#muse hit so hard its 4 am send help

[radiostarsz]

Listen dear, and listen close If you want a show, I'll be your host ♬

[getitinbusan]

Locked -

Taehyung 

Smut with Taehyung in Paris what could be better? 19+

Happy Birthday Taehyung! You are my sun my moon and all of my stars.

Part of the The Juis Suis Fou de Toi Universe.

Artist Tae AU. 4213 words.

While convincing his girlfriend he should paint her, things get a little sexually abstract.

Contains sex (M/F), Oral (M) Mutual Masturbation (M/F), Swearing, Slight Dom Tae, OC is insecure. Do not be fooled before the read more, there is no cheating in this fic. 

"We're almost home, please don't make me carry you."

Yeontan looked up with big eyes as he defiantly sat in the middle of the sidewalk. Crouching down to his level in defeat you tore a piece of your pastry off and began bargaining.

"It's strawberry your favorite, you can have some if you just stand up."

He let out a little bark seemingly in agreeance with the bribe and stood, tail wagging frantically.

"Tannie," Taehyung scooped the excited dog into his arms while placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Camille, this is my girlfriend Y/N and this," Yeontan wiggled in his arms while licking his face, "is Tannie."

"Oh, Hi."

Shocked you took in the tall gorgeous blonde who accompanied you boyfriend. Why Taehyung was walking around the streets of Paris with her you were unsure, and honestly not very happy. 

"It's really nice to meet you Camille."

Suddenly feeling self conscious you pulled your coat tighter around yourself.

Taehyung, noticing the sudden shift in your mood wrapped his arms around your waist.

"Camille is helping me with the gallery opening. We were going to grab some dinner before we started. Do you want to join us?"

Your mind raced, what do you do?  He hadn't invited you in the first place so obviously you'd be intruding.

If you stayed he'd be looking at you side by side, comparing Pomme to Pomme De Terre. But, if you left they'd be alone, getting to know one another or worse. Maybe they already knew each other better than they should.  

In either scenario your insecurities would be winning. 

"Tannie's getting pretty tired and I was going to stop at the Butcher to grab us dinner." Your eyes fell on his searching for guilt and found nothing but adoration. "But I guess you've already got plans so I'll just catch up with you later." 

He passed the dog back to you, a new look of concern on his face.

"Okay, I guess I'll just see you at home later," he kissed your cheek. 

"Bye Tannie, bye Y/N."

The woman smiled and looped her arm through Taehyung's as they walked towards the cafe. 

"That doesn’t mean anything right Tan? It’s just a French thing I’m sure.” You must be going crazy standing in the street talking to your dog. “So, how do you feel about stopping for some wine?"

You frowned at your four legged companion and for once he seemed sympathetic offering a head tilt and a whimper.

"Don't worry, you can have his Steak." 

Walking home in a daze you searched your memory, had he told you about this? Taehyung liked to work alone, surely you'd remember him mentioning he'd hired an assistant. 

Your feet had suddenly become as tired as your mind. The blue mansard roof of your apartment peeked through the greenery of the blowing trees urging you forward, calling you home.  

Rounding the last corner, the Pont Des Arts had been covered in gaudy yellow caution tape. In the hour and a half you'd been out, workers had begun pulling off rail sections of the love locked bridge.

You felt dizzy, was this a sign? The lock that you'd placed on it signifying your commitment was being taken away. Helpless you stood watching thousands of couples promise's to one another being disassembled.

Pulling your phone from your satin lined pocket your first instinct was to text Taehyung. 

Y/N: I can't believe it, they're dismantling the bridge and taking away our lock 💔 I'm so sad Taehyung, It really meant so much to me. 

Tears rolled down your cheek as you reevaluated the message. Instead of hitting send you deleted and replaced your words

Y/N: The bridge is under construction, maybe take a different way home later. 

You hadn't heard him come home and had no idea how late he'd been out. With sadness and worry getting the best of your brain, sleep seemed like the only way to curb your anxiety. It had been quite an effective method until you found yourself wide awake tiptoeing through your house in the wee hours of the morning. 

The worn floorboards creaked underneath your slow step, the vintage wood was cold to the touch of your bare feet. The old apartment was drafty on the best of days but 4 am carried its own specific type of chill.

A shiver ran up your spine, perhaps one of Le Marais famous revolutionary ghosts had joined in on the quest to find your boyfriend. Or maybe it was just the ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach that the universe was trying to tell you something. 

A faint light glowed yellow under the warped door at the end of the hallway and the sounds of Thelonious Monk's piano drifted through the air the closer you got. 

The painted metal door handle gave way opening to a wall of heat from the radiators lining the enormous windows. 

"Go figure I'd find you in the warmest room in the house."

He was shirtless and seemingly debating the fate of the canvas before him.  With his paintbrush clenched between his teeth he turned, a huge smile warming you instantly. 

"Why aren't you in bed?" He set the brush down and walked over to wrap you in his embrace. 

"I don't like sleeping without you, you're the only thing that keeps me warm in that freezer of a bedroom." 

You stood on your tiptoes to place a peck on his lips. 

"What are you working on? Is it for the gallery?" 

He sighed heavily, "Just another Lavender Field I guess. I'm so uninspired. Why won't you just let me paint you, hmm?" 

His fingers splayed over the lace covered small of your back pulling you in tighter. "What are you so afraid of."

"Tae," you buried your face into the crook of his neck. "Isn't the point of art painting things that people want to look at? You should be painting women like Camille not me."

Pressed to his chest you swear you heard his breath halt. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully before he spoke softly.

"Camille is pretty but there is absolutely nothing unique or inspiring about her."

He kissed the top of your head before tugging on your chin to make you look at him.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, but you are a terribly uncooperative muse." 

"I don't want to be Tae, I'm just afraid" 

"What is there to be afraid of? It's just you and me, If you don’t like it I'm the only one who will see it." 

"That's it though, what if…" a tear slipped from your eye, "What if you don't like what you see, what if painting me makes you see all my flaws. I can't stand looking in the mirror for 5 minutes and you want to immortalize my every imperfection on a canvas." 

His face was soft and serious, the lights from the city streaming through the large windows across his honey skin. 

"Sweetheart, how do I make you believe me? I never want you to be uncomfortable but I think if I can show you how you look through my eyes you'll understand what my heart sees every time I look at you.”

Stepping back from him you nodded. Sliding the thin straps off your shoulders you stepped out of the white lace puddle that now lay at your feet. 

"Okay." 

His face lit up like he'd received divine inspiration.

"I have an idea." 

He scurried for a palate, squeezing colors on it like a man possessed. Rummaging for the right brushes he returned presenting them to you like a cat who'd dragged home a mouse. 

"Trust me?"

You nodded, "I do." 

Loading his brush with paint you stood waiting for him to lay the first stroke to the oversize canvas leaning on the wall beside you. 

Raising the tool to his mouth he exhaled a warm breath over it as if trying to take the chill off.

"I've never seen this technique before" 

"It's because I've only just invented it." 

He ran the paintbrush down your torso sending a shiver from head to toe. 

You gasped, "You're not just painting me... you're literally painting Me?"

The biggest smile overtook his face, "You said you trusted me." 

Trying to remain still and not ask questions you watched him work. Diligently mixing colors and trading brushes his design slowly revealed itself. 

"Are you painting me as starry night?"

He stepped back to admire his work. "Like the stars, you guide and inspire me. I think it captures your spirit." 

He shifted the canvas so it was flat to the wall. 

"Come over here." He reached for your hand, "Are you ready? I want you to press yourself against it." 

"Here?"

Sliding in close behind you he raised your arms into position, holding them up.

"Like this, right here." 

His breath felt hot on your skin and your nipples hardened with his words. Gently he used his body weight to press you onto the canvas. 

"Now step back to me slowly." 

Pulling back, the paint had transferred to the canvas. It was stamped with starry breasts, stomach and thighs, it was you and it was beautiful. He dragged his lips down your shoulder as you stood looking at it.

"Now let's do the right side." 

You repeated the process but this time you could feel him growing hard against you. His hands trailed down your sides and his lips moved warm against your ear.

"You've never been sexier."

His rumbles of admiration set your insides on fire. 

"Taehyung I want you."

All the gentle brush strokes and touching had left you aroused aching for him to fill you. 

"Do you need me to take care of you baby?" 

He slid his cloth covered cock over your bare ass, grinding, teasing, slowly torturing your needy cunt. 

"Fuck you until you're screaming my name?" 

Sliding two long fingers deep inside you he held them there motionless. 

Leaning over you, dominating, he growled into your ear.

"Show me how you like it, fuck my fingers like you want to fuck my cock."

You clenched immediately around his digits and he laughed, "that's my dirty girl, now use me to make yourself feel good." 

Throbbing wet and desperate you used his hand to pleasure yourself. Harder and deeper it felt good but it wasn't him.  

"Tae, It's not enough I need your cock."

He snickered again, "why is that, maybe you should tell me." 

He reached his free hand around to pinch your nipple. 

The truth was, nothing could satisfy you once you'd had him inside you. He was huge and perfect and he knew how insatiable you were for him. 

"I need you to stretch me, wanna feel you against my cervix fucking me so hard."

You sounded whiny and it flipped the switch inside him from teasing to wanting instant gratification. 

Pulling his hand away from your breast he undid his pants and kicked them away. His erection fell against your ass as he pressed you back to the center of the canvas. 

"Right here, arms up for me." 

You did as you were told as he took a stance behind you lining himself with your entrance. He could be the most generous gentle lover when needed but right now you both wanted something animalistic and dirty. 

Thrusting hard and deep your whole body slid in an upward motion streaking the paint vertically onto the canvas. 

"Fuck."

It was pleasure, it was pain and it was satisfying to your core. 

"Is that enough for you?" His large hand feel heavy against your ass. 

"Harder." 

"Such a greedy little girl you are." 

Another thrust and you were seeing stars. Splayed across the canvas your cheek dragged through the midnight blue acrylic.

Trying to desperately catch your breath your mouth hung open panting the words fuck me and faster while he pumped furiously into you. 

His fingertips traveled from their grip on your hip to the protruding bud engorged with arousal that lay starved for attention between your thighs. He pressed and rolled your clit softly in contradiction to the rough pounding your pussy was taking. 

"Tae."

His name moaned out of your mouth and it was the only signal he needed to know he'd done his job. He slowed his hips and pulled you down impaling you onto his cock until your walls convulsed around him. He held you there, still for a minute until your senses had come back and you were able to stand on your own. 

His mouth hung open in a grin while his erection still stood hungry for more. 

Pulling the canvas from the wall he laid it on the ground. 

"I think this painting needs some pretty little knee marks on it."

"Show me where." It was your turn to tease. 

He pointed where he wanted you to kneel and shoved his finger into your mouth.

"Right there, and right here," he stroked your tongue with his thumb. 

He pulled his finger away and rubbed his tip around your lips. 

Opening up wide for him he gently began fucking your mouth. Head was always a challenge given his size so it was never rushed.

Gingerly you wrapped your hands around him stroking the length that didn't fit in your mouth. His head was thrown back, eyes closed as puffs of air heaved from his chest in pleasure. 

He was getting close, his now careless thrusts began making you choke around him.

"Fuck, sorry," he pulled back.

You kitten licked and sucked at his tip while he wrapped his hand tightly around himself and began rubbing. 

You looked up at him from the position on your knees. His beautiful body was covered in paint splatters everywhere it had connected with yours 

"Fuck Tae, I love watching you touch yourself." 

"Yeah?" he took a long stroke thumbing the tip. 

"Yeah," you could feel yourself getting worked up again. 

"Lay back. "He stood over you, "Can you see how beautiful I think you are now?" His hands wandered between his legs and he rubbed his balls with one while he resumed stroking with the other. "How sexy I think you are?" 

His words washed over you, arousal peaking you nipples. 

"When I can't find inspiration I imagine you just like this and I masturbate thinking about your perfect tits." 

Your pussy was pulsing at the thought of him in here clearing his head by milking himself. 

"Can you touch yourself for me? Give my imagination something to use next time I'm stuck in here?" 

You nodded, breath heavy in anticipation of cumming again for him. 

"Stick your fingers in your pussy for me." 

You did, moaning instantly. You were sensitive, every nerve was lit like a fuse ready to explode. Pumping your fingers in time with his strokes you were both unravelling quickly. 

His exasperated breathing got louder signaling his immanent release. Picking up speed he came in warm droplets that landed on you and over the canvas on which you lay. 

So turned on watching him you finished your own orgasm mere seconds after he did.

Opening his eyes looking down at you shocked he smiled, "Did we just do that?" He held out his hand to help you up. 

"Yeah, I think we did." you blushed.

Grabbing a clean drop cloth from the shelf he draped it around you as you both stood looking over the painting. 

"It's really not bad, I can still make out the important parts. The way the stars smeared looks intentional like their shooting through the sky." 

Laughing you shook your head, "It's definitely an abstract." 

"As are you," he turned you to the mirror. Painted cheeks, wild hair, dried yellow stars flaking off the skin of your stomach.

"Let's go out!” He abruptly declared. “I want to see you all messy and fucked out with the Eiffel Tower as a backdrop." 

"You're crazy Taehyung, What will people think?" 

"They'll think they're in Paris and that an artist and his muse just made wild passionate love in the wee hours of the morning because they couldn't stand to keep their hands off of one another."

He grabbed his coat from the corner and tied the belt tightly around your waist. 

Placing his hands on your cheeks and cradling your face his lips pressed and lingered against yours.

"They'll think, that must be what true love looks like and they’ll all be jealous."

Taking leisurely steps across the bridge the quiet of dawn was only broken by the water lapping beneath you. The absence of the locks amplified the little wakes and you tried to mentally record them as one of the many new memories you'd made tonight. 

Coffee in one hand and Taehyung's in the other. He pulled pieces of chocolatine from the bag tucked under his arm and fed them to you as you walked.

"I don't think I'm ever going to get over the fact you don't like coffee." You took a big sip. 

"It's strategic. If I had to hold a coffee and the pastry bag I wouldn't be able to hold your hand."

He stopped abruptly lightly jarring your arm. 

"Hey, Did you know that right here, this is the exact spot we first met."

His dark eyes reflected the lamplight just like they did as he looked at you that night.

"You were leaning over the rail," he pointed, "right here, waving to the passengers in the boats."

"Ughh, I was such a tourist." You laughed in retrospect. 

He took the coffee from your hand and set it on the base of the lamppost.

"Go pose for me, I want to take your picture so I can paint you from the night we met, I'll even add the locks back in."   

"It won't be the same." You sighed, "I'm covered in paint, my hair's a mess and all I have on is your trench coat."

"You're crazy if you think I don't remember everything about the way you looked. How that loose strand of hair fell," he tucked your hair behind your ear, "and still falls over your eye.  You had on that green sweater, I remember It was so soft against my fingertips when I reached out to hold your hand.” 

He kissed you and whispered, "Let me have that moment again." 

"You're such a hopeless romantic my love." You smiled fondly and obliged. Leaning over and looking down you re-enacted the opening scene of your meeting. 

After a few minutes of waving to an imaginary boat you turned giggling. "Did you get what you wanted?"

He was kneeling on the ground a few feet away looking pensive.

"Almost."

"Do you want me to do it again?"

His smile grew as his hand reached into his pocket and he held up what appeared to be a padlock. 

"No," He paused. "I want you and I to be locked together forever."

Turning back towards the rails you inspected them closely. "I don't think we can Tae, they pretty much made them lock proof." By the time you'd spun back to face him he was standing beside you. 

His large hand was wrapped around the lock with only little glimmers of metal peeking out.

"But this is a magic lock. I'm going to give you the key and you're going to have to make a decision, just like when we first met." He pressed the lock's pronged companion piece into your palm while simultaneously unfurling his fingers. 

"Marry me?"

Shocked floored, not even an ounce of intuition had told you this was coming. Hooked onto the shackle an enormous pear shaped diamond awaited your answer.

"Tae," your hand shook and tears blurred your vision as you moved to free the ring from it's restraint.

"Of course, Yes." Turning the key Taehyung pulled the lock apart and slid the diamond onto your finger.

Under the lamp, on the bridge in the middle of Paris it was like lightning had struck twice. You stood kissing the man who'd once again changed your life.

"But what are we going to do with the Lock?" The bridge was stark under the first rays of sunrise and heartbreakingly void of the promises it once guarded.

"So superstitious." He put the lock back in his pocket. "You're just going to have to hold on to that key until the time is right."

Fresh paint overwhelmed your senses. Guiding you with his large hands he steered you forward for what felt like forever.

"Is the blindfold necessary?"

"In order to surprise you, yes, yes it is."

He'd been working hard on his new exhibition and it had been kept tightly under wraps. One advantage of sleeping with the artist was the private advanced viewing from the curator himself.

"Are you ready?" he stilled you adjusting your angles. "Hold out your hand."

"Oh, it's an interactive piece?" you chided him. "I agree to do one painting and suddenly we're Marina and Ulay."

Placing something that felt like cool metal into your palm he slipped the blindfold off. 

Before your eyes stood a huge section of railing, thousands of padlocks adorning it. Behind the rail, a life size painting, a girl in a green sweater. Leaning forward she waved, looking happy, as her hair blew softly. Her eyes naïve, not knowing she was about to fall in love.

The words on the wall named the piece, "Locked"

"Tae," a tear fell in awe at his recreation. "You made me look beautiful."

"No mon petite, you make you look beautiful. Do you have your key?"

Lifting the chain from around your neck you held it up for him.

"Let's find our lock. It was closer to the top if I recall correctly."

"There's no way? This isn't a recreation? This is the real bridge?"

He laughed, "I know what it meant to you. They were selling pieces for charity. That's what I was really doing with Camille that day. She's a broker for the auction house."

The memory of your insecurities came back in a flash and your cheeks blushed pink at how foolish the notion of him straying seemed now.

"Here it is!" He crouched down holding it in his hand, your inked initials a little worn but still visible.

Slipping your key into the new lock you popped it open and knelt down beside him. Hooking it through the original it stood out higher than the rest and you both smiled.

"You're stuck with me now, triple locked." He fiddled with your ring suddenly shy.

"I don't need metaphors to know we'll be together forever Taehyung." You kissed his soft lips. "but I really like them."

The gallery had been taken over by a hum of excitement, the air hanging heavy, was full of compliments and bids. Everyone was clamoring for the chance to own a Kim Taehyung original.

You hadn't seen the man of the hour in a while. You'd been kept dutifully in one spot regaling everyone with the romantic story behind the girl waving on the bridge. 

Finally breaking away you grabbed a glass of champagne from the nearest waiters tray and made your way to the back of the gallery. He stood by a painting you'd yet to see with an eclectic looking woman in large red framed glasses. Her bangle bracelets chimed together as she theatrically asked him questions about his work.

Noticing you moving towards him, his face pleaded silently with you to come to his social rescue.

"Ah, the girl in the Green Sweater!" She pulled you into her side grabbing and holding your hand. "Are you also The Reluctant Muse?" she pointed to the secretly cum splatterd piece.

Taehyung held back his smile, biting his lip.

"Yes, I guess I am."

"The abstract way he displayed your body, it's very sexy. You know I used to be someone's muse." She patted the back of your hand. "From the size of this ring I'm guessing you're not nearly as reluctant anymore."

Knocking back your champagne you reached for another, "I'm currently working on lowering my inhibitions."

Focusing back on Taehyung she continued, "I simply have to have this painting, it reminds me so much of my younger days."

He shook his head to reinforce what he was about to say. "Unfortunately this one has already been curated to a private collection." He winked nodding discreetly in your direction.

"Don't be silly, I'll give you $20,000."

You choked on your drink surprised while he reiterated his statement.

"I'm sorry, It's just a very special painting to me."

You had to interject, "Let's not make any hasty decisions."

Taehyung raised a scolding eyebrow, "The piece is simply priceless, I've put too much of myself in it to sell." 

You smirked at his secret admission. "What if," feeling emboldened with confidence you put forth the suggestion, "we make it a series?"

Taehyung's eyes lit up as you explained.

"It'll be one of a kind, just for you madam."

Her bangles declared her excitement as she clapped. "Yes, I love that! But I have two conditions."

Leaning forward you both eagerly waited.

“I want extra splatters, I really like the way they look. And I'm going to need it finished in time for my party next week.”

Taehyung shook the woman's hand and grinned proudly at you.

"No problem, we'll start working on it tonight."

[bearificationtransformations]

Troy had heard about the new bearification drug. It seemed to work like magic to the guys who took it. Within hours, or even minutes, guys who took the drug began growing more and more body hair and packing on bulk. Troy wasn’t sure how much he believed it, but each week there was more buzz about it on a few gay porn sites and fetish pages. The whole thing seemed very unlikely, and a supposed source would appear only for that supposed source to disappear moments later.

A handsome guy, Troy was not particularly bearish. Despite getting plenty of attention for his lean, slightly hairy build, Troy DiAngelo loved the big muscle bear look, and the idea of something that could help him pack on mass really appealed.

He hit the gym regularly but didn’t have that muscle mass he really wanted to build. 170 pounds on his 5’10” frame wasn’t that much.

Troy clicked on the link when someone posted about a source for the bearification formula. It led him to an craigslist -like coded email address. He wrote in asking for the price, not expecting any response.

Only minutes later he recieved a response, still from a coded email address:

“I need to know what you plan to use it for. Tell me, how big do you think you’ll get with one vial?”

Troy wrote back, saying it was just for himself, something to help build mass, something for the gym.

A few minutes later he recieved the response:

“$50.00 for a half dose. If you’re just building some muscle, you only need a half dose taken once. Take it before and after a hard workout. Do weights, none of that running shit, that’ll just make your legs and ass huge. Two workouts after you’ve taken it. Twice a day for three days. If you skip on working out you’ll get fatter and not build much muscle. If you lift, it’ll work correctly. Also, I don’t know what your background is, but some guys get really hairy really quickly. Most guys get hairier, some get really, really hairy. Be prepared.”

Troy couldn’t pretend he wasn’t excited by the idea, and even if It was a scam, it wasn’t that much money. He used some online payment service the guy linked him to and send his address.

6 days later the vial arrived. It wasn’t a scam.

Troy mused over what to do, and waited for the weekend to try it out. He did exactly as the anonymous source had said: on Friday night he hit the weights at his gym hard. He did both back and chest. He went home sweaty and downed the vial. He didn’t feel anything right away.

It was an hour later he began feeling the rising heat on his skin. He itched he felt energetic. He swore his forearms looked hairier. He stripped of his shirt quickly and looked in the mirror. He could see a huge number of new, thin, barely visible hair covering his chest and stomach.

‘Fuck’ he thought, it was working. He was so jacked up and excited he barely slept. He jerked off twice and on the second time finally passed out. As he jerked off that evening he watched the thin hair steadily grow thicker and more noticeable. Soon he could feel more of it on his arms, chest, even shoulders. He felt meatier too. He couldn’t place it, but he felt... a little bigger.

Having barely slept, Troy jumped out of bed to hit the gym as soon as it opened at 7:00 am that Saturday. His shirt was tighter and he had a little patch of hair now swirling at the base of his neck. His chestwas getting totally covered in new, thick hair. As he looked at himself in the gyms mirrors he could see how much bigger he was looking already.

By the time he got home he weighed himself. 190 pounds and climbing. It had been 12 hours since he had taken the formula and it was really doing its thing. His arms were bigger, his chest, his shoulders were broader. He hadn’t gained an ounce of fat either. He was well on his way to muscle beardom.

Troy could hardly concentrate on anything other than his transformation. He was so horny and worked up that he could hardly stand it. He loved how tight his shirts were getting in all the right places. That and the hair was just getting thicker and thicker all over his body. His beard was getting longer. That supplier hadn’t lied! Maybe it was his Italian genes that kicked in, but Troy was now a seriously hairy guy. The impossible-to-hide, overwhelmingly hairy guy. The kind of hairy that pours out of shirt collars and sleeves. People were going to notice no matter how he trimmed it back.

That night he did his leg workout and came back to his home scale. 210 pounds of fur covered beef. He was beside himself. He jerked off 4 more times that night, barely able to keep his hands off his new body. By Sunday morning he was 220 pounds. The growth was slowing down, but man was he thrilled. No one could deny him the title of muscle bear now.

The next days went on without out too much further change, but his libido didn’t seem to diminish much. He was now constantly horny and his dick seemed just a little thicker than before.

Troy had to graduate to larges and extra larges for his shirts to fit over his furry 230 pound build. He was strong as hell, and had virtually gained zero fat in the process. Men seemed to get out of his way when he worked out now, And the other big guys in the gym took notice. He proudly measured his arms at an impressive 19” and benched 315 with no problem.

And when he finally uploaded his new scruff profile pic up that week, the app exploded with messages. No one could get seem to get enough of the hairy beefcake he had become, and he couldn’t get enough ass to ever satisfy him. He had turned into a beast of a man.

[alittlebitgoofy]

if you want it make a move (taywhora)

part 2!! surprised i did this so quick but motivation happens, I'm not sure if it went right, I'm still new to this but we trying. we stan emerald for betaing, love it when someone is shocked i write canon compliant now skdjhfksjdf

title is from yours by now now

ao3 link 

The drive home was monotonous, despite the entertainment of Bimini next to him. Tayce felt the hangover from last night dully present throughout the day. It filled him with a bit of dread to realise tonight would end up much the same. Perhaps he could hold back on the alcohol, though with A’whora around, that didn’t seem like a possibility. He hated the taste of it and yet loved to get drunk with people. Tayce learnt that one after many a night of drinking. The more he had, the more he’d egg Tayce on. It led to many horrible hangovers but it was part of what made his roommate so fun.

Speaking of A’whora, said roommate was constantly texting him. Clearly, the clingy behavior wasn’t just a result of the alcohol. Tayce chalked it up to excitement. A’whora loved a party and celebrating the end of their journey on the show was something they had to do. They wanted to send it off well and have a fun night to remember.

“Is that A’whora again? Swear she never leaves you to breathe.” Bimini giggled as Tayce’s phone vibrated again. He could only laugh it off, knowing the connotations of it all but not wanting to deal with that. The sexual tension was the most annoying thing, Bimini knew his aversion to it but it made jokes all the funnier to most people.

“He’s a right hound, was drunk calling me last night asking when I'll get home when I’d already told him.” Tayce couldn’t help but smile a bit in memory of the night before. It was stupid and by no means should have entertained him but there was something cute about someone so genuinely missing him after only a day apart. This was their thing to celebrate and he craved it as much as his roommate did.

“Aww, he misses you. That’s cute.”

Bimini teased, with Tayce barely able to hide the blush forming at the idea of it all. There was a part of him that missed the idiot when he wasn’t around. Something about his goofy smile, dimples showing whenever he barked out a laugh that was reminiscent of a seal. It made his heart squeeze in a way no one else could. The absolute hound, having the gall to be that cute.

He stayed uncharacteristically quiet, participating in conversation with Bimini every so often but staring out the window texting A’whora more than anything. Thankfully Bimini didn’t comment on it, assuming it was the hangover and not the thought of the clingy boy he called his best friend.

---

The realisation that Tayce didn’t have his phone had come quickly after entering the door. A’whora was there offering his own to call and sort the situation. It came to the conclusion of them mailing it back, with Tayce frustrated about the amount of time without his phone but thankful it was safe and he’d get it back.

A’whora helped take his mind off it, jumping at the chance to pull him into a tight hug and whisper how good he was in the finale. It was a brief moment, and Tayce wanted nothing more than to throw his bag in his room and chill out for a bit before they started celebrating.

The table that got set up was nostalgic, it looked like a kids party, with party rings, sausage rolls. The staples of a party for children, but it added to the warmth bubbling up in Tayce. They’d gotten a huge cake from some company he’d forgotten the second A’whora told him.

A’whora seemed delighted by it all, reveling in how the table was set up. Tayce couldn’t help but laugh at how focused he was on the aesthetics, always the designer.

“Wonder how easy it’ll be for you to get drunk, my favourite lightweight.” Tayce smirked, poking A’whora’s shoulder as he let out a huff.

“I am not! You can’t drink that much more than me anyway, you hound!” He exclaimed, gently shoving Tayce in protest.

“You take 3 or 4 drinks to get tipsy, don’t kid yourself.” He deadpanned, A’whora pouting in response, refusing to confirm or deny the statement though they both knew it was true.

His guess was right, on the fourth drink A’whora was sneaking closer, clumsily trying to get his attention without causing too much of a distraction. Their roommates would hound them the second they realised something may be going on but he was too busy buzzing from the alcohol and close proximity to Tayce to care.

Tayce himself wasn’t far off, a few drinks in, beginning to feel the alcohol in his system. Though there were some shots involved too, he still wasn’t as bad as the mess nestled into him.

A’whora was glued to his side for most of the night; the more drinks, the more giddy the pair became. Everything felt real now, the show had ended and it was supposed to be sad but in the company of each other it wasn’t. They were so glad it happened, reflecting on it all and sending it off like this just felt right.

“I’m so glad we got to do all of this, isn’t it wonderful?” A’whora mused, briefly philosophical before turning his attention back to the cake in his lap. He kept leaning over to offer Tayce some, despite being fully capable of getting his own slice, this felt better. He felt something in him flutter at the affection.

“Yeah, feels like we’re free now, we got on the show, we did it. Now we get to live our best lives with that experience,” Tayce agreed, and even though it amused him a bit to see A’whora become a suddenly philosophical drunk, he had a point.

“You did so well in the finale, I’m so proud of you.” A’whora turned to him, soft brown eyes shining with admiration. Tayce wanted to avoid the gaze, to avoid dealing with the emotions it brought but that was just his talent. He looked so genuine in the statement, Tayce had never needed someone else’s approval, though this felt different. It wasn’t in the same way people always said it. A’whora genuinely looked up to him, it was cute.

“It was fun, I think we all knew Bim or Lawrence was going to win, took a lot of pressure off of my shoulders.”

“You’re my winner.” He didn’t try to hide the tenderness in his voice. The brown-haired man stared at Tayce like he was the only person in the world. His smile melted Tayce down to his core, pulling down any walls to just focus on him, here and now.

“You’re such a softie.” Tayce’s voice was also tender, pulling the smaller man into his arms, as if he needed protecting from anything in the silent room.

It was at that point he noticed everyone had gone, that it was just him and A’whora in the room, so much space around them but unable to pull themselves apart.

He shifted in Tayce’s arms, turning to face him. His face morphed between a few things, at first neutral, then into a goofy smile before something more thoughtful, Tayce knowing the look all too well. He was going to ask something, possibly something Tayce didn’t want to answer and it would be hard to say no to those eyes.

“Tayce, why do you never talk about your feelings?”

There it was. The emotional drunk A’whora, wanting nothing more than to open himself up and have someone do the same in return. Tayce wasn’t closed off to the idea, though he hated to be pried open. It was his choice, and no matter how much he trusted A’whora, he wouldn’t be able to do it on demand.

“I do, just don’t spill my vulnerability because that’s not how I deal with it.”

“You know what I mean, you’re never fully open with me. LIke I’m always the one bearing my heart and you shut yours out even when it’s only us.” A’whora frowned, eyes falling to the ground. It looked like tears were starting to build up, Tayce not knowing if he had it in him to deal with emotional crying drunk A’whora while he was gone himself.

“I know you don’t like being vulnerable, but I can tell you have feelings. Wouldn’t it be easier if you admitted it? We could be happy, but you just want to hide that part away, like it’ll go away when it clearly hasn’t.” A’whora continued, not waiting for a response and cutting Tayce deep. He was speechless, he knew deep down they were both aware of it, but it hit differently to hear it said out loud. His face spoke for him, eyes wide and flickering everywhere that wasn’t his roommate. This wasn’t a conversation you had while drunk, but it seemed like he didn’t have much of a choice with A’whora’s persistence.

Tayce tried to formulate his response, to honestly tell A’whora about his fears, not wanting to ruin the strong friendship they had and not feeling like a relationship would be good. It could work, they both knew it. They got along so well; they had amazing chemistry. The only thing stopping them was the hesitance.

The only thing stopping them was Tayce.

Maybe he should stop getting in his own way, and let himself try something outside of his comfort zone. Relationships were the one no-go in his life but why did they have to be? He didn’t have to be powerless at the idea. A’whora deserved better. So he kissed him, not waiting to think it through. A’whora was startled at first, but returned it enthusiastically, his arm snaking its way around Tayce’s shoulder to pull him in ever so closer.

They fell apart, trying to catch their breath as Tayce noticed the blush on A’whora’s face.

“Are you blushing? You give me this whole speech and you’re taken aback when I do something about it? You’re adorable.” Tayce’s face lit up, poking A’whora’s cheek and delighting in how flustered he looked.

“I’m not! The alcohol is making my body warm, you hound!” He futilely protested, blushing further as Tayce snuck closer, hand placed firmly on his chest to feel his racing heart.

“You’re an awful liar, it’s cute.”

A’whora jokingly shoved him, hiding his face in his hands as if it would help the situation.

“So do you want to do something about it? You were all talk last night, back it up, Georgie.”

If A’whora had anything left in him, it fled his body at that. He was left like a statue frozen at Tayce’s sudden shift. He could only lean into his hands as one cupped his face, pulling him into a more desperate kiss. Tayce wanted him, and he would let him have everything.

[thewayshedreamed]

This Time— Epilogue

A/N: Finally— the epilogue for This Time is here! I think I struggled to finish/ post this because it meant this little au was truly over, and I enjoyed writing it so much. Thank y’all again for every reblog, kind comment, and like y’all have left as you followed the story. I’ve loved every second of it!

Also, feel free to send me prompts set in this au if the inspiration hits! I’ll always love revisiting these two dummies 💕

Fic masterlist is linked below in case you need to catch up before reading the epilogue!

This Time masterlist

acotar masterlist

——————————————————————————

Nesta awoke to the feeling of calloused hands running down her back and a heavy weight draped across her hips. She raised her head to locate the offender, her eyes trailing over a long, tan thigh, some unmentionables, a firm stomach, broad chest, and landing on a pair of bright hazel eyes.

“Would you get off of me? You’re massive,” she ground out.

He was seated across her backside, running his hands down her back in broad strokes. He paused at her lower back and repeated the motion in reverse. Once his hands made their way back to her neck, he sprawled them across her shoulders and onto the bed, as he leaned over onto his elbows to hold his weight.

“Apologies, milady,” he joked, nipping the top of her ear playfully. “I guess I’ll go.”

He started to roll away from her, but her hand reached back to grasp his cheek to stop him. She pulled his face toward her own, raising her head to graze her lips over his as she spoke.

“No. I miss you,” she breathed against his mouth.

He smiled through their kiss as his hand shifted back down her body, lifting her hips slightly. Her breath hitched as he slid into her, his mouth claiming hers as he moved. Her fingers found their way into his hair, and he grunted into her mouth as she tugged the strands. His pace increased, the only sounds in the room being the crumpling of the sheets, their bodies moving together, and the small cries Nesta emitted with each thrust. He broke the kiss to rest his forehead on the back of her own head as they finished together, whispering each others’ names as they rode out their pleasure.

He rolled onto his side next to her, and she turned to tuck her face into the center of his chest. She took a deep breath, basking in the comfort of his scent and his arms around her.

“I think I could stay right here forever,” she mused.

——————————————————————————

12 years later

——————————————————————————

Unsure of what provoked such specific thoughts of her and Cassian’s fervid affair, Nesta shook her head to snap back into the present. Her daughter’s loud squeal caught her attention, and she let out a long chuckle as she watched her run through a small flock of birds that had landed in their yard. She had her arms thrust out to her sides, trying to blend in as a member, and she flapped them in earnest as she approached.

Nesta found herself envious of her 4-year-old’s free spirit sometimes, knowing she didn’t have it in her on a molecular level. Ironically, the young girl was Nesta’s carbon copy in appearance. Her heart caught anytime Annie looked at her with eyes identical to her own, yet with an entirely different soul beneath.

“She’s such a busy body,” her son remarked, the fondness in his eyes for his sister negating his tone. He was seated in the wooden chair next to Nesta, book rested in his lap, as he watched his younger sibling run through the flock. He wore an expression far beyond his meager 10 years.

Nesta huffed a laugh at his comment, noting the amount of herself she heard in his voice. While her daughter was everything Nesta was not, her son was so much like her that it could be scary at times.

“That’s just how she’s made, love. Let her live,” she replied, with an air of mock defensiveness for her daughter.

“I am!” he insisted. “It just seems like she would be... I dunno. Tired, sometimes.”

Nesta laughed openly at that, understanding his perspective more than she could explain to him.

“I get it. She’s just different from you and me, you know? Your Uncle Azriel once told me that people like me and you need people like your sister. She keeps life interesting,” she mused, a soft smile of adoration plastered across her face for her daughter.

“Aunt Elain says Uncle Az is a know-it-all,” he snarked.

She snorted another laugh, but before she could respond, the subject of their conversation rounded the corner of the porch.

“Sounds like I need to have a talk with your Aunt Elain,” he joked, messing up his hair playfully.

“Unc,” he scowled, “stop it.” Despite his frustrations, he stood and hugged Azriel, still young enough to idolize everything about his uncle.

“Can I help with anything, Nes?” Azriel asked from over his nephew’s head.

Elain walked up behind him, both of their daughters in tow.

“ABIDUS,” their youngest, Cosette, squealed from Elain’s arms. The two-year-old was still working on “Atticus”, and Nesta had to admit it was a mouthful.

Nesta beamed proudly as her son released his uncle, turning his affections to the toddler immediately. A smile made its way to his face, and he extended his hands in invitation. She leaned forward enthusiastically, no doubt in her young mind that her older cousin would catch her every single time. She squeezed tightly around his neck as he started to walk down the steps to meet Annie in the yard.

“Coming, Cath?” he called over his shoulder to the older of his cousins.

Catherine had her arm around Elain’s lower back, her face tucked into her mother’s waist. She was tall for her tender age of 8, taking after her father. At the mention of her name, her hazel eyes peeked around Elain and brightened at the sight of her sister and cousins all greeting each other.

“Yep,” she replied shyly, as she walked down the porch steps.

“She just woke up from a nap in the backseat,” Elain explained. “She’s still waking up, I think.”

“No need to explain,” Nesta insisted as she wrapped her sister in a tight hug. “Especially to me.”

She felt comforted by her sister’s tight squeeze and held her just a few seconds longer than usual. It had been a while since they could all get together, and she’d missed her sisters greatly.

She turned her attentions to Azriel, wrapping him in a tight hug around his middle just as Atticus had done moments ago. He returned the gesture, placing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“You never answered me, you know. Can I do anything?”

“No,” she responded as she pulled away from him, “enjoy our kids, I guess. Everything is almost done inside, so we’re just waiting on everyone else to join us.”

“Oh,” Elain interjected, “I just talked to Feyre as we were pulling up. Her and Rhys are wrangling their small circus and heading this way shortly.”

The sisters shared a low, fond chuckle at the thought of the chaos their youngest sister was mediating at the moment. There was a time where Nesta and Elain had gaped at Feyre when she mentioned she and Rhys wanting four kids, but now, it was hard to imagine their family any other way.

“Seriously, go have fun with the kids,” she ordered. “I’m going to check on the food, and I’ll bring out a bottle of wine to share until the rest of the crew shows up.”

“Where is your husband, anyway?” Azriel inquired.

“He’ll be here soon— got tied up,” she assured him, even though she wasn’t entirely sure what was keeping him.

She turned toward the door to slip back inside. Truth be told, Nesta needed a minute with her thoughts. Her memories from only minutes ago were clanging through her brain, and she needed a few minutes to get her head on straight. She could hardly host a family dinner with thoughts of her and Cassian’s early days swimming around in her head; specifically, between the sheets.

Their relationship had been everything they’d expected and more. That’s not to say there weren’t struggles here and there, but they managed to work through things as a team as they had in their years as best friends. They had dated for for a little over a year until Cassian had decided he wasn’t “satisfied” by the state of their relationship anymore, the statement still causing an ache in her chest all these years later.

Her thoughts were promptly replaced by checking on the meal she was preparing for her family. Everything was looking as it should, so she turned her attention to the glassware collection to grab wine glasses for the adults. She selected a white and a red, grabbed a corkscrew, and balanced her haul in two arms as she made her way outside.

There was an intense game of “Red Rover” occurring among the group, poor Azriel getting left out every time. None of them dared to call him over, knowing he would be able to run through their grip effortlessly. He looked totally unbothered, content to watch their family play together no matter what that meant for him.

Unwilling to disrupt them so soon, Nesta rested the wine bottles on the porch railing with the glasses next to them. She sat down in the wooden chair she occupied earlier, watching them play as an SUV pulled into the driveway. Her husband climbed out, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up just below the elbows and tie abandoned entirely in favor of an open neckline.

“DADDY,” Annie yelled, breaking into a full run toward the man getting out of the vehicle. She showed no regard for his slacks or polished shoes as she barreled into him, near-climbing up his legs in an attempt to reach his upper body for a hug. He lifted her easily, pulling her into his chest and kissing her hair.

“Hey, Spitfire,” he said. “Looks like you’re having a good time out here.”

“We are!” Annie yelled. “Come play with us! Unc’s not gettin’ to play a whole lot.”

He laughed, setting her down to rejoin the others. “I’d love to. Let me check in with momma and change clothes, yeah?”

“K!” She ran off, no harm done by the delay in his joining them.

He made his way over to Nesta, taking the porch steps two at a time. She rose to meet him, and he placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Hey, love,” he murmured.

“Hi,” she breathed. “Dinner’s done. And there’s wine if you want some.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry I’m late. I should have called, but I got caught in mediation longer than I expected. The good thing is, we’ve settled out of court, so that lightens my load for a little while.”

“It’s okay. I understand,” she assured him.

“Something wrong? You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, Nes.” He reached out to run his hands over her shoulders.

“Just thinking is all.” His brows scrunched at her words. “No big deal; just some nostalgia really. Go get changed. Annie is counting down the seconds,” she laughed.

“As long as you promise you’re okay.”

“I am. I swear.”

It wasn’t a total lie. In the purest sense, she was fine. She had half of her family with her, the other half joining them any minute now. The only problems were the incessant day dreaming and the intense emotions accompanying them.

“Come on,” he urged her, lacing his fingers with hers. “I’ll change, and you talk.”

He didn’t believe her. She supposed years of marriage counted for something, but she fought the bristling of her defenses all the same. She wanted to be alone to work through her emotions, but it appeared she wouldn’t be blessed with that today.

They walked in silence, him guiding her hand in hand to their bedroom. He prompted her to sit at the foot of their bed while he started to undress, his body angled sideways to allow him to look toward her and place what he needed to on their dresser simultaneously. He pulled his keys and wallet from his pockets, placed them in the small dish, and patted around his pockets for his phone. He placed that face down on the corner and turned his attention to the remaining buttons of his shirt.

He kept his gaze forward as he spoke, and she knew he was trying not to seem as though he was interrogating her.

“What’s on your mind?” His voice was a near whisper.

“I mean.. I don’t know exactly. I’m just especially emotional today. I’ve been replaying memories from my past all day, and I can’t shake it. But it’s nothing you should worry about.” Her voice was quiet but sure.

“Of course I’m worried about it— worried about you. I can almost hear you thinking. I hope you know I’m here if you need anything is all.”

She could tell he was restraining himself, his annoyance peeking through in small ways like how he oriented his body fully toward the dresser now. The room was tense around them, but she knew there was nothing she could say that would relieve his worries without giving him a snapshot into her headspace. He would never demand it of her if she felt adamantly against it, but she had learned in their time together that he worried a little less when she shared a glimpse with him.

“One thing I’ve played and replayed in my head was the day you proposed,” she shared quietly.

His shoulders tensed but relaxed immediately, almost as if he had expected something terrible and been spared.

“Yeah?”

She bit her lip, weirdly shy about sharing the moment entirely from her perspective.

—

He is picking her up from her apartment for date night, telling her it’s a surprise. He helps her into his truck and drives for what seems like forever. They finally pull off the road into what looks like nothing but dense forest with a small, dirt road leading to nowhere. He keeps driving, suddenly making his way into a clearing. Nesta blinks against the dark several times and realizes it’s not only a clearing; it’s a small cliff overlooking the city. From here, they can marvel at the beauty of their city and the stars alike, and Nesta thinks it may be the most beautiful place she’s ever visited.

He gets out of his truck and urges her to stay until he has everything settled. She hears the tailgate open, followed by rummaging sounds in the bed of his truck. His feet hit the earth roughly, and she hears his footsteps kicking up gravel and foliage as he makes his way to her. Her door flies open, and he extends his hand to her.

“We’re having a picnic,” he announces proudly.

“A picnic? It’s dark!”

“I did think of that. I brought candles. Ye of little faith,” he teases.

She turns at the end of the bed of the truck, looking at what he has set up. The bed has blankets laid all over, extras thrown around for them to snuggle into if they want to. There are pillows haphazardly stacked toward the cab of the truck and a small ice chest in the center. He grips her waist, lifting her to sit on the tailgate, and turns to lift himself to sit next to her.

“All these pillows and blankets, and you want to sit here?” she jokes.

He is leaning on his palms, shoulders high and tense as she talks. He clears his throat.

“Um. Yeah. I guess I didn’t think that through. I probably should have talked to you first now that I think about it.”

—

“You realize I was there, right? Are you really going to put me through this cringe-worthy proposal all over again?” There was humor in his voice, and she felt like she could breathe again.

“You asked! If I have to think about it, you’re coming down with me!”

—

“What does that mean?” Her heart is racing now, and she feels the blood leaving her hands and feet.

He clears his throat a second time, a clear indication of his nerves. “I guess I should just come out with it. As you know, we’ve been together a while now, and it’s been great.”

“Still waiting on you to come out with it,” she mutters.

“Sorry— I’ve been thinking, and I don’t think I’m satisfied with where we are anymore.”

All of the blood is draining from Nesta’s face, and she thinks she may vomit. Was this really happening to her? This is why she doesn’t trust people, why she doesn’t let people in, why she doesn’t let people see her—

“It’s not enough for me,” he continues. She can’t bear to hear anymore, and she’s opening her mouth before she can think better of it.

“What the fuck? Did you really bring me all the way out here, to only the gods know where, to break up with me? What is wrong with you? Who does that?” she fumes. “Take me home.”

“What?” he scrambles, “Nes, I’m not breaking up with you.” He hops down from where he’s sitting to stand in front of her, his hands coming up to cup her face. “Gods, I’m fucking this up.”

“You are on borrowed time. Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to do it,” she orders, head still spinning.

“Marry me,” he states simply, as if it’s the most reasonable request in the world.

She blinks up at him, unsure of what she’s heard.

“I’ve never known love like I’ve known it with you. You have been the greatest joy of my life, and all I want is to continue trying to make you happy. To wake up next to you everyday. To have a family together. To be partners in this life. Nesta Archeron, will you marry me?” Tears are brimming on his lower eyelids, and she remembers she has to speak.

She nods vigorously, unable to say it out loud initially. “Yes,” she finally whispers, tears streaming down her face. This isn’t the way she thought this was going, but she’s so happy this is where it ended up.

“Yeah?” he asks excitedly. His smile is breathtaking.

“Yeah,” she assures him and pulls his face to hers.

—

He slid out of his button down and pulled his undershirt off, busying himself to try to hide the blush across his cheeks.

“All things considered, it wasn’t so bad. It all worked out,” she teased. Her heart was already lighter by talking to him, and all she had done was share her thoughts aloud.

“I fucked that up royally, and you know it. I don’t know why we can’t just let it go,” he said through a laugh.

“Never,” she insisted, reveling in his discomfort. “Actually, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll never mention this proposal story again if, and only if, you retire it. You know exactly what I mean, too, so don’t play dumb.”

He whirled around, eyes huge as he assessed her. She took in his bare torso, as devastating as ever, and found herself growing warmer under his attention.

“I’m up here, wife. And no. No deal,” he said adamantly.

“Come ON,” she lamented, “Archeron isn’t even my last name anymore! It’s way past time to let it go.”

“Sorry, Archie. You know I’ll take it to the grave with me. I don’t make the rules,” he said, as he pulled a grey tee over his head, the color accentuating the very small strip of greys against an onyx backdrop.

The only time his grey hair was visible was when he had his strands pulled back, and in the unfair way of the universe, the only grey he’d started to show was that one strip at his temple. Every other strand had remained as black as ever, almost as if he’d placed it there artificially. He was aging like fine wine, indeed.

“What do you mean, you don’t make the rules? You quite literally do,” she demanded, doing her best to ignore her disrobing husband.

He pulled on a pair of athletic shorts and lowered himself to the carpet in front of her. He situated himself between her legs and wrapped his long arms tightly around her middle, resting his head on her chest.

“I missed you today,” he deflected.

She hummed her agreement as she loosed his hair and ran her fingers through. They sat in silence for a couple of seconds before he spoke again, his voice muffled.

“You are especially nostalgic today, sweetheart. The last time you got this sappy on me was when...” his voice trailed off as his entire body went rigid. He looked up at her, eyes full of questions.

“When I was pregnant with Atticus. And again with Annie,” she finished casually, fingers never stopping their ministrations.

“Are you serious?” His voice was equal parts excited and terrified, a feeling Nesta had been experiencing since taking the test that morning.

All she managed was a nod as tears started to roll down her face.

His hands were instantly on her face, similar to all those years ago on the tailgate of his truck, where he stood between her legs and cradled her face as he asked her to be his wife.

“We’re having another baby,” he stated fondly, then, “We were supposed to be done.”

She laughed through her tears, wiping away the few running freely down his face now.

“We were, but it looks like we’re not,” she replied. “Are you happy?”

He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her deeply and with something near reverence. “Couldn’t be happier. Can we tell our family now?”

“Of course, Cass. But I’m the one who announced it last time.”

She pressed another kiss to his lips as they stood together.

“This time, it’s on you.”

——————————————————————————

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[weathergirl8]

Master of Deflection - Part 4

Another update, I hope you enjoy! Thank you all for being incredibly supportive during this rough time as I try to navigate myself through this dark period. I am deeply grateful to have your support. I honestly don’t think I would still be here if it weren’t for your love and support.

This is for you @ak47stylegirl and anyone else who enjoys Alan whump/smothering. Of course, there will be some extra Virgil in there too, because I just love the big guy.

@gumnut-logic Virgil smothers for you!

@godsliltippy @misssquidtracy Gordon jokes and laying down the law for you!

As a friendly reminder, I originally came from the TOS and TB 2004 era. I’ve tried to write a few TAG point of views, but my comfort zone is the previous. This will take place with Gordon as the redhead, and Virgil as the middle bro. Sorry!

Summary: Being the youngest of five is always hard, especially when they pounce at the slightest hair out of line. Sometimes the art of deflection can sting.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daylight narrowly filtered into his bedroom as Alan slowly opened his heavy eyelids. The eighteen-year-old groaned as consciousness greeted him, and it was anything but welcoming. He swallowed with a grimace as his throat not only felt dry but painfully scratchy like sandpaper. Alan coughed as a tickle erupted from him, which only added to his misery as the rattle settled deep into his chest. He threw his covers off him as he felt smothered by heat, sweat collecting across his brow.

Turning to look at his clock, he noticed a note and a fresh bottle of water sitting on his nightstand. Alan groaned as he forced his achy body to reach the note before him. Unfolding it, Alan saw it was from his father.

Alan,

I came in to check on you, but you were sound asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. Be sure to drink this water body to help stay hydrated. It’ll help with your headache. There is soup in the fridge waiting for you whenever you feel up to it. We can bring it up to you if you need us to. All you have to do is ask. I’ll come to check on you again in a few hours unless one of your brothers beats me to it. I laid another dose of your migraine meds on your nightstand so you wouldn’t have to get up. If you think you need another dose, I’d prefer you contact Virgil so he can check on you. For your old man’s sake, humor me.

Love, Dad

Alan smiled and laid the note back on his nightstand as he collapsed back into his bed. Closing his eyes, the teen moaned as his body ached once more, his head still pounding. Sniffling, he pulled the last Kleenex out of the box on his nightstand and blew his stuffy nose. He sighed when he didn’t see another box in sight.

Pushing his tired body up, he closed his eyes against the dizziness that stole his balance. A chill slithered its way throughout his body, causing the teen to throw the covers back over him quickly.

Nope, not worth making the trip to the bathroom.

Alan collapsed back into the comfort of his bed once more with a whimper as he realized he couldn’t handle this on his own anymore. Illuminating the face of his watch, he sent a quick text to his brother Virgil hoping the medic was both awake and near the device as it was still early morning yet.

He turned to grab a drink of water as he fought against another tickle in his throat while throwing the blankets off him as he suddenly felt heat overwhelm him. Alan felt his watch buzzing but was unable to answer as the tickle turned into a deep cough. The teen pushed himself up and tried to clear his throat. Fiddling with the cap on the water bottle, Alan attempted to take a sip of water in hopes it would help. He swallowed at the wrong time, making him cough more as he choked on the water.

“Alan!” he heard his brother call and felt Virgil’s steady arms around him.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed. “I just swallowed wrong.”

“Geez, kid. First, you text me you need me, and then you don’t answer. Then I find you in here choking,” Virgil barked. “What’s going on?”

“Virgil, can you take it down a notch,” Alan’s hoarse voice pleaded, wincing as his head throbbed.

“Sorry, you just gave me a scare is all,” Virgil exhaled as he eyed his baby brother precariously. “Are you okay? Is it your head?”

Alan coughed, groaning once more. “Yes and a few other things.”

Virgil frowned. “I don’t like that cough. When did it start?” he asked as he felt his brother’s forehead. “Yikes, kiddo. You’ve got a fever cooking there. What other symptoms do you have?”

“Headache still around. The cough started last night, along with the body aches. My throat hurts. One minute I’m cold, the next I’m sweating. It’s annoying,” the blonde grumbled, as another cough erupted from him, causing a grimace. “Chest hurts a little when I cough too.”

Virgil frowned deeper. “Let’s get you down to the infirmary and see what kind of fever we’re dealing with. I think you might have caught a nasty chest cold, Allie.”

“Lucky me,” Alan sighed. “Can’t I just stay here, and you can do your magic?”

“No can do, Sprout. I want to do a full-body check. If everything checks out, I’ll send you back here to isolate and rest. Deal?”

“Fiiine,” Alan whined and climbed out of bed slowly. As he stood, Alan felt his world tilt.

“Whoa!” Virgil exclaimed as he caught Alan around the waist, preventing the teen from falling. “Dizziness another symptom?”

“Yea,” Alan mumbled as he held onto his older brother.

“You okay?” Virgil worried as he continued to hold most of Alan’s weight.

“Peachy. Did you catch that bus that hit me?”

Virgil chuckled. “Afraid not, Al. Next time I’ll be sure to ask for license and registration. C’mon, let’s get you taken care of.”

-TB-

“I should’ve noticed this before the mission last night. I woke him up before the klaxon went off and something seemed off,” Scott cursed, leaning his head against the hallway wall.

Word had quickly spread across the villa that the youngest Tracy was sick. Virgil had kicked them out until he was finished examining the youngest Tracy.

“Alan is the master of deflection, Scott. He only lets us see what he wants us to see. Outside of the headache and general shock from that jerk Captain, he seemed fine,” Gordon said from his spot on the floor. “Besides, even you big brother can’t stop a cold from infecting one of us.”

“I could’ve stopped him from getting drenched in those freezing waters last night. Stopped him from being held by that Captain.”

“Don’t even go there,” Gordon said, looking at his oldest brother pointedly. “I’ve already had this conversation with Virgil. None of you are to blame. It happened, we dealt with it, and Alan is fine.”

“What did Virgil say to you?” Scott asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s fine,” Gordon reassured.

“I highly doubt that,” Scott scoffed. “Either way, I should’ve benched Alan last night.”

“You stop the kid when his mind is set on something?” Gordon mused. “How well has that worked out for you in the past?”

Scott glared at his younger brother.

“Okay, you two,” Virgil interrupted as the automatic infirmary doors opened. “You can come in.”

Scott didn’t waste a second as he entered the sterile room. Approaching Alan’s bed, he nodded at Jeff, who had stayed in the room. “Hey, buddy. How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” Alan groaned.

“Don’t worry, Allie,” Gordon chirped from beside Jeff. “You’ll be good as new before you even know it.”

“What’s the diagnosis?” Scott asked, looking to Virgil on his left. The brunette frowned as Alan was overcome with a coughing fit.

“Something viral,” Virgil said. “Looks like a nasty chest cold taking him for a ride.”

“You’ll be fine in a few days,” Jeff smiled, running a gentle hand through Alan’s unruly mop of hair that desperately needed a haircut.

“I hope so,” Alan croaked as he swallowed, the action irritating his throat. He closed his eyes as a wave of exhaustion hit me.

“Tired?” Scott asked, rubbing Alan’s arm.

“Yea…” Alan replied, opening his eyes.

“You can go back to your room, Sprout. I don’t see any reason to keep you in here for the moment. I already gave you some Tylenol to help with your symptoms,” Virgil said.

“Is it okay if I stay here for a bit? I’m too tired to move,” Alan moaned with a sniffle.

“Sure,” Virgil smirked.

“Better mark that one on the calendar, guys,” Gordon chuckled. “How high is that fever?” he asked jokingly as he tried to reach around their father.

“Shut it, Fishface,” Virgil warned. “We don’t question good things!”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Alan coughed as he reached for a Kleenex to blow his nose.

“Alright, c’mon. Let your brother get some rest,” Jeff said, as he watched Alan’s eyes close.

Virgil rested his hand lightly on Alan’s shoulder. “I’ll check on you in a little while, okay?”

“Mmm,” Alan mumbled, and he was out within seconds.

“He’s wiped,” Scott frowned as they each exited the infirmary.

“Rest is the best thing for him,” Jeff added as they headed toward the office. “I better go update John on the latest and let him know to pack up.”

“Pack up?” Scott asked, confused.

“Brains was already planning on heading up to Thunderbird 5 today with a few software updates to the ship. I saw him on my way to the infirmary this morning and let him know Alan was sick. He offered to take over for a few days so John could be here to help out,” Jeff explained. “I told him we’d be fine, but Brains insisted.”

“Johnny’s coming down for a few days? That should be fun,” Gordon smiled devilishly.

“Gordon,” Jeff cautioned.

“What?” the redhead asked innocently. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I’m just excited to see the guy, that’s all, geesh.”

Virgil raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Sure, you were.”

“You have to convince John to leave first,” Scott said. “You know how he is about his rotations up there.”

“He’d be skipping out to see Alan,” Gordon added. “Just lead with that.”

-TB-

“So, the Sprout is sick?” John asked.

“Virgil said it looks to be mostly viral, but he’s keeping an eye on him,” Jeff reassured.

“Are you sure Brains wants to swap?” John asked apprehensively.

“Positive, John. He insisted. Plus, even if we don’t need the extra hand, it’ll be nice to have you five all earthbound again.”

John smiled. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? Even if the kid is sick.”

“Let’s just hope your brother will get over this bug quickly,” Jeff said, hopeful.

John studied his father’s features on the screen in front of him. “You don’t think he will? I thought Virgil said it was just viral.”

“He did,” Jeff exhaled. “Just a feeling, I guess. Your little brother tends to make me worry. Don’t mind me.”

John smirked in understanding. “I get it, Dad. So, how long do I have until Brains heads up here?”

“A couple of hours. Brains is loading Three as we speak with his equipment and extra supplies.”

“F.A.B. Tell Alan I hope he feels better, and I’ll see him tonight,” John acknowledged.

“Will do. See you soon, John,” Jeff smiled and disconnected the call. Leaning back in his desk chair, Jeff looked across the pictures on his desk. His eyes landed on an image of his sons at Alan’s graduation. A sense of nostalgia filled him as he remembered the day vividly. The patriarch tried to push his feelings of worry aside. After all, Alan was just sick with a cold. There was nothing to worry about.

TBC…

[iwrestlenow]

Many More To Die - Chapter 4

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 4)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman discovers that even the power of a king has its limits--but at least he has the power to help Logan in one critical fashion.

Logan is a needy wreck, and can't figure out which way is up, and as desperately as he needs someone--one man--to hold his hand through it all? It only makes things worse somehow.

Meanwhile, through all of this, another chess piece steps out of the shadows and onto the game board--and he's not going anywhere until he gets what, and who, he came for.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Panic attack, but that’s it for this chapter. It’s mostly me having feelings, being TOTALLY UNABLE TO STOP WRITING WHAT THE HELL SOMEONE SAVE ME XD, and more self indulgent garbage that just felt good to write. So there. :P

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Lord Janus? I want this man dead.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Please—mercy, Your Majesty!”

“Now hang on there just a gosh darn, berry pickin', mother lovin' moment, buster! Janny, if you know what's good for you, you will just stop with this nonsense and put the flippin' sword down!”

Roman would have burst out laughing if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep his composure. It could hardly be helped—Patton came up to Logan's shoulder, but only just, and was standing in his cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the captain of the royal guard like he was a child being scolded for a broken dish.

Janus hardly looked intimidated—but the fact that he stilled after drawing his sword, leaving a terrified guard trembling against the bars of the cell next to Logan's was telling. Seven years, Lord Janus had served as the head of the assassins' corps before retiring to become the captain of the royal guard. Roman had heard stories, but never met the man until today, which was hardly unusual given that Janus was a drake—the son of a human and a dragon. They were notoriously gifted shapeshifters, even with a handicap like his.

Lord Janus was powerful, deadly, and highly skilled at remaining an enimga...but a hobbled child necromancer in a cell had the power to stay his hand.

Janus raised an eyebrow at Patton, but finally glanced at Roman.

Roman nodded. Janus refocused on the guard, pushing the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat, hard enough to draw blood.

“Majesty, I beg you! I don't want to die!” the guard begged.

Roman let out a bemused little laugh.

“How strange,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, “I was under the impression you did, given the fact that you refused, a second time, to obey a direct order from your king.”

“The Necromata must be bound! It's the law!”

“I am the law!”

Storming up to the guard, Roman let his emotions fuel him—exhaustion, grief, anger, confusion, and the tearing, unspeakable ache that throbbed through him every time his gaze ventured too close to the open door of the cell where Logan still leaned.

The wail he'd let out when Roman pulled free of his grip to order the cell door opened was going to haunt his sleep. The way he stood now, so carefully still, features so meticulously schooled into calm, unfeeling lines, was going to rob him of that breath of life Logan had only just returned to him.

“I am the king now, and I am the ultimate authority.” Roman spat. “Now, I fully understand the need to shackle a prisoner being removed from his cell, but as far as I am concerned, this man is no longer a prisoner here.”

“You can't--”

“I think you'll find that I can.”

“Your Majesty.”

Roman turned at the sound of Logan's voice, cool and even but too quiet, hoarse and thick with the tears he'd finally managed to stop from streaming down his face.

“The law is such that the king cannot overrule it.” Logan declared with deceptive calm. “The Necromata, once imprisoned by the royal family, can only be pardoned for the crimes of their birth with the blessing of the people. A vote, if you will...and no such vote has ever been successfully passed.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have been here for ten years with little more to do than read. I have the entire legal code of the Kingdoms and the criminal rules of order memorized, along with the family tree of the royal family and all available star maps of the area.”

Roman wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something—for a terrible moment, he wanted to order Janus to proceed with the guard's execution for real, rather than just trying to make a point.

Then inspiration struck—bright, blinding, and blessed as it filled him with light.

“My order will still be obeyed.” Roman announced. “These two necromancers—they may not be pardoned, but they will be imprisoned at my pleasure...and it is my pleasure to have them confined to guest quarters upstairs. Have extra guards posted at all available palace entrances. They are not to leave the grounds until the vote has been passed. Successfully.”

He shot a look at the offending guard.

“And the first person to shackle either one of them without violent provocation will be hung at dawn.”

Janus lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath—the cane he'd been carrying with him—before moving to Roman's side.

“Bit extreme, don't you think, Majesty?” he murmured once he was close enough to ensure that only Roman would hear him.

“My father is dead, Lord Janus.” Roman shot back bleakly. “I have yet to shed a single tear for him--'extreme' feels like an appropriate response right about now.”

“Touche. Of course—and it has nothing to do with the traumatized necromancer you're apparently well acquainted with?”

Roman didn't answer as he moved towards the open door of the cell. Standing before Logan, he extended his hand...

...then suddenly realized that was a bad idea as he put his hand back down again.

********** More.

Logan could hardly string a single coherent thought together around the constant chant in his mind, his marrow, his soul for the prince to touch him again. He couldn't let him, not when it was so agonizing, fire and pressure and somehow affecting every nerve in his body when it was focused on such a small area...

More. More. More.

He didn't understand why restraining himself was so hard. It hurt, it was clearly doing him some kind of physical and psychological harm...and yet he wanted. Needed.

He couldn't remember ever experiencing the sensation.

It very nearly caused another panic attack when the prince dropped his offered hand—and that was another problem entirely, standing before a cell door standing wide open, and the use of the word pardon being thrown around like it wasn't capable of changing the world as Logan knew it—but the pause that seemed to last for an eternity must have only been a few seconds long.

Because a moment later, the Green Man—the prince—was reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. A missing piece of the military uniform, how had Logan not noticed? He usually noticed things like that...

When he finished tugging them on, he offered his hand to Logan again. He said nothing...just waited.

Logan shook with the force of effort it took to reach, slowly, to accept the offered hand. The gloves blocked some of that heat from skin to skin contact—and when he gently folded his fingers around Logan's, barely any pressure, it was still intense...but better.

“All good, Berry?”

Logan looked into his eyes sharply, the name ricocheting around in his skull in a manner he hadn't experienced in literal years—not since he'd first discovered his power was awakening again, all concussive force and electricity crawling against the underside of his skin.

All at once, the years fell away, and he was asleep in his cell that first terrible night, dreaming of every monstrous shadow transforming into a protector as green eyes lit the dark.

He opened his mouth to answer yes, he was fine—then realized...

“I do not know which of the princes you are.” he admitted with a bemused huff.

That got a smile from the other man—too brief, far too brief before it fractured to pieces, a crystal goblet slammed to the floor, raining shards of razor sharp light.

“Roman.” he replied. “Pr—King Thomas Roman II, but you may address me by my name.”

“Hardly acceptable, is it, Majesty?” Janus mused.

“Given that my life is currently in this man's hands—and the future of my father—I'd say he's earned a few niceties, Lord Janus.” Roman announced, raising his voice to ensure everyone within earshot was aware of it. Logan had a strange feeling that Lord Janus spoke up for precisely that purpose, to make his situation known.

Logan's, not Roman's—Logan knew that anyone with a shred of loyalty to the king would probably kill him if given the chance. There was no question that someone would likely accuse a necromancer with ties to the crown prince of the murder. Fear for Roman's safety would keep him protected.

Janus was that kind of man, shrewd and shameless—Logan knew precious little about Prince Roman, but to discover that he was equally blessed with the gift of strategy was...intriguing.

“Lord Janus, see to it that Logan's cell mate is made comfortable, and shown around the north wing of the palace. That is where I would prefer they spend the bulk of their time.” Roman declared. “I will take custody of this prisoner myself. When you are done, I want you, the dungeon master, the head prison mage, and a heart healer in the war room, immediately. Send for my brother as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty—but I cannot send you alone.” Janus replied. Surveying the guards in their presence, and grimacing with impatience, he finally took a few steps down the corridor and flagged down another guard.

“You! Fetch the cadet from the graveyard patrol, now! I want him on the king's detail.”

Roman nodded his thanks, finally turning his attention back on Logan. Between those green eyes and the warm pressure enfolding his hand, ravaging his nerves and making his chest throb with pure emotion, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer without losing his composure.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked quietly, stepping closer and into Logan's personal space. Strangely, Logan realized he could feel that as well, radiant heat and buzzing static crawling across his skin, too close and not enough and everything.

More. More. More.

“I am not.” he admitted. “Hardly unusual, given that touch starvation is a common condition among the Necromata, to say nothing of the Claim.”

“The Claim? What's that?”

Logan's mouth snapped shut, very real panic rising in his chest again.

“Whoah—Logan? Logan, breathe. Look at me, you need to breathe.”

The Claim. He knew, knew what Logan had done, was holding his hand and Logan could feel it, but now he'd spoken about the Claim, about his power, and he was going to die this time...

...two...three...four...hold for one...two...three...four...five...

“That's it, Logan. There you go, can you do it again?”

...good job, now again: in for one...two...three...four...

Pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, everywhere, pressure pressure unrelenting pressure...

“Hey!”

Logan blinked, attention snapping to the young man suddenly standing in front of him. He was nearly Logan's height, with straight black hair that hung in dark eyes, flinty as stone.

“Name five things you can see.”

“I...what?”

“Do it. Five things.”

Logan shook his head, and almost immediately his gaze was drawn back to Roman.

“Green Man.” he managed to reply. Roman smiled, and Logan felt that mantra start tattooing itself against the inside of his skull, blotting out the fear and panic.

“Okay, keep going. Let's keep going.”

Logan only realized they were moving because Roman still held his hand, was tugging him with the barest of pressure—and Logan's traitorous body followed. Between the cadet, demanding Logan name more things he could see, along with touch, smell, hear, and taste, and Roman's silent encouragement, he found himself moving out of his cell and towards the stairs of the dungeon.

Moving up each stair. Moving through the gate, and into the palace...moving, traveling, with only Roman's hand to restrain him.

Then he was in the palace, above the dungeons...and if he never saw the outside world again, Logan still felt like he could call himself a free man.

********** “Thank you.”

The cadet flinched a little, looking towards the king. “What?”

“Thank you.” King Roman repeated, still crouched motionless by the chair the prisoner had all but collapsed into. He'd basically passed out when they reached the war room, but didn't seem to be in any distress—just exhausted and overstimulated.

“That trick, focusing on his surroundings—it's greatly appreciated.” he went on, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man's face. He still held his hand, like he might vanish if he let him go. “How did you know it would work?”

The cadet had to grit his teeth for a second, finding himself watching the sleeping prisoner despite his best efforts not to. He looked...well, he looked like shit, and it was hard. It was so hard to watch, but he had to do it.

He was finally here, and he had to make sure that he didn't screw up again.

“I have anxiety.” he finally replied, keeping his tone even. “Nightmares, panic attacks, the works. My brother used to help me through them with tricks like that. He'd have me focus on my surroundings, or make me pick out colors—he even made me a special blanket to help me sleep. It, uh—it might be good for him? The guard who got me mentioned that this necromancer can feel your touch? If he's not used to contact, it could...”

“You'd be willing to do that?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go and fetch it, then.”

“Sir, I was ordered to stay with you.”

“I'm the king. I overrule your orders.” King Roman replied.

The cadet lifted his gaze to the king's face, his stomach sinking when he realized he was being stared at. Hard.

Ohhhhh, shit.

“You don't call me 'Majesty.' Why?”

The cadet tried to be discreet about taking a steadying breath as he shrugged. “You have a pet necromancer now. All due respect, but I don't think you'll have the job long.”

“What do you know about necromancers?”

“I know they're not evil. Only reason I'm still here is that you seem to know it, too.”

King Roman nodded, gaze flicking down before it returned to the sleeping necromancer.

“Cadet...do you know what a Claim is?”

The cadet swallowed thickly. No...oh no.

“It's a binding ritual.” the cadet replied. “The Necromata are capable of manipulating death, but when they can't? They take it.”

“Away?”

“No—into themselves. They take the victim's dying breath, infuse it with their blood, and return it to the person it belongs to. That way, when the victim's time comes, they survive it.”

The cadet looked to the necromancer again.

Gods, Loganberry—what did you do?

“And the necromancer dies in their place.”

To his credit, the king paled, his free hand lifting to touch Logan's hair like the cadet itched to—so close for the first time in ten years, but he couldn't even comfort him.

He had to stay put. By the door, protecting the king and his charge.

After a decade, Virgil was finally, finally within reach of Logan in every way that mattered, and he would die before he jeopardized his one chance to save him.

Virgil was the one who got his big brother caught and imprisoned in the first place—he was damn well going to make sure that he was the one to set things right.

[derireo]

unlucky 4 ↦ sakuya & izumi

sakuya can't help but feel that the number four circled on his makeshift calendar meant something.

a young woman shows up in front of his home and shows him just what that number indicates.

「 read on ao3 」 「 1.9k words 」

* sunny is an alias for izumi. first person from sakuya’s pov.

I blink my eyes open at the sound of a wooden cart strolling past my window. There were jars being carried away; I could tell by the clinking and clacking. They jostled at the same rhythm of the horse’s hooves kicking the dust, and if I was able to assume the correct time of day, this cart was supposed to be heading towards the apothecary just down the street.

There were always odd things being sent to that place, but I couldn't question the person who took care of the village here.

I sit up from my bed and wipe away the morning crystals that scratched at the skin around my eyes, body creaking as if I hadn’t moved in days. The small, handcrafted calendar I made for this month sat lonely on the pillow beside me, and I picked it up to check what the date was.

The weak parchment was frail in my fingers as it fluttered, forcing me to be gentle with it. Oddly enough, the paper looked worn-out for something that I had only made just a few days ago.

My pink irises lazily trailed over the first row of crossed out numbers until it reached the fourth. The number four was circled over in red ink multiple times, signalling to me that something important was going to happen. What I found interesting was that I couldn’t seem to remember what the occasion was.

What could be so important on the fourth of April that required me to waste so much ink on some flimsy piece of parchment?

There was no point dwelling on it now. I shake my head to clear the thought and slip the paper into my pocket after gently crossing the circle out. I needed to get ready before anything else if something really was going to happen today.

I trudge outside of my small one room home to step into the busy streets of the village, dust already covering my leather shoes as I shuffle towards the large basin that I left outside the night prior.

It should have collected enough rainwater, but the sun wasn’t kind today and evaporated more than what I had anticipated.

I click my tongue in disappointment and crouch beside the wooden basin, dipping my trembling hands into the bone chilling water to wash my face and freshen my mouth from its sleep odour.

My skin grows numb with each splash of water I give it and the body shivering sensation makes me fail to notice the bouncing figure heading my way.

I blow away the water droplets that threaten to spill in my mouth as I stare into the basin with wide doe eyes, and when I notice someone else staring into the water with me, I startle and stumble back.

A young woman stands before me with large almond shaped eyes, her pupils looking as if they were in the shape of hearts. The golden specks in her irises complimented the soft brown of her eyes and it makes me hold my breath when she moves to crouch beside me, perfectly straight teeth making an appearance once she smiles.

“You don’t have to act so surprised, Sakuya.” Her laughter is soft—soft and warm like those expensive blankets you buy at the artisan markets. It makes my face heat up.

I can’t help but notice the dress she has on, one worn for comfort and had a wide neckline to expose her collarbones and the white smock she wore underneath. The red dress had gold trimming and a belt curled snug around her waist to maintain her figure.

Her voice caught my attention again, but not enough to keep my eyes from admiring how her long brown hair cascaded down her shoulders. She was quite pretty, but it was hard to believe that I was her friend.

I watch as she grabs one of my brown cloaks from the clothing line in front of my home and dons it with ease, as if she had done this many times before. A feeling of familiarity runs through me, but I don’t heed it.

“Sunny.” This unfamiliar name rolls off my tongue like I’ve known her for quite some time already and I bite my tongue to silence myself.

Unfortunately, my mouth opens again. “Did anybody see you—” She threw another cloak at my face to make sure I didn’t utter another word.

“No. Now let’s go to that new tavern we were talking about last week.” Sunny changes the topic and helps me to my feet, pulling the cloak over my own head so that we can head off. I stumble around a little for my legs to regain their feeling, but I’m suddenly dragged away from the front of my home by the aristocrat before I can do anything else.

The travel to the tavern was a blur, Sunny dragging me through shortcuts I’ve never seen before and pushing us into cramped hiding spots when someone she found suspicious would pass us by made it difficult to remember the path we took.

I didn’t understand why she was making it so hard for us to reach our destination and when I asked, she chose to ignore me. She still sent a glare my way though, so I could only guess that her answer was ‘stop talking’.

Her bright disposition was gone, the smile she wore when we stood in front of my home now replaced with a cautious frown.

Not knowing what’s going on makes my body run cold and I want to ask questions, but I know there is no point. There’s no point when it feels like the clock is ticking and the sound of our feet pounding against the ground makes my heart race as if we were being chased by something.

The taste of the dust we kick up is bitter and dry in my mouth as someone calls for us, and just like earlier, Sunny drags me through an endless maze that I can’t seem to recognize.

We weaved through brown mud huts and town homes to lose whoever was tailing us, my calloused hand gripping onto her soft one to make sure we didn’t end up parting ways.

“Don’t let them get to me, Sakuya.” She breathes into the wind as we round a corner, and just as I part my lips to promise her I won’t, a startled scream bursts out of Sunny when a pair of rugged, grimy faced men met us halfway.

Before I can even blink, her hand is already ripped from mine as they take hold of her and snatch her away from me with ease, Sunny thrashing in their bulky hands as another pair of men come up from behind me and restrain me from chasing after them.

“I am INNOCENT.” She wails into the dirty air and kicks her feet for one last fight as they walk further and further away from me.

“Where are you taking her?!” I shout from the top of my lungs as their rough housing with Sunny tears at her cloak and I writhe in the grip of the men who grunted and pulled at me. Someone grabs my hair to keep me from struggling too much and I gasp, watching with panic flowing through my veins as the men disappear with Sunny.

“A young duchess by the name of Izumi Tachibana escaped her manor today.” A voice utters darkly by my ear and it causes me to still. “The calendar marks that her hanging is scheduled on the fourth of April.”

I shake my head. “But her name is Sunny—”

“Her name is Izumi Tachibana.” They cut me off. “And her hanging is today.”

My breathing grows heavy at this revelation and it makes me grow lightheaded. Fortunately, I lose consciousness before the men behind me could make it happen with their fists, and I am dropped to the ground.

I blink my eyes open at the sound of a wooden cart strolling past my window. My mind is hazy as I fumble around for my calendar and get up with a groan, my head pulsing as if I had hit it while I was sleeping.

I squint at the flimsy parchment while heading outside to wash my face at the basin, frowning at the way the number four was urgently circled with red ink.

I was just about to make a comment to myself about this when a woman approached me with a smile, her practiced hands yanking a cloak from my clothesline and donning it before I can identify her.

There’s joy in her eyes from what I can tell when she faces me again, but that happy expression falls when she sees the mini calendar in my hand, the four circled.

Her smile is gone, and she crouches down beside me. This feeling of familiarity running through my body is impossible to ignore as she stares with a hopeless look in her eyes and she reaches out to affectionately pet my mop of red hair.

“You remember this time?” Her eyes go back to the calendar in my fingers and she lets her hand fall to trace patterns into the dust below us.

And really, after yesterday, or well, today...whatever you wanted to call it; I don’t think I’d be able to forget any time soon. I nod at her question and take the other cloak that she held out for me, slipping it on with haste as she went back to stand.

I follow her when she takes a different route this time, continuing to be kept in the dark of what our plans were going to be this time around. I can still hear the echo of her shrill voice ringing in my ears, and I take a deep breath to calm my shaking heart.

Her face is full of determination this time around as we head towards the village dock where many wooden boats line the shore, the fearful expression I remember from yesterday now gone.

It was like she was telling me that she was tired of dying over and over again with no way out, and to be frank, I was getting tired of fainting.

“You always forget every other day.” She muses, pulling me along the shoreline with a pouch full of gold coins rustling in her palm. “I won’t let that happen this time.”

It sounded like a promise was being made to herself and I send her a curious side-eye. She notices and laughs; acting as if we weren’t actively trying to run away right now. We walk down the shoreline a little while longer until she finds a boat she likes and kindly waves one of the boatmen over.

She pays him in silence, overcompensating him with a few more gold coins than needed.

“I’m going to do my darndest to stay alive until we find a way to change my fate.” Izumi is calm unlike yesterday and it eases the anxious tremble in my blood, but not by much.

I bite my lips anxiously and think back to how we were chased around the village yesterday, but Izumi’s voice brushes my worries away and replaces it with something akin to resolve.

After all, her death is caused by the disappearance of somebody else.  

“So, we better find my cowardly father who started this all.”

[helenarasmussen87]

Writing Asks

This the post where I know no one is going to ask me anyway.

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Something that is like a “Oh hey, what happens if we do THIS!” and go from there. Usually ends up having loads of emotions, comfort, angst, introspection, loads of kitchen sink dialogues, not too much action. Families, happy endings.

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Fluffy stuff and humourous stuff. I am a little too serious for either one and my humour is drier than the desert and very odd. So no.

3. Is there a trope you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole?

Teacher and Student relationships. Necrophilia, abuse of all sorts, underage. Just not my thing. I’ve gotten unable to stomach a lot of grimdark and super dark stuff as I get older so I won’t write it. But go ahead if that’s your thing.

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Two, since I can’t have more than two on the burner. Learned THAT early on and they’re Terror AU’s One is a fixit, but with health complications and angst. The other is a Modern Day AU which has two professors falling in love after one gets injured and the other worked as an EMT and helps to take care of him and they fall in love.

5. Share one of your strengths.

I can offer insights on what flows and what doesn’t. I can also happily shred my own drafts if they don’t work. 

6. Share one of your weaknesses.

Action. I work at it, but it’s not my favourite. Or war writing. 

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Danny had to turn his head away to hide his smile, because he knew that it was a legitimate concern for Jose. Most of the time, he had jumped into bed with his partners first and then did the mating dance. 

Although extremely smart in other aspects, dating and social interactions were always a bit skewed, because he was always second-guessing himself and nervous as hell.

“That’s actually how things work out in these situations. At least it did for me and my ex and for me and Claude.” Danny explained calmly, making Jose nod and take another pull of his slurpee.

“So what do I do? Like is there a time when I bring up the possibility of us sleeping together?” Jose asked, the words slightly mumbled as he chewed on the straw.

“You don’t bring it up. You’ll just know when the time is right for it to happen. Sex isn’t what a relationship should be built on. Yes, it’s nice and it’s part of it, but it’s not the end all to be all. Trust me on this. It will happen if it’s meant to happen.” Danny explained, hoping that he had put it all in the plainest and simplest terms he could for his friend.

I am proud of this because it was majorly borrowing from life and I can see the difference from earlier writing. 

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“Sergio laughed shortly. “I’ve already done enough of that, and look at where it’s gotten you. Yeah, legally I hold claim over you. I could make the club buy out your contract and sit at home all day, having litter after litter.”

Iker’s blood froze at that and he turned to look at Sergio to see if he really meant it, but Sergio’s face gave nothing away.

“Or I could sign your rights to the club and let them sell you wherever or to whomever. Take you out of Spain, or sell you to Getafe or Malaga. All of these things I could do. The club actually did bring it up at that meeting you didn’t show up for.”

Iker blinked, his hands going numb as Sergio’s wickedly honed words hit home.

“I’m not telling you this to hurt you. Or make you feel indebted. I’m telling this to you because you’re this close to losing your spot and that’s the last thing I want for you. But there’s only so much I can do for you.”

He sighed and looked at Iker dead in the eyes.

“I miss him too, Iker. I miss Antonio every fucking day. And I miss you.”

Iker swallowed hard as Sergio abruptly turned and left, slamming the front door and freeing him from the command so suddenly that Iker fell onto the couch and curled up in it.

He had no energy to do anything else. Not when he was all too aware he’d fucked up and fucked up big and needed to fix it.

Borrowed from life again and it was more of a dialogue that needed to be had when you finally realize how much you fucked up and how much you need to stop coasting and make it right. 

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

ALL OF THEM! Kidding. I want to say the one I’m working on right now. I was lucky enough I got a ton of help fleshing it out. I can see the end of the 1st chapter and I am having a hell of a time writing Goodsir’s chunk. He’s turned out more emo and romantic than I was expecting. 

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

The QuiObi prompts for the prompt week. Took me like two hours to knock them off and post. 

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Its a passion and a hobby. It helped me through a lot of rough patches and keeps me sane. 

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Mostly music or a change in life. I tend to write when everything is in flux with me.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write. Worry about editing later. Once you have something on the paper, fixing it up becomes easier. 

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Edit as you write. You don’t get anything done.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Oooh. I think it’s a toss up between my Qui-Gon/Jango fic in a pastoral setting where they have put their pasts behind and are farmers on Concord Dawn. Or the Werewolf fic I wrote during my RPF phase.

16. If you only could write one pairing for the rest of your life, which pairing would it be?

Bloody hard. I would have to say Fitzier (Commander Fitzjames/Captain Crozier)

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Depends. Sometimes I go straight from beginning to end and sometimes I end up writing the middle and not figuring it out until later.

18. Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Outlines. I have notebooks I jot down point form notes about the characters and the plot.

18. Stephen King once said that his muse is a man who lives in the basement. Do you have a muse?

Mine is a librarian or an alchemist trying to figure out answers and how things fit in.

19. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

A good playlist. Alone, in my room.

20. How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

I revise it along the way when I sit down to write. Then before I post, I give it a once over to make sure it flows and makes sense. 

21. Choose a passage from one of your earlier fics and edit it into your current writing style. (Person sending the ask is free to make suggestions).

All my old fics are honestly gone so I’m skipping this one. 

22. If you were to revise one of your older fics from start to finish, which would it be and why?

Honestly? The Duo and Heero one I wrote about them being in an abusive relationship where they split up, then got back together again. I was again writing from life, and I have seen couples who did overcome it, but looking back, I think I should have written it that they separated and went their own ways. 

Keep in mind I was very young when I wrote this, and I was in an abusive relationship myself and didn’t realise it at the time. He hit me once, apologised and never did it again. But he did end up manipulating me, gaslighting me, and emotionally abusing me until I finally had enough and left. 

23. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Yes. Loads of them due to me not wanting to finish them. Or the hosting sites going under. 

24. What do you look for in a beta?

Someone who is honest, someone who knows the way I write, and has suggestions to fix those said things. But someone who is themselves is the best. Because they know what they want. Same here. 

25. Do you beta yourself? If so, what kind of beta are you?

I do, simply due to lack of steady betas. Flow and story telling, but I also look for syntax and formatting as well as grammar. I will miss typos, so I run spell-check too. I mostly use a mental rubric. Teacher training.

26. How do you feel about collaborations?

I haven’t had a successful one due to the second person always deciding that they can’t follow through or up and disappearing. So I don’t do them.

27. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oh my God! I read so much and so many different people that I can’t pinpoint three. I usually end up reading a fic or two, so I can’t say why I read the author.

28. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

I haven’t done that. I do admit to having inspired by fics. I wouldn’t ever presume to do that. It just feels like a snub.

29. Do you accept prompts?

Not really. I can’t tailor write stuff consistently. 

30. Do you take liberties with canon or are you very strict about your fic being canon compliant?

Oh always! I end up liking the characters that somehow never make it until the end. And in the Terror, unless you want to write angst all the time, you HAVE to ignore canon. And I mean BOTH the book and the show, since the book is nasty. The show is amazing, but oh my god is it depressing.

31. How do you feel about smut?

Yes damned please!

32. How do you feel about crack?

Depends on how well it’s done. Sometimes it is needed. Sometimes it’s like “Why?”

33. What are your thoughts on non-con and dub-con?

A bit tricky. I don’t mind non-con, but it has to be handled well. Dub-con, especially in A/B/O happens within context and it is usually dealt with. So I can tolerate that more than the first. Outright abuse, no.

34. Would you ever kill off a canon character?

Yes. Not often thought. But yes. I usually try and keep as many alive as I can though.

35. Which is your favorite site to post fic?

AO3, its a wild place and I love it for that reason.

36. Talk about your current wips.

It’s an AU where two professors that live in the same building and work in different faculties get thrown together and start to get to know each other. Due to circumstance, one gets injured and the other kind of volunteers to help take care of him, where they fall in love. The others in the vicinity do also. There’s Canadian shenanigans and baking. 

37. Talk about a review that made your day.

That they really liked how I wrote Frank Randall and would like to see more with his son, an OC I created for the story.

38. Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

I either delete, or give a generic reply and leave it. I’ve got stuff to do.

40. Write an alternative ending to [insert fic title] (or just the summary of one).

Nope. It just doesn’t work for me.

*somewhere I fucked up on the number but here you are*

Whoever wants to do this.

[ineffably-good]

I Will Follow You Into The Dark (4/10) (GO fics)

Read the whole thing on AO3 - it’s done!

Summary: In which Aziraphale tests the boundaries of his confinement and Anathema and Crowley struggle to find him. 

The moment the man left him alone, Aziraphale wiped his hands clean with his own pocket handkerchief and sat down cross-legged in the middle of the circle to concentrate. His grace was somewhat depleted from the events of the last few hours, but he still had his healing powers, so he did his best to heal himself internally while not healing his external wounds – he thought it might be good not to reveal his powers too fully.

Feeling significantly stronger, he then moved on to seeing if he could find a way to contact Crowley.

Aziraphale pictured Crowley as strongly as he could in his mind, calling up not just his face but the very feel of him, his essence, the underlying ethereal form of him that only he had ever seen. When the picture was clear enough in his mind that he could rotate it in three dimensions, he focused all of his efforts and tried to send a surge of thought directly to him.

He felt, rather than saw, his energy shatter at the border of the circle. It dissipated away as easily as it had been gathered.

He pushed aside his frustration; there was no time for that now.

Next, he decided, he had to make at least one attempt to take out the barrier itself. He stood and walked closer to the edge, not touching it, and closely examined each of the 11 sigils placed around the borders. They’d done their work quite well; he saw the secret sigil for his own name – close to the design on his sigil ring but more elaborate. It was followed by sigils for retrieving and binding, holding in and locking out of energies, repelling touch, preserving life, and four more that he recognized but would have had to look up in one of his books to translate. He did not find the errors he had been hoping for; even one mistake in one sigil would have made the circle much more vulnerable to his own interference.

Nonetheless, he thought, he needed to try. 

Aziraphale stood near the edge and closed his eyes again, summoning the full extent of his current power and gathered it into a tight ball in the palms of his hands. When he felt the energies at their peak, he took a deep breath and leaned forward to place both hands on the barrier and push.

It burned. It burned intensely. It was only through his utter strength and stubbornness that he managed to maintain contact and put all of his effort into pushing out, trying to shatter the barrier with sheer will.

He pushed and ached as searing pain licked up his arms, his legs trembling with the effort to not collapse. Time seemed to slow – was it ten seconds or ten minutes that he struggled? He couldn’t say. But finally he released his power and was immediately blown several feet back onto the hard floor. He gathered himself back into a seated position and closed his eyes to meditate and pray, while soothing the immense ache and dizziness he felt from the attempt.

“I will find a way back to you, Crowley,” he whispered. “Don’t you worry.”

++

Anathema flipped through her grimoire and various spell books while Crowley paced. The demon looked terrible; his hair had obviously been pulled in all directions, his clothes were unusually disarrayed, and she had never seen his face look so grim.

“There are lots of spells for locating lost items,” she said.

“He’s not lost, he’s taken,” Crowley bit out.

“Yes, I know, but it’s a place to start.” Anathema flipped a few more pages. “Cantrips, charms, dowsing, These are more for items than people but it’s possible they might work. I need a picture of both of you. Two pictures, one each.”

“Where am I supposed to – “ Crowley began, then it hit him. Aziraphale’s wardrobe was full of pictures. “Hang on!”

Crowley raced up and into the angel’s ornate dressing room, where he was immediately overpowered by a crushing sense of worry and loss. No room in the house reflected his angel as much as this did, with its ostentatious and ridiculous furniture and his well-loved outfits displayed and well-cared for. And there, on the back of the door, was the photo gallery Crowley had previously mocked him for; he blessed the angel for his peculiarities now. He quickly located a photo that showed just himself and pulled it down, then rummaged through his own small trunk for a moment to a small stash of photos of Aziraphale he’d gathered over the years. Finally, both in hand, he hurried back down to the office.

Anathema had been busy, setting up a bowl full of salt with a white candle in the middle. She put the pictures on each side, facing in, and lit the candle. Finally she tied a red string around the entire contraption, joining both pictures inside a red circle.

“Kneel over here,” she said to the demon, pointing to the opposite side of the table. He did, and she turned the bowl so that Crowley was staring straight through the flame at the picture of Aziraphale.

“Concentrate on his picture and draw him to mind as firmly as you can. See him, smell him, pull up how you feel when you’re around him.”

Crowley found this not at all difficult – he had been visualizing and imagining Aziraphale in his mind for centuries, whenever they were apart. He pictured his love with his ridiculous clothing and his adorable smile, his soft, dark lashes and his brilliant blue gaze. He didn’t have to try to summon his feelings for him; they were there, as always, so close to the surface as to be unstoppable. He focused on the love and attraction and amusement and joy he always felt around his angel, and kept his eyes locked on the photograph.

“Now shift your vision to the flame a little,” Anathema said, “and soften your eyes, and with the spell I’m about to speak, you might be granted a vision of where he is.”

Crowley let his eyes blur a little out of focus and stared at the flickering candle flame; across from him Anathema spoke or sang words, under her breath, while making movements he couldn’t identify. The flame shifted and intensified and suddenly he could see – something.

“I see a dome!” he shouted, then carefully reined himself in. “It’s very dark, hard to make out. There are markings – I think it’s the summoning circle.”

Anathema traced something in the salt in the bowl and the vision intensified a little. “Can you see Aziraphale?”

“The surface is a little milky, it’s hard to see through it.”

“It’s shielded,” she clarified. “No energy in or out. But he’s in there or it wouldn’t be showing it to you.”

Crowley shifted his attention from the circle to the environment around him. “It looks like a tunnel. It’s hard to see details.”

“Somewhere underground…” Anathema mused. “Okay, we can work with this.” She dug out a large map of London and laid it out on the floor behind Crowley, then dug out a pendulum. “Keep watching the flame and let me know if anything changes.”

Anathema sang softly, humming as she swung the golden pendulum over the map in circles. She started wide, going over the edges of the map, then gradually started working in quadrants as she tried to narrow in on the location.

“He’s definitely in London,” she said, “and not all that far away.”

“It looks almost like a tube station,” Crowley said, squinting, “because of all the tile. No signage, though, and all dark.”

“Aren’t there a lot of decommissioned stations around?”

“Yeah, lots,” Crowley said. “At least fifty.”

“It would be a good place to trap an angel,” Anathema noted. “You’d have space and privacy.”

Crowley felt a surge of both hope and anger, and he tamped both down to keep his eyes locked on the flame.

Suddenly someone else walked into the frame he was viewing – a person, it looked like. He was carrying something, and he looked menacing.

“Anathema,” he warned, “something is happening. There’s someone there with him.”

“I’m working, I’m working,” she said, moving from quadrant to quadrant as she scanned the map.

Crowley watched in alarm as the man made some kind of movement and stepped inside the circle. “He just walked into the circle, witch!” he snarled. “He’s doing something to Aziraphale! Find him RIGHT NOW.”

“Almost there…” she called, voice distracted.

The demon wished beyond anything that this vision included sound, but it didn’t. He couldn’t see what was happening inside the circle, either, but he could see flashes of light and once, he saw what he thought might be the outline of Aziraphale pressed up against the border of it for a moment. Why wasn’t Aziraphale able to fight this man off? He should have more power than some scrawny human no matter how well versed in magic they were.

“Got him,” she said triumphantly. “You can look away now.”

Crowley whirled around and turned to see where Anathema’s pendant was pointing.

“He’s in the Temple area. Near the river.” She laid a slim finger on the map. “Right about here. What’s there?”

Crowley thought hard. “There are a few down old stops there – Ludgate, the stupid British Museum stop they closed ages ago. And Aldywich.” He sat up suddenly. “It’s Aldwych, I know it is. We were down there once during the war. Aziraphale was helping them store the Elgin Marbles down there before the Blitz and he took me in one night to have a look. I knew I recognized it!”

He grabbed Anathema and, in an unusually expressive mood, kissed her on the forehead. “You did it. I owe you my life,” he said. “Seriously.”

Anathema looked a little flustered and didn't know what to say.

Crowley's face darkened and his voice became grim. “Now to go get him," he said.

[winchesterandpie]

Part of the Company Part 4 (Thorin x reader)

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x Reader

Word count: 2199

Warnings: None... maybe some vaguely morbid thoughts

A/N: Eyyyy, so this hasn’t been edited very thoroughly, so sorry for any mistakes! But, you’ll see more of Thorin’s feelings a little, and we’re finally going to get some action!!! (plotwise). I use one word of Khuzdul - I’ll probably start using more as the story goes, but the translation is integrated into the paragraph. Translations are from https://islenthatur.wordpress.com/welcome/

Feedback and reblogs are hugely appreciated! Gif is not mine!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

I slid from Obsidian’s saddle easily when Thorin called a halt, unfazed by the long days already spent in the saddle. We had been traveling for a few days now, and had made good time overall. By now, of course, the company was well established in setting up camp for the night and moved about their various tasks quickly after untacking their ponies. Leaving Dian with a command to stay in the area and warn for danger, I turned and went a little deeper into the trees to gather some firewood, as was my task.

I had barely gotten out of sight of the company when I found a newly fallen tree, angled up as it leaned on its neighbor

“And what a lovely sight you are,” I murmured appreciatively to myself, moving to climb the trunk to find the best branches. I hauled myself up quite a ways before managing to find branches dry enough that weren’t too thick around, climbing about as nimbly as a monkey. Of course, I was so focused on getting firewood so we could eat warm food for once that I failed to notice the ominous creaking of the branch I stood on until it snapped. With a yelp, I grabbed onto the branch above me, which happened to be the one I had been cutting down immediately prior to other branch breaking.

“Y/N!” Thorin and Dwalin came sprinting toward where I was now dangling from the tree, weapons drawn as though they though I was being attacked.

“I’m alright,” I called down to them, though my voice was a little strained. I would’ve laughed at their faces when they looked up and saw me hanging helplessly from the tree, except that being in that position does tend to put a damper on things like laughter.

“What in Mahal’s name are you doing up there?” Thorin was well and truly confused as to why I would be up a tree like this.

“Getting firewood, of course,” I returned smoothly. “I can get myself down, don’t you worry.”

“It doesn’t look like it, lass.” Dwalin was grinning, I could hear it in his voice.

“Hold on, I’ll be up there in a moment,” Thorin sighed as he handed his sword to Dwalin and moved toward the trunk of the tree.

“I’m fine!” I exclaimed, giving a last attempt at pulling myself up on the branch. Thorin had almost reached where I was when the branch gave way and I plummeted to the ground, with what I imagine was a startled look on my face. I hit the ground with a thud and an explosive oof! as the branch landed on top of my torso, crushing the air out of my lungs.

“Y/n!” Thorin called worriedly from his perch in the fallen tree as he climbed down, while Dwalin hurried to my side and started to lift the tree branch from off me. Once the weight had been lifted, my lungs heaved for breath and I rolled over for a better position to breathe in, coughing hard. “Are you alright, lass?”  he had finally made it down to me and pulled me up into a sitting position, holding me as steady as he could while my body rocked from the force of my coughs.

“Do I look… alright… to you?!” I gasped between bouts of coughs, which were gradually slowing down and becoming less forceful.

“What were you doing up there?” his voice was rougher now that he could see I was recovering. “You could have been killed in that fall!”

“Yeah, so? I wasn’t,” I replied after a moment, feeling more secure in my breathing “Just a little winded, is all. Besides, if you’re so worried about me dying, why did you let me come at all?”

“She’s got a point, Thorin,” Dwalin grinned at me. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said when the king shot him a look, turning to go back to the camp, pulling the branch I had been getting as firewood along with him. Once he was out of sight, I was pulled against something solid but soft. I identified Thorin’s coat almost immediately, relaxing into the arms that meant safety.

“I don’t know if you can manage this, but if you could please not scare the living daylights out of me again, that would be lovely,” he murmured into my hair, his voice shaking a little bit.

“It isn’t as though I was trying to fall, though.” I pulled back far enough to look into his piercingly blue eyes, bopping him lightly on the nose with my finger.

“I know… but…” Thorin’s eyes were soft, concerned as he looked back into mine. “I couldn’t stand it if I lost you. You’ve been my friend as long as I can remember and I need you here with me.”

“It’d take more than that to get rid of me, Oakenshield,” I couldn’t help but grin at him.

“I sincerely hope so,” the dark-haired dwarf leaned his forehead against mine, noses touching and breath mingling. It was more intimate than mere friendship would merit, and I wondered briefly if there was a hope that my growing feelings were reciprocated.

“Y/n?” he said after a long moment, drawing back slightly.

“What is it, Thorin?” I asked curiously.

“Just… Can you…” Poor dwarf couldn’t seem to force words out. “Do you…”

“Oh, just spit it out already.” Adorable though it may be, I was tired of not knowing what it was he wanted to say.

“Try to… be more careful next time, will you?” I got the feeling that wasn’t what he had originally been planning on asking, but given I wouldn’t be able to pry it out of that stubborn dwarf until he wanted to say it, I simply nodded and smiled at him before resting my head on his shoulder. We had barely been sitting like that for thirty seconds when the call for dinner rose up from the camp. I shot up, all my energy returning in a single instant with the promise of food. That certainly had Thorin laughing his rear off.

“We’ll camp here for the night. Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them,” Thorin called out commands as we began to set up camp.

“A farmer and his family used to live here,” Gandalf mused, looking at the abandoned, dilapidated farmhouse.

“Oin, Gloin,” Thorin continued, not paying any attention to the wizard. “Get a fire going.”

“Right you are.”

“What, you’re not going to have me collect firewood?” I teased when his gaze hesitated on me.

“Well, look how that turned out last time,” he tossed back. “I think you’ve officially been relieved of firewood collecting duties.” I faked a pout, but it didn’t hold for long before I broke into giggles, eliciting a chuckle from Thorin as well.

“I think it would be wiser to move on. We could make for the Hidden Valley,” Gandalf interrupted our joking with a serious tone.

“I have told you already, I will not go near that place.” Thorin’s disdain for the elves had not lessened with time.

“Why not? The elves could help us. We could get food, rest, advice.”

“I do not need their advice.”

“We have a map that we cannot read. Lord Elrond could help us.”

“Help? A dragon attacks Erebor, what help came from the Elves? Orcs plunder Moria, desecrate our sacred halls, the Elves looked on and did nothing. You ask me to seek out the very people who betrayed my grandfather and betrayed my father.” The dark-haired dwarf was most definitely not pleased with the suggestion, even though Elrond had had nothing to do with the mountain’s loss and Thorin knew it.

“You are neither of them. I did not give you that map and key for you to hold on to the past.”

“I did not know that they were yours to keep.”

“He’s right,” I said as Gandalf stormed away. “You know that as well as I do.”

“I will not go to the Elves.” He refused to meet my eyes.

“Thorin, don’t let an ancient grudge prevent you from accepting help when you need it.”

“Y/N, you know what they did to us.” His pained gaze met mine.

“Of course I know. I was there, right beside you…” I paused, searching for a good way to word my thoughts. “I have been at your side, supporting you through all of this. Has my counsel ever led you astray?”

“No, it has not.”

“Then trust me with this, Thorin,“ I pleaded quietly.  “Please.” Maybe, if I could change the events this early in the story, Thorin would stand a better chance of surviving the final battle. I had just enough hope to cling desperately to the idea.

“Bâheluh, you know that I trust you.” (my friend of all friends)

“But…?” I nudged after a long pause.

“But I cannot do as you advise.” As it turns out, Fate is pretty stubborn about getting her way. I would not thwart her so easily.

“I know,” I whispered, so softly I wasn’t sure he heard me.

“I am sorry,” he said, bringing his hands to my upper arms, as though trying to make me understand. As though by understanding he could remove the sadness from my eyes.

I already understood.

“Supper’s ready!” came the call from the fire, and we jumped apart, startled. Without another word, we made our way to the pot of stew.

“Here, do us a favor: take this to the lads.” Bofur was sending Bilbo off with two bowls for Fili and Kili, as everyone else settled in, bantering and telling stories across the fire.

Eventually, the joking died down as the food was finished and we set about preparing for the evening.

“Where’s Bilbo? Shouldn’t he be back by now?” I noticed suddenly that he wasn’t with us.

“Trolls! They’ve taken four of the ponies!” Kili and Fili burst out of the trees. And Bilbo wasn’t with them.

“What about Bilbo?” Bofur asked worriedly as the company sprang into alertness.

“He’s still there, just to keep an eye on things.” I barely had time to wish I remembered this part better, but due to the passage of a literal century since the last time I saw it, the details were a bit fuzzy.

Weapons in hand, we made our way through the trees behind Fili and Kili to where they had left Bilbo. The hobbit most definitely was not just keeping an eye on things. In fact, he was being chased around the campfire by three mountain trolls. Impulsively, several of the dwarves took a step forward, as if intending to rush in.

“Wait, you morons!” I whisper shouted. Thankfully they paused, long enough for me to get another word in. “We can’t just go barging in there without any sort of a plan or we’ll all be troll food.”

“Are there any more of you little fellas hiding where you shouldn’t?” Our attention was brought back to Bilbo, who was being held by his feet.

“Right then. Kili, go around, make a distraction,” Thorin said, gesturing at his nephew.

“What sort of distraction?”

“Anything’ll do, but if it takes one of them out, then even better.” He was quick to nod and get going while the rest of us braced ourselves in anticipation.

“Hold his toes over the fire. Make him squeal.” Come on, Kili, hurry up, I thought anxiously. All of a sudden, the young dwarf jumped into view, slashing the back of a troll’s leg. Another cut to the front of it and the troll went down with a howl.

“Drop him!” Kili shouted, sword held easily in his hand.

“You what?” the troll replied incredulously.

“I said,” Kili began, swinging his sword menacingly in circle before continuing, “drop him.” With a snarl, the troll did exactly that, throwing Bilbo at Kili, who caught him.

Then, all hell broke loose. As Kili toppled from the impact, we charged out from the bushes, startling the mountain trolls. Thirteen quick, agile dwarves (plus me) were proving to be just too much of a handful for the trolls. Especially when they were armed with all manner of deadly weapons.

Just a stab stab here, and a chop chop there. Here a stab, there a chop, everywhere a stab stab, I practically sang in my mind as I jumped nimbly behind the troll, taking the opportunity to slash at its legs. Unfortunately, trolls have very thick skin, so I couldn’t hamstring it as I would a different opponent. In the confusion, I quickly lost track of Bilbo. That is, until the two of them were holding him by his arms and legs, and we all came to a tumultuous stop.

“Lay down your arms, or we’ll rip his off!” The trolls had the upper hand and they knew it. My mind raced to find a solution, anything even remotely feasible to avoid putting us at their mercy. After a long moment of staredown, Thorin planted his sword in the ground reluctantly and the rest of us followed suit.

Part Five is now up!!

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Homeward Bound: Chapter 13

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 |

Chapter Summary: a rush of fate brings two souls together...

Word Count: 6,946

Warnings: swearing, cheating, generally angst and fluff

Author’s Note: please send all complaints to @moonstruckhargrove-she wanted an update and I got you girl

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks @hipsmcgee @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @casaharrington @thechickvic

Series Tag: @baebee35 @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @thoughstofaredhead @fear-the-reaper115 @estheflowergirl @alex--awesome--22 @onemorekissisallittakes

“Jesus you need to stop doing that!” you cried, smacking Steve in the chest roughly, earning a hearty laugh and a warm smile that stirred something in your chest and made it hard to keep a smile off your face.

“Why would I? It’s fun!” he chuckled in response, turning to look at you fully, his eyes widening as he looked you over, making you both shy and hopeful. “Your hair!” he breathed.

“Yeah, I cut it all off.” You replied, running your fingers through it. “Is it bad?”

“No! It’s cool!” he cried, ruffling it like an older brother, making your heart drop in your chest for reasons you couldn’t exactly explain. All you knew is that that little gesture made you feel incredibly small and childish. You wished your hair was long and sleek again.

“Whatever…” you muttered, trying to hide the bitterness in your voice “Shouldn’t you be at work or something? It’s like the middle of the afternoon.”

“How much crime do you really think is in Hawkins now?” he mused with a smirk “Besides, I wanted to pop by here before I go to see Joyce and the kids.” He turned his attention to Jonathan, offering him a ‘hey man’ and a stiff hug. The two were never exactly close and while time healed the wounds shared between him and Nancy, Jonathan held grudges. Specifically, he held grudges over mistakes atoned for in junior year; Nancy ‘the slut’ Wheeler still rang loud and clear in his head at even the thought of Steve Harrington.

“I’d wait, not a great time, ‘specially for a guy in full uniform.” Jonathan said, earning a tight nod from Steve, who turned back to the crowd awkwardly. All of the mothers in the room were watching him like wolves, their teeth practically glistening behind their painted smiles. Karen looked absolutely murderous in her jealousy; now seeing the inherent value of marrying her daughter into a rich family with a successful son now that her daughter was married to a less than successful son of an only recently successful family. Likewise, your mother saw the value in Steve and was watching you two with proverbial hearts in her eyes, a dreamy expression on her face.

“So…where are you two going tonight then?” your mother asked giddily, practically smirking at you and Steve.

“What is she talking about?” Steve whispered to you, maintaining a polite smile towards the moms.

You shook your head, shrugging softly as you turned to your mother “We’re not going anywhere. I meeting Jenny Stein for dinner tonight.” You said, watching Steve’s face drop as the words left your lips.

“Didn’t you already see her this trip?” you mother sighed bitterly as Karen did her damndest to hold back a snicker, obviously excited about your seeming rejection of him.

“Yeah, but I’m meeting with her, Marvin Rubio, and a few other people. The leftovers, you know?” you replied vaguely, waving your hand through the list.

“Well, I’m that will be very nice, Y/N, are you leaving on Sunday or Monday?” your mother asked testily.

“Currently my flight is booked for Monday; I can change it to Sunday if that’s a problem, though.”

“Hmm…well I would love to have to till Tuesday, but I’ll settle for Monday.”

“Well…I don’t know if I’ll go that far, I do have to go home eventually. I have to go back to work.”

“It’s alright darling.”

You could feel Steve’s eyes burning into the back of your head and you couldn’t help but glance back at him. His expression was one of hurt and burning anger; he looked as though you’d committed a giant sin against him. Maybe that would’ve been his expression if you’d cheated on him rather than the other way around. You sent him a small smile, knowing that he knew that you were lying to your mother. It made your heart ache, because you knew you had hurt him. And that thought made you feel angry; because Steve never felt that pain. When you caught him and Elaine-god you hated her name-he might’ve felt bad for a minute, at least he pretended to, and then he and Elaine became an item and you were left on the side, unofficially broken up and even more broken than you were before. When he brought her home for Christmas, the last year you ever came home for the holiday, you’d just made up your mind to drop out of college and watching them flirt and flail about, you made up your mind about Steve: he was not a good man, like everyone thought he was, he was a heartless beast inside the body of a good guy.

You glanced superficially at the clock, not really checking the time but showing the group that you were checking the time “I should get going, I have to call my boss and clear up a few things before he gets in too deep with the new pile.” You announced, picking up your purse off the couch and ruffling Holly’s hair, who’d zoned out long ago.

“Are you sure? We’ve hardly even seen you!” Karen complained “I wanna hear about your new book your mother’s been talking about, apparently it’s expected to be a hit.”

You rolled your eyes “I haven’t written anything under my own name yet Karen, although my writing is making waves. Georgia Kane’s latest trash bestseller, Not so Miss. America, was a great success on my part. Did you read it? It’s your genre. Anyway, writing that got me a raise.” You replied, watching both your mother and Karen falter, each embarrassed for different reasons. “But other than that I’m not working with much buzz.”

When neither woman responded, you pulled your bag onto your shoulder and gave Nancy and Jonathan’s shoulders tight squeezes. “Alright, I’m gonna head out. I’ll leave the car with you, ma. See you all tomorrow!” you said, waving politely to the crowd and heading quickly out the door.

The sun had hit its peak in the sky, trying in vain to beat down the cool breeze gently rustling the leaves, weather that didn’t exactly match the season, but was a welcome change to the hot, sticky weather you’d endured during your stay. You were more than happy to walk in this weather, glad to take in the sunlight and cool breeze for awhile.

Unfortunately, Steve had followed you out.

“Lemme give you a lift, Henderson.” He called from the porch and you resisted the urge to turn around to respond to him. He hadn’t called you by your last name the whole trip. This was not a good sign.

“That’s alright, Harrington, I’d like to walk.” You replied, following suit and continuing down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. That should’ve been the end, but like a happy go-lucky golden retriever, he followed behind you, nipping at your heels.

“Then lemme walk you, I wanna talk.”

“Your car’s here.” You stopped dead in your tracks, finally turning to look at him and take in his concerned expression. “It would be a waste to walk all the way back to my place and then come here again. You wanted to visit with them, so stay. I can call you later at the station.”

“No you won’t,” he replied, shutting you up instantly “So I’m gonna walk with you for awhile.” You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat and continuing, much slower, down the path.

“What’s up?” you asked shyly, keeping your eyes on your shoes rather than him.

“Why are you going out with Hargrove tonight?” he asked shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, watching you carefully.

“What makes you think I am?”

“Come off it, Henderson, if you’re gonna reuse a lie, don’t do it in front of the person who made it up.” You sighed, nodding softly; he got you there.

You looked up, meeting his eye for the first time as you turned off the Wheeler’s street “I’m seeing him because…he asked? And I wanted to. And that’s that.” You said.

“That’s not much of a reason.”

You huffed “Do you have deep reasons when you go out with a girl beyond wanting to?” Steve didn’t reply, only sighing softly, shaking his head, angering you further.

“No, you don’t. Cause most of the time, you don’t need a deep reason to go out with someone. So don’t hold me to higher standard than everyone else. I’m no better.”

“It’s selfish.” Steve told you harshly, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“What?” you fumed, voice no higher than a whisper.

“He’s in love with you, you said it yourself. And you don’t love him. You’re getting his hopes up.” Steve replied quickly; aggressively, angrily.

“And you haven’t done anything selfish in your life.” You bit out callously

Steve narrowed his eyes, almost sneering at you “What are you implying?”

“Did you ever love Elaine?” you snapped, silencing him immediately simply with your steely gaze. “Did you ever love me?” you pressed wishing your voice didn’t crack and your throat didn’t close.

“Y/N…” he replied and in an instant broke your heart with the heavy sigh he breathed out instead “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah,” you said, shaking your head, holding your lips firm to keep the lower one from wobbling pathetically. “Yeah no that’s not an answer. And you never have an answer. So don’t ask me for one now.”    

You ran off before Steve could give you a response, before he could even try. You were home and inside before you ever realized you’d ran, your heart pounding in your heaving chest as you brushed your hair away from your eyes as you tried to calm yourself and keep the tears from flowing in rivers down your cheeks.

This was the proof you need. Billy was the right choice. Steve was so desperately wrong it was insane, you couldn’t believe you thought that…no, no you never thought that. If you’d thought that, then you liked him. And you didn’t like him. Ever. Billy was a better choice-sure he was both too much and not enough emotionally, but that can be trained out. Just because he didn’t speak your love language doesn’t mean he couldn’t learn. And this date would prove it.

You found yourself growing more and confident in the idea as you went through your day. You called your agent, something you didn’t think you could do and told him the honest truth-that you couldn’t take the novel to publish if you didn’t have the blessing of the people who inspired it, and he told you the honest truth that if you didn’t give it a definitive ending, no one would buy it. That was, surprisingly, an okay thing to hear and you accepted the information easily.

Of course, ending the novel seemed impossible. Because the story itself didn’t have an ending, not really. Sure, the trial ended the labs and sent people to jail, but the scars remain. And you couldn’t pretend that they didn’t have an effect on your life now. You weren’t ashamed to admit that the main character was based on yourself and your own life in Hawkins. You couldn’t write the story from anyone else’s point of few, it wouldn’t feel whole. But that gave you a problem because your story didn’t have an ending. You were a broken person, you didn’t sugar coat that, you weren’t the same girl you were even five years ago. But that wasn’t an ending, that was just a place to stop. And you didn’t want to build one whole cloth. You didn’t know how to even justify that to yourself, but you had to and so you would.

You just wouldn’t do it now.

Instead, you decided to look as effortlessly pretty as you could. You didn’t have much makeup on you; you hadn’t planned to be seen so often, so you trekked out to the nearest drugstore and found a tiny packet of eye shadow that complimented your eyes and, out of some old instinct of preteen-hood, a pearly pink nail polish. You spent the rest of the day trying to find the beauty your mother swore was there under the sneer and sarcasm of your teen years. By the end of your hard work, you’d found an older looking girl with clear eyes lined and painted in soft shadows and framed by enhanced eyebrows and a soft smile brightened with a rosy blush and glossy lips.

You felt, for the first time in the whole trip, intentionally pretty.

Beauty was something, you felt, was not something that was felt consistently. You found yourself trying harder and harder to focus on other things-your mind, your actions, your work, your loves-rather than your looks. You’d spent so long during your teen years worrying and thinking about your looks and beauty and now, as you’d aged and grown up, it felt sillier and sillier, a coping mechanism of youth you didn’t need to use anymore. But the feeling, as we all seemed to cause it, of ugliness swept you up sometimes. Some days, you woke up bright eyed and, objectively, pretty, but other days that creeping feeling of self-loathing that could only be attributed to the reflection in the mirror. You hadn’t put any effort into your appearance during the trip thus far, save for brushing your hair and putting on the barest amount of makeup possible, and only because your mother was insistent on it. You didn’t feel the need until now.

Now, you felt as though you had someone to impress, to put in the same level of work that you were certain Billy was putting in himself. It was a mutual, shared primping process done before any date. You knew the process well, the process seemingly become more and more important as you entered your twenties. You couldn’t really compare this to anyone else-you didn’t have many friends in San Diego and the closest female friend you had was your neighbour Stella, who despite not being in a relationship, hadn’t been on a date in three years, not since her son’s father ran off when she announced the pregnancy. You didn’t know if the process was a product of aging or just something expected of you as you aged; but you did note that every girl your age was trying to top every other girl around you. Maybe that was just California.

Still, when seven o’clock rolled around, you found yourself watched the front lawn with baited breath from the bathroom window, looking for signs of the tow truck or, hopefully, the Camaro since you missed it so much. You were excited, which was odd since you kind of hated him after the whole ‘I love you’ thing, and the feeling buzzed in your veins and coloured your cheeks.

But the feeling began to die as seven turned to seven fifteen and then to seven thirty. Finally, you just decided to march yourself downstairs and out the front door. You knew where he lived and if he was pulling some payback sort of shit, you could easily find him and cut off his dick. He’d deserve it too.

“I thought you were meeting for seven?” your mother called as you headed for the front door.

You stifled a sigh “We pushed the time back to eight for Marvin, he’s working late at the restaurant.” You lied, tossing your purse over your shoulder and slipping on your shoes.

“It’s so nice that Marvin still works for the family business, especially after his selfish siblings ran off to do other things.” You mother mused aloud and you turned back to look at her, noting the flour in her hair and the large mixing bowl and wooden spoon in front of her, a model image of fifties wifehood minus the poodle skirt and beehive hairdo.

“I guess it’s nice that his siblings have a backup plan though…in case everything goes to shit for them, you know?” you replied with a shrug.

“That’s exactly my point! The Rubio’s are excellent planners! I wish I had a business to pass down to you if this whole writing thing doesn’t pan out.” Your mother sighed and you stifled an eye roll, not wanting to offend her.

“Eh, I can always marry rich.” You said, earning a snicker from your mother. You decided not to look into that response and head out, scanning the street from your porch before jumping down the steps and heading down to the end of your street with arms crossed over your chest and teeth clenched in a hardened scowl. You couldn’t stand anyone else being late, despite yourself preferring to be a little late to everything, a hypocritical stance you held onto with pride. You, with great annoyance, began the slow trek up to the only place you thought he could be hiding.

“Hey baby, where’d you think you’re going?” you heard someone holler and you turned to look out towards the road, eyes catching the rusted brown truck that had tried to pass you in the opposite direction, and Billy Hargrove leaning out the passenger side window, tongue waggling out of his mouth and eyes leering. His hair was slicked with sweat, grease swiped on his forehead and was most likely coating his hands, and while you couldn’t deny that he was certainly attractive, the gap between your levels of effort was a canyon rather than a simple pothole.  It was a significant let down, yo0u felt as though your efforts had gone to waste. Still, you put on a smirk and turned, hands planting themselves on your hips jutted to one side.

“You’re late.” You mused, watching him with a twinkle in your eye and a bemused expression.

You were always a fairly good actor.

“You gonna hold it against me?” Billy countered smoothly, watching for a change in your eyes.

Although with Billy as your audience, it wasn’t hard.

“Maybe…” you giggled, sashaying over to the car and pulling the handle and nearly knocking him out of the car to your feet. He pulled himself in, sliding across the bench and back into the technical driver’s seat, patting the seat next to him for you to take. You tried to ignore the sheer amount of garbage piled up at your feet as you smiled at him. He revved the weak engine, speeding off as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast, and you giggled the same way you did when you were a teenager, grabbing onto the handgrip to keep you steady despite your lack of seatbelt, giving Billy an unneeded ego boost.

You didn’t know where you were going, but that was par for the course with Billy; he did things on the fly and that meant flying by the seat of your pants and not questioning too much. You used to not mind, but now it planted a worried seed in your stomach. You liked to be in control, to be in charge of your own location and destination. And while you were in charge of where you were, you weren’t in charge of where you were headed and that worried you to no end.

But you didn’t bother asking. You’d only get vague nothing answers and that would only upset you more. And besides, you knew Hawkins well enough to escape any situation he could drag you into, and you knew the highways well enough to get back into town if you had to jump out of the moving car. God, Hawkins brought out the survivalist in you.

You were pleasantly surprised when he pulled up to Benny’s, as you still insisted on calling it, although you weren’t impressed by his parking job, taking over almost three parking spots with his truck, claiming that it was a necessity to keep the thing safe as it wasn’t fully his, which you thought was all bullshit. You bite your tongue, however, choosing to not get into it and letting him wrap an arm snugly around your waist, pulling you closer than necessary.

As he entered the diner, his whole demeanour changed. He stood impossible straighter, taller and took up even more room. You found yourself being held tighter and closer to his side, making it hard to walk and led you to be mostly pulled around by him. He chose a booth on the far side of the diner, despite the other side being less busy. You didn’t understand why until you saw the waitress.

She had to be a year or two younger than you and looked like a small town Brooke Shields, right up to the big, wide eyed innocent hazel eyes. She was tall and thin and her hair was bigger than her head. You wondered how she’d ended up working in a diner instead of being the next big star, and then you remembered that this was Hawkins and nobody ever seemed to make it big. When she saw the pair of you, her smile turned weary and she spent just a second too long with the table next to yours and made a beeline to the kitchen instead of coming to you next, promising vaguely to be right with you. Not that Billy seemed to mind, he was watching her dreamily.

You should’ve been annoyed, hell maybe a part of you was, but mostly you were incredibly curious. There was a story there, you could tell. And you planned to figure out what it was.

Billy didn’t turn to look at you until you cleared your throat loudly and when he did, he looked completely annoyed to be doing so. “Are you alright?” you asked softly, leaning on your elbows to look at him with a sympathetic expression you pulled out of your ass “You seem distracted…”

“I’m fine. Just wondering where our waitress went.” He replied glumly, disappointment obvious in his voice.

“She looks like Brooke Shields doesn’t she?” you watched as his expression changed, looking at you curiously, his eyebrow rising significantly as if to tell you to go on. You didn’t however, instead waiting patiently for a response.

“Who?”

“You ever see the movie Blue Lagoon?” Billy shook his head. “How about Pretty Baby?” you tried. His whole expression perked up again, not in knowing but in excited memory.

“Yeah! I remember sneaking in to see that movie in theatres. It was like a crazy sex movie or something; everyone was talking about it for awhile.” Billy announced like a giddy child in the know.

“I guess? I think that was more for Blue Lagoon, that movie just got banned in a bunch of places. Anyway, the main girl in that movie-that’s Brooke Shields. She’s also in Endless Love.” You replied with frown, already noticing how he wasn’t paying attention to you anymore. Your waitress had returned with menus in hand and Billy was watching her closely with a smirk, not so much a forced one either like he did when he was trying to establish him dominance, but a real one that seem to be pulled from deep attraction. And the girl was blushing under his gaze, squirming like a beetle flipped on its back.

“Hi, I’m Rosemary, I’ll be your waitress for tonight, get I get you guys some drinks or do you need a second to look it over?” she addressed her initial opener only to you, smiling warmly down at you, clearly glad to not have to only address the man undressing her with his eyes.

“Um…I’ll have…” you mumbled, going over the menu briefly, double checking to ensure your usual order was still on the menu. “I’ll have a chocolate shake and a cheese burger, side fries.” You said simply, smiling up at her and handing back the menu.

“You know what I like, Rosie.” Billy said, handing back his. Their hands touched briefly and his thumb caressed her fingers gently, softening her expression and darkening her blush just for a second. It was as though you’d stepped into a bad teen movie; you were the forgotten friend watching on as the love interests fell in love right before your eyes.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a second with your drinks.” She said, clearing her throat and skittering off, busying herself behind the counter and sliding the slip into the wheel of orders above the pickup window, ringing the bell. Billy watched her closely and, after he waited the right amount of time you assumed, he stood from his side of the bench and announced that he was headed to the bathroom, leaving you alone at the booth.

You’d pieced together that they were, at one point, in a relationship, but something had gotten in the way. And by the way little Rosemary was looking at him, it had been a painful end. The whole thing was playing out like Austen novel, it was all very Persuasion-love lost lovers, separated by circumstance and still lusting desperately for one another. You would pity them, if only it didn’t seem like it was one sided. Billy was watching her like she was a piece of meat and not a person, a grave difference in reaction to one another.

You didn’t know where he’d wandered off to, nor did you care. This night was not going to end where you thought it would and that thought made you just a little sad.

“I’m sorry, are you Y/N Henderson?” you heard a voice behind you ask. You turned around, meeting the wide, brown eyes of Carol Danforth, who was peering at you as though you were a figment of her imagination.

You smiled back, waving politely “Hi Carol, it’s nice to see you again.” You said softly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh my god it is you! Hi! How are you, what’re you doing back?” she grinned, giggling and calculating.

“I’m back for my younger brother’s graduation, I’ve been in for a week and a half.” You replied, catching the eye of the nervous girl across from Carol. You turned fully, pulling your knees up on the bench and reaching your hand over to greet her “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

“Wendy…” she muttered, eyes watery, not bothering to shake your hand.

“Don’t mind her; she’s just upset over your date.” Carol said softly, hand cupped over her mouth.

“Billy break your heart?” you asked, ignoring Carol pleading looks to stop talking.

She hummed, swallowing hard “He said he…loved me…” she said shakily.

You nodded “He told me the same thing when I ran into him. I think he’s forgotten the definition of the word.”

“No, he’s just in love with someone else and won’t admit it yet.” Carol said, making you turn to look at her and following her gaze to the scene unfolding before your eyes. Billy had returned from the bathroom, or maybe he’d never gone in the first place, either way he was leaning over the counter and making eyes at her and making her laugh. They looked good together, something that made your heart feel so much lighter. He didn’t love you, he never did. He loved this little thing with a sexy pout and wide, innocent eyes. And that was more than okay with you.

“What’s the story there?” you asked, watching them spellbound.

“From what I’ve heard, he met her here when he was working construction after high school and they fell for each other. They were together for a year and then he cheated on her with Wendy over here. She dumped him, and he’s been chasing her down ever since.” Carol explained.

You furrowed your brow “But wait…I thought he was living in California until a couple years ago.”

Wendy and Carol looked at each other curiously before looking back to you. “He never left town.” Carol said.

“Yeah, he’s been here since graduation. Never left.” Wendy added awkwardly, before asking “What did he tell you he was doing here?”

“He said he was living here because his father died and he was handling his affairs. That he used to live in San Diego…” you said softly, almost embarrassed by the deceit.

“His father did die, but Billy didn’t handle anything with it. He told me he was disinherited. His step-mom handled it, he didn’t even go to the funeral.” Wendy explained to you. Suddenly, the whole situation became a lot clearer. And the image forming wasn’t one you liked.

Billy was returning to the table, as was Rosemary with a tray of drinking. And if destined in the stars, she tripped on the edge of the tile and you were coated in your own milkshake. And Rosemary screamed rather than you, hands rushing to cover her mouth.

“I am so sorry! Oh my goodness!” she screamed, grabbing napkins and rushing to help you wipe your face. You found yourself grinning, laughing even at what had just happened.

“It’s alright! No harm done, honestly.” You said, standing from your seat. Billy wasn’t even fazed by what had happened, he was so happy to be looking down Rosemary’s uniform as she wiped it up the mess she’d made on the floor.

Rosemary wasn’t paying much attention to him, she took your sticky arm and pulled you away from the bench “Here, I have a spare shirt in my locker, let’s try to get the stain out of your shirt.

“It’s okay, really, you don’t have to.” You tried with a smile. If you were reading this girl right, you were going to get exactly what you wanted from her.

“No, no let me help, I feel so bad!” she cried and you relented, letting her lead you into the bathroom before rushing off and instructing you to take off your blouse and soak it in the sink.

She returned quickly with a plain cotton tee shirt marked with the label of the diner printed on the front. She shrugged softly, handing it to you “Technically, you’re supposed to pay for these, but nobody does and I won’t tell if you won’t.” she said and you found yourself nodding as you pulled it on. It was a bit snug, but you much preferred it to the wet shirt you had on before.

“Thank you so much.” You grinned, tossing your shirt in the sink and turned on the faucet.

“Here, let me see if there’s a plastic bag or something in the back for you to throw that in. I wouldn’t want to keep you in here too long, can’t keep Billy waiting on you…” she said and you noted the sad turn in her voice. Now was as good of a time as any to ask.

You grabbed her wrist gently before she could completely turn away from you. “Can I ask you a somewhat personal question?” you asked, earning a bewildered and worried look from the taller girl.

“You can, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.” she said and you liked her already.

“I noticed Billy…well, staring at you. Can I ask what the deal is there? Cause it’s a little weird if there isn’t a story.”

Rosemary sighed, her shoulders and head slumping down, her brown locks becoming a halo of curls around her head. “It’s not…it’s a long story. But it’s not weird, his staring I mean.”

“I don’t need the story, if you don’t want to tell it, but I can tell you that Billy doesn’t look at everyone like that.” Rosemary shook her head, disheartened by something in her head that you couldn’t see. “I’m serious! I use to date him and he never looked at me that way, and he used to say that he loved me.”

That might have not been the best thing to say, it seemed, as it triggered a slow, steady stream of tears down her cheeks. You quickly grabbed her hands, squeezing them tightly. “He doesn’t love me…” she whispered hoarsely, trying not to sob too loudly.

“What do you mean?” you replied, looking up at her sympathetically.

“He…he…” she took a gulping breath “We dated and it got serious and I told him that I loved him and he wouldn’t say it back. He couldn’t say it back. And we broke up but…I love him.”

You found yourself smiling; there was an easy answer to this problem. “Sweetheart,” you said, shaking your head solemnly “He loves you.”

“No, no he doesn’t he would’ve-”

“No, he wouldn’t. Billy has the emotional reverence of a clogged pipe. He can’t say it to you, because you’re the person he cares about, but he can say it to anyone else. And he has-he’s been saying to every other girl he can find because he’s scared to say it to you.”

“That makes no sense.” She pouted softly, pulling her hands away to cross them over her chest.

“You say that like Billy ever makes sense. He has a logic all his own. But if you can understand even a bit of it, then you know him. I know him well enough to know that he doesn’t love me, despite the fact that he told me that he did last week. And I want to help in whatever way I can, and if that means publicly embarrassing him to help you, then I will.”

She stood silent for a good few moments, mulling over everything you’d said. You watched as her face broke into a small smile, clearly not opposed to the idea. “Can you do that?” she asked softly.

“I can do whatever I want. Now, please go and find me that bag, I’ll take care of our dummy.” You replied with a smirk, looking yourself over in the mirror. This would take an easy skill. You left your shirt in the sink and marched out into the dining room, putting on your hardest expression.

“Hargrove.” You snapped, finding him paying the bill at the counter, two Styrofoam counters stacked up on top of each other and deeply disappointed scowl on his lips. He turned and, for a brief moment, looked at you as though it was his own mundane reflection looking back at him. He found the surprised expression he needed and then let it settle into one of pity.

“There you are! I handle this, come on let’s get you home.” He said, looking around the room as though the very sight of you was embarrassing him.

“Sit.” You snapped, pointing back to the booth and nodding over when he didn’t move immediately. He relented with a groan, sliding back in with great and obvious annoyance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you asked, earning a bewildered look from the boy.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh don’t start with that, you know why I’m about to yell at you. What the fuck is your problem-you’re gallivanting around with every girl in sight and breaking poor Rosemary’s heart instead of just admitting that you love her.”

Billy sighed, lowering his head. When he looked up again, he didn’t look guilty-he looked tired. “I don’t…I don’t love her.”

“Well I know for a fucking fact you don’t love me like you said you did. And you sure as hell don’t love little Wendy back there, I bet you didn’t even remember her name till I said it.” you cried.

“How the hell would you know how I feel?”

“Because,” you countered, leaning in to truly hold his eye contact “I know you better than you realize. And I know you don’t say what you feel to the people that can help. You say it to anyone else.”

“So? That doesn’t mean that I love her.”

“Okay, riddle me this: why did you lie to me about living in San Diego?” you asked simply.

“Because I-” he started into another lie, but when he looked in your eyes, his dropped the sentence off, sighing softly “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a loser.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding softly “And why did you tell Wendy that you love her?”

Billy smirked “To get her in bed.” You heard the muffled gasp and moan of poor Wendy behind you, clearly falling back into tears. You didn’t look back.

“And why did you break up with Rosemary?” you asked, watching the smirk fall away and him shy away immediately.

“Don’t make me say it…” he muttered.

“No, say it cause I wanna know.” You snapped back, raising your brows.

“Because I was scared alright? God damn it Y/N, why are you interrogating me?” he cried, huffing and pouting like a child.

“Because I want an answer! Because poor Rosemary needs an answer, okay? Because you spent the whole night watching her with these big, stupid puppy dog eyes and it drove me nuts because you’re so obvious it’s not even funny!” you countered, matching both his volume and tone.

“You’re right, okay?” he relented softly “I do…you know…”

“I know you do.” You smiled, earning an annoyed scoff “Now go tell her that.” Billy stayed put, hands shaking just a tiny bit, his eyes shifted from her at the counter to you across from him. He looked so nervous, like a little boy about to admit to his first crush, and it made your heart melt just a little. You believed that he’d been in love before, but not at this level. Not in this fully adult way. You were proud of him, in that sense, for finally coming to terms with adulthood and the responsibilities you have to your partners, understanding that they becoming your family after awhile.

You took his hand gently, squeezing it softly “You deserve happiness, Bill, but you have to get it for yourself. It won’t always come to you on its own.” You murmured to him and, for once, he seemed to listen. He nodded, letting your hand go and getting up from his seat. You took the opportunity to grab your food from the pile and stand as well, finding the plastic bag with your wet blouse in it on the opposite end of the counter. You didn’t spare a glance to Carol and Wendy, although you could hear Carol’s grumbling as Wendy tried to muffle her sobs. In fact, you only turned once, when Rosemary cried out a watery ‘yes!’ from behind you. You turned just in time to see Billy pull off one of his tarnished silver rings and slip it onto her left hand. You shook your head, chuckling at the quite honestly adorable scene in front of you, watching Billy get the life squeeze out of him by his bride to be and hearing Wendy’s sobs get louder as Carol dragged her out of the booth and out the front door, flipping you off along the way. You guessed now you really weren’t invited to that wedding.

You slipped out the front door and into the cooler summer night, the sun waning in the sky as warm pinks and oranges overtook the blue and made a gorgeous cocktail of colours. A soft, warm breeze blew through the trees edging on the diner and the sound of cars driving down the interstate behind you filled the whole atmosphere with the ends of day trips with tired, sunburnt kids half asleep in the backs of cars as dad rock played softly through the speakers. It was the type of scene you knew so well from childhood.

Of course, you were in a whole different scene entirely.

You were alone in a parking lot, hair sticky and clumped with dried ice cream and whipped cream, your arms still sticky despite being wiped down and a prominent stain drying into your favourite skirt. You were alone and with no way of getting home. And there was no way in hell you’d get back in the car with Billy, not with his new fiancé, both of them itching to tear each other’s clothes off. You were going to half to walk it alone.

“Well that was a fucking waste of time…” you muttered, huffing out a sigh before trudging into the woods. You didn’t want to walk the highway in, just in case you were spotted or worse, hit. You go through the woods and hope that your anxiety didn’t get the best of you.

You spent your walk mostly running or jogging, trying to avoid roots and fallen logs. Your heart was racing and you had to avert your eyes to the now quarantined labs as you ran past, their fences still holding something inside too ominous to let free or tear down. You tried to think of positive, happy things. You would certainly get an invite to the new couples wedding, that would be lovely you hadn’t been to a wedding at all since Jonathan and Nancy’s rushed courthouse ceremony, and not a grand ceremony and reception since your mother and Richard. But thoughts of white dresses and tuxedos only distracted your mind for so long and eventually, after the sun finally set, you had to talk yourself out of the woods altogether, opting to hurry down Cherry Lane, four streets below yours.

You remembered that the Mayfield’s lived there, once even with their Hargrove counter parts, and you wondered to yourself if they still did. You got your answer almost immediately when you saw a flash of red hair hop out a window followed by two flashes of dark hair. You hadn’t noticed the bikes waiting for them below, but you recognized the faces when they appeared in the sunlight.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

[cakesunflower]

Sugar Coated Pain [Boxer!Calum AU] Ch. 12

All Chapters: C Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Epilogue | BONUS CHAPTER

Chapter 12

CALUM KNEW HE should give it a rest, save his strength and his hands for tonight’s actual fight instead of delivering unabating strikes to the punching bag. No doubt Ashton would kick his ass if he found out Calum was still training at Astros, just a mere few hours before tonight’s fight. But Calum wasn’t afraid of Ashton, so he switched from right and left hooks and roundhouse kicks until he was satisfied with the quickness of his movements, making sure he was quick enough to avoid a hit from his nonexistent opponent.

Honestly, Calum thought to himself as his fisted hands struck out, still thinking about his best friend with a small wry grin on his face, feeling the warm layer of sweat clinging to his skin. Don’t know why he still bothers. Where the fuck else am I gonna be?

He spent as much part of his day with Duke as possible before leaving the little pup with food and water at his apartment and then came to Astros to train for a bit. Ashton didn’t like it when he did that before a match, but it’s been almost three years and Calum still didn’t listen. Hopefully Ashton got the hint if he hadn’t stopped by now, he wouldn’t any time soon.

Calum grunted as he assaulted the punching bag with a particularly hard left hook, feeling his fist throb as the bag swung where it hung on its hook, the chains holding it up squeaking in proest. “Not letting Boman off the hook tonight, huh?” Came a familiar voice, pulling Calum out of his thoughts.

Relaxing his stance, Calum glanced to his left to see one of the newer fighters approach him. Something Rickards was part of his name, Calum unable to bring himself to try and recall the kid’s first name. Calum wondered how quickly the kid’s unadulterated excitement that lit up his blue eyes would disappear, replaced by the pure desire of taking out his aggression and desperation to earn some decent cash. That’s what happened to Calum—mostly, since he still got pretty thrilled whenever he had a match. Gave him something to strive for.

“First rule of the ring, kid; you never let anyone off the hook during a fight,” Calum advised absently, not focusing on the conversation as he stretched his fingers out once he uncurled his fists. He came to Astros to train, fight, win and get paid. He wasn’t here to form friendships.

Bending down, Calum rested his weight on his folded left leg as he tied the laces on his right shoe, not one for conversation. That is until Rickards spoke up again, a nervous chuckle preceding his words. “Yeah, I heard you were unforgiving in the ring. I don’t expect tonight to be any different—especially with all the fucked up things Boman was saying about your friend.”

Calum’s attention was caught, head lifting as his fingers tightened his laces. “Which friend?”

“Um, he didn’t give a name but it was, uh, about a girl,” Rickards responded, shifting slightly as Calum slowly rose to his feet, his height making Rickards stumble over his words. No doubt the new fighter was aware he was probably unintentionally about to piss Calum off. “Just said some—some pretty messed up things about a—a girl he saw you with.”

Rickards was having a hard time getting the words out because Calum’s dark eyes had narrowed dangerously, hardened anger tightening his muscles. It wasn’t difficult to discern that the girl Boman was referring to was Noelle, and the knowledge of that washed out sleazebag saying pretty messed up things about her had Calum’s jaw clenching into a near teeth shattering tightness. He could guess what lewd things Boman was saying about Noelle, and Calum was sure if he found out he would end up tracking him down and making good on his threat of breaking his teeth again.

The thought of anyone making comments about her sent a startling surge of anger through Calum, fingers once again curling. He ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head, contemptuously teasing him for being so affected by this. But he couldn’t help it—it was almost primal, the need to shield her from Boman’s thoughts since that wasn’t where she belonged, and Calum knew the kind of lewd man he was, knew the kinds of disgusting thoughts he would cook up involving Noelle that ignited yet another fire under Calum’s skin. That couldn’t happen tonight. Noelle could not show up tonight.

                                                      ♔♔♔♔♔

When Noelle walked into Astros later that night, following behind Beverly and Luke as she conversed with Michael, Calum inhaled sharp breath of indignation, pursing his lips at Beverly. And, as if feeling the heat of his glare, Beverly’s gaze flickered over to him as she and the others made their way to where he stood with Ashton. She listened to what Luke was saying, but her raised eyebrows at him meant she acknowledged the irritated look on his face.

The fight would start in about ten minutes, Astros already filled with the gruff murmur of spectators waiting for things to get going. Calum had caught sight of Davey Boman amongst the crowd, taking him all his willpower to not to say a big fuck you to the match and bury his fist in Boman’s stomach.

He snapped out of his thoughts once the others reached them, only giving Beverly a brief moment to greet Ashton before Calum cut in, “Can I talk to you?”

He didn’t bother greeting Michael and Luke, didn’t even look at Noelle, as he watched Beverly press her lips together knowingly before nodding. Ignoring the confused stares of the others, Calum turned and walked a good distance away from them, making sure they were out of ear shot before spilling to once again scowl at Beverly.

“What part of don’t bring Noelle did you not get?” he practically snapped, his dark eyes clashing with her lighter ones. His tone was harsh, but to Calum’s credit, he was keeping his annoyance at bay. He had a short fuse and while it didn’t take much to set it off, Calum was mindful of letting it go off at his friends. But Beverly’s blatant ignorance of what he asked of her got on his nerves.

“The part where my sister is a grown woman who can do whatever the hell she wants,” Beverly responded coolly, unblinking at Calum’s frustration. “If you really think that Elle is gonna stay home just because of some guy being a creep, then you better think again, Cal.”

The Australian ignored the buzz of everyone around him, rubbing his hand down his face, his own stubble tickling his palm. “Boman was specifically talking about Noelle, Bev. That’s not okay.”

Beverly could make out the concern creeping into his exasperated tone, hoping to fight off the smile threatening to grow on her lips. She knew her sister had a thing for Calum and, as far as she knew, he wasn’t really the commitment type but this little show of emotion, no matter how minor, was definitely a step up. Unexpected, but welcome.

“Then make him eat his words,” Beverly shrugged casually before adding, “With your fists.”

Calum shot her a flat look, the playful smile on her face successfully making his own lips quirk up despite his irritance. The last thing he wanted was for Noelle to be here in Boman’s line of sight, and Calum couldn’t do anything short of carrying her right out of Astros—but he wasn’t one to manhandle women. He then heard Mick announce that it was time and straightened his shoulders. Make him eat his words, Calum mused silently, a wicked smirk curling. No fucking problem.

                                                    ♔♔♔♔♔

“Gotta hand it to ya, Hood—you really know how to pick ‘em.”

His expression steeled, Calum didn’t give Boman the reaction he was hoping for, merely letting out a distasted, “Che,” before launching his right fist towards him. But Boman caught Calum’s fist, smirking in obvious pride for intercepting the dodge, but his expression fell when Calum’s free hand, which had been grasping Boman’s other wrist, used its grip to twist his arm to the point where he let go of Calum’s fist amidst his pained groan.

Seeing his opening, Calum’s fist finally connected with Boman’s jaw, sending him flying back onto the ropes of the ring. Calum was deaf to the cheers as he stalked towards Boman, who was pushing himself up to his feet, meeting Calum in the middle of the ring. “Come on, man,” Boman sneered. “Just complimenting you on your choice of fucks.”

Calum was sure he would break his teeth by how hard he was clenching his jaw, fiery rage igniting his blood as if it was oil as he decided then and there to end the first round—the taunting smirk on Boman’s face only solidified his resolve.

So Calum brought his fists up and let one fly towards Boman’s face, his opponent reaching up to defend himself, until at the last second Calum’s right hand uncurled and slapped against Boman’s neck and brought his knee up to bury it right in Boman’s side, using the leverage on Boman’s neck to pull him down.

He watched, chin lifting in satisfaction as Boman fell onto the canvas with a thud, gripping his side with a groan and pressing his forehead and nose onto the floor where he lay. When those gathered around the ring began counting, Calum crouched down, arms briefly resting on his knees as he advised tautly, “I’d stay down if I were you.”

Boman didn’t even acknowledge him as the number ten roared from everyone’s mouth, signaling the end of the first round as Calum stood up and went to his corner, where Ashton was already leaning into the ring from where he stood down below. “That didn’t take too long,” Ashton commented with a small grin, handing Calum a water bottle and a small towel.

Calum let out a droll snort, taking a long sip of the cold water before handing back the half empty bottle back to Ashton, using the towel to wipe off the barely there swear that had gathered on his skin. Darryl should really invest in getting new air conditioners for Astros.

“He kept saying something to you, didn’t he?” Ashton questioned, furrowing his brows up at Calum. “What was it?”

Without a thought, Calum’s gaze flickered a bit forwards behind Ashton, where his small group of friends stood. As usual, in the front of the rumbling crowd, talking amongst themselves as everyone waited for the next round to start in just a few short moments. His eyes wandered towards her, and Calum resisted the urge to swallow.

How is it that after knocking someone to the ground, Calum didn’t feel the quick beating of his heart until the moment his eyes landed on Noelle? Didn’t feel his adrenaline pumping until he saw her dimpled grin, didn’t feel his stomach twisting indescribably at how comfortable she looked? A vast difference from when she first came to Astros, arms wrapped around her body to shield herself from unwanted stares. She hasn’t been here nearly as long as Beverly has, and she may still stick out in the crowd, but she seemed so confident where she stood. It both comforted Calum and made him bristle.

She didn’t belong here, but he selfishly wanted her to stay.

And when her light eyes just happened to lock with his, Calum saw the way her grin slowly dissipated at the sight of him already staring at her, being replaced by lips parted in mild surprise before the corners of them tilted up slightly. Noelle offered him a small smile from where she stood, and Calum swore he hadn’t expected the pleasant tightness in his chest as a result.

“Just talking shit,” Calum finally responded vaguely to Ashton’s questions, right when the bell rang to signal the start of the second round.

Calum dropped the towel to Ashton as the older guy went back to stand with the others after calling out good luck over the yelling of the crowd. Turning back to face the ring, ignoring the gazes that were directed his way yet feeling a particular girl’s hazel eyed one burn his back, Calum’s own eyes landed on Boman, who was back up on his feet.

When he smirked wolfishly, Calum raised an unimpressed eyebrow, wondering what the hell’s gotten him so smug when he lost the previous round. “Honestly, Hood, I didn’t see you as the one-girl kinda guy,” Boman quipped, sniffing as he rubbed the bottom of his nose with the back of his hand before fisting both of them and jutting his chin to the group standing behind Calum, deaf to Boman’s words. “But if I had a pretty little thing like that around, I might consider it, too.”

Calum knew he was antagonizing him. Boman was all bark and no bite, not the best fighter in Astros but could hold his own if needed. But the more he spoke, the more irritated Calum grew; the ring was meant for fighting, not whatever the fuck Boman was doing. Calum was only just trying to discern what the fuck he felt when it came to Noelle—he didn’t need Boman trying to throw him off with the shit he was spewing.

Calum’s fist tightened, eyebrows twitching. He had it with him.

                                                     ♔♔♔♔♔

Blood was staining Calum’s bruised knuckles, the liquid warm against his already heated skin. He hadn’t meant to break Boman’s nose, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a swell of satisfaction that coursed through him when he heard the unmistakable crunch between Boman’s face and Calum’s knuckles. His own hand may be hurting, but he won.

After he was announced the winner, Calum didn’t give Boman a chance to limp out of the ring. Instead, he grabbed the front of the guy’s tank top, feeling everyone’s curious gazes and hearing their intrigued chatter like a hum in his ears as he pulled Boman closer. Boman’s eyes were wide, blood coloring his nose as he meekly struggled against Calum’s grip. The Australian wanted to smirk; wasn’t so tough now, was he?

“Think twice before trying to piss me off, yeah?” Calum darkly advised, his face unapologetically getting into Boman’s personal space—who didn’t even try to use his hands to break free. “Otherwise next time I’ll stick by my promise and give you some broken teeth to go with that nose.”

When Boman’s Adam’s apple bobbed viciously in his throat, alarmed eyes staring into Calum’s glaring ones, the latter knew he got the message across. It was pathetic, really, how Boman had been spitting out remarks here and there about Noelle during the fight but now here he was, nursing a broken nose for not being able to defend himself for the shit he said.

He let go of the dumbass, watching as Boman stumbled back a few steps before sliding out of the ring on the opposite side, and Calum turned to do the same where he saw his group waiting for him. When his hand gripped the ropes to pull them apart so he could get through, Calum’s jaw clenched at the sharp pain that spread from his knuckles, which were probably bruised under the blood smeared them.

“What the hell was that about?” Michael questioned as soon as Calum’s feet touched the ground. “What were you getting in Boman’s face for?”

Calum took the towel from Ashton with his non-bloody hand, wiping at the sweat glistening his neck. “Talked too much shit instead of fighting,” he responded smoothly, still feeling that small spark of anger when he thought of Boman’s words. Most of his aggression was taken out on the ring, but Calum would be lying if he said he had gotten rid of all of his frustration caused by Boman’s comments about Noelle.

As she fluttered through his mind, Calum’s gaze landed on Noelle almost instinctively, towel still rubbing at the back of his neck as he peered at her. He wondered what she thought, if she was used to seeing him do what he does on the ring, and Calum found himself indulging in on why Noelle’s opinion would matter. She snuck up on him, and while Calum prefered to be prepared for any hit coming his way, he hadn’t been ready for her.

Luke’s amused snort pulled Calum out of his musings. “I thought you didn’t care if people trash talked you?”

Calum’s expression was cool as he looked at his blonde friend. “I don’t.”

He wasn’t going to expand on that, because by the look on Beverly’s face, Calum knew that she knew exactly what happened. The small smile quirking at her lips told him as much.

Half an hour later he found himself in Ashton’s apartment for a post-fight chill time, as per usual. Calum was in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of water for himself since he would be driving to go home, when he heard footsteps enter the kitchen. “Boman totally got under your skin about Noelle, didn’t he?”

He turned around, catching sight of Beverly’s knowing, triumphant smirk which only caused him to bristle ever so slightly. “If you already know the answer, why’re you asking?”

“Because I wanna hear it from you,” Beverly shrugged nonchalantly, crossing her arms over her chest. Leaning against the entryway frame, she mused, “Tell me, Cal, do you like my sister?”

Calum’s grip on the water bottle tightened, the plastic crinkling as his eyes widened ever so slightly, not expecting Beverly to ask him so flat out, so boldly. He was good at reading people—he should’ve seen this coming from Beverly. “I—” He stopped, clenching his jaw as he rushed through the very thoughts in his mind that had been plaguing him for countless days. Did he like Noelle? Was it just a physical attraction or did he actually have feelings for her? He knew the answer to the first part was a definite yes—Noelle was gorgeous beyond belief and Calum was a warm blooded male after all—but to look for something deeper?

He may not be vocal about it, but Calum liked being in relationships. His last one was in high school, a relationship that lasted for about a year with his old chemistry lab partner, Violet, who was now engaged. Calum enjoyed being with someone, the level of intimacy that came with it rather than just a meaningless hook up, which he knew his friends sometimes found it hard to believe since he was more prone to participate in the former than the latter. But it wasn’t his fault he hadn’t met someone since high school who he genuinely had an interest in to pursue something more.

Then Noelle came along, and now Calum wasn’t so sure anymore.

Beverly walking further into the kitchen as she leveled him with a pointed look. “Come on, Calum,” she began with a light, knowing laugh. He twitched, noticing the amusement dancing in her features. “Like, I’m not forcing you to say you have feelings for Noelle or whatever but I’m just saying—there’s gotta be something there, right? I mean, you broke Boman’s nose and nearly your hand because of the shit he was saying about her!” Beverly exclaimed, gesturing to Calum’s right hand, where the knuckles beneath his rings were an angry, purplish red from the ferocity of his punches tonight.

He glanced down at his hand, which truly didn’t even hurt because if his knuckles still gave him hell after nearly three years of doing this, then that was pathetic.

When Calum looked back up to respond to Beverly, his thoughts stilled and words were lost because instead of his gaze meeting Beverly’s light brown eyes, it met Noelle’s hazel ones. Wide and startled and completely taken aback.

Calum’s shoulders squared, lips pursing into a thin line as his mildly alarmed gaze remained on Noelle lingering in the entryway, schooling his expression to not give away the brief wave of disconcert that passed through him at her presence. How long had she been standing there? What did she hear? Calum didn’t like the way his throat suddenly seemed so dry despite the water he was almost finished with.

Beverly frowned, realizing Calum was looking behind her as she glanced over her shoulders, lips parting in surprise at the sight of her younger sister. “Oh. Oh, geez, crap,” she stumbled over her words, knowing that just by the look on Noelle’s face, she had heard what Calum did.

Noelle finding out the guy she liked broke some asshole’s nose for talking shit about her, even if it was during a planned fight? Beverly deemed Noelle’s frozen reaction appropriate.

“I’m just—” Beverly started, turning back around to look at Calum, shooting him a sheepish grin when she noticed his glare now directed towards her. “I’m gonna, uh, go.”

She exited swiftly, expertly avoiding Noelle’s probing, slightly panicked eyes before disappearing down the hall, leaving an tensely awkward silence in her wake. Calum could hear his mates in the living room, but their mingling voices were distance as the sight of Noelle rendered him incapable of hearing anything but the annoyingly loud beating of his heart and the sharp intake of air Noelle just took.

“You didn’t—” Calum kept his gaze on her as she spoke up, pausing as her eyebrows furrowed slightly, taking a few steps into the kitchen. The area wasn’t too big, but Calum still couldn’t help but notice that she seemed too far away. “You didn’t actually break his nose because of me, did you? It—You did it because of the fight, right?”

He easily picked up on the hesitant, doubtful tone of Noelle’s voice, eyeing him in genuine surprise and curiosity. Was she surprised that he would break someone’s noise? Or that there was a chance he did it as a way of defending her? This wasn’t the first time Calum’s defended Noelle since meeting her—hell, this wasn’t even if the first time he’s defended her against Boman. Or was she afraid that Calum was capable of doing something like that for her? No. . . That wasn’t it. There was no fear in her features, or in her voice, and Calum immediately put that thought out of his head. She wasn’t afraid of him.

And in that moment, with her hazel eyes holding so many questions and her pretty lips parted in wonder, Calum decided this wasn’t going to be the last time he would defend Noelle. Broken knuckles be damned.

Calum placed the water bottle on the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest as he met Noelle’s gaze unapologetically. “Both. But mostly for you.”  

tags: @aphroditebeautyshit @cartiercalum @modelukes @tothemoonmikey @candidcalum @perfectlycake @cakestan @lukesback @polarizehood @vaporlewk @luke2k18 @biggestslutforcalum @kinkycorbyn @nostalgia-luke @captain-what-is-going-on @hoodstations @calumamore @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent @rosecth @aghostofmgc @mollypayge @o-cece-d @hemmohales @crownedbyluke @vscsng @invisiblexcth @lukes-youngblood @sunflowertoejam @5sos-stan4lyfe @vistaviola @clum-thomas @justalittleofmyworld @babygirlcashton @ashsthetic @bahylon @angelbbycal @egyptiangoldhood @julianniez @morethanalover @romanticalumhood

[daresplaining]

not sure if you have been asked this before but how would you rate the daredevil runs from miller to soule, and why?

    It has taken literally a thousand years to answer this, and I apologize– it’s just a huge question, even skipping all of the pre-Frank Miller runs (thank you for that, by the way– maybe I’ll rank them in a separate post, because I love a lot of the pre-Miller stuff!). Every reread brings with it new insight, and so my preferences are ever-evolving. That said, here’s how I would rank the main Daredevil runs from Miller onward (I’m not including annuals, mini-series, or novels, and I’m skipping the really tiny one-or-two-issue runs for the sake of brevity):

1. Mark Waid Daredevil volumes 3 and 4 are, for me, a perfect encapsulation of everything that makes Daredevil great. It’s all there! Smirking, swashbuckly Matt pulling off badass feats to save the day? Check! Dark, emotionally turbulent Matt trying to cope as the world falls apart around him? Check! An excellent supporting cast? Check! Fantastic hypersensory moments? Check! Great stories? Stunning art? Stilt-Man? Check! Everyone needs to read this run. It’s pretty much perfect.

2. Brian Michael Bendis I’ve learned that my Daredevil preferences tend to lean light(er…), but dang, Bendis writes a heck of a noir comic. He balances intense crime drama with striking character moments, changes the status quo over and over again (in a good way), and gives Matt some of the best zingers he’s ever had. (Seriously. Bendis’s Matt is really funny.) He also gave us Milla Donovan and Angela Del Toro, and for that I am eternally grateful. And whooo, that Alex Maleev/Matt Hollingsworth art… This is a classic, enduring run for a very good reason.  

3. Karl Kesel/Joe Kelly Okay, I’m cheating here. These are two separate runs. But they happened back-to-back, had the exact same tone, and were great for all of the same reasons, so I usually squash them together. If Karl Kesel and Joe Kelly have a problem with this, they can take it up with me (preferably in person– I have a lot of comics for them to sign.) These runs are fun. The Daredevil pendulum swings from light to dark and back again, and these guys landed on the upswing, after Matt had reconnected with his quippy, swashbuckly past. They feel old-fashioned, nostalgic in the best possible way, not afraid to be a little silly while still delivering solid, character-rooted stories. And it helps that the cast of characters is top-notch. Karen is around, trying to re-start her life while juggling humorous relationship issues with Matt. Foggy’s family drama is on full-force as Rosalind Sharpe and Candace come to town. Misty Knight stops by, as does Natasha Romanov. Kathy Malpher, one of my favorite minor DD characters ever, has lots of panel time. Deuce the Devil Dog is there. And it all ends with the breathtaking DD #375, which has got to be one of my top five favorite issues of all time. If you haven’t read these runs yet, go do that and thank me later.  

4. Frank Miller Darkness is only effective when interspersed with some light, and lightness is only effective when injected with some darkness, and Frank Miller (pre-”Born Again”) hit that perfect balance. It’s noir. It’s deep. It’s intense. It’s also some of the funniest Daredevil material ever written. Please go back and read “Guts”, or “Hunters”, or the Power Man and Iron Fist crossover. Let me say it louder, because I feel like I’m alone here: I love Frank Miller’s Daredevil because it is FREAKING HILARIOUS! And it goes without saying that “Born Again” is also stunning– definitely one of my favorite DD stories. And he gave us Stick and the peerless Elektra Natchios (three different versions of her, in fact) and the world has never been the same.

5. Denny O’Neil Denny O’Neil had the misfortune of getting sandwiched between Frank Miller’s two runs, and I feel like that’s the reason he doesn’t get the attention he deserves for some truly fantastic comics. Uh… weird comics, in a lot of cases, but heck, I like well-done weirdness. O’Neil added an international angle to the comic. He sent Matt to Japan and Italy (and even- gasp- New Jersey) and brought in Glori O’Breen, a great character even with her slightly over-the-top accent. He reconnected Matt with Natasha Romanov for a few beautiful one-shot team-ups. He killed off Heather Glenn in a horrible way, but did it with such grace and style that it didn’t feel entirely gratuitous. And he’s responsible for “The Price”– one of my favorite stand-alone issues. Plus, the fact that he was working with David Mazzucchelli didn’t hurt either.  

6. Ann Nocenti Superhero comics– superhero comics writing in particular– has been a white male-dominated profession for far too long, and there are far too few women who have written Daredevil. I hate to start a discussion of Nocenti’s run with “Look! A woman!” but it’s worth pointing out because look at this list. Seriously. (And for anyone unfamiliar with the pre-Miller runs, I assure you, it’s more of the same.) Ann Nocenti’s run is fantastic for the ways it really digs into the heart of the material. She took the post-“Born Again” landscape and ran with it. This was the period that tied Matt to Hell’s Kitchen, and Nocenti made that plot point stick by showing us the fabric of the neighborhood, bringing in characters like the Fat Boys, placing Matt and Karen within the community with the founding of Karen’s free clinic, and turning the Hell’s Kitchen of the Marvel universe into a living, breathing place. In contrast, she also took Matt out of the city, and in doing so, wrote some of my favorite Daredevil stories. She wasn’t afraid to address pressing social issues. She wasn’t afraid to tell stories that were just plain weird. And her run is utterly unique and complex as a result.

7. Ed Brubaker/D.G. Chichester Yeah, okay, this is really cheating. These are two completely different runs, but they are nevertheless tied because of the same factor: I adore some parts, and dislike other parts. “The Devil in Cell Block D” (the first arc of Brubaker’s run) is phenomenal. I re-read it a lot. So is “Last Rites” (by Chichester). Chichester wrote two of my favorite stand-alone issues: “34 Hours” (vol. 1 #304) and “Just One Good Story” (vol. 1 #380). Brubaker gifted us with the awesomeness that is Maki Matsumoto (A.K.A. Lady Bullseye), and Master Izo! Chichester gave us D.A. Kathy Malpher, one of my favorite DD characters ever (bring her back, Marvel! Where did she go?)! Also, his hypersensory writing is visceral verging on gross– which, for me, is ideal. However, Brubaker’s run went downhill a bit after the first arc. I mentioned the light/dark balance in regards to Frank Miller’s run, and Brubaker went all dark. (I consider it the darkest DD run yet.) It’s great storytelling, but not my style. And while I love his shorter arcs, Chichester’s longer work– “Fall From Grace” and “Tree of Knowledge” in particular– don’t do it for me. I find them overly convoluted and lacking substance. Also, while Scott McDaniel draws my favorite rendition of the radar sense, he’s my least favorite DD artist. D.G. Chichester + Lee Weeks 4ever.

8. David Mack I like “Vision Quest” a lot more than “Parts of a Hole”, though that’s somewhat due to the artist switch partway through the latter. “Parts of a Hole” did an excellent job of introducing Maya Lopez, and has a lot of great moments, but “Vision Quest” is practically a piece of fine art. It’s stunning, both narratively and visually. I consider it more of an Echo comic than a DD comic, but it still belongs on this list.  

9. Charles Soule I haven’t had a chance to reread this run in its entirety, since it just ended, and I really need to do so because I’m having a hard time figuring out my feelings on it. There are aspects of Soule’s characterization of Matt that I disagree with. The sensory writing varied in quality, and we clearly have different perceptions of the radar sense. There was a distinct shortage of female characters– and, in fact, of side characters in general. And the mind wipe was a huge misstep, since it erased so many of Matt’s long-held friendships. In a comic that has traditionally drawn much of its power from its strong supporting casts and Matt’s dynamics with them, that decision has caused serious lasting damage. However, there’s also a lot I loved. Sam Chung, though (I feel) underused, is a great character in his own right, and he also provided the chance for us to see Matt in a long-term mentorship role– something I’ve wanted for a while now. Muse was a fascinating and terrifying antagonist. And Soule’s perspective as an actual lawyer added extra zip to many of his stories, whether it was putting Matt in the mayor’s office (finally!) or sending him to the Supreme Court in what may be my favorite law-centered DD story ever. But the real reason Soule’s name is this far up this list is because of the “Double Vision” arc (or, as I call it, “Mike Murdock Must Die 2.0″) which is sheer brilliance, and to my mind, one of the greatest Daredevil stories ever told.

10. Bob Gale “Playing to the Camera” does not get nearly as much credit as it deserves for being a genuinely hilarious superhero law-based comedy of errors, and a bright spot amid the angst-fest that is Daredevil volume 2. My major complaints are that it’s too short and I dislike the art.

11. Andy Diggle I don’t dislike “Shadowland”. I don’t love it, but it’s a cool story concept that suffered– as events often do– from storytelling spread too thin, across too many characters, in too short a timespan. (Though I need to know if he came up with the “Matt Murdock dared evil… and lost” tagline, because if so, that wordplay would rocket him right to the top of this list.) I prefer the lead-up to “Shadowland” to the event itself. But I love DD: Reborn (yes, I said I wasn’t going to cover mini-series, but it’s essentially part of the main comic because it bridges the gap between two volumes. I say it counts). I’ve always enjoyed stories that take Matt out of NYC, and Reborn is a fun adventure story that gets back to basics and serves as a great bookend for volume 2.  

12. Scott Lobdell I like “Flying Blind”. It’s quirky and unusual (which I appreciate), and Matt is written very well. I just don’t love it. It’s one of those arcs that slides right to the back of the memory and only returns to the forefront when you’re reflecting on the first time Matt ever saw Foggy, or wondering if Matt’s bad French in Brubaker’s run is left over from his SHIELD-implanted fluency. It’s a neat idea, but could have been executed in a more engaging, lasting way.

13. Gregory Wright This short run went right out of my head the instant I finished it the first time, and upon rereading it has remained fairly unmemorable. The art is hit-and-miss, and the story– while perfectly fine– isn’t anything exciting or innovative. There are some great hypersensory moments, it’s worth reading, but I don’t have much to say about it beyond that.

14. Alan Smithee “Alan Smithee” is a pseudonym used in the entertainment industry by writers who don’t want to be associated with a certain project. The commentary on manwithoutfear.com states that this run was actually written by Chichester, who used the pen name as a way of protesting his abrupt firing from the comic. I treat it as a separate run, since that’s clearly what he wanted. I always tend to group the Wright and Smithee runs together in my mind because they take place one after the other, are both very short (only 5 issues each), and are very similar in both tone and quality. I like the art in Smithee’s run more, and the writing is solid. However, the whole thing is colored for me by the horrific and unnecessary death of Glorianna O’Breen, a character I love. I’m perfectly fine with characters dying if their deaths are well-written and impactful (heck, I’ll be honest– I love a good death), but Glori’s demise just seems gratuitous, and is therefore not appealing to me.

15. J.M. DeMatteis This run is super weird, but not in an interesting way. It leans toward the religious, which is not my thing, and it relies on the dead sex worker storyline from Man Without Fear, which is really not my thing and should have stayed out of the main continuity. It’s good to read, because it’s a major shift in Matt’s life and sets up the fabulous Kesel/Kelly runs, but… eh. That said, Matt battling his different identities in a graveyard while getting heckled by Stick, and yellow suit DD running around creating mayhem, are 100% my things… so credit where’s it’s due.  

16. Kevin Smith You may have noticed that “Guardian Devil”, the first arc of Daredevil volume 2, the run that rescued the series after its cancellation and brought Matt Murdock to the forefront of the Marvel street-level universe once more…! …is rarely ever mentioned on this blog. That’s because I really don’t like it. At all. I’m grateful to Smith for bringing readers back to DD, but would be happy if he never wrote these characters again. His run is poorly paced, out-of-character, and covers themes/topics/etc. that I personally don’t enjoy. I forced myself through it because I’m a Daredevil completist, but I haven’t read it again. I probably will someday, just to make sure I remember all of the key plot points, but… not yet.  

[flowers-creativity]

Bad Luck (Chapter 5)

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay, d’Artagnan (Charles), Jean Tréville, Flea Warnings: Violence, whipping, racism, slavery, abduction Summary: Porthos rarely had bad luck at the card table. But when he hit a streak of really bad luck, it was only the beginning …Soon, the other three Inseparables were desperately searching for their missing friend while he did his best to get back to them.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Unconsciousness was a murky darkness that held him fast, and it took all of Porthos' strength to withdraw from its grip as his eyelids fluttered open. It was dark, and for a moment, he was not sure if he had actually managed to lift them until the blackness slowly dissolved into shades of grey. He was lying on his side, his cheek pressed into a thin layer of hay, and bit by bit, he became aware of the weight of the manacles still binding his hands and feet and the sharp, fiery burn spreading all over his back. He tried to sit up but had barely raised more than his head when the pain intensified, and he had to bite back a whimper.

“Careful, big man,” a voice said next to him, “they got you good.”

Porthos turned his head to the man speaking. In the dark room, white teeth and eyes were glowing in a dark face, a slender build, and for a moment, Porthos saw someone else sitting there. He blinked, and the face became clearer – the man was unfamiliar, dark-skinned, and he was also chained. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a pained groan.

“I know,” the stranger said. “Let me help you.” He awkwardly helped Porthos sit up, both of them hampered by the chains, but his hands were gentle. “Better?” the other man asked once Porthos was upright, resting one shoulder against the wooden wall. The big Musketeer raised a trembling hand to his face to wipe away the sweat that had broken out at the small exertion and nodded. “Thanks,” he breathed.

The stranger just smiled, settling back against the wall as Porthos' breathing slowly returned to normal. Finally, he raised his head and looked around the room – it was small, the floor was covered in hay, and the only light source was a small window high in the wall letting in a pale, watery light. There were several dark lumps along the wall opposite to them that, on a closer look, were men, sleeping, chains trailing between them like silvery snakes. “Where is this place?” he asked when he had finished his inspection.

The other man grimaced. “I don't know,” he replied, “but most likely on the Seine. Somewhere about a day's distance from Paris. We're on a ship, that's about all I know.”

Porthos tried hard to swallow down the sinking feeling in his gut. He had been right about the ship, then. Ships were harder to track than wagons or riders, leaving little trace of their passage between ports. One day from Paris – he was sure his brothers were looking for him by now, they knew he wouldn't just not turn up for duty without at least sending word if he was able to. But would they even find out that he wasn't in Paris any longer?

“They alive?” he asked with a gesture towards the men on the side opposite them. He hadn't seen any of them move yet.

The stranger shrugged. “Mostly.” He nodded his chin towards one bundle in the far corner of the room. “I'm not sure about him. They beat him badly, and he didn't look to be as strong as you, big man.”

Porthos nodded absently. “Porthos,” he offered, and then, because it was important: “Porthos du Vallon.” His name, though of his own choosing, taken when he believed that it would help him in this new life he was fighting to build, was a good name, known and respected by his brothers-in-arms, his regiment and even at the King's Court, and as much his own as everything he had gained since leaving the Court of Miracles. In the absence of his pauldron, his weapons, he had to hold on tight to everything he had to fight against the feeling of powerlessness threatening to choke him.

“Porthos,” the man repeated. “I'd say 'Well met', but why lie? I'm Fadil.” He smiled wryly.

The foreign name caught Porthos' attention, and he thought he could detect a hint of an accent. “You're a Moor?” he asked.

Fadil nodded. “Good guess,” he replied.

“So you're from Spain? Been in France long?”

“Five years.” At Porthos' curiously raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “We spent some time here and there before we made our way to Paris but my family and I decided to try and stay. We didn't feel called to leave this continent behind like many of our brothers and sisters.”

“And it landed you here,” Porthos mused. “I'm sorry. Seems I'm not the only one with bad luck around here.”

Fadil snorted. “You could say so,” he agreed.

Porthos let his head fall back against the wall and breathed. “Yeah, well,” he growled, “we'll have to do something about that.”

“You're a man of action,” the Moor remarked. “I like that.”

Porthos grinned, even if he did not really feel it. “Our captors won't,” he swore. “I'll never be a slave. Are you with me, friend?”

Fadil gazed at him, his eyes bright in the dim room. “I am, big man.”

[jooheonspinky]

The Spirit Board

Character: Changkyun and Female Reader, ft Minhyuk

Word Count: 1.7K Genre: Halloween Thriller Synopsis: When Y/N finds an old spirit board while cleaning out her attic, will she still believe that spirits aren’t real?

Image Credit: @OfficialMonstaX

   “Come on,” she grabbed her best friend’s wrist yanking him forward before he had even fully stepped into the house. “I want to show you what I found!” She slammed the door, locking it before tugging her friend down the hall to her room.    “Can I get a minute to catch up?” he fussed. “You’re dragging me like some disobedient child!”    “Aish, Minhyuk, so dramatic!”    Releasing his hand, she rushed into the bedroom, plopping onto the bed. She tapped the tips of her fingers on her knees, waiting impatiently for him to finally join her.    “So, what is so urgent that you needed me here ASAP?” he asked as he dropped his messenger bag onto the computer chair. “This better be good.”    “Well, I was cleaning out the attic. My parents want to store some stuff up there so I needed to make space,” she started. “Anyway, I moved a box at the very end of the room and this board fell over.”    She pointed to the object on the bed. Both eyed the wooden board with its intricately carved details. There were celestial designs mimicking the moons and stars. The letters, numbers and symbols that had been shaped with such care had been filled in with an indigo ink. The planchette was also made out of wood and had a magnifying glass, surprisingly with only a few scratches.    “Oh hellll naw!” Minhyuk exclaimed as he jumped back eyes wide. “Y/N, do you even know what that is?”    “Yes, it’s a spirit board.”    “Exactly! A home-freaking-made Ouija board!” He shivered. “That is NOT a toy and we should NOT be touching it.”    “Oh, stop. It’s just a piece of wood with letters on it,” she brushed off his warnings. “Play with me. Let’s see what the hype is about. I’m sure it won’t move. This stuff isn’t real anyway.”    “I don’t…” Minhyuk’s eyes flicked from her, then the board, then her again. The skeptical look on his face that was laced with terror brought a laugh forth from Y/N.    “Come on, don’t be a baby,” she taunted.    “I swear to God, if ANYTHING comes out I’m sending that thing to haunt your ass!”    Minhyuk sat down, legs crisscrossed applesauce, at the opposite side of the board. Rubbing her hands together mischievously, Y/N straightened the board and placed the planchette in the middle.    “Ok, so we both have to put two fingers on this thing here and ask a question,” Y/N instructed. “Anything specific you want to know?”    “What spell did Y/N use to get me to do this?” he deadpanned.    “No, think of a serious question!” she whined.    Barely audible, Minhyuk murmured, “I was being serious.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fine. How about we start with who made the board ‘cause I can’t really think over the terror in my mind.”    Y/N scoffed, though she was not surprised at Minhyuk’s behavior. Placing their index fingers and middle fingers on the pointer, she closed her eyes. She could hear Minhyuk take a deep breath and let it out slowly as if he were trying to calm himself down.    “Hello, spirits,” Y/N began as she opened her eyes. “We come in peace.” She couldn’t help but snicker, earning her a glare from Minhyuk. Clearing her throat, she continued. “I found this board today and would like to know who created it.”    The two were silent as they peered down at their fingers and the planchette beneath. Just as Y/N was about to call bull, the pointer began to move, the movements jerky.    “Ar-are you moving it?” Minhyuk stammered.    Y/N shook her head watching Minhyuk’s Adam’s Apple bob furiously in his throat as he swallowed a few times.    “Stop screwing around. I know you’re trying to scare me,” Y/N laughed.    “I swear,” he whispered as the pointer continued to move.    “I…” they both read in unison. “M…”    The pointer slid down to the center.    “I M?” Y/N repeated allowed. “What does that even mean?”    “Initials maybe? For the creator of the board?”    The pointer shifted swiftly over the letters N-A-M-E then went back to the center.    “Oh, looks like that’s it’s actual name. Different,” Y/N mused. “Well, nice to meet you, I.M. My name is Y/N and this is-“    “Don’t you dare tell it my name!” Minhyuk whisper-shouted harshly. “Don’t you dare!”    “Oh come on, it’s friendly,” Y/N insisted.    Minhyuk refused to budge. “I said no. Once it knows your name it can have power over you. Haven’t you watched a scary movie lately?”    “Alright alright, sheesh. Don’t get your undies all in a twist!” Returning their attention to the board, she asked, “How old are you?”    The pointer moved down towards the numbers with no hesitation. Again, they read them allowed together.    “336,” Minhyuk’s eyes widened. “Wow.”    “Can you tell us how you died?” Y/N inquired.    Minhyuk whimpered, “Are you sure you should ask that?”    She ignored him, totally intrigued with the spirit communicating with them. She had never believed in spirits or much less that she could actually speak to one. This was turning out to be a pretty cool discovery.    The planchette began to glide smoothly over the letters and numbers again.    “S-H-O-T-4-M-R-D-R,” they repeated slowly.    “What does that…”    Minhyuk cut her off, “Oh shit! He said ‘Shot for murder’. He killed someone. He’s evil. We need to shut this down now!”    The pointer began creating figure eight’s faster and faster until they could not keep up with it. Y/N screamed, pulling her fingers away.    “What the hell!” she exclaimed as the planchette immediately stopped moving.    “What did you do?” Minhyuk jumped up frantically. “You can’t break away without closing the session. We didn’t say good-bye first. I gotta get outta here. I need to go.”    Minhyuk snatched up his bag and rushed towards the front door.    “Hey, wait!” Y/N called out behind him. “Where are you going?”    “I’m going home and I’m going to light some white candles and pray and hope that we didn’t just let an invisible murderer loose.”    “Minhyuk, it’s just a game,” Y/N insisted.    “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Right.”    He slammed the door behind him leaving a shocked Y/N standing in the foyer alone.

***

   It wasn’t until three nights later that she started to feel like she was being watched. She’d been sleeping and a sudden overwhelming feeling of dread over took her, waking Y/N from her slumber. Out of the corner of her eye she swore a black shadow stood near her closet watching her. The shadow was darker then the darkness in her room. Shifting to face her closet directly she no longer saw it and blamed Minhyuk for transferring his fears to her. He was definitely influencing her thoughts.    The next few nights noises could be heard throughout the house. Scraping sounds, like nails raking across her walls and doors opening and closing on their own. The lights would flicker on and off for no apparent reason.    Her parents were supposed to be arriving in a week and she was counting down the days to where she would not have to sleep alone. She was having a hard time sleeping. Minhyuk had refused to step foot in her home ever since using the spirit board and she couldn’t blame him. Not anymore.    When she began to hear a man’s voice she could no longer brush it off as any natural house noises. She knew then, that on the night she and Minhyuk had used the Ouiji board, they had released something into her house.    “Y/N…”    She was walking down the hallway when she heard her name. It was just the quietest of whispers, but even then she could hear the deep timber of a male’s voice.    “Who’s there?”    She couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice as she froze in place.    “Have you forgotten me so quickly?” the disembodied voice queried. “You break my heart, Y/N,” he tsked.    “I.M?” she wondered aloud as she looked up and down the hall.    “It is I,” he chuckled.    Trying to steady her fraying nerves, she took a deep breath before asking, “What are you doing here?”    There was a heavy sigh. “I’m so lonely. It’s so lonely here.”    She couldn’t help continuing the interaction though every cell in her body told her to run as far away from there as she could.    “Where are you?”    The space began to grow cooler. She felt a slick shiver of fear wrack her body as she peered down the hall towards her bedroom. There, where the light didn’t quite reach, she could see a silhouette that appeared to be drawing closer and closer.    “Purgatory.”    She gasped, “Purgatory?!”    “Yessss.”    He was nearer now. His voice so close and bringing with him a frigid air. No longer a shadow, she could now make out a young man. Quite handsome, though he exuded danger causing warning bells to tickle at her mind. She felt goosebumps prickle along her flesh as he smiled wickedly at her with glowing red eyes.    “What the hell are you?!” The fear crept back into her voice.    “I am what I am.”    She wasn’t aware of stepping back, trying to get away from him, until her back hit the wall. The terror that was beginning to consume her made it hard to speak.    “Wha-what do you want?”    She saw the board and the planchette clutter to the floor, momentarily distracting her.    “It’s quite simple dear,” he murmured. “I want you!”    His hand flew out, snatching her wrist before she could turn and flee. Though she knew no one would hear her, she screamed until only thick black darkness surrounded her.

***

   Minhyuk curls up in his bed, staring despairingly at a picture of himself and Y/N as the audio from the news channel his mother is listening to finds its way into his room.    “...no new information in the disappearance of Y/N Y/L/N who has been missing now for three weeks. The police have confirmed there was no sign of forced entry and are not ruling out the possibility that she may have run away. Her friend, Lee Minhyuk, stands by his statement. He alleges that Y/N had confessed that she suspected she was being followed and that the stalking began after they used a Ouiji board. He claims a demon was released that night and is the cause of her disappearance. He is currently seeking psychiatric help and is not a suspect. If you have any information on this case, you are asked to contact the local police at...”

Thank you so much for reading! Happy Halloween!