spend our days trying to fill that empty void we call our hearts so that we feel something, anything. But what do we really gain from trying? A smile? A half-hearted reply to a long awaited unasked question? Everyone has something different for the assorted voids they’re trying to fill.

    But what about me?

    I’m no sinner, and I’m definitely no saint. I like to think I’m on that fine line in-between and trust me. It’s a very very thin line.

    It started young, as most bad habits do. Maybe that’s why they say old habits die hard, because you’re obviously not getting any younger. 

    My bad habit started as a drag of poorly rolled cigarette behind the school bleachers at a freshman football game. Correction, it was just a highschool football game, but I was a freshman. It continued on from there.

    Eventually, the nicotine wasn’t enough. Wasn’t enough to help me through my parents divorce, my father disappearing, my girlfriend cheating on me. It just wasn’t enough, but for awhile, percocet was. 

    For a little medicinal information; percocet is a heavily addictive pill commonly prescribed for moderate to severe pain. Say a major surgery. Did I forgo any of those major surgeries. Well no, but my brother did. A little legality information; it’s heavily illegal, but surprisingly easy to collect pills prescribed for another. Especially someone in your close family. The only downside? I mean, besides being addicted to a painkiller. The tolerance builds quickly and you’re after another fix before the first one even wears off. 

    After percocet it was more prescription painkillers, more cigarettes. More… Recreational activities. Needless to say I was not in a good place, but you wouldn’t know it. 

    I was exceptionally good at hiding this bad habit. I mean, as good as a lowly teenager from the wrong side of the tracks could be. The older I got the worse the habit became, the harder it became to hide. I mean, how long can you actually go hiding an addiction to prescription painkillers? For me? 6 years. I was 20 by the time my mother noticed and tried to do something about it. And I listened… For 7 months.

I went to rehab, I followed their schedule, their daily life. And my god, I was miserable.

Even there, surrounded by “sunshine and rainbows” as my hallmate would call the daily ‘happy’ life that we lived there, I was still searching for some sort of fix.

My therapist, the one they prescribed me because they thought I was numbing the pain with painkillers for an emotional reason. I suppose in a way I was, but then. 

Then I met her.

Blonde hair, pink streak on her right side, grey eyes and the brightest smile I’d seen in years. A smile without pain, eyes without tears. 

Who was she?

I would often ask myself this as I watched her bring bouquets of flowers to the assorted patients throughout the building. 

I surprised my head nurse Clint one day. “Who is she?” I had asked, calmly. 

His head jerked up so quickly from beside my bed to stare at me with owl esque wide eyes. “Who is who?” He questioned back.

I pointed at her through the glass wall that seperated my room from many others in the hall. A small smile graced his lips as he looked at me. “That’s Mia, she comes here often to bring everyone flowers. We’ve found it makes everyones stay a little more bearable.”

“Mia.” I said, my head tilting as Clint handed me my medical book. “How long has she been coming here?”

He looked at the ceiling momentarily before shrugging. “She started coming here when she was 16 so four or five years I’d have to say.” He said, taking the book away after I had filled out everything necessary.

I nodded, settling back into my bed as I watched her smile at me through the glass and offering a small and brief wave. 

That’s how it went for a few months. Clint would come in the afternoon, having me fill out that damn booklet while Mia came in with a new coloured streak in her hair every week and she and I made faces at each other through the glass. Until one day, Clint handed me a new booklet.

“You’re out of here.” He had said, smiling proudly as I looked at him alarmed.

“What do you mean?” I had asked, as I looked at the booklet in front of me.

“You’re done. You finished the treatment course, you haven’t wanted anything for months. Your doctor has decided you’re clear.”

That’s when I realised. I was finally cut loose, I was free. And as soon as I set foot out of those doors, I couldn’t help but think. “When am I going to see her again?” 

I stayed with my mother for a few weeks while I started a new job, a few months more as I searched for an apartment until one day. I stumbled upon a museum I was not aware my town had. It was small, but full of brightly coloured artwork. Done by the towns artists and I was immediately drawn into one painting in the center of the building. 

It was simple, yet complex enough to force the viewer to constantly move their line of view to a new detail of the piece. Colourful, yet missing the saturation that our eyes desired to see. There was something different about this piece comparatively to every other piece in the red bricked building. 

Every Friday, from open to close on my day off, I’d sit in front of that painting on the bench and read, or make new observations of that painting. I’d stare for hours, noting in a journal how it made me think. 

How soft it was, but how sharp the detail portrayed the subject.

The pastels that seemed too bright to be considered anything but what they really were. 

Then the painting changed. 

It was no longer the simple yet complex piece I’d come to love seeing every Friday afternoon.

It was now a glob. A glob of colour with no real definition. I asked one of the employees after I’d searched high and low for the painting that I’d come so used to seeing.

“It got shipped off mate, ‘m sorry.” He’d told me.

Panic started ringing in my ears. “What do you mean?” A phrase I’d spoken way too often as of late.

“It got shipped back to the artist, she didn’t want it displayed anymore. It’s been up for months.” He said simply before walking away, pausing at the doorway. “Her information is in the lobby if you’re that curious.” 

I took off before he was even finished. Desperate to find out what happened to the piece. “The flower painting that’s been up since I’ve been coming here. Where has it gone?” I asked the lobby employee.

She sighed, reaching into a seemingly never ending drawer and pulling out a simple white card. “Ask her, she requested it back.” 

I took the card gratefully, leaving quickly to call the number on the back of the card.

“Hello?” A quiet voice answered, hoarse with sleep. 

“The flower painting, where has it gone?” I ask, nervous to not find an answer.

“It’s been shipped to the rehab facility.” The voice answers grimly.

I quickly mutter my thanks and a goodbye as my feet are already moving towards the beige building in the distance. 

The building’s as cold as I remember as I walk in, familiar faces wave as I walk past them to get to the front desk. Stopping cold when I see it. 

My hand’s touching the frame before I realise it, a small placard screwed into the wall beside it.

In caring memory of Mia, we’ll miss your flowers and sunshine smile. 

“Gorgeous isn’t it? Mia said she wanted us to have it, we didn’t know why at the time.” Clint’s voice comes from behind me as I force myself to look at him.

“What happened?” I ask as I look back at the painting finally seeing the small scrawl of Mia in the corner written in black paint. 

“Overdose. Can’t trust everything you see apparently.”

And like that. My addiction was gone.

[fmdaidynnarchived]

hey everybody! it’s chyann back with another child (you can also find me over as yoona), this time a boy named SONG JAEBEOM aka AIDYNN and he is one of the LEAD RAPPERS of CHARM. he’s an absolute sweetheart with a pretty messed up past, a hundred and one secrets, andcommitment issues a mile long but he’s kind of got his life together. i’m still working on his profiles, but for now here is his BIO and PROFILE and below the cut i’ve provided a basic overview and some potential plots! if you’re interested in plotting with him just like this or message me. if it’s easier for you, you can add me on discord and we can talk there ( chy#6149 ).

tw: drug addiction, alcohol, homelessness, car accident, parent death, toxic/abusive relationship, overdose

↳ let’s start with some more positive parts of him before we get into the bad parts

↳ he would never consider his childhood terrible because even though a lot of it sucked, he was having fun in between all of that

↳ an honestly super nice and laid back person, and still the life of the party.  his temper calmed down after he got clean though he’s left with some memory issues.  extremely detached and desensitized emotionally (more on that in a minute)

↳ has an extremely sweet smile and charm to him that makes it easy for him to get along with just about anybody

↳ decided he wanted to pursue something with music when he was fourteen after some friends got him involved in the underground rap scene in daegu

↳ the biggest thing he struggled with when becoming a trainee was that he was actually on a specific schedule he had to follow because that was something he had never had to do

↳ very private about everything in his life

↳ looks past the bad parts of life and focuses on the good

↳ tends to snack a lot in secret and take lots of naps

↳ his favorite pass time is drawing, and he’s very good at it

↳ second favorite pass time is cracking lame jokes that are sometimes funny

↳ if his sister and niece are the number one people in his life, all of the other charm members are a close second

↳ gives the greatest advice

↳ now we’re onto the bad parts

↳ he’s the youngest of two children, both of his parents were teenagers when he and his older sister were born. neither of them was fit to be parents seeing as both were drug addicts, alcoholics, homeless, and in-and-out of jail

↳ despite not being raised in the best environment he managed to be a pretty normal, happy, talkative, friendly, and outgoing child

↳ it was no surprise that by the time he was a teenager he was participating in the lifestyle his parents and sister led and easily transitioned into being the life of the party

↳ there was never really an effort made to try and get him to stay away from the drugs or alcohol and the things that would come with it, at least until he was a bit older and it was too late

↳ he didn’t struggle with academics, he just never cared enough to show up to have the grades to show for it and would have gladly dropped out if his sister wouldn’t have murdered him for doing so

↳ he was usually getting in some type of trouble, either with the law or at school because he would get in fights and had a bad temper after he got hooked on a wide variety of drugs, starting at thirteen

↳ when he was (barely) fourteen he started dating a girl who was six years older than he was who only pushed his drug addiction further and had a thing for putting her cigarettes out on him.  the relationship was extremely toxic and abusive yet he didn’t break up with her until he was eighteen, a few months before debuting. before that he would frequently sneak out to go see her

↳ he ended up overdosing for the first time later that year; the second time happened three months before he auditioned for bc. he tried to get clean after both times but the detox hurt a lot and he would always be persuaded back into using

↳ not really interested in ever seriously dating again and now just has frequent hookups and fwbs. he’s very straightforward about this

↳ also really doesn’t understand how bad that relationship actually was

↳ his parents died in a car accident in early april 2015 after they crashed a car they stole while being under the influence; never really told anyone about it

↳ his sister and his four-year-old niece are the most important people in his life like i mentioned and he’d do absolutely anything for them. made the decision to finally get clean two months after charm debuted because he wanted to be a good role model for his niece and because his sister begged him to. they are his main motivation for staying away from the more intense drugs.

↳ started smoking marijuana again in 2017, though he’s trying to quit that again along with cigarettes

↳ hid his drug addiction from everyone possible and therefore nobody around him knew he was getting clean and it seemed like he had suddenly just got extremely sick 

possible plots to fill

childhood friends from daegu

people he hooks up with on occasion, on and off flings, etc... (male or female; jihoon)

his best friend outside of charm

fwb or even enemies with benefits (male or female; guanyu, eunah, nahee, hana - open to more)

someone who opened up to about trying to get clean and helped him through his detox when he was getting clean (probs a charm member; hanbyul)

rap buddies

rap mentor (debuted before 2015, preferably bc)

someone who judged him hardcore after he opened up to them about his past struggles with addiction

sunbaenim that assisted him in adjusting to being an idol/took him under their wing (duri)

not much of a talker or sharer but he’s got great advice and doesn’t really have a whole lot of room to judge so he’ll listen to your problems

a guy who helped him explore his sexuality (dean)

someone he used to fool around with that got upset when he said he would never want anything serious (male or female; namsoo, open to more)

casual drinking buddy (joonho - open to more)

someone he hates because they tried to be nosy and attempted to dig into his past (ash)

someone who is also trying to quit smoking cigarettes or marijuana (jihae)

the one and only person he told about his parents passing (once again, probs of charm member; dohyun)

a person he goes and hangs out with when he wants to relapse, whether they know that’s why he’s coming to them or not

someone who said he was their ideal type or bias in charm or vice versa, and either things are awkward or they’re now in a flirtationship

fan ships (either f/m or m/m; daisuke, open to more)

someone he picks up and brings home (sohee) when they’re drunk/high or vice versa

[yoonminfanfics]

ok. 24 fic spam with Canon!Yoonmin

The 100-Day Love Challenge by jeosheo (1/1 | T | 19k) fluff and angst, pining

For a variety show challenge, Jimin must tell Yoongi every day for 100 days that he loves him.

Let's get this shit started.

13 iconic Yoonmin moments by Sharleena  (1/1 | T | 12k) Fluff, little angst

the one where Taehyung sends Yoongi a video that shows the top 13 Iconic Yoonmin Moments, and suddenly Yoongi is way too aware of the way Jimin acts around him.

흰 여름 ('White Summer') by dawnstruck (6/6 | T |24k) Slow burn, mild angst

“Diversity,” Namjoon had said when he had explained the concept to them. “Learning to love yourself, no matter what.” “We already did that,” Yoongi had pointed out. “Literally the same title.” But Namjoon, when he looked at him, had seemed strangely bright and somber at the same time. “Not like this,” he had said.

Or, Jimin and Yoongi have to kiss for an MV. And deal with the fallout.

White Noise by rkatz (4/4 | E | 55k) Soulmates, pretend relationship.

In which the third time is not the charm, things are not, in fact, fine, and Min Yoongi did not sign up for any of this.

A yoonmin soulmates!AU

Deeply Addicted (to the Prison That is You) by chimminnie (1/1 | E | 33k) Fluff, smut, porn with plot

Yoongi becomes infatuated with Jimin's ass...and then falls for Jimin himself.

Inhibition by 102103 (1/1 | 6k) Angst

Yoongi is busy, Jimin is insecure, so Jimin decides to make himself busy.

Free Fall by reinvents (1/1 | T | 6k) Pining, Slow build.

it’s been a long time coming.

Hello, I'm Min Yoongi, and I'm not desperately in love with you. by       Giveme5minutes (1/1 | G | 13k) Fluff & Crack   

Where Yoongi is not so secretly pining after Jimin, Jimin is being very oblivious to his own feelings, Taehyung is very, very confused, and everyone else is just enjoying the show.   

Look It Up by indifferentyoongi (1/1 | T | 17k) getting together, crack.    

Yoongi stumbles on a "yoonmin" video while trying to find his most viewed fancam. Upon realizing the fans have noticed he tends to stare at Jimin, Yoongi becomes hyperaware of their interactions. Did the fans realize something he himself didn't even know?

No Ordinary Life by jonghyunslisterine (1/1 | T | 9k) Mutual pining, angst

The thing about falling in love is that it's not always convenient. The thing about falling in love is that sometimes it's impossible, especially when it's with your groupmate. 

Married to the Music by toomanybiasestocount (1/1 | 12k) Soulmates au, other kpop idols & ships mentioned

Soulmate au where your soulmate has the harmony to a melody written on your wrist. 

Take it Away (My Blood, Sweat, and Tears) by ashleyehet  (1/1 | T | 3k) Girl Bangtan, fluff and angst

Jimin has had a rough time with her period, but Yoonji is there to help ease the pain.            

My Favorite Firsts Are With You by SugaHime (10/10 | M | 3k) Mutual Pining, Eating Disorder. 

The first touch, first hug, first kiss...all of the firsts that build a relationship 

So fucking extra by RandomCupcake (3 parts | 49k) Crack, fluff, a little angst

A series of canon compliant fics centered on Yoonmin and the rest of Bangtan. Mostly crack, lots of fluf, ocassional angst and some smut.

for a different ending, try--- by kyokyou (1/1 | M | 35k) Slow Burn, Angst, Multiple ending

in all the ways yoongi and jimin end up together, there are other countless times that they don’t.

I want it, this love. by pooooooooky (1/1 | 2,813) Fluff

Jimin goes to bring Yoongi home from a late night at the studio.

Secrets by myrano (1/1 | 4,953) Depression, fluff & Angst

Jimin and Yoongi both weren't too fond of their past and when they developed feelings for each other they weren't just insecure about being in a relationship considering the fact that they're idols. 

Gotta Be Fate (if We're Under the Covers)  by embryonicgrip (1/1 | E | 7k) Mutual Pining, smut  

Jimin is excited to just sleep for a day and maybe catch up on some tv shows at the hotel.

That is, until they get to the new hotel they’re staying at, and he gets handed a room key that’s the same as Yoongi’s. Meaning, he and Yoongi will share a room and worse, he and Yoongi will have to share a bed.

“Why do I have to share with Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin complains. He’s managed to avoid it this whole trip which is really in his best interest if he wants to keep his raging heart boner for him hidden.

AKA my response to Yoonmin sharing a bed, 8 years too late.

Keep The Panties On by nochurproblem (8/8 | E | 26k) SMUT, light angst.

Jimin vaguely notices it's Yoongi's phone before his eyes actually focus on what's on the screen. Pale pink panties and thigh highs. Cat ears perched on a man's head and a collar around his neck adorning a little silver bell, lean body shamelessly exposed under Jimin's horrified gaze. He almost chokes on his salad, a hot high blush starting to rise from the back of his neck to his cheeks.

Who would have thought Min Suga of all people had a porn blog on tumblr.

You shine (in this pitch darkness) by LaryataDaftJustice (1/1 | M | 22k) Pining, Angst, Fluff Mental health issues.

"Yoongi is a study in repressed emotions, knows how to keep an imaginary umbrella with him at all times to fight off the dark clouds lurking above his head with the threat of rain. He's always prepared for the roll of thunder. The problem with that, he's found, is that no matter how sheltered you think you are from the storm, there's always some part of you that still gets wet."

Or the one where Yoongi has his own thunderstorms and Jimin seems unreachable.

And the Losers are... Actually the Winners by autumnjade (1/1 | T | 2k) Fluff.

BTS are camping for a Run BTS! episode. As usual, they play a game with a punishment for the losers: No sleeping bag or pillow for the night. Just a couple of flimsy blankets and a sleeping mat, in the smallest tent. Yoongi and Jimin end up tied for last place. They aren't happy. 

The One With All The Kissing (Goodnight) by BlankSkies (1/1 | G | 4k) Whiped!Yoongi, mutual pining

Yoongi now looks around to see many wide eyes, and a few dropped jaws directed at him. It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure, and redirects his gaze down to Jimin, who also wears a shocked expression but also a deep blush across his cheeks. Yoongi then begins to freak out again, because oh my god he did not just fucking do what he thinks he did.

"Did you just... kiss Jimin's cheek... and ask him to go to bed with you?" Taehyung is the first to break the silence, "Then call him Sunshine?"

Our hearts beat as one (when you’re in my arms) by xiaoeri (5/5 | E | 21k) Established relationship, Angst, Smut.

Yoongi and Jimin have been dating for what feels like forever. Their 8 year contract renewals are right around the corner and with their dating ban will be lifted. Yoongi is ready to tell the world how much he loves Park Jimin, but Jimin is terrified of the inevitable fallout from their coming out.

Fragile by wintermin (27/27 | M | 80k) Angst with happy ending, Suicide attempt, Mental Health issues, Slow burn

❝faking a smile is so much easier than explaining why you’re sad.❞

in which jimin is like a mirror and he’s breaking apart until the shards crumble at the member's feet.

That should keep yall busy.

-jaminie

[analisegrey]

Not only do we have the first bingo, but it’s a double bingo!

This piece is a retelling/continuation of this chapter from the story “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine (it’s not a problem)”. You don’t have to read that first, but you might want to :) 

Also, um, this one got a bit long. Oops?

@vanquisherofsnails asked: “Maybe Shiro and ‘Fighting off a villain given addiction?’ “

The most irritating part was that the Daell’i had thought they were helping.

Shiro had gone missing not long after they’d landed on the planet, and had been missing for three days before Allura found him. The Daell’i were mildly telepathic, and had been able to immediately sense something was off about Shiro; it wasn’t their fault, Allura supposed, that they didn’t have much experience with post-traumatic stress. It had been a cultural misunderstanding, though of incredible proportions.

They’d been attempting to treat him, to ‘fix his broken connections’ the whole time they’d had him. They’d meant well, and it was that fact, coupled with every bit of diplomatic training Allura possessed, that allowed her to maintain control of her temper when she finally located Shiro, sprawled out on a bed in the medical wing of a treatment facility, high out of his mind.

He didn’t look too worse for wear, but when she gently touched his shoulder, he arched up into it, a pleased rumble bubbling up out of his chest and a soft smile blooming on his face; while she had often wished he would relax, she’d have preferred a different set of circumstances. She sighed, and moved to slide her hands under his back and legs.

“Shiro, I’m going to pick you up, now; we need to get you back to the ship.” She paused a moment, concentrating as she shifted herself larger, and then hefted him up. She had been worried he might not do well being moved in his current state, but he took the transition well, rolling gently in to rest against her chest and stomach, and settling with a small smile as she began to move.

She was almost out of the room when he hummed, then slurred, “‘llura?”

Her hands tightened reflexively, and then relaxed.

“Yes, Shiro? How are you feeling?”

He looked like he was trying to answer, his mouth opening and closing a few times, but no sound came out.

“Shiro?”

“I feel....everything...” he breathed, his eyes slitting open, but unfocused.

She didn’t know what to say to that. He seemed alright, no signs of distress, but until they were back at the Castle and got him scanned, there was no way to be sure what exactly the Daell’i had done, whether this was chemical, telepathic, or some combination of both.

She was exiting the facility when she felt a gentle thump against her stomach. When she looked down, Shiro was gazing up at her, eyes still glazed, but his expression earnest.

“Yes, Shiro, what is it?”

“‘m fine, ‘llura, everything’s fine, don’ be upset.”

Allura snorted, a wave of fondness washing over her.

“You are most assuredly not fine. What you are is very intoxicated, which we shall deal with when we reach the Castle. Why don’t you close your eyes and rest? We will be there shortly.”

Shiro settled back into her arms, his eyes sliding closed. A small wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, but in another moment it had smoothed, and she felt him go limp in her arms, his breath deepening. He’d fallen asleep.

She was most of the way back to the Castle before Keith came running towards her, having noticed her approach.

“Is he...?”

“He’s alright, Keith, just sleeping. We need to get him to the infirmary to be checked over, though. I want a better idea of what they did.”

Keith turned, his face drawing down in a scowl, looking like he wanted to go wreak unholy terror on the settlement.

“They meant well, Keith, leave them be. We have other things to focus on.”

Keith grumbled under his breath, but followed after her as she swept into the Castle, heading straight for the infirmary.

Coran was waiting by a scanner bed when they arrived at the medbay, and helped her transfer Shiro down onto it; Allura was concerned that Shiro didn’t stir at all.

“Alright then, let’s see what we’ve got.”

Coran ran the scanner, and all three of them waited in tense silence for the results, with Shiro sleeping quietly between them. Allura was struck, not for the first time, by how young he looked. Without the tension he always carried in his waking hours, the constant furrow between his brows smoothed, he looked far younger than he usually did. Allura’s heart ached for him, and the other paladins, pulled so far from home at such a young age.

The scanner beeped, and Coran checked the readout.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. His vitals are strong, though some are lower than usual for him. That might be due to the sedating effect of whatever they did. From what I can tell, some of it was telepathic, and that should wear off shortly with little to no ill effect, but some of it was chemical in nature.” Coran looked over at where Shiro still slept. “They were probably giving him the drug since he was taken, and from the readings, and what we know of human biology, I think it likely that the process of coming off of it will be...unpleasant.”

Allura frowned. “What do you mean, exactly?”

From next to her, Keith muttered, “Withdrawal.”

“What?”

“On Earth, the group of symptoms that come from abruptly stopping a medication or drug is called withdrawal. It’s not fun.”

“But it won’t be dangerous, will it?”

Keith shrugged. “Hard to tell. Everyone reacts differently. But he might get pretty sick.”

“Well then.” Allura straightened a bit, smoothing down the front of her dress. “We’ll just have to help him through it.”

~~~~~***~~~~~

The first few vargas passed quietly, with Shiro remaining asleep in the infirmary. Coran had gone to check on Castle functions, and had told Allura and Keith to page him if they needed him.

Two and a half vargas in, and Shiro started to toss and turn, fussing under the light blanket Keith had covered him with earlier. Allura could see sweat starting to gather at Shiro’s temples, and she checked the readout on the medical scanner they’d kept running. Shiro’s temperature was elevating, as was his heart rate.

Keith got up and went to a cabinet, pulling down a couple of metal bowls and some small hand towels. He filled one of the bowls with cool water from the sink and brought everything back over to where Shiro was lying. He set them down on the tray table next to the bed, and dipped one of the folded towels into the water, wringing it out before wiping at Shiro’s face with it, and then leaving it on Shiro’s forehead.

“What’s the other bowl for?”

Keith glanced over at Allura. “In case he needs to throw up.”

“Oh.”

It was a good thing Keith was there, Allura thought later, because she’d have been at something of a loss. Keith was holding the previously empty bowl for Shiro while she helped Shiro stay mostly upright as his stomach heaved. Shiro looked abjectly miserable, sweat-dampened hair hanging limply over his eyes, looking far too pale to be healthy. She tried rubbing his back, like she’d seen Keith do when Shiro had first bolted upright out of a dead sleep looking panicked. Shiro’s shoulders dropped slightly, then hunched back up again as he gagged over the bowl.

Another few moments went by without incident, and Keith murmured, “Done?”, and Shiro nodded his head tiredly. Keith handed him a water packet, letting Shiro rinse his mouth out before moving away to deal with the bowl while Allura helped Shiro sip some of the water, then lie down again.

“How are you feeling?”

Shiro wrinkled his nose. “Ugh.”

Allura snorted a laugh despite herself, and Shiro scowled up at her.

“I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but just...your face…”

Shiro closed his eyes, sighing, voice scratchy. “No, I get it. The poor black paladin, on his deathbed, the leader of Voltron brought low. I can see how that would be hilarious.”

Keith came back over with the newly cleaned bowl, setting it down. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s not your deathbed. You’ll be fine.”

Shiro pouted, and Allura had to admit he did look rather awful. “I don’t feel like I’ll be fine.”

Allura reached up and brushed Shiro’s bangs up off his forehead so Keith could more easily wipe at his face with a cool cloth again. Shiro’s eyes slid closed.

“See? She’s nice. With the hair, and carrying…”

“What?” Keith was about to lay into Shiro, to ask who he thought was wiping his face with a towel when he realized Shiro had passed out in the middle of his sentence. “Typical.”

Allura looked away, barely bothering to hide her smile.

When she had control of her expression she turned back to watch Keith as he worked, switching out the cloths on Shiro’s forehead every few minutes as they warmed up.

“He will be alright, though, won’t he?”

Keith glanced up at her. “Yeah. He might not feel like it for a few days, but he’ll live.”

~~~~~***~~~~~

Another couple of vargas passed, and Allura sent Keith to take a shower, get something to eat, and take a brief nap. She knew he wanted to tend to Shiro the whole time, but if this was going to take a few days, breaks were going to be important. She finally convinced him to go by pointing out that once Shiro was feeling better, if he found out that Keith had run himself into the ground on his behalf, there would be no end to the guilt he’d feel. So Keith went, promising not to be gone too long, 2 or 3 vargas at most.

She had taken Keith’s spot near the top of the bed, and was switching out one of the compresses when Shiro made a pained noise in the back of his throat. Allura froze.

“Shiro?”

For a moment, she didn’t think he was awake, but then she caught the glint of his eyes, they were barely open, still mostly slitted closed. She put a careful hand on his cheek. “Shiro, can you hear me?”

Shiro shifted, another whine of discomfort working its way out of him, and Allura frowned. She finished changing out the compress, and checked the monitor again. She hissed in dismay when she realized his temperature had jumped another few points. The compresses weren’t going to be enough, soon.

“Baachan?” Shiro’s voice sounded small and lost.

“No, Shiro, it’s...I’m Allura. Do you know where you are?”

Shiro opened his eyes wider, but they were glazed, unfocused, and Allura wasn’t sure how well he was tracking.

“What...where’s baachan?” Shiro started pushing up from the bed, heedless of the blanket he was tangled in. “She should be here.”

Allura’s heart gave another painful twist as she reached out to catch Shiro’s arm, stopping him from getting up. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. Why don’t we stay here to wait for her?” Shiro paused, looking confused.

“Wait?”

Allura nodded, gently but firmly urging him to lay back down, pulling the blanket back up to his chest. “Yes, why don’t we wait for her here.” She reached to the side table and grabbed a hydration packet. “Would you like something to drink while you wait?”

Shiro blinked at the packet, like he wasn’t sure what it was, and it occurred to her that if he was delirious, he might not remember. Allura stuck the straw into the packet, and held it out to him. He took it, and warily sipped at it, seeming surprised when he found water inside. He made quick work of the packet, and by the time he was handing it back to her, it looked like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Why don’t you try to rest a bit more, Shiro?”

“‘kashi…”

“What was that?”

Shiro’s eyes were already fully closed, and he was nuzzling his face into the pillow. “’s Takashi. Lemme know when she gets here?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” And with that, Shiro passed out again. When she checked the monitor display, it seemed that his temperature hadn’t risen further, even if it wasn’t dropping yet. She got more cool water, made a new compress, and sat to wait.

Half a varga later Keith returned, and she was so relieved she couldn’t find it in her to scold him for coming back so quickly.

“How’s he doing?”

“He woke up briefly a short while ago, but he was very confused. I got him to drink some water and then he fell asleep again. His temperature has dropped somewhat, so I’m hopeful he might be on the mend.”

Keith nodded, but came over next to her to check the monitor readout for himself.

“He’s down to 102. He’ll still feel bad, but that’s a lot better than it was.”

Allura hummed in agreement. “He...when he woke up he said a few things, and I was wondering if maybe you knew what they were?”

Keith turned to her, eyebrow up in question.

“Who is ‘baachan’?”

A sad look flickered briefly across Keith’s face. “I know the translators do a lot for us, but you know that some of us from Earth can speak different languages, right?”

“Yes. Lance has taught me some words in Spanish.”

“Well, Shiro is from a country called Japan, and in Japanese, ‘baachan’ means grandmother. When his parents died, Shiro was raised by his mother’s parents, though it was mostly his grandmother who took care of him.”

“Oh.” Allura looked at Shiro, who was sleeping more peacefully since his temperature had started to drop, and tried to imagine him younger, smaller, without the scar across his nose, without the prosthetic. Tried to picture him without the white shock of hair, smiling and young and carefree. “I see.”

They stood there another few dobashes before Allura asked, “What’s a ‘takashi’?”

Keith snorted out a laugh. “Takashi? That’s Shiro’s name.”

Allura frowned. “But I thought his name was Shiro.”

“I mean, it kind of is? His full name is ‘Takashi Shirogane’. Shiro is a nickname, a shortened version of his family name, Shirogane.”

Allura was about to ask whether any of the rest of them were using nicknames when Shiro shifted, groaning as he opened his eyes.

“Shiro!” Keith immediately went to his side. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a Galra cruiser. What happened?”

“The Daell’i tried to help you. How much do you remember?”

“I remember landing here, I remember...something happening? It gets kind of fuzzy for a while after that.” Shiro took a moment, thinking. “Princess, did you carry me somewhere?”

Allura nodded. “Yes, I carried you out of the medical facility you were being held in. They thought you had ‘loose connections’, and were trying to remedy the problem. I fear your human biology didn’t react to treatment the way they thought it would.”

“Yeah, you were high as a kite.”

Shiro winced. “Ugh. I didn’t do anything awful, did I?”

Allura smiled reassuringly. “No. You were quite ill for a bit, but it seems you’re on the mend now. Your temperature is dropping steadily. Do you think you’d like some water?”

“God, yes.” Shiro reached eagerly for the water packet Allura handed him and sucked it dry in moments. “Much better.”

“Keith, why don’t you stay here with him for a bit. I’m going to go freshen up and see if I can find Hunk. I’m sure he can prepare something that will be alright for you to eat, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, still looking worse for wear, and as she left the medbay, she could hear Keith dragging a chair closer to the bed.

She’d take a shower, get a change of clothes, and then find Hunk. It had been a long few days, but everything was settling down, at least for the moment. Hopefully it would stay that way a bit longer.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

Can you do "ZAMBONI" for the letter asks? (And the prompt for Z could be like "first kiss" or something if you don't want to find one)(also sorry zamboni is long but I couldn't think of another word besides that one x))

Thank you so much for the asks! This got a really long, so I had to put it under a read more link! Anyway, thanks again! These were super fun to answer, like always~! 

((Also oh my god ZAMBONI was so fun to write god bless))

From this post!

A- Ships that you currently like a lot

ZevWarden and Morriana, totally. Of course ZevWarden, because like, of course I love Zevran and my Warden! And Morriana because of their in-game dynamic and THE DRESS IN INQUISITION GIVES ME MY QUEER L I F E

B- A pairing you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind

Morrigan x Warden. By someone, I kind of mean myself, because I was planning out my games, and was like shit I need to pair someone with Morrigan and thus, Orest was born and as he developed, I got into the ship!

I- Has Tumblr made you dislike any fandom?

Fucking VOLTRON, DUDE. I hate how fucking extra everyone is, and, controversial opinion here, the Shaladin ships disgust me. I’m not going to harass anyone over it, but I really don’t like them. But the other shippers are just as bad trying to pull out these “"receipts”“ and harassing the VAs. I follow some discourse-free blogs, which is nice, but still…

M- A character you’d like to have as a friend!

Leliana! Both of us have stuff in common, like our sexualities and our views on religion for the most part ^^ I think she’d be really nice to talk to and shop with!

N- Three things you want to see more of in your main fandom

I wish I saw more Morriana and Zevran x Human Mage! I see A LOT of Leliwarden and Zevran x Mahariel/Tabris/Surana, but not much Amell/Cousland fanart or fanfictions! Let my husband love some humans! ♡♡ (Does it count if I say I also want to see more notes on my fanfictions?)

O- Chose a song at random. What character or pairing does it remind you of?

Dear River by Kina Grannis SO reminds me of Zevran! Specifically, my Warden to Zevran, because of the lyrics. I, in terms of my Warden, really feel like the song is about Zevran, coming along and just sweeping him off his feet. And the feeling, in the beginning of their time together, felt so temporary I can’t help but really get emotional when I listen to it. Here’s a link to the music video~♡

Z- Fandom Ramble! (First Kiss!!)

Hope you don’t mind me taking your little prompt of “First Kiss” and writing some tiny ficlets for my Wardens! I went a little overboard with this… but I hope you appreciate this peek into my Wardens’ love lives ^^

Redren: Prudent was never something Redren considered himself to be. Born in a whorehouse and later raised by a girl with so little shame, he never thought he’d be so flustered. With how pretty he was, how he listened, how he complimented him. Did this elf have no shame? No anxiety? No desire to keep his head on his shoulders? So when the flirting started all but the moment after his life was spared, Redren hadn’t the faintest idea how to handle it. He caved, allowing for this Antivan massage, so obviously a trap, a way for him to face his own desires without saying yes with a clear head. But it didn’t turn out like that. Zevran, for it was in his very nature itself for him to do so, joked and flirted, but all but shied away from doing anything like Redren had assumed he would. So when it was over, his back and shoulders feeling better than they had in years, he hardly noticed the kiss that was planted on his cheek before Zevran slipped away into the dark. A blink was all it took for the pale skin feel as if it were set ablaze. His cheek was on fire because of something. Embarrassment? No, no he didn’t feel embarrassed. He couldn’t pin it, it was both frustrating and fulfilling. But whatever it was, he wanted to feel it again. And again. And again.

Faelyn: Nelaros! Nelaros was his name! Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros! Faelyn couldn’t contain her excitement. After so many years of waiting, waiting, waiting, her husband was finally chosen! From Highever, no less! The whole idea made her giddy, so excited she wore Shianni out not even ten minutes after getting the news, bouncing around and giggling and laughing. Nelaros! Maybe this all meant that father believed her capable, that she was smart enough to be a useful wife. So long she’d believed she wasn’t, so anxious, thinking that perhaps, yes, only perhaps, she’d be stuck cleaning taverns’ tables until she died. But now with Nelaros, oh how she loved to say his name, Nelaros, my Nelaros, she could have those babies like she dreamed of, a beautiful bride to be a glowing mother, to make the others see that I’m capable! I’m smart enough! My husband, he loves me! See, see, look! I can be what you all said I wasn’t enough to be! And she was so happy when she saw him, when he didn’t care about the way she sounded when she talked, when her teeth got in the way of her tongue, when she forgot what she was saying halfway though. She promised to be a good girl, to wait until wed to kiss him, for that was the rule of the weddings. She didn’t care, as long as she got her kiss in the end, with a little iron ring around her finger, slipped on by her beloved. But when she kissed him, oh how cold his lips were. The tears flowing down her cheeks weren’t the happy ones like she’d dreamed they’d be. The ring in his pocket felt ten times its weight, lead pulling her pretty little hand to the dirt. His lips, so cold, too cold. This corpse wasn’t her husband. It couldn’t be! It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be! Her dress, once so pretty, so white, now such an ugly colour, so red, so filthy. She had given this kiss to a corpse, a dead man on the floor, stained in the same ugly colour her hands were. Shianni, as much as she tried, couldn’t tear her grip from the corpse’s shirt. She was supposed to stay with this husband of hers. Till death do us part, how unfair when it came so soon. Oh, Nelaros, Nelaros, Nelaros.

Orest: What counted as a kiss? Was it when a brother or a sister says goodnight? Was it when a mother or a father wishes you luck on a hunt? Or was it something more, a feeling rather than an action? Because whatever a kiss was, it was happening right now. Tamlen’s mouth was on Orest’s mouth, and whoever had moved first was anyone’s guess. How taboo for two men, never to be bonded, to share such an experience. What did this mean? Nothing could come from this pair, no children to carry on the Dalish blood. But it felt good. So good, like a silent mouth had no right to be. Whatever he felt was addictive, Tamlen’s skin underneath his fingertips was a rush, something so foreign yet so familiar. Tamlen hummed into his lips, sending this rush down his abdomen, igniting this fire of lust. How anyone could resist this feeling was a mystery for the ages, how anyone could live in the darkness, not knowing the feeling of someone against their skin like he once had was unanswerable. So they kept it up, with Tamlen the first to pull back. A promise was made, to do this again, because whatever it was, perhaps love, perhaps just teenage play, it felt good. This experiment certainly required more study.

Andrea: She was expected to marry a man of equal stature to her, an Arl’s son, or some other nobleman. She minded not, of course, if it was what her family desired, she would learn to desire it as well. And how bad could one man be? Her family was what mattered, and if she had to add one member, and likely more with her future children, she would adapt and carry on. But that ended. That possibility, blown out like the brief candle life was. She grieved, and she cried, and she never moved on. But he made it easier. He was foolish, and a bastard, not her equal, but the longer she watched, she grew to realize he was so much more than her. He cared, and he listened, and he let her sleep alongside him as the sky cooled and the leaves changed. He was all she was not, and she began to wonder if, perhaps, she was falling. The realization hit her like a blunt sword; the blow wan’t fatal, yet it hurt, it made her whole being reel on impact. But she let herself be swept away by this bastard King, by Alistair. So when he cupped a large, gentle hand against her chin, she tilted her head upward, letting him connect their lips. How soft his lips were, contrasting so greatly to the scratching of his stubbled chin. She felt his hands trail downward, gripping her full hips, so improper, so unbecoming of a noble, yet she allowed him to pull her closer, armor clinking against armor. Because he wasn’t a noble, he was Alistair. And in that moment, she realized it didn’t matter. Nothing in this Blighted world did, and if that was so, she was going to kiss this bastard over and over again.

Hundir: For a prince, especially one of the Dwarven kingdom, feelings were so unnecessary. They made a man weak, clouded his head with nonsense, useless sentiment that only served to pull the rug out from underneath his feet. So when he started to grow so close with him, with that trusted soldier, of what he near dared address as a friend, it frightened him. He kept it hushed, feelings so useless, so unheard of. And it wasn’t until the door was closing did he regret it. He reached out, to grab the disgraced warrior’s beard, pulling him close, planting that kiss upon his lips. It was short, hardly a second before he was pulled away and the doors to the Deep Roads shut behind him. That feeling of another man’s lips upon his own was so strange, but it felt destined, like it was meant to happen, the Stone moving his feet to do it. His hands shook as he stepped forward into the darkness of the tunnels, the handle of his battleaxe gripped in his gloved hands all that kept him from turning back, to pound on the door, to scream let me out! Let me out! Gorim, please, let me go with him! Let me live upon the surface with my warrior, please! Honor be damned, he didn’t care. But he moved forward, desperate to find these Wardens, to go with them, to find his warrior on the surface.

[boku-no-family]

2000 Followers Event Prompts

Please send me either of the following

→ Letter + Prompt Number + Character [e.g. B + 3 + Shouto]

→ Prompt + Character [e.g.  „I heard you crying loud.“ – „You’ve been thinking about ditching me.“ + Bakugou]

The character limit is one, I’m going to make it a reader insert. I’m trying to keep it gender neutral if you want a female or a male reader please add it to your ask. I’m willing to write for ships as well, you only need to tell me. I assume you guys all read my rules ;) but I’m still not writing for the teachers. 

Enjoy ✨

Lots of love❤ Lin

P.s.: If you’ve got any questions ask me anytime!😊

A

„You ain’t no lady but you’ve sure got taste in men.“ – „But I’ve been told by friends of mine you’re someone I can trust.“ (AC/DC - Carry Me Home)

„You say you want the truth, but you can’t take it. So I give you lies.“ – „I won’t apologize to you anymore. Cause I’m a grown-ass man.“ (Adam Lambert – There I Said it)

„Everybody loves the things you do. From the way you talk to the way you move“ - „My God, this reminds me. Of when we were young.“  (Adele – When we Were Young)

„I don’t want to hurt you but I need to breathe!“ -  „At the end of it all, you’re still my best friend.“  (Alex Clare – Too Close)

„I’m getting sick of your bullshit attitude.“ – „Do you want me. Or do you want me dead?“ (All Time Low – Do You Want Me (Dead)?)

„Tell me how am I supposed to breathe. When losing you is choking me?“ – „I still remember that empty look left on your face.“ (The All-American Rejects – Heartbeat Slowing Down)

„I’m so into you, I can barely breathe.“ – „A little bit dangerous, but, baby, that’s how I want it.“ (Ariana Grande – Into You)

„I want to show you who I really am.“ – „I wanna get to know you, talk all night.“ (Aura Dione – Masterpiece)

B

„Add on that I’m a coward. Too scared to return your calls.“ – „Despite how silly it sounds. You’re bigger. Than me.“ (Backstreet Boys – Bigger)

„And you said you always had my back.“ – „I don’t wanna hear you talk about it anymore.“ (Bastille – Bad Blood)

„Who the fuck do you think I am?“ – „And keep your money, I’ve got my own.“ (Beyoncé – Don’t Hurt Yourself)

„I really want you to really want me, but I really don’t know if you can do that.“ – „And you’re listening to the sound of my breaking heart.“ – (James Blunt – I Really Want You)

„For the love of god, will you bite your tongue.“ – „I think it’s time you knew the truth.“ – (Bring Me The Horizon – Go To Hell, For Heaven’s Sake.)

„Don’t believe me just watch.“ – „Gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty.“ (Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk)

„Don’t try and heal me when I’m broken.“ – „This might be hard to hear.“ (Bullet For My Valentine – Broken)

C

„It’s way too soon, I know this isn’t love.“ – „But I need to tell you something.“ (Carly Rae Jepsen – Really Like You)

„I only got 10 likes in the last 5 minutes.“ – „Let me take another selfie.“ (The Chainsmokers - #Selfie)

„Don’t you ever say I just walked away.“ – „I will always want you.“ (Miley Cyrus – Wrecking Ball)

D

„There are so many things that I don’t understand.“ – „I’ve been, for sometime, looking for someone.“ (Daft Punk  - Within)

„Leave him alone, let him go!“ – „Only you can stop the pain.“ (David Guetta – Used To Be The One)

„Can’t you act your age“ - „It’s not my fault you’ll never be happy.“ (A Day To Remember – Best Of Me)

„And all that I want is forgiveness one more time.“ – „To be the best in the world.“ (Disturbed – Just Stop)

E

„Maybe you could swing by my room around 10:00.“ – „Don’t fuck with my love.“ (Ed Sheeran – Don’t)

„You shoot me once, you shoot me twice.“ – „Let me show you what I’m talking about.“ (Enrique Iglesias)

„I’m on my own.“ – „I think I’m falling and there’s no return.“ (Enter Shikari – One True Colour)

F

„I’m just a notch in your bedpost.“ – „I’ve been dying to tell you anything you want to hear.“ (Fall Out Boy – We’re Going Down)

“Everyone knows I'm in over my head,  with eight seconds left in overtime” –  “She's on your mind" (The Fray – Over my Head (Cable Car)) 

G

„All that I remember is that you had me at hello.“ – „What happened? Did it happen? Last night.“ (Good Charlotte – Last Night)

„I heard you crying loud.“ – „You’ve been thinking about ditching me.“ (Green Day – When I come around)

H

„Baby just don’t close your heart.“ – „It’s all going wrong.“ (HIM – Don’t close your Heart)

I

Come with me and we will run away.“ – „I am all you adore, lately.“ (Imagine Dragons – Hear Me)

J

„If you don’t want me to leave then don’t push me away.“ – „I’m gonna stay.“ (James Morrison – Dont Wanna Love Me)

„How much I adore those pretty eyes of yours.“ – „Can you love me for a lifetime or just one night.“ (Jennifer Lopez – Baby I Love You)

„I’m gonna be good so tell me that you’re gonna be good too.“ – „I’m gonna treat you right.“ (Jonas Brothers – BB Good)

„'Cause I’m missing more than just your body.“ – „I know you know that I made those mistakes maybe once or twice.“ (Justin Bieber – Sorry)

„Beautiful smile with those sad eyes.“ – „I don’t know why you’d leave me alone.“ (Justin Timberlake – Amnesia)

“ Damn you hold me just how I like it” –  “ I never thought that I would see you again” (Jessie J  –  Real Deal)

K

„You’re so sad maybe you should buy a happy meal.“ – „You’re so skinny you should really Super Size the deal.“ (Katy Perry – Ur So Gay)

„Never thought that you would be the one.“ – „Maybe you shouldn’t Kiss ‘n’ tell.“ (Ke$ha – Kiss N Tell)

L

„I just want you alone“ - „It wasn’t love, it wasn’t love.“ (Lady Gaga – Perfect Illusion)

„You say that you are proud of me.“ – „You’re not the one that you pretend to be.“ (Linkin Park – Pretend To Be)

„Forget that boy, I’m over it.“ – „Guess I should say thank you.“ (Little Mix – Shout Out To My Ex)

M

When I’m without you. I’m so insecure.“ – „Don’t let nobody touch it. Unless that somebody’s me.“ (Maroon 5 – Sugar)

„I have the loves of many men. But I don’t love any of them.“  - „Why do you cheat on me?“ (Metallica – Cheat On Me)

„I got a bulletproof heart.“ – „Let me be the one to save you.“ (My Chemical Romance – Bulletproof Heart)

N

„And my heart feels a fool.“ – „Can’t stop thinking of you, cause I’m so jealous, baby.“ ( New Kids on the Block – Jealous)

“What do I see in you?” – “Maybe I'm addicted to all the things you do” (Nicki Minaj – Grand Piano)   

“Pills n potions were overdosing” – “I'm angry but I still love you” (Nicki Minaj – Pills and Potions) 

O

„I can only be myself.“ – „I’ll never forget you.“ (Olly Murs – Tryna change me)

„But you confuse me.“ – „I said babe do you want to take it fast or slow?.“(OneRepublic – The Less I Know)

P

„Do I look lonely?“ – „Am I the best you’ve ever had?“ (Panic! At The Disco – Death of a Bachelor)

„Maybe if I act like that, that guy will call me back.“ – „I cannot take any more.“ (P!nk – Stupid Girls)

„I know you like me.“ – „Let’s keep it friendly.“ (The Pussycat Dolls – Don’t Cha)

„Hate is a strong word.“ – „Thought you thought that I was worth it.“ (Plain White T’s –Hate Really Don’t Like You)

Q

„The Show must go on.“ – „Inside my heart is breaking.“ (Queen – The Show Must Go On)

R

„I forgot your birthday.“ – „I’m a mess.“ (The Rasmus – I’m A Mess)

„But we haven’t kissed for four days.“ – „If we go down, we’re going down together.“ (Robin Schulz – Titanic)

„I’m no good without you.“ – „Just love me.“ (Rihanna – Love On The Brain)

„Why are you not afraid?“ – „I have learned to stand up and just to walk away.“ (Rise Against – Beautiful Indifference)

„Come in and close the door.“ – „But now you know me so you know that I’d be lying.“ (Robbie Williams – Motherfucker)

S

„You say I’m crazy.“ – „I know I’m not the only one.“ (Sam Smith – Not The Only One)

„Why do you say things. If you do not mean them.“ – „And now I can’t sleep.“ (Shakira – Cut Me Deep)

„I’m talking to myself.“ – „Forgot what I just said.“ (Sum 41 – All Messed Up)

T

„You look like my next mistake.“ – „'Cause, darling, I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.“ (Taylor Swift – Blank Space)

„I never sleep.“ – „I wish I knew what it was like.“ (Three Days Grace – I Am Machine)

„I am not as fine as I seem, pardon.“ – „The game is not played alone.“ (Twenty One Pilots – Migraine)

U

„I swear to tell the truth.“ – „But I guess my love wasn’t good enough.“ (Usher – Guilty)

V

„Did you say the thing you wanted?“ – „Have you ever felt in love?“ (Volbeat – Goodbye Forever)

W

„You’re only looking for attention.“ – „What do you expect now?“ (The Weeknd – Attention)

„Listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me?“ – „And he doesn’t give a damn about me.“ (Wheatus – Teenage Dirtbag)

Z

„I’d love to wake up next to you.“ – „So we’ll piss off the neighbors.“ (Zayn Malik – Pillowtalk)

“I know that we were made to break” –   “So what? I don't mind” (Zedd  –  Stay the Night) 

[themadandthemaverick]

Royal Renegades Dramatic OTP Asks: 1-16

Extra-Dramatic OTP Asks: Send me a ship and number and I’ll tell you…

1. Who would sell their soul to the devil to save the other. - Either one likely would, but Erissel would do so without trying to think of a better solution. She’d be terrified to lose someone else she loved so her brain would be set to one thing: do anything you must to get them back. Whatever she had to give up, whatever she had to do, she’d do it without hesitation.

2. Who would become a stalker, in the right (wrong) situation. - If situations went sideways, I feel like Damien would come off as more of a stalker because of his posessive Fae nature. In his eyes, he likely doesn’t see anything wrong with it.

3. Who would pine away in silence their entire lives without confessing their love. - Erissel, without a doubt. Damien’s much too confident in himself, his charm, and his abilities to leave his affections unspoken. Erissel, on the other hand, doubts herself way too often. She would likely debate expressing her feelings for ages, worrying how he would react and if he would feel the same. In the end, she would stress too much until she fought through her fears.

4. Who would leave their friends, family, and life to move overseas to be with the other one. - I feel like Damien is more likely to do this. He already doesn’t have a great relationship with his family, so he’d probably be willing to part with them for Erissel’s sake. (I’m not entirely sure about if he’d completely part with his friends/life, but I feel as though it’s possible.)

5. Who would be the most worried the other might cheat on them. - Erissel would worry more than Damien. They both trust each other to an astounding extent, but Erissel doubts herself too much. She has lost so much pride in herself and she constantly finds herself comparing her person to that of other women. She notices details that make her extremely different in ways that she didn’t care about before. She just worries that she isn’t good enough some days.

6. Who would run into a burning building to save a stranger while the other calls 911. - Erissel would be the one running into the building while Damien simultaneously tries to hold her back and call 911. Erissel is all blind courage and moral duty while Damien is the more level-headed of the two. He would want to keep her from hurting herself and he would try to think of a much safer, smarter solution.

7. Who would haunt the other after death and chase away other suitors. - Honestly, I could see this going either way. I find the sight of either one of them doing this to be hilarious. They’re both pretty possessive of each other, but they most likely wouldn’t cause grief for the other intentionally. 

8. Who would stand up at the other’s wedding and say they object.- I could see Damien this, for sure. No cares for what anyone else thinks, no fear, nothing on his mind but Erissel. He would do almost anything to show her that he loved her, even do something considered taboo. 

9. Who would write long, beautiful poems for the other. - They both would, no question, but Erissel would do it more often. Damien would have more of a natural talent for poetry, but Erissel would find such enjoyment in writing poems for him and showing him how much her writing has improved. I can see her going to great lengths to make sure everything was perfect, even placing the poems in his coat pocket or at his desk. She’d want to impress and suprise him as much as possible.

10. Who would love the other no matter how evil the other became. - While I can’t see either of them becoming inherently evil, I’d have to go with Erissel. She loves blindly, wholly, and without much consideration for anything else. She’s feircely protective of those she holds close to her heart, and no matter what they do, she will stick by them. I don’t think she’d ever lose faith in Damien.

11. Who would be the most likely to become an addict (gambling/drugs/etc.). - I don’t know if either would become particularly addicted to anything. Technically, both of them smoke (one cigarettes and the other a pipe) and drink on occasion, but they don’t really have addictive personalities. They’re both more than capable of throwing out bad habits.

12. Who would propose in a grand gesture of some kind. - Huh, let me thin–DAMIEN. If Erissel would let him, he’d make his proposal something huge, over-the-top, and expensive as all hell. He spoils Erissel, even though she tells him not to. He doesn’t care about cost or the public view; if it’s good for Erissel, then that’s what he’s going to do.

13. Who would go berserk at harm or death befalling the other. - Either one of them would lose their minds if the other died. Sure, if one of them got hurt, you can bet that whoever hurt them will hurt far worse. But if one of them got killed? That person isn’t going to be around for much longer. Damien would cause Mother Nature to do a backflip as it turned on the one who harmed his elfling. Erissel would cut down, burn, and shred whatever stood in her way. Either one would be nigh unstoppable. 

14. Who would spend too much money on expensive gifts for the other. - D-A-M-I-E-N. This isn’t even a question. As I said in #12, Damien doesn’t care one flip for cost when it comes to Erissel. If he thinks she will enjoy it, then there’s no more consideration involved. She might chastise him for spending too much on her, but she adores the fact that he cares so much for her. 

15. Who would fight an impossible battle to give the other time to escape. - Either one of them would. Damien would probably be the only one of the two who would be able to convince the other to leave them, but I had a heartbreaking vision of Erissel, battered and bloody, forcing herself to stay on her feet and keep swinging her sword to keep her enemy at bay. Then, she feels her last thread of strength give out and she thinks to herself, ‘I kept my vow. I protected him until my last breath.’

16. Who would be able to spend centuries in misery waiting for the other to be reborn. - It’s very possible that both of them would. Both are old beings, so they have experience with patience, but that doesn’t make it any easier. The emotional stress would be murder on either one of them.

[writingsofawanderingwonderer]

Right. So this is a response to @norbezdraws video, "Should We Fix Our Mad Geniuses?" 

Norbez, you asked me for my thoughts on Twitter, so I'm gonna go post a novel of an explanation here, so get comfy in a nice reading chair. :)

If there's anyone else reading this, go listen to the video first, it's really interesting and it poses a rather fascinating question.

Also, sorry for the long wait for my response. ^^;

Also note: Everything I write here is about and from a storytelling and media perspective. Not real life.

I’m gonna use bullet points for my thoughts.

- On a moral level, the character should want to change. This is why Rick's capture in Rick and Morty and the protagonist in A Clockwork Orange (I haven't seen this film) are considered tragic. Because even though their capture will save people from getting hurt, they don't want to be captured or changed.

- I feel like drugs and other forms of addiction should be separated from mental illness, and that abuse should also be separated in the character examples list of flaws, because audience members' views on those different subjects could be contradictory.

For example:

Drugs/addiction is self-harming (a character flaw), so viewers may likely say, "Yes, the character should be fixed and have this removed."

Abuse (emotional/physical--and quite honestly, I think these two type should also be sub-separated; they're so different) harms other people who are around that character. This can make characters who have this type of flaw more villainous (Gothel from Disney's Tangled has been cited as an emotional abuser to her daughter) because if they don't want to change, then we as the audience see that as bad and/or irredeemable because they’re hurting people they care about and/or are close to.

Mental illness affects the character's mind. The mind is linked with personality. Therefore, if you "fix" the character by removing their mental illness, do you make the character no longer "them"? Who do they become?

Additionally, many works (such as Hellblade--which I haven’t played) frame the main character’s mental illness as not something to be cured. Rather, the story frames it as a part of the character. The challenges in the story come more from the outside world not understanding the main character’s different perception of the world.

Particularly with mental illness, opinions will vary depending on the viewer (as well as the individual character), as to whether the character should be "fixed."

Also, some examples, like Sherlock, make the addiction a flaw rather than a trait that is required for them to still be themselves/a genius. Sherlock would still be a genius without drugs. The drugs are his flaw[1], not his strength (intelligence). Take away Sherlock’s addiction and he’s still Sherlock. He’s still a detective.

*Footnote: In the BBC series and in original novels' canon, Sherlock supposedly only uses drugs when he has no case to solve. So drugs actually equals "Sherlock is not acting like a genius." BBC Sherlock actually wrecked this idea with the plot holes in season 4, but I'm going off tangent at this point (and at this point, a lot of BBC Sherlock fans--myself included--are currently not considering season 4 to even be series canon, given the amount of plot holes, out-of-character moments, and retcon-ing it contained. Seriously, what was up with that last episode?! THAT GUN DIDN’T LOOK ANYTHING LIKE A TRANQUILLISER! ARE YOU KIDDING M--).

- When I read the title of the video, I at first thought you meant "eccentricity": Characters who act outside social norms and don't follow the status quo/expectations (in an unharmful manner). Quirky characters. Characters who walk to the beat of a different drum. I understand that's not what you meant, but I might as well say my opinion on eccentric characters: It takes all sorts to make a world. They do not need to be "fixed."

- I also think misanthropic characters don't need to be fixed. I have to be clear on this, because SO many writers get misanthropia wrong: It's disliking humanity. Not wanting harm towards humanity. They just don’t want to want to deal with humanity. It's like being a hardcore grump/hermit rather than a jerk/murderer/rude person. A misanthropic person can have strong bonds with other humans, they just don't like dealing with strangers (often because they have been "burnt" before in past experiences) and can be very caring, selfless individuals with healthy relationships. Misanthropes are often the way they are because they care a lot, rather than a little (the latter being the stereotype I see a lot in fiction). Often, you can’t even tell if someone’s a misanthrope just by looking for them. A misanthrope looks at a smoker and thinks, "Why do THEY get dibs on the clean air?", etc. There is a difference between a grump and a jerk.

- I think series like Rick and Morty and BBC Sherlock have mad geniuses that treat their partner badly/questionably, yet we still like them as characters is less because of their “gifts,” and more because we see that when push comes to shove, Rick/Sherlock will act selflessly to protect Morty/John.

That’s how I interpret it anyway.

Rick is showing signs of being more caring (and hopefully less abusive) towards Morty. As Mycroft predicted, Sherlock is showing his heart more by being with John.

Their characters arcs are actually “fixing” them.

Another example of this type of relationship (or a similar type of relationship) is Eddy and her daughter Saffy’s relationship in Absolutely Fabulous. There’s an episode where Eddy protects her daughter from a guy who keeps bothering her (Saffy). Even though Eddy and Saffy constantly insult each other, at the end of the day, Eddy cares about her daughter. We don’t necessarily see their relationship as good, but we understand why they stay together.

And Eddy doesn’t even have “mad genius” nor traditionally heroic qualities. She’s the epitome of a “UK Comedy Series’ Unsympathetic Protagonist.”

Okay, now some character examples:

I'll start off with examples of abuse/addiction that are either BAD, start off as bad/questionable, or in a grey area:

These examples don't inherently make the works bad. I like all of the works listed below. These are just examples of problematic portrayals that we should pause for thought and reflect on.

- Bullet in the Face (a Canadian-American series about a criminal mastermind helping cops track down a bigger criminal mastermind) has Gunter attacking other characters to help solve cases. Gunter is portrayed as a villain protagonist, and most if not all of the characters he attacks are villains as well, making the protagonist ironically less problematic than if the writers portrayed him as a heroic character. The series basically says, “He’s a villain. So he does villainous things.”

- Dirk Gently: (We're talking BBC-2010-TV-series!Dirk, not the original books/other adaptations, nor the 2016 series.) Dirk is a detective who can solve mysteries others can't because of his odd philosophies. He has a partner, named Richard, who he hypnotises into giving him money, uses as a guinea pig (he injects him with a computer chip without warning him), and steals money from him. Yet Richard still stays with him (which is considered to be one of the biggest plot holes the adaptation has).

- Rick and Morty: Rick still continues to be abusive towards Morty, his own grandson. Rick's selfless act at the end of season 2 hints that Rick may slowly be trying to change his ways. Unity's note to Rick when it dumps him also implies that the writers are self-aware that Rick's abusive traits are a flaw, not a "kooky trait," so Rick could be interpreted as a "good" example too, because the series shows the negative effects of his behaviour.

- BBC Sherlock: As I said above.

Okay, now some examples (you asked for) of GOOD examples of abuse/addiction being portrayed in a non-romantic/kooky/positive/problematic light: 

 - Captain Haddock: In The Adventures of Tintin: The Crab with the Golden Claws album, Tintin meets an alcoholic who is the captain of a ship. Together, they escape the ship's crew and solve a mystery together. Haddock wouldn't really be considered an archetypal "mad genius," but by being with Tintin, his alcoholism decreases (though never actually disappears completely--writer Hergé liked to portray things realistically). His alcoholism decreases because of Tintin's support and friendship, which is really heartwarming to me.

- Dirk Gently: Here, we're talking book!Dirk. Irony, eh? In the original novels, Dirk is still abusive to his crime-solving partners (he, again, hypnotises Richard into jumping into the River Thames--which is not a nice place to go swimming, unless you like plastic bags and abandoned shopping trolleys). What makes the books different than the BBC series however, are the endings: Every partner Dirk gets, in each book, dumps him by the end of each adventure/novel they have with him because of his abusive tendencies. They don't want to be with him. That paints Dirk’s abuse as a more negative thing, instead of a “quirky” thing.

- Croak: The main character or this novel, Lex, is introduced as a teenage girl who recently developed anger management issues. She lashes out at people, especially at her school. It’s portrayed in an untraditionally human way: She describes it as feelings she knows are harmful, and she doesn’t enjoy these feelings of charged anger. She struggles to stop herself from lashing out. She also takes great care in making sure she doesn’t hurt her sister. (I haven’t finished the first book yet, so I don’t know how her character arc ends.)

- The Jennifer Ann Group’s yearly game jam focuses on creating games that educate people on teen dating abuse. The game Grace’s Diary is a notable example.

I hope this answered your questions on what my thoughts were on this subject.