#my back is relatively bare compared to my front since my arm reach is limited so you know.

[neverendingford]

.

[lepusrufus]

Double edged scalpel ch.5

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4

Summary: someone please give Nicole a break for the love of Miranda. And there be smut y'all

---

Seeing Cassandra's softer side made something flutter within Nicole's chest. The brunette was a sadist through and through. Witness to that fact was the array of torture devices that littered the dungeons. Not to mention the prisoners she frequently killed, only to haul them on the autopsy tables in her study to be examined, chopped and sectioned by the both of them.

But there was an uncharacteristic sort of gentleness in the way their lips slid against each other, sharp teeth occasionally biting down on Nicole's lower lip but never enough to draw blood. In the way Cassandra would drag sharp nails against flushed skin, but not go beyond the pleasurable amount of pain. Even the glint in golden eyes when Nicole went over some old notes of hers on more tricky anatomy concepts. Having an exclusive look at this side of Cassandra felt beyond intimate and the thought almost made her miss when the brunette spoke from where she was leaning over a notebook.

"Okay let's just wrap this up, I have plans."

Nicole hummed, dropping the liver she was holding in a freezer bag. Most body parts were already bagged and ready to be picked up by Cynthia and her undercooks, they were just putting into practice some things the brunette was curious about. She dropped the now blood soaked leather gloves in the sink and went to sit by Cassandra, who was scribbling some final notes.

"In that case I'll go enjoy a cup of tea," she sighed. "Tea that I had to skip because someone was eager to start on this early."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her, accompanied by her usual smirk. "I meant plans with you."

Oh? That was new. The brunette laughed at Nicole's wide eyed expression and snapped her notebook shut. She took her sweet time putting it on the shelf with the others and checking the time, pretending not to notice the redhead's inquisitive expression. Then, she lifted Nicole’s chin with a thankfully not covered in blood finger.

"Don't get me wrong I love it here but," she grimaced, "it gets stuffy sometimes. Especially in summer."

Well, that much was true. The undergrounds of the castle were oddly warm, although not downright hot, compared to what one would expect from a castle. Pair that with the annoyingly humid atmosphere and having to wear a leather apron and gloves so as to not completely ruin your outfit and you got the perfect recipe for discomfort. She really ought to ask Cassandra about installing some kind of better ventilation down here.

"Meet me in the attic in about… an hour." She leaned down and their mouths were so close that Nicole could feel icy breath on her lips.

The attic? She's never been to the attic, it was not only off limits for most staff but also dangerous if rumors were to be believed. Not that she had the clarity of mind to voice any concerns when Cassandra finally leaned in to kiss her, complete with a nip on her lower lip that made Nicole’s breath hitch.

---

The fact that Nicole had no idea how to get to the attic could be a slight problem. She had asked Anita, but not only did she not know, she also seemed mortified by the idea. Another maid just gave her vague directions to look for a ladder on the top floor. As if that wasn't like trying to find the needle in a haystack. Or the needle in a giant castle.

She was just wandering around the top floor, praying not to stumble upon anyone who would be less than thrilled to see her there. A sigh of relief escaped past her lips when she heard familiar buzzing and steps coming towards her.

"Oh Cas-" she swallowed her words when she noticed red hair spilling from underneath a black hood.

"Nicole! What are you doing here hmm?" Her inquisitive hum was way too exaggerated the same way her fangs seemed too sharp when she grinned.

"I was just looking for Ca- lady Cassandra. She asked me to meet her in the attic."

Daniela's mouth fell open, almost forming an O shape. Then back to her characteristic giggle, almost as if laughing at a joke only she knew.

"What, you don't know how to get there?"

"...Not really," she sheepishly admitted.

And that was a mistake. Nicole would've preferred to wander the hallways until Cassandra eventually got bored enough of waiting and decided to come see where her glorified lab partner was. But her plan was ruined by Daniela wordlessly grabbing her arm and pulling her in the opposite direction she was going in. She even went the extra mile to partially turn into a swarm, which made Nicole's panic skyrocket. She didn't mind bugs. But having hundreds of them fly all around you, accompanied by manic giggling was a whole other thing.

Before she knew it though, Daniela let go of her arm, laughing a little at Nicole's stumbling. She gestured dramatically towards a ladder and said:

"There you go. Say hi to Cassie for me."

"Th- thank you my lady." And with a small bow of the head she grabbed the ladder and started ascending on shaky legs.

"And enjoy your date," she called out, once Nicole was at the top of the stairs.

Blushing, she decided to ignore the comment and start looking for the sister less likely to turn her into fly food.

The attic looked… old. It was obvious that people didn't come here often, although someone probably did clean it regularly as there were no cobwebs nor dirt on any surfaces, aside from some dust. It was full of neatly arranged boxes and crates, their contents as mysterious as the castle's inhabitants. Tentative steps took her across ancient floorboards, navigating old rooms.

"Rah!"

Nicole damn near jumped out of her skin, a string of curses spilling past her lips. "Jesus fucking christ Cassandra!"

The brunette only laughed, hands on her knees and pretending to wipe a tear from her eye.

"That's what you get for making me wait for so long."

"I didn't even know where the attic entrance was! Good thing one of your sisters came to my rescue." Nicole rolled her eyes at the last word.

Cassandra stopped laughing, eyes narrowing slightly. "Which one?"

"Uh- Danie-"

"Did she hurt you?" Cassandra grabbed her arms, golden eyes looking for any visible injuries.

Nicole just laughed softly, taken off guard by the display of concern. "No, no. Just gave me a bit of a fright, that's all."

With an eye roll, Cassandra guided her further into the attic, through more dusty rooms, until they reached a short corridor, light spilling from its other end. The room they entered was relatively small, almost half of it occupied by stacked boxes as if it used to be a storage room like the rest of the attic and nobody bothered to completely clear it out. A few pieces of furniture were also present: a couch with a coffee table in front of it and paintings leaning against a wall to collect dust. This room however had a window, left slightly ajar, that allowed you to see the mountains stretching on the horizon, crowned by the beautiful orange hues of dusk.

Nicole moved to the glass to take in the view, mouth almost hanging open, when an ungodly screech from outside made her backpedal straight into Cassandra.

"What the fuck was that?" She asked, eyes widening at the sight of flying creatures circling the towers.

"Mother's flying guard dogs."

"They sound the same way I'd imagine the souls of the damned do." Nicole didn’t take her eyes off the ghoulish creatures, almost as if keeping eye contact would dissuade them from attacking.

Cassandra just shrugged. "Wouldn't be too far off. Also here." She sat on the couch, gesturing towards a cup.

Nicole went to sit by her side, grabbing the mystery cup. She frowned slightly when the steam reached her nose, bringing with it a pleasant minty and honey aroma.

"Tea?"

"Since you were so disheartened about having to skip it earlier," Cassandra averted her eyes, seemingly finding the curtains very interesting.

After a long sip, she let out a content sigh. The warmth was more than welcomed, despite the weather. She set the cup back on the table and turned her attention on the brunette, now fidgeting with the corner of a pillow.

"Thank you," Nicole said, leaving a small kiss on her cheek.

Cassandra smiled and turned around, locking their lips in a kiss that at first mimicked her gentleness, but soon turned hungry when dainty hands made their way to the brunette's nape, pulling her closer. She shifted them both, pushing Nicole down on the pillows littering the couch, until she was laying on top of her, legs on each side of her waist. Her focus was on leaving a trail of nips and kisses down Nicole's neck when the redhead jumped and barely stifled a yelp at another screech from outside.

"Ugh what the fuck is today, scare me out of my mind day?"

"How are you scared of these but countless dead bodies don't phase you?" Cassandra laughed, sound muffled by her position with her mouth against Nicole's neck.

"I used to work on corpses, not on ugly gargoyles that could chew my face off!" She gestured wildly at the window and the few creatures visible outside.

"You what?"

"You...didn't know?" Nicole couldn't help a giggle at Cassandra's confused expression.

"How was I supposed to know?"

"I thought your mother told you already. Or your sisters," Nicole shrugged.

"They knew?!" And, after something seemed to dawn on her, "Oh I'm gonna kick both their asses."

Nicole couldn’t help letting out a small laugh, placing her hands on Cassandra's cheeks and, with a pout for dramatic effect, "Right now?"

As much as the sight was both funny and endearing, the warmth starting to pool at her core was making her beyond impatient.

The indignation in golden eyes was replaced by an all too familiar glint and black painted lips went back to their work on Nicole's neck. Sharp fangs pierced the skin there, just enough to draw a few drops of blood and a whine. After licking every last bit of it, Cassandra's lips moved to the collarbones and lower, hands slowly starting to undo the buttons of Nicole's pesky uniform that was in the way.

When both the button up and the skirt were discarded on the floor Nicole tangled her fingers through black hair and pulled Cassandra in for a kiss. Her free hand went to the back of the dress, pulling down the zipper and guiding it off of the brunette's shoulders. Once both of them were left only in undergarments, Nicole pulled back to look up at the brunette.

"If I knew I was supposed to dress up I would've asked the chambermaid if there's anything fancy in the uniform stash," she said, taking in the beautifully intricate lace of Cassandra's matching bra and underwear, complete with a giggle at her awful joking.

The brunette only raised an eyebrow. "Mhm I can take care of that. Not like you'll need these for long though." Her hands reached under Nicole's back to unclasp her bra and in mere moments that too was on top of the pile of clothes on the floor.

Then Cassandra bent down to crash their lips together, tongue slipping past Nicole's lips when a wandering hand elicited a gasp from her.

Cassandra was by no means a patient person. Quite the opposite actually. But teasingly dragging her nails across sensitive skin only to feel the girl under her squirm and whine when her hand just won't go where she needed it made waiting all the more sweet. Slender fingers started to toy with the edges of Nicole's underwear. After a groan against her lips and an impatient tug of hair, Cassandra finally gave in, slipping two fingers inside her. She felt Nicole arch into her, a broken moan escaping past her lips when she broke the kiss to let her head fall back into the cushions. Cassandra took that as an opportunity to kiss the length of her neck, occasionally stopping to suck or bite at a spot, enjoying every gasp and moan she drew out of the redhead.

With Cassandra's rough pace it didn't take long before Nicole was clenching her thighs around her hand. Cassandra kissed her, swallowing her moan as she came.

The small room in the attic, Cassandra's drawing room she would later find out, was the perfect secluded spot. They spent the rest of the evening enjoying each other. First evening of many.

[certifiedskywalker]

Breaking Oaths and Following Orders - Din Djarin

thebounty said: Hey!! I was wondering if I could ask for a request for a Mandalorian x Jedi!reader? It’s inspired by this song (Jenny- Studio Killers) which is basically about friends turned into lovers.

AN: Ah, yes, the TikTok song...I hope I did your idea justice! (I cut the rest of your request out on this official post because I didn’t want to totally spoil what happens!)

You were familiar with the carbon stink of blaster bolts and the excited tension of battle. Limited stints in combat during the Clone Wars, when you were barely old enough to be a padawan, had introduced you to the harsh adrenaline and smells of war. A gunfight in some alley on some Outer Rim world was nothing compared to what you had seen. Though, now, you knew all of what was at stake; you loved all that was at stake.

“I don’t think they’re Jedi,” Din observed as he ducked down behind the thick stone wall you were using as cover. You shot the helmeted man an incredulous look.

“Really? What gave you that idea? The fact they’re not using laser swords or that they’re shooting at us?” Din didn’t respond to your sarcasm and instead popped up above the wall to let a few bolts fly. Based on the yelps of pain, they hit their marks.

“We need to get out of here,” he said once he ducked back down. You nodded and glanced at the Child, still tucked away in his cradle. His big eyes were glued to you, as they often were in the heat of battle. Expectant, waiting for you to make your, the, move.

“Yeah, we do,” you agreed, before you pressed the button on the Child’s cradle that closed the little creature within. The last thing you wanted was more pressure. 

“They have us pinned,” Din said and tipped his head back towards the wall behind you. “And there’s at least five,” the Mandalorian popped up from behind the wall again and nearly missed a blaster bolt to the head, “six up front.”

“Can’t you jet us out of here?”

Wordlessly, Din reached around to his back and rapped his gloved knuckles against the fuel tank of his jet pack. An empty, metallic clang echoed the knocking of his hand. No fuel. 

“Karabast,” you cursed as you turned your attention to the enemies firing luring shots at the relative safety of the wall. There were too many. A step beyond the stone would mean certain death. So did staying put. Direness set in, loomed like a storm cloud in your mind. You glanced back at Din and the Child’s cradle only to have a lump form in your throat. 

As if on cue, the cradle covers opened and revealed the watchful eyes of the Child. He was still focused on you. As you took a moment to study him in return, you neither heard a coo of worry nor did you see flinch of fear. He was calm, eerily so; as if he knew what you were thinking, what you knew you had to do. You moved your gaze to Din and watched as he let a few shots go towards your attackers. A stray blaster bolt from the enemy knocked against the beskar plate on his chest, right above his heart. Too close to where his armor ended and his clothing began. Too close for comfort. You couldn't lose him. 

Adrenaline, pure and vile rushed through you. Before you could move against your instincts, your hand reached out and pulled Din back down behind the stone wall. The dark visor of his helmet met your gaze. You could feel the question on his lips, despite having never seen them. You had spent enough time imagining them; how they looked and how they might feel against your own.

“Grab the kid and run on my word,” you said with a tone of seriousness to break yourself from your wonderings. “Got it?”

Din was still for a moment and you realized that your hand lingered on his arm. Warmth spread through your fingers, up your arm, and to your face. Quickly, you let go, and the Mandalorian seemed to have recovered. He nodded wordlessly and reached out towards the cradle. When the pod was tucked under his arm, you moved to face the stone wall you all were hidden behind. 

“What are you planning, Y/N?” 

Din’s tone was cold, laced with concern. After all the cycles you and the man had worked and lived together, you had noticed he only said your name when you were about to do something dangerous. You had wished he said it more, in different contexts, like one of affection. Though, you had reasoned long ago that Din’s concern was his affection. Like the Jedi, it seemed that Mandalorian of Din’s Creed forewent too-personal, entangling attachments. It was the first principle of the Code that you had wished you had broken long ago. In a sense, you had. The care you held, the love, for Din and the Child...you were a Jedi no longer.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t pretend.

“You can ask me questions later.”

Before Din could attempt to stop you, you reached down to each of your hips and pulled the two metal, somewhat cylindrical pieces of your lightsaber from your belt. In a practiced motion, you latched the two segments together and pressed the ignite switch. As soon as the blade ignited, you focused your mind on the small, stone wall that sheltered you. Once you pictured it clear in your mind, you threw your hands up and pushed forward. When you opened your eyes, the stone wall hurtled towards your attackers and drove some down into the dirt. You glanced at Din.

“Now!”

At your word, Din rushed towards the now dwindling group of criminals that had been shooting at you. Due to the laser sword in your hands, most of their fire was focused on you. With an ease that surprised you, you twirled your saber in the air and deflected the shots. Most landed in the chests of those had taken aim, giving each a swift death. You gave an extra flourish to redirect a blaster bolt towards one of the attackers that was more interested in Din and cradle.

The man fell quickly and a surge of confidence rushed through you. You still had it, even after all this time of hiding! Only a few criminals remained and you drew closer and closer. As you moved, their aim grew more and more precise. One even dared to charge at you. With you busied dispatching him, another shot off his rifle. White-hot and searing hurt ripped through your lower leg, then your shoulder. A yelp of pain escaped your lips. Overcome by heated rage and long ago lessons forgotten, you tilted forward and struck him down.

Then there was silence. Only your haggard breath filled your ears. The pain in your leg and shoulder overwhelmed your senses. It had been a long time since you had taken a hit. An even longer time since you had used the weapon of your dead Master.

You fell to your knees, tried to focus on forcing your breathing steady. When you hit the ground, your thumb instinctively struck the power switch. With a hiss, the blade closed and you found enough strength to lift your gaze. Your eyes locked with Din’s darkened visor.

“Y/N.”

There was that concern again. It was the last thing you heard before you fell back, let your body rest against the dirt of the alleyway and splatters of blood.

You woke with a start. The wild beating of your heart propelled you, so you sat up straight in the sleeping nook. Your head nearly slammed against the ceiling. When you recognized the interior of the Razor Crest, you allowed yourself to catch your breath.

“Hey, hey, hey” Din appeared in the entrance of the sleeping nook with his hands raised towards you. He looked as if he were approaching a wounded animal. “You’re safe. You’re home.”

You nodded but your head did not clear. On your skin still clung the stink of the alley, the carbon of blaster fire, and, against your hand, you felt the cold hilt of the lightsaber. The moment your eyes landed on the weapon, you felt your breath get caught in your throat once more. Memories of the fight rushed back and your heart still thundered in your chest. You focused on Din’s helmet, studied his now straightened posture, and swallowed hard.

“The Child, is he-”

“He’s fine,” Din replied before the question could leave your lips. You shook your head.

“No, did he see...did he see me?”

“It was hard not to see you,” Din said softly.  

Tension filled the silence that trailed after his words. It was heavier than the pressure of battle. Din always had a way of making it difficult for you to breath. But this was like trying to wade through the muck of a full trash compactor. The air between you was thick, weighed down by everything you both wanted to say to the other.

You shifted in the sleeping nook in an effort to find a more comfortable position. As you moved, your shoulder knocked against the wall and you hissed in pain. Din lurched forwards and towards you. You felt heated skin against your arms and, when you looked down, you found that he had not donned his signature gloves.

“Here. I’ll help you step out.”

Din was careful as he eased you out of the sleeping nook while you tired not to be lost in tender touch of his bare hands against your skin. A wave of affection washed over you when you noted the bandages on your lower leg and shoulder. He had taken his gloves off to take care of you. You wished you could have been conscious to remember it.

“Thanks,” you said once you were on your feet.

Though, Din didn’t let go. Instead, he helped you over to the crates you both used as makeshift seats during meal time. Only when you were both sat down did his hands slip from your arms. The silence seemed to have followed you both over as it settles back between you. 

Your mind swirled with worry and doubt, every word you wanted to say. Betrayal was the word that came back most often. You had betrayed the year of trust you had built with Din by not telling him about your past. You had betrayed the Child by not using the Force to forge a deeper connection with him or hear his story. You had betrayed yourself, the oath you swore long ago to never use the teachings of the Jedi. The thought made your stomach twist.

“Is it yours?”

Din’s question broke you from your down spiral. You met the dark gaze of his visor and shook your head. “No. It’s my old Master’s. I lost mine in battle and took his when he��fell.”

“Master? So, you’re a Jedi?”

“No, I never finished the Tri-”

“You can’t do that.” You cocked your head at his interruption. “You can’t keep saying ‘no’ and then give a reason that implies ‘yes’. Are you or are you not a Jedi?”

You swallowed hard, the truth, as Din knew it, balanced on the tip of your tongue. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” There was an edge of anger in his voice but as heated as you had expected. “Why didn’t you tell me when we were sent to look for Jedi, for him?”

“Like I was saying, I didn’t finished my training or the Trials. I don’t know the mysteries the Council kept hidden or where any others are.” Din stood up at your reasoning and stared down at you. Even masked behind the helmet, you still felt the intensity of his eyes on you. 

“You should have told me.” He said, the heat a little higher in his voice. “Do you not trust me enough to keep you safe?”

Stoked by the flames of his voice, you stood from your seat. Din’s visor remained trained on you, waiting for your next move. There was only a step’s worth of space between you now and it was either the close proximity or the pain of your wounds that made your face flush. You weren’t entirely sure as to which but you did know your own truth.

“No, I trust you, Din, with my life,” his name left your lips without a thought. Between thoughts, you realized it was the first time you said his name aloud after learning on Nevarro; but you couldn’t stop now. “The Jedi’s way is old, just as old as the Mandalore, and we have our customs. Following orders is one of them and I was given an order to stay quiet, to stay hidden. I will not apologize for following that order, even if I am a Jedi no longer.”

All of the sudden, the fight and anger left you. You thought of your Master, how he would be disappointed in your outburst. Overwhelmed by the feeling, you sat back down on your crate while Din stayed standing. Heavy, you head fell into your hands. In the dark behind your eyelids, you found little solace or comfort.

Just as you were about to admit defeat and retire back to the sleeping nook, hands gripped your wrists. Gently, Din pulled your hands away from your face and, in response, you looked into his visor. For a moment, you swore that you could see his eyes shining beneath his helmet, his own order and oath manifested in beskar. Before you could ask what he was doing, his hands fell from your wrists and tucked up under the bottom of his helmet.

“Din,” you said, the same concern that swaddled your name in his voice now held his own. “Don’t do this, not like this.”

“I trust you, Y/N, with my life.” His words echoed your own only softer and you were too caught off guard by that tenderness to try to stop his hands as they pushed up. 

You saw the first slivers of tanned skin. Then a scruff covered chin and slope of his jawline. Lips were next on the tour of Din’s features; the very lips you had tried to imagine hundreds of times before. They were pinker than you thought, a little chapped too, but you still longed for them. Then the tip and bridge of his curved nose. A pair of dark brown eyes.

You held Din’s eyes with yours as he finished removing the helmet. He set it on the floor of the Razor Crest with a dull thud, his eyes never leaving yours. Strands of brown hair were set against his forehead, tantalizing enough for you to touch. You fought the urge so you could take in his features a little longer. Despite knowing, based on his voice, that Din was handsome, it was another thing to see it confirmed. 

Unable to hold back anymore, you reached a careful hand out. Din recoiled, flinched away from your reach and you pulled back. Just as you were about to apologize, Din recovered and lifted his own hand. Warm, he guided your hand with his until your fingertips brushed against his temple. When he let go of your wrist, you brushed the hair off from his forehead.

At your touch, Din sucked in a shakey, sharp breath. Scared for a moment that he wouldn’t exhale, you traced your hand down from his forehead to the side of his face. Once you had cupped his cheek, Din closed his eyes and let the breath go. His head tilted, leaned into your touch.

“We’re both oath breakers now, huh?”

Din’s eyes opened at your question. Dark and knowing, his eyes met yours before they flickered down to your lips. You trailed your hand along his jaw until you held his chin between two of your fingers. His breath hitched at the suggestive touch.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t want this,” you murmured, the pain of your wounds long forgotten. “Din?”

Wordlessly, from where he kneeled before, Din rushed up and towards you. Messily, his lips found yours and his hands gripped at your waist. Quickly, he pulled you against his chest where the cold kiss of beskar greeted your skin. Not that you minded. You were too caught up in Din’s lips against yours, how you had waited a year for this. You weren’t about to let that go.

Not for any order.

[darkstar6782]

Fade to Black - 1.17: Hell House

1991

They’re on their way back from school when Dean finds a five dollar bill in a gutter less than a block down from the local candy store. Without a second thought, he grabs Sam’s hand and drags him inside. “Get whatever you want, Sam.” But two weeks ago, Sam had listened to a dentist that had come into their classroom to talk to them about taking care of their teeth, and he had been very clear about how bad candy was for them, so while Dean is filling a bag with a scoop from every bin along the wall, Sam goes to look at the toys instead.

“Dean, what’s a whoopee cushion?”

“Oh, man, Sammy, those are great! How have you never heard of one before? You want that instead of candy?” Sam nods. Dean pays and gives Sam the fifteen cents in change since his new toy didn’t cost as much as Dean’s candy, and on the way home, he promises to show Sam exactly how it works. “You’re gonna love it, Sam. It’s gonna be hilarious.”

That night, when Dad comes home, dinner is already on the table, and both boys are sitting and waiting for him. As soon as he sits down, a loud “phtbbt” noise emanates from his chair. Sam’s eyes go wide, Dean bursts out laughing, and with a grin, Dad pulls the now-deflated red rubber bag out from underneath him.

For a month after that, no seat is safe from the wrath of the whoopee cushion. They make a rule that the prank’s latest victim takes possession of the toy, but after a while, Sam begins to suspect that Dean is sneaking it out of Dad’s luggage whenever Dad confiscates it, because he manages to prank everyone else a lot more often than he himself gets pranked. When it shows up one day with a knife slash through it, ensuring that it can never inflate again, it’s no big loss, though. Dad apologizes, saying that he accidentally stuck it in the weapons bag, but Sam notices that he doesn’t promise to replace it.

1997

It starts with a toothbrush.

Sam gets a new one from some health fair at school that Dean ditched. He could have picked up two—no one would have cared—but he didn’t even think about his brother, which annoys Dean to no end. So, every chance he gets, he uses Sam’s new toothbrush instead of his own.

It takes a week for Sam to catch on, but one morning, when Dean goes into the bathroom, Sam’s toothbrush is nowhere to be seen, and Dean’s toothbrush has been shoved bristles-first into a bar of soap. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or get pissed as he tosses the old toothbrush and the soap into the trash and uses a finger to spread toothpaste over his teeth. The little squirt has more guts than Dean had given him credit for. But Dean can’t let this challenge go unanswered.

Two days later, Sam discovers that someone put an open bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom in the bottom of his duffel, soaking all of his clean underwear in flowery-smelling goop. The next morning, Dean wakes up to find all of his clothes sitting in the bathtub, soaking wet. Sam’s toothpaste gets replaced with shaving cream; Dean’s razor turns dull overnight and all the extra blades go missing. Finally, Dean hits on the ultimate prank: he mixes Nair into Sam’s shampoo. When his brother comes out of the shower the next day screaming with rage and looking like he has a bad case of mange, Dean laughs his ass off, and gets a black eye for his trouble. Despite being a skinny little twerp, the kid can really pack a punch when he catches Dean off-guard.

The next day, Dean is bracing himself for a truly heinous act of revenge as he follows a silent and now completely bald Sam to school. The poor kid doesn’t look angry anymore, though; he just looks miserable, bundled up in a hoodie despite the near-summer heat. At lunchtime, Dean catches a couple kids harassing Sam, making fun of his bald head, and he realizes that he’s gone too far this time. It’s one thing to cause each other discomfort, but when one of their pranks makes the other a target for outsiders… Dean’s more angry at himself than the punks harassing his brother, but he takes it out on them and gets both himself and Sam suspended for a week.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Dean says that night as they’re lounging in front of the TV, eating all of Sam’s favorite foods and trying to figure out how to explain Sam’s bald head and the suspension to Dad when he comes home in a few days. “Things got a little out of hand this time, I guess. Truce?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “You kinda made up for it by fixing it so I don’t have to go back to school for a week. Hopefully we can pass it off to Dad as a really bad haircut; you know he’s been bugging me to get one for months, anyway.” Then, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a brand new toothbrush. He tosses it to Dean, Dean grins, and in the wrestling match over the last of the gummy worms five minutes later, all is forgiven.

2000

“C’mon, Sam, lighten up! It was just a joke.”

“It’s not very funny, Dean.” Sam is sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, picking flakes of superglue off of the palm of his hand. Three days ago, Dean had caught Sam talking on the phone to Linda Hamilton, a girl he’d gone on a few dates with in the last town they’d been in, and ever since, Dean had been insufferable. It started with the offers for tips on how to give good phone sex, then boxes of tissues and bottles of lotion left out in strategic locations, and had culminated in him waking up this morning to discover that Dean had covered the palm of his right hand in hair and superglue.

“I’m telling you, Sammy, you got off lucky. I hear doing that sorta thing too often can also make you go blind.”

Sam glares at him and returns to his task. Fortunately, it’s summertime, so he doesn’t have to worry about explaining the mess on his palm to anyone at school, but he continues to give Dean the silent treatment until his brother drops him off at the library to finish researching the ghost that they’re hunting this week. Sam walks through the library’s front doors, waits until the rumble of the Impala’s engine has died away, then turns around and heads back outside. He’d discovered all he needed to know about the ghost yesterday, but hasn’t told Dean yet, partly out of anger at his brother’s harassment, but mostly because Dean hasn’t asked. As long as Dean thinks Sam is busy, Sam knows where he’ll be, and after this morning’s humiliation, he deserves everything that he has coming to him.

Sam takes his time walking across town and gets to the bar that Dean has been frequenting every day over the last week just in time to see him heading out the front door with a girl on his arm. Sam crouches behind a dumpster and watches as they get into the Impala and drive a few blocks down to the girl’s house. Once they’re inside and, presumably, preoccupied, Sam sneaks up to the car and gets to work. He disconnects the battery and moves the front seat up just far enough to keep Dean from being able to easily get into the car, then he pulls out his cellphone and places a call to the office where the girl’s father works, telling him that he needs to come home right away.

Sam is hiding in the bushes and trying not to let his laughter give him away as he watches the father storm home and chase Dean out of the house with his pants around his ankles. He’s fighting back tears of mirth as he watches Dean struggle to get behind the wheel and start to panic when the car doesn’t start, but his glee turns immediately to terror when he sees the girl’s father come out of the house with a baseball bat. He smashes both of the car’s driver-side windows, and Dean catches a nasty blow to his left shoulder as he gets out of the car to protect it before Sam manages to break cover and come running up, shouting, “Don’t hurt my brother! Please, don’t hurt my brother!”

Between Sam and the girl, they manage to drag Dean and the father apart, and placate him long enough to allow Dean and Sam to push the car out of his driveway and back down the street to the bar. Sam is shaking and barely holding back tears by the time they arrive, and he doesn’t even give Dean a chance to notice that something’s wrong before breaking down.

“Oh, god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He can barely stand to look at his brother, not knowing what he will see on Dean’s face.

“What are you talking about, Sammy? You saved my ass back there.”

“I… I was the one who messed with the car and called her dad. I was so mad at you for making fun of me the last few days… But I swear I didn’t know he’d get that angry. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I swear.”

“You…” Sam can hear the fury in his brother’s voice, but then Dean takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds a little calmer. “What did you do to the car, Sam?”

“Just disconnected the battery,” Sam whispers, swallowing back another sob. He hears Dean pop the hood, reconnect the battery, and slam it shut again, but he doesn’t look up until he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on,” Dean says as Sam looks up at him. He looks more apologetic himself than angry, and he reaches out a hand to help Sam to his feet, which Sam takes. “One of the guys at the garage owes me a favor, so it won’t be any trouble to get the windows replaced. You wanna help me?” Sam nods.

They’re both quiet as they get in the car, but after they’ve been on the road for a few minutes, Dean breaks the silence. “I’m sorry about teasing you like I did, Sam. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but can we make a deal?”

“What’s that?”

“No more pranks that mess with the car, okay?”

“Deal.”

2006

In retrospect, the pranks they’d subjected one another to this time around were relatively tame. The last time Dean had used the itching powder trick, Sam had been in middle school, and turning up the volume on the stereo in the Impala was positively bush league compared to what he used to do before messing with the car had been declared off-limits. Supergluing Dean’s beer bottle to his hand had been a long-overdue payback, but other than that… It was the pranks that they’d pulled on the two “ghost hunters”—pretending to be a movie producer in order to send them off to California, and putting a dead fish in the back seat of their car—that had been truly inspired. And the fact that they’d come up with the ideas independently was a welcome reminder of something that he’d always known: that they were at their best when they were working together, whether the goal was stopping an invincible monster or just shaking a couple of idiots off their trail.

Sam wants to tell Dean as much, but it will probably have to wait. He doubts Dean will be particularly receptive to the message when he comes out of the bathroom and discovers that Sam has short-sheeted his bed. Of course, it’s less than he deserves for pulling the whole “shaving cream in the hand and a feather up the nose” trick on Sam last night while he was sleeping. Their truce hadn’t even managed to last the hundred miles that Dean had promised, but that’s okay. As long as they’re going with the juvenile classics, Sam can keep this up forever. He wonders if this town has a joke shop; it’s been a long time since he’s seen a whoopee cushion…

[monchikyun]

VII. wanna be yours

Gavin has gone over the speed limit plenty of times before, but never because he was just hurrying to meet someone he personally cared about. A first that makes him worried about his ability to stop his feelings from ruining everything before it gets too late. And it’s not like Connor is in any immediate danger, he would be a lot more panicked if that were the case since he has trouble regulating his natural responses - unfortunately so. Still, the poor android deserves better than to suffer through distress with no one around who would keep him above ground. A job he is more than willing to accept. He’d even go full-time if there was an opening, because none of his demons could ever prevent him from handing a helping hand to the person who lives inside his heart, just as long as their interactions stay platonic.

He clutches the steering wheel as he makes the final turn, wondering how on earth has he managed to fall this deep.

A part of him is really glad he did, but the rest is too busy wallowing in self-hate to take his feelings outside the confines of his polluted mind. He’s afraid they might be contaminated too, that he’d infect Connor with his foulness.

It’s still snowing with no signs of stopping any time soon, which might make their future trip rougher than he plans, but he welcomes it nonetheless. Grateful for the pleasant chill provided not only by the snowflakes that land in his hair and on his leather jacket as he exits the car. 

Because he knows something warm is waiting for him inside.

Connor lives in a comparably small apartment tucked behind walls of a building resembling a cardboard box dotted with square holes more than anything. Not the kind of place he would associate with the android were they a little less familiar with each other. It was the only available location that would tolerate his beast of a roommate while being relatively close to work, Connor told him the first time he visited him. Come to think about it, he has only been here just two or three times. Not nearly enough, considering he’s supposed to be his biggest friend, (as far as he knows.) Though it’s difficult to imagine the android having a separate social life outside of work, bearing in mind how isolated he has become since the awful day in March. It took so much effort just to cut through his defences with harsh words that were meant to remind him that at least some aspects of his life are not going anywhere. A genius plan that got turned on its head as time went on, putting him right here, about to press Connor’s doorbell.

 One wordless buzz and he’s already rushing up the stairs, ready to get rid of the aggravating anticipation that is making him sweat in the coldest day of the month.

Connor opens his front-door right as he’s mentally preparing himself to knock, beckoning him inside with a tear-stained face instead of greeting.

After he’s sure they’re in complete privacy, he checks Connor over for any physical damage before he can focus on the emotional one, just in case.

“You ok?” he asks like the stupid idiot he is and makes three long steps towards him. An automatic reaction that requires no additional thought.

Connor answers by slumping against his chest, once again making good use out of his shoulder. Luckily, Gavin is strong enough to stabilize their bodies before they tumble to the ground. While he tries to calm his shocked heart down, two warm arms envelop his back, fingers grasping his jacket like it’s the one thing keeping him from crumbling to pieces. At this point, Gavin has lost all hopes of holding himself back, because he finally completes the embrace while painting comforting circles onto the android’s own back. The quiet whir of Connor’s inner machinery is resonating through his body, easing his piled-up anxiety.

He feels the need to say some reassuring phrase just so he can claim he tried his best to fully soothe Connor’s pain, but even breathing is an exceptional achievement for the detective in this hazy moment. So he just closes his eyes and lets himself lose inside his damaged friend’s warmth.

The smell of fresh laundry clinging onto the android lulls him to some transient sense of tranquillity, and he almost lets his hand wander toward the inhumanly soft hair when he realises he is enjoying this too much and gets thrown back into the grim reality in which Connor needs him because he’s sad and lonely and doesn’t know how to handle psychological pain, not for any other reasons.

Then he gets impolitely reminded that the android owns a dog half his size by a damp snout getting too acquainted with his behind. It at least elicits a small chuckle out of Connor and the next second he’s left with an irrational void strangling his insides, begging him to get the pretty heat-source back into his arms.

“Sorry about that.”

He really doesn’t want to see the sad smile again, but he’ll take it over those anguished tears any day.

-

“It’s still weird. Don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to it.”

He reaches for Connor’s bare temple, being very careful not to accidentally brush his fingers against it. He can’t afford any more mistakes tonight.

“You don’t like it?”

They are sitting side by side on a surprisingly comfortable sofa, trying their best not to breach the awkward status quo that hangs between them. Small-talk isn’t his favourite thing in the world, but if it’s with Connor, he might even grow to like it. He’s learned much superfluous information about Sumo and all his weird quirks, which he’s exchanged for stories about his late feline friend who had left him a few days before Connor first appeared in the office.

“I do.. it’s just… uncanny.”

“As in you could forget that I’m not a real human being?”

“No-“

“It’s fine.” He turns his head so he can look directly into Gavin’s soul. “Actually, I have a very android-like favour to ask of you.”

Yet again rendered speechless, he just nods, never losing the intense eye-contact.

“Just promise you won’t freak out.”

“I won’t.” He most certainly will.

Connor takes a deep breath, which is nerve-racking enough already.

“I’d like you to register yourself as my legal owner.”

As if on a cue, Gavin’s heart leaps in his throat, making him unable to exclaim his disbelieve.

“Just hear me out before you interpret it in the wrong way.” Like he has any other choice.

“There might come a time when my proc-… when my consciousness gets compromised, and I’ll lose control over what happens with my body… In other words, I might die one day.” Connor must see the horror projected onto his face, because he quickly adds, “I’m not saying I will, it’s just a possibility.”

Well, that has done absolutely nothing to make him feel less unnerved.

“And seeing as I have no relatives, being a machine and all that, it would be the assigned owner who decides my ultimate fate.”

Gavin conjures an expression that is meant to convey understanding, despite having no clue about how he should feel about this sudden request.

“I want it to be you. I want you to have a piece of me left if I-“

“Okay, I’ll do it. Just stop talking about your death like it’s something I’ll ever have to deal with.”

The relief emanating from the whole of Connor alone would be worth agreeing to this insanity, but the fact that the prospect of it all somehow makes him unreasonably happy pushes him over completely.

He just hopes it won’t further complicate their already complex relationship.  

@a-convin-new-year

[detectivejigsawpines]

Relatively Relativity-part 2 (Some adjustments required)

Eventually, the worst of the noise subsided.

Only for Mabel to take another look at her boy grunkles, and make them nearly jump out of their skins with her amazed and delighted squeal of, “Oh my gosh, you guys are so CUUUUUTEEEE!!!!”

“Gah!”  Stan saw the impending doom, and tried too late to escape from one of her arms snatching him up into a hug.  Seconds later Ford was grabbed by her other arm, and made a strangled noise as he had what felt like all of his air squeezed out of him.

Mabel actually lifted both of them off their feet in her enthusiasm, swinging them back and forth with far more strength than someone her age should have been capable of when they hadn’t spent years living on the streets or traveling the multiverse.  “You guys are just the most precious little pair of sweeties I’ve ever seen!  As soon as we get home I’m making you both tiny sweaters and taking a hundred pictures!!”

“Mabel-leggo-we need air-” Stan struggled, and finally just rolled up her sleeve and licked her arm.  Even though she was more often than not guilty of using the same tactic, it was enough to make her release them.

Dipper was by now curled up in the fetal position against a tree, rocking back and forth and gasping, “Not again, not again, this can’t be happening again!”  He glanced down at himself.  “I mean, at least I’m still in my own body, so that’s nice.”  He resumed rocking.  “But this still can’t be happening!”

“Okay, okay, everybody STOP!”

Ford waited until all eyes were on him, and then climbed up onto a nearby convenient tree stump.  He adjusted his glasses in a way that looked soothingly Ford-like even in his tiny child body and higher-pitched voice.  “Let’s all just calm down for a second.”

He glanced over at the flower, and saw with concern that it had wilted, with all the petals lying in a heap around the stem.

That can’t be good.

“...I think we all need to go home so I can examine that-” he pointed to the remains of the flower- “and figure out what kind of spell it cast on us.  This is nothing to panic over.”

“Nothing to panic over?!” Dipper demanded.  Fascinating; even with his voice fully developed he still managed to make it crack to an astonishing degree.  “Look at me, Grunkle Ford!  I’m old!”

“Yeah, and if ya don’t figure out how ta calm down you’re probably gonna start giving yourself a heart attack!” Stan said.

“Stanley!  That is not helpful!” Ford snapped, hopping off the stump and going to his nephew’s side.

“...Sorry.”  Stan joined him, and Mabel crouched down on Dipper’s other side.  Three hands rubbed his shoulders as he pushed his head between his knees.

After a minute Dipper took a few deep breaths, and then slowly got to his feet.  He still looked shaken up by the situation, but at least he had calmed down a little.  “Ugh, ow.  Do your guys’s joints creak this much when you have to stand up?”

“Oh yeah.  It’s even worse first thing in the morning.”  Stan stretched his back, and then his eyes widened in delight.  “Whoa, wait.  It’s been years since I’ve been able ta do that without it feelin’ all messed up!”  He looked down at his legs, and a wide smile stretched across his cheeks.

Before Ford could stop him, he took off running back down the trail with a whoop.

“Stanley!  Stanley, get back here!  We have to-”

Stan was already practically out of sight.  Ford groaned, and shrugged off his now-giant backpack which he had barely realized he was still wearing.  He glanced at the-well, technically the children, they still had the minds of thirteen-year-olds.  “Find something to put that flower in, would you?”

Then he chased after his brother.

****

Ford was disconcerted when he realized, very quickly, that his body had reverted back to the physical limitations he had possessed at this age.

Back then, while it was all well and good to go running around on the beach with Stan, chasing the waves or the sea gulls or each other, he had hated exercise when there were far more enjoyable options available, like reading his books or just sitting and drawing something.  He hadn’t gotten into the habit of going for long walks in the woods, or been forced to spend a lot of time running for his life from interdimensional bounty hunters.

Soon enough Ford was forced to slow down because of the stitch in his side, and double over gasping with the need to get more air into his lungs.

He clenched his fists against his knees in frustration, because he knew that he was capable of running faster than this, at least when he was in his regular body, he’d done it a million times, and now he couldn’t.

A few moments later he heard the thud of boots pounding against the ground, and a familiar out-of-breath voice.

“Whoo!  What a rush!  If I tried doin’ that when I was old I’d have ta sit on the couch for a week afterwards!  Ha!  Who’s an old fossil now, Mabel?”

Coming from the man (boy?  Shoot, that was going to get confusing pretty fast) who was capable of punching out giant squid monsters and outrunning angry leprechauns while carrying a heavy treasure chest, that was definitely an exaggeration.  But Ford was too busy trying to stop wheezing to call him on it.

“...You okay, Poindexter?” Stan asked, reaching out and touching his shoulder.

Ford lifted his eyes until they met his twin’s.  “W-We...should probably...go back to the kids.  I realize...you’re excited...about rediscovering your youth...but they’re not enjoying this as much as you are.”

Stan gave him a chagrined grimace.  “...Oh yeah.  Sorry.”

Ford patted his arm as he straightened up.  “‘S’ okay.  I get it.  It feels good to get some of those aches out of my bones.”

“Yeah, no kidding!”  Stan looked down at his arms with wide eyes.  “Can you believe these things were ever this skinny?”

Ford snorted.  “Your face is back to being mostly nose, though.”

“Hey!”  Stan slugged him in the arm.  “Take a look in the mirror, genius-you’re not much better off!”

Ford punched him back, giggling.

He was a little surprised by how natural a sound that felt to make, now that he was no longer an old man.

****

It turned out that Dipper had emptied out part of one of the water bottles, and then dug the flower out-roots and all, just in case-before placing it and its petals inside.  He’d even managed to get some pollen samples and add them to the inside of the bottle.

“Good job, Dipper!” Ford praised him, accepting it and slipping it into his backpack.  Then he straightened up, puffing out his chest.  “Okay, let’s get this back to the lab, and turn ourselves back to normal!”

Mabel cooed and clasped her hands together at her chin.  “Awww, you sound so adorable when you say stuff like that now!”

...Ford couldn’t help feeling like she was spoiling the gravitas of the moment.  He tried to ignore Stan’s wide smirk, and adjusted his coat collar with a cough before he started marching back the way they’d come.

****

A new problem arose when they reached the car.

Stan dug into his pocket and pulled out the keys, and just as he was unlocking the car Dipper grabbed his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, in a way that was still very grunkle-like despite his young face.  “Gettin’ ready ta drive us home.”

“Grunkle Stan, you’re thirteen now!  You can’t be the one driving!”

The boy folded his arms.  “Uh, last I checked, you didn’t exactly have a driver’s license, kid.”

Dipper faltered.  “I-I know how to drive the golf cart!”

“Not the same.  Besides, remind me how many times you crashed it last summer?”

“Oh, like your driving is any safer!”  Dipper lunged for the keys.

Stan jumped out of reach.  “Fair point, but this is still my car!  And nobody but nobody is allowed ta drive it but me!”

Dipper chased after him, meaning that they were suddenly running around the car, with Stan defiantly holding the keys out of his elderly nephew’s reach.  “We’re gonna get pulled over if the cops see you behind the wheel, Grunkle Stan!  Be reasonable!”

“Never!  I’m not lettin’ you scratch up my car cuz you-”

Mabel finally stepped between them.  “Boys, boys!  I have a solution that’ll fix everything!”

****

Five minutes later, Dipper was in the driver’s seat, with Stan sitting on his lap, head tucked against his shoulder.  Dipper’s feet worked the gas and brakes at his grunkle’s command, while Stan did the steering and watched the road with his newly improved vision.  Neither of them looked pleased with this solution, but they’d had to admit that they hadn’t been able to think of a better one.

Mabel and Ford sat in the back, with the water bottle containing the flower clenched in Ford’s lap.  He stared at it thoughtfully, scribbling notes in his journal and thinking about other experiences with enchanted plants, and how they might compare to this one.

Unnoticed by him, Mabel had pulled a cloth tape measure out of her pocket and was taking his measurements; already she was thinking about what kind of sweaters to make him and Stan.  Because on the one hand, both of them seemed to like the color red, and looked pretty good in it; on the other hand, this was a special occasion, and maybe she should make something in blue, or green, or gold.  Maybe all of them together?  Decisions, decisions…

She was still thinking about her options when the car pulled up in front of the Mystery Shack.  Stan turned the engine off, and unbuckled himself and Dipper.

“Geez you’ve got bony knees,” he said dryly as he looked up at his nephew.

Dipper snorted.  “Now you know how I feel.”

Fortunately Stan’s mood had improved enough for him to grin before opening the car door and bounding up the steps of the porch.

“Soos, we’re home!” he called as he opened the door.

A few seconds later there was a startled yelp, and a thud.

A little bit after that, the front door opened again, and Stan peered uneasily out at his family.

“...Guys?  I think I just killed Soos.”

********

Don’t worry, I didn’t actually kill Soos.

I’m not that much of a monster.

Usually.

[langwrites]

Merc Work

I have no excuse for this other than needing a break from my NaNoWriMo break from Kei.

Be warned: It has no ending.

--------------------------------------

On a half-decent day, Kei would wake up with the dawn in a world without alarm clocks. If the day was especially good, she’d do so in her own fucking bed and not be on a ridiculous solo mission that’d gotten blown so thoroughly off track that she couldn’t see the proper path with the Hubble telescope. Waking up in an unfamiliar continent was already a sign of a bad time, and then the power of an unfeeling cosmic gearbox threw in the unasked-for bonus of pervasive xenophobia while surrounded by European fantasy analogues. Especially while being trailed by three Academy students on what should have been a harmless trip to visit the graves of their family. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back was the comparatively minor setback of Kei being on third watch. Sleep was for people who didn’t have a demonic turtle sitting in their lap. And who weren’t “new meat” by local standards.

So, between having to join up with a mercenary band to avoid dealing with racist jackasses through the power of numbers and swords, the apparent tech levels not supporting indoor plumbing, the safety of her students, and sitting in the cold for two hours before sunrise… Well, Kei could be forgiven for feeling a bit crabby.

Ha.

You hush. 

Never.

Kei considered the complete inability to actually keep Isobu from intruding on any conversation he liked, then sighed. There was such a thing as a hopeless fight, even for her. 

Isobu folded his armored forelegs under his belly. Had you not been transported here alongside the children, would you have joined this mercenary band to begin with?

Kei made an “I dunno” noise without opening her mouth. I mean, the sheer isolation would be an absolute nightmare. I know my limits a bit better now. 

The spiritual wreckage of her left arm attested to that issue. 

Isobu looked down, over the edge of Kei’s lap and toward the forest around Remire Village. They were probably about ten meters into the crown of the oak tree Kei chose as her lookout post for the last week, with only minor modifications to the branches. The only real change between this night and others involved Isobu being a lookout alongside her, rather than haunting the nearby river and stealing fish for his own amusement. 

And for feeding the kids, but that hadn’t happened since they’d joined the Jeralt mercenaries last month. 

Even if Kei didn’t trust rowdy men and women to look after a bunch of kids with special powers, she did trust Isobu to keep track of them. If the mercenaries got into a skirmish with bandits or anyone else, Kei ordered Kaito, Aiko, and Roku to hide with their spiky guardian as their sole point of contact with the group. When the situation was safe, Kei would call for them. If it wasn’t… well, that wasn’t going to happen. Kei had seen the local idea of what “power” meant and was left unimpressed. 

Nothing could get past me if it tried.

There’s a sentiment I can get behind. She’d survived worse than angry knights chasing her with spears.

The only one Kei wasn’t entirely sure of was the mercenaries’ second fiddle. The Ashen Demon, sole child of the Blade Breaker, went by Byleth Eisner (or just Byleth) to everyone else. They were half their father’s bulk and didn’t resemble him much in either coloring or general features. The lack of visible emotion on their face left most people around here fairly unnerved, but Kei found it was actually something of an advantage upon joining the mercenaries. Because people like Jeralt were already used to Byleth’s culturally-remarkable flat affect, they had an easier time giving some slack to Kei’s preferred mask of complete professional stoicism. 

The kids didn’t bother hiding their feelings about the whole thing—they latched onto Byleth insofar as they did anyone, perhaps because they were the smallest adult available who wasn’t Kei. 

But Byleth also had a job, and that job included enough of Kei’s personal stabbing quota to disqualify them from combat babysitting duties. 

Though she’d asked once about it anyway.

Byleth’s microexpressions were difficult to read. She left the conversation with the impression they were more confused by Kei’s willingness to approach them than insulted by the presumption, and thus joined Kei and her ducklings at dinner on occasion like they had a standing invitation. 

They basically did. Kei wouldn’t shoo away people who liked her cooking, and Byleth didn’t get loudly drunk all damn night. 

Don’t worry, though. You’re still the indisputed babysitting champion of the battlefield.

Pah. Isobu swatted Kei’s hand with one of his tails. 

Rowdy for a clone, aren’t you?

Insulting for a host, are you not? Isobu reversed it, because of course he did. And it is not as though this clone could be destroyed by anything less than your brute strength.

Fair.

Normally, Kei could have continued this line of thought for some time. Bantering with Isobu was a peaceful way to pass a watch shift. He had good night vision. She had the ability to interact with the world as a human being. These things were very complimentary. 

And Isobu used his sensitive eye, adapted for exploring the sea, to spot the problem before Kei heard it. Smoke at night was difficult to see without decent moonlight, at least for humans. Isobu poked at her brain to draw her attention to it. Likewise, the orange flicker of distant flames was just barely visible in Kei’s periphery if Kei angled her vision, like she would if observing the stars. 

That is going to be our problem in short order.

Isn’t it always? Kei replied, leaning as far sideways as she can to see through the modified canopy. Any farther and gravity would be held at bay only by chakra usage. Time to get up.

Indeed. And that was when Isobu opened his mouth to roar.

It was a tiny noise, relative to his true form’s size, but the sleepy village below them started to stir. The mercenaries were used to the sound of Isobu’s dying rabbit screams by now. 

And down.

Kei shoved Isobu off her lap, sending his spiky ass tumbling out of the tree to land among the three kids piled up in their camping bags. Kaito stirred first, patting sleepily at Isobu’s ridged belly before sitting up. This dislodged Roku and Aiko in order, just in time for Kei to land about a meter away with her finger in front of her face in a clear shh gesture. 

None of her three charges moved a muscle. 

“All three of you need to hide,” Kei told them, in the language no one around here spoke. 

One by one, she hugged each of them tightly enough to convey the seriousness of her request. Three pairs of cautious eyes met hers, in turn, and then they scrambled to hide their possessions under thickets in the village’s outskirts. No bandits could know there might be someone here to chase. 

After about a minute, she picked up Isobu’s little clone and placed him in Kaito’s shaky arms.

The kids knew she’d come back. The mercenaries had fought in five skirmishes since they joined like glorified camp followers, and not one of those battles featured a single opponent Kei couldn’t destroy with her eyes closed. 

But this was their comfort zone. Each time Kei left them, like a mother wolf leaving her den, she stripped that security like a worn bandage. 

Even only after a month of immersion, the kids picked up the local tongue fairly fast. They were young and adaptable and Kei was the only human adult around who spoke Japanese to them. Until they heard it again, from either her or Isobu, they’d stay out of sight. The waiting, though, never really got any easier. 

“They’ll never find us,” Roku said, tugging gently at Aiko and Kaito’s wrists. The oldest, at barely eleven, and already forcing himself to be the most responsible. 

“Bye, Sensei,” Aiko said reluctantly, before Roku curled his arm entirely around her to keep her from running off. 

“Stay safe,” Kei told her. She looked directly to Kaito and added, “Be good for Isobu-chan.” 

Kaito didn’t say anything at all, instead just fixing Kei with a stare like he’d forget what she looked like if he didn’t. This lasted until Isobu ordered Roku to get all three kids away from there, and he did. 

All three of them disappeared into the forest. They knew how to climb trees like bear cubs—or shinobi—which would have to be enough. And if a single enemy got near them, Kei would probably need to cut a grown man in half. Perhaps several.

Byleth would help.

I’ll let you know when it’s safe to be out here again, Kei thought to Isobu. 

You should know that I was not designed for an arboreal existence. I have many prehensile tails, but I am not a squirrel.

But you’re so cute!

Flattery will get you nowhere. With that sassy rejoinder, Isobu did the equivalent of flicking Kei in the forehead.

Kei headed to the village’s front gate, cutting directly through the forest with the ease of someone who’d been in and around the wilderness her entire life. She could hear another group crashing through the woods at high speed, relative to normal human averages, and a larger group likely in pursuit. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. 

Hidden Mist. Though the hand seal for this technique was more of a stance, she could still put her detection trick in action. She just had to make sure it was concentrated on the pursuers, not the pursued. Deliberately leaving voids was useless for her strategies, but it probably kept people from breaking their necks unnecessarily.

And it let her know that the slower, louder group was thirty strong.

She kept going until she reached the village’s gates, spotting a mercenary named Arkady on duty. Backlit by torches, his five earrings caught the light and gave him away. 

“Back from the camping trip already?” Arkady asked, a note of alarm creeping into his voice. “Where are the kids?”

“Safe,” Kei told him. She slid into place on the opposite side of the gate, hand on the borrowed steel shortsword that’d carried her for the last month. Her katana was not to be wasted on bandits around here. Or in sparring. “But hidden. Someone is heading this way.” 

Arkady paused, eyed the forest, and then nodded. “I’ll wake the captain and his kid. Stay here.”

Kei let him go and drummed her fingers against her sword’s hilt, waiting. The crashing was getting closer, and her kids were fifty meters away in a tree. Even while dead certain Isobu was with them, her nerves refused to settle.

Strictly speaking, she didn’t need to keep herself and her team so far away from the mercenaries. They were a rowdy crew, but they were only of the rough-and-tumble sort. They expressed affection by going out drinking and slapping each other on the back and fighting shoulder-to-shoulder through wind and rain. Since Byleth had been with Jeralt since before he founded the company, presumably the various members would be at least peripherally trustworthy with children.

Kei, as a nineteen-year-old with dependents who had one half-cracked voice between them, only trusted the company on the battlefield. 

Arkady returned without Byleth or Jeralt, but he did have Marcel. The two of them were like a pair of piratical brunet bookends and cracked jokes anytime they weren’t on the job. It made her students edgy around them, but they were well-liked within the boisterous mercenary crew. Like many soldiers of fortune, they wore a fair amount of jewelry to emphasize their success, which was some of the best advertising around. So was the mess of scars, though only Marcel was missing a chunk of his nose. 

“What’s the matter?” Marcel asked, right before the group Kei’d been hearing for the last sixty-odd meters finally crashed out of the woods at nearly the same volume it started.

Three muddied, twig-strewn teenagers stumble up to the pool of torchlight, panting. 

Kei pointed at them, because it was faster than bothering to explain herself.

One white-haired girl and a dark-haired boy, at complete opposite ends of the “has this person seen the sun in the last decade” skin tone spectrum, while the tallest is the blond boy in the middle. If not for the torches, Kei wouldn’t even be able to call them “kids” in any meaningful sense, but she did know what school uniforms look like. Kei wandered out of her education as a baby adult, by one reckoning or another. Both of them. She hadn’t been able to look up information on the internet for unfortunately obvious reasons, but in a world where bespoke tailoring is a norm rather than a luxury and damn near nobody wore customized clothing unless they were rich, Kei’s intuition was subsumed by screeching alarm bells. 

Third watch on a morning  when they were supposed to be marching north into the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and now this. Kei’s private list of complaints kept getting longer.

“Scarface,” said Marcel, while the kids caught their breath, “why don’t you back up?”

Kei did so, because these kids were likely to react to Kei’s not-Caucasian features with the traditional xenophobia displayed by basically every non-mercenary person from Fódlan so far. If she had to deal with weapons swinging at her face before the sun came up, they’d better be attacks from people she already wanted dead. She didn’t have the patience this early in the morning.

The motion caught the eye of the boy with the yellow shoulder-cape, but little else about Kei was too distinct once she was out of direct torchlight.

Well, mostly. 

Sort of.

She was wearing a haori, her armguards, and the local pants-and-boots combination because her sandals could be saved for special occasions. Instead of covering her face with a mask or even wearing her headband as intended, she tied it around her neck like an ascot. There was only so much point in pretending to be anything but foreign. Between her accent and facial features that she was not going to burn chakra trying to hide, it was something Kei kept in perspective. 

And the yellow-themed kid was still looking at her.

“Kid, eyes over here,” Arkady demanded.

Kei silently cheered at even a token attempt to direct attention away from her.

At this point, Jeralt and Byleth arrived. 

Jeralt was a huge, dull-orange mountain of a man with dirty blond hair and a braid and undercut combination Kei didn’t think would ever catch on. His scarred face told even more of a story than Kei’s did, and no one was quite sure how many battles he’d rushed into and out of alive.  Nor were they sure how old he was. More than anyone else in the company, Jeralt was a cavalry commander down to his metal greaves and could be trusted to lead the group to victory come hell or high water. 

Competing for second place was his shadow. Byleth, the quietest person in the company and therefore the one Kei’s students tolerated best besides the horses, was about Kei’s age. They were also one of the few adults shorter than Kei was. Their eyes were a distinct deep blue and their hair a dark teal, which almost blended in with the charcoal-gray clothes they preferred this late at night, punctuated by matte black armor along their arms and legs. The ghostly complexion stood out like the fucking moon by comparison. 

The two of them commanded all the attention better than a weird foreigner did. 

“Please forgive our intrusion,” said the blond one, bowing with his hand over his heart. Kei’s brain tried to calculate angles to assess formality before remembering that cultures were weird and American accents were weirder. He went on, “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire.”

Jeralt visibly took note of the formality, then said, “What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?”

“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits.” Oh for fuck’s sake. While the blond noble kept talking—and he was a noble, because Kei had much more experience with the blunter speech patterns commoners used. Couldn’t be anything else. “I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support.” 

“Bandits? Here?” Jeralt’s gaze flicked to Kei.

She nodded, because it was as good a designation for the enemy still shouting their way through the forest as any. Bandits had been trying to kill Kei since she was Aiko’s age. This wasn’t new.

Jeralt didn’t give the order to attack them just yet. Instead, he turned his attention back to the kids as they started talking. 

The white-haired girl said, “It's true. They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.”

Not a great sign. Why had three noble children been exposed like that? In Kei’s experience, nobility tended to spend a lot more time cloistered inside protective structures, and even traveling daimyo tended to take a proper procession with them. Where were the guards? People died when they were caught alone. 

Maybe the fire she’d seen was a part of it?

As though to confirm her rising tide of suspicions, the noble boy in yellow said, “We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered. They’re after our lives…not to mention our gold.”

Well, then. If they were anything like the bandits Kei ran into during the initial month she’d spent as her students’ sole reliable defense, this wouldn’t take long. 

“I’m impressed you’re staying so calm considering the situation. I… Wait.” Jeralt’s body language went rigid. Like he’d just found an armed opponent in a darkened hallway. “That uniform…”

One of the group’s archers—Rickard—ran up with his bow drawn. He shrugged off Marcel and Arkady’s questions, attention locked on Jeralt so thoroughly that he nearly tripped over Kei on his way to report in. If she’d stuck her foot out, he’d have slammed face-first into the village’s defensive wall. 

“Bandits spotted just outside the village.” Rickard gestured out at the forest. “There are a lot of them.”

Byleth turned their head toward Kei, making an inquisitive gesture with their hand. One of the many, many reasons Kei’s students liked them was because they were willing to pantomime nearly everything if necessary. And while body language didn’t often cross national boundaries, Byleth was willing to learn almost anything Kei put in front of them.

Kei held up three fingers on her right hand—counting her thumb—then brought all five of them together to a single point.

Byleth’s gaze sharpened. 

Jeralt considered Rickard first, then said to the kids, “I guess they followed you all the way here.�� He’d caught the gesture conversation with Byleth, and said to his child, “We can’t abandon this village now. Come on, let’s move.” 

Byleth nodded. 

“Hope you’re ready,” Jeralt grunted. “Kid, you take these three into cover and pick off anybody you can reach. Rickard, you’re with Marcel and Arkady. Rally the rest.” Then Jeralt only had Kei left to address. “And you. Your job is skirmisher. Don’t let them get around the village’s defenses.” 

Kei bowed, arms held rigidly at her sides. “As you wish.”

Jeralt waved her off, so Kei decided this was an excellent time to make herself scarce.

[something-tofightfor]

His Favorite Place (Drabble #11)

Pairing: King Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 1830

Rating: PG-13? 

Author’s Note: This is the first time I’ve ever written for Caspian, and it’s very different than anything I’ve written before... so if it’s off, I apologize. @its-my-little-dumpster-fire - enjoy!

Caspian was many things: brave, strong, smart, quick to take action when the situation called for it. He was well liked by his people, revered for his capabilities when it came to talking to other leaders, befriending other lords and ladies. Caspian’s experience had come from only a few short years worth of time, after being thrust into a life that he wasn’t prepared for - fighting for the crown and the throne and control of Narnia with barely any time to think. He was grateful for the relative peace that had come to the land, because it gave him time to grow and learn more, to rely on his advisers and the rest of his Court. 

 Caspian was many things, but one of the things that he was not was willing to compromise on his own feelings. Since taking the throne back from his uncle, Caspian had been dealing with the rumors of his relationships, of the need for him to choose a bride and settle down, to produce heirs for Narnia in the case of his untimely demise. Mostly, the people of Narnia wanted to celebrate - first a wedding and then the birth of a child - but in Caspian’s mind, there was plenty of time for both. He enjoyed being out on the sea on the Dawn Treader, enjoyed spending time riding through the countryside, enjoyed being by himself, and from what he knew of marriage and children, these things would need to stop if (when) this came to be. 

 “I haven’t slept a full night in months,” Odril, one of his closest advisers whined to Caspian after a council meeting. “And it’s not because my wife is taking care of me, it’s because our son hasn’t stopped crying.” With a grimace, Caspian had shaken his head, thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t in the same situation. Another friend, Mesnan, had complained to Caspian about his wife’s changes in behavior after their wedding. 

 “Caspian,” he groaned, putting his face in his hands. “You wouldn’t believe the things I have to put up with now that she’s living in my home. She expects me to clean up after myself, and she limits the amount of ale I drink.” Caspian had snickered, one hand rising to cover his mouth though it could do nothing to hide the amusement in his eyes. “You laugh, Cas, but just wait. You’ll see what I mean.” But Caspian was almost sure that his marriage - whenever it happened - would be much different than Mesnan’s and even Odril’s, simply because he was King. 

 Queen Susan’s presence in his life had been pleasant, but all too short. Though he’d enjoyed her company and felt a spark when he spoke to her - and an even bigger one during their only kiss, he knew that being with her long term wasn’t going to work. The fact that she wasn’t truly from Narnia was one hurdle to overcome, but the other? Her brothers would have disapproved of the union, simply because Peter and Edmund were wary of Caspian in a way that he couldn’t put his finger on. Certainly, when he’d met High King Peter for the first time, Caspian had been nothing but a teenager, barely old enough to stand up for himself and Peter had already ruled Narnia for years. 

 Certainly, it was a strange situation for all of them, but Lucy had been overly friendly and supportive of Caspian and Susan, despite the age difference, and even though Edmund had been wary, he hadn’t been outright frosty in the way that Peter had been at first. But the Pevensies had traveled back to England, and when Aslan had called them back to Narnia, only Lucy and Edmund had shown up again, along with their cousin. Lucy hinted that Susan had moved on, and truthfully, so had Caspian, though not in the same way. He’d always compare the women he met to Susan, but being nearly twenty five, Caspian knew that the feelings he’d had for the girl nearly a decade prior were no more than a simple teenage infatuation. But, he thought to himself, I won’t marry for anything less than love. Narnia deserves a King and Queen that love each other, not a marriage of convenience. 

 And so, Caspian often retreated to the castle’s library when he was not needed, losing himself in the books that were stacked to the ceiling, hair falling over his eyes as he pored over the content between each cover. He loved to learn, loved to pass the time in solitude and looked forward to the long hours he spent seated on the benches in the library, until Nilsea or Tumlea brought him a meal or reminded him that it was late, that he had a meeting the following day. In Caspian’s mind, being educated was the most important thing that a King could be, and despite the fact that he got experience by doing things, Caspian recognized the value of understanding history, too. Secluding himself in the library also kept him away from the expectations of his council, away from the requests that he start thinking of settling down, that he agree to meet with more potential wives.

 Stomach growling, Caspian stood up and turned, leaving a large book on giants open on the table, his mind racing as he moved toward the kitchen. They have so much history, and yet they’re so uncommon near this area. He shook his head, pulling the heavy door to the library open and was shocked to see a young woman standing on the other side of it, her arms full of books. “Oh, excuse me!” She gasped and stepped to the side, dipping her head forward as she curtsied, averting her gaze to the floor. “I apologize, my King.” 

 Caspian simply stared for long moments before shaking his head and reaching out. Her voice, the accent...“Please, give me some of those books, and don’t worry about the formality, this isn’t the time.” The girl took a breath, still looking away, even as she offloaded some of the books into Caspian’s waiting arms. “Is that enough? I can take more if you need.” She shook her head quickly, and Caspian turned away, heading back into the library. “Where would you like me to put these?” 

 “Just on the table, your Majesty.” Caspian grinned as he heard the flustered tone in her voice and he set the books down, stacking them neatly. “Thank you so much.” She shook her head still not meeting his eyes and set her own books down, piling them up. “They were much heavier than I thought they would be.” Caspian watched her silently, one arm behind his back and the other hanging at his side. She’s new, I’ve never seen her here before. 

 “What’s your name?” The question slipped from his lips before Caspian could stop it, and the girl finally looked up at him, eyes wide. Caspian took a small step closer, eyes locked on hers and sucked in a breath in surprise. “Your eyes are the color of the sky over the Silver Sea, just before Aslan’s Country.” He spoke again, the words not even sounding like his own. “I’ve never seen anything like them.” He shook his head, but she remained silent, still looking at him. “Please, tell me your name.” She cleared her throat, whispering a response and Caspian’s smile grew. “I’ve never heard that name before.” He licked his lips, taking a deep breath. “Do you… are you employed here in Cair Paravel?” 

 “Yes, your Majesty.” She nodded, raising a hand to gesture to the library. “I’m the new library custodian.” Oh. So I’ll see her a lot. “I just arrived yesterday, and was given a day to adjust to the palace before beginning my work. I speak six different languages, and so it was thought that I could best use my education here.” With each word, her voice grew stronger and Caspian fought to keep his gaze on her face, not wanting to make her uncomfortable by looking at her body - thought it was all he wanted to do. What is happening?  

 “I spend a lot of time in here.” He spoke clearly, giving a small nod. “That table over there?” He turned and pointed, saying her name again. “That’s one of my favorite spots in Cair Paravel.” When he turned to look back, Caspian was happy to see that she was smiling, the very tip of her tongue visible through her teeth. 

 “Is it, your M-”

 “Please, if you’re going to be working here and we’re going to see each other so often, call me Caspian.” Why am I looking forward to seeing her often? She shook her head back and forth twice almost violently, lips parting and her eyes going wide again. 

 “I couldn’t, that’s not proper, it -”

 “I can order you to do so, if it would make it easier for you.” Who are you and why are you being so bold, Caspian? She relaxed, and Caspian stepped forward, one eyebrow raised. “Everyone is so formal with me all of the time, and I come here to get away from it. If I hear you say ‘excuse me, your Majesty,’ or ‘pardon me, my King’ every time you walk by, it’s going to make me have to choose another favorite spot. Caspian within the walls of this room will do just fine.” There was a pause and then she laughed, the sound as clear as a bell and the loudest one he’d heard inside of the library in all his years. It’s a beautiful laugh. 

 “I think I can manage that, Caspian.” He sucked in a breath and his own eyes widened as he heard her say his name for the first time - easily, with no pause. “Thank you for the opportunity.” What? “To come here, to live and work in the palace, to learn more from your people than would be possible in the Southern lands.” I had nothing to do with it. “I know that you don’t choose your own custodians, that you have people do so, but I never imagined that I’d even meet you.” She pressed her lips together, wiping her hands against the front of her skirt, and Caspian looked down for the first time, attention pulled by the movement. “You were leaving, though. I apologize for interrupting. Thank you for the help with my books.” Another smile, and she bowed her head for a moment, closing her eyes. 

 “Yes.” He cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Yes, I was on my way out for lunch.” Caspian smiled, his eyes back on her face. “Perhaps I’ll see you when I return?” Before she could respond, he continued. You’re the king, you can be bold if you want to. “You can tell me about your journey to Cair Paravel.” She nodded once, and Caspian stepped away toward the door, pausing with one hand on the frame. He turned, saying her name once more, and when she raised her eyes to look at him, he continued. “I look forward to it.” 

 She gifted him with another smile, tilting her head to the side. “I do as well, Caspian.”

---

[chibi-netherlands]

The First Match

A 2k~ words oneshot about firebender Hinata  Shōyō and firebender Kageyama Tobio’s first meeting/duel for my Haikyuu Avatar AU. 

Read under the cut. 

Hinata Shōyō was nervous. But it was normal being nervous, right? Everything was going to be fine. Everything had to be fine! It wasn’t like he would bring horrible shame upon his family by losing in the first round, right? It was exactly like that, but that was fine. He’d simply not lose in the first round. Just think positive. He was going to win the first round, no matter who he was pitted up against. And he was going to win every round after that as well. With that thought in his mind he dared to take a peek at the others around him.

 That was a mistake.

 Logically he knew they were all the same age. All his age. 15 years old. But he stood out like a sore thumb and not just because of his bright orange hair. Compared to them he was tiny.  Even while sitting down. They were all so tall. And so serious as well. They were all just meditating, as they were instructed. Shōyō was glad to find that a boy with very spiky, straight-up hair, making it look like a turnip, was struggling slightly with his candles. At least he wasn’t the only nervous one. The boy next to turnip-head seemed to be nearly falling asleep, the candles in front of him small but perfectly controlled. There were a few others.  Some with flickering candles out of nervousness, some with flames so small they were barely there, some who were desperately trying to keep control. And then there was him.

He was probably the most terrifying firebender in the entire room, maybe including the two adults in the room who were keeping watch to make sure someone wouldn’t start a fire out of sheer nervousness. Kageyama Tobio. That is what Shōyō had heard people call him before they had entered the room. He had…. A reputation. Shōyō couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous. He wished he had a reputation. But he knew he didn’t earn it. Tobio on the other hand… clearly did. The flames of his candles were huge and steady. They rose with every breath and even from across the room Shōyō could feel their warmth. He didn’t pay attention to what any others in the room were doing. And then suddenly he did.

 Shōyō jolted at the sight of Tobio’s head moving slightly. He now could see exactly half the other’s face. And one very blue eye was staring straight at him. Shōyō let out a soft squeak. He immediately turned his gaze back towards the candles in front of him, trying to ignore the feeling of Tobio staring at his back. He couldn’t help but shiver. How could someone’s flames be so hot but eyes be so cold? He closed his eyes and connected his inner flame to the tiny flickering candles. It helped him calm down a little. Breathe in. Breathe out. They shrunk when he breathed in and grew when he breathed out.  They were relatively small and unruly, but at least they did what he needed them to do. By the spirits. Tobio was terrifying. Shōyō felt slightly excited. The idea of fighting someone so strong. So powerful. It excited him. Yet at the same time, he felt utterly terrified. He couldn’t help but send out a small prayer to the sun-spirit Agni. Please Agni, don’t make him face off this guy.

 Agni had forsaken him.

The tenseness in the room was unbearable. Shōyō was shaking at this point. The room had gradually gotten emptier as people were called out for their fire duels. Not full on Agni Kai, obviously. They were teenagers. What psychopath would make a teenager engage in a duel to the death? Just regular fire duels in an arena with boundaries and rules to keep the burn victims to a minimum. So, two people were called out for the duel. The winner would go on to the next round and the loser was sent home. The top three would be trained to eventually join an elite squat of fighters.  By now all others had left the room, each called out for their first (and hopefully not last) duel of the day. Meanwhile Shōyō was left with Tobio. To lose in the first round. That was shameful. It was dishonourable. And it was becoming more likely with the minute that that was going to happen. Shōyō gulped, before clenching his fists. His candles erupting with flames at the motion. He was still going to put up a fight.

 ‘Hinata Shōyō’

‘Kageyama Tobio’

Their names were called out. Shōyō scrambled up. Meanwhile he noticed Tobio stand up with a grace he honestly had never seen out of anyone. The walk to the arena felt excruciatingly long. Not in the least because Tobio was walking next to him and whenever Shōyō would peek at him from the corners of his eyes he’d look so serious. Like his life depended on this very duel. When they got to the arena, they walked each to their own side. They kneeled down, facing away from each other. Shōyō’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited for the signal. He didn’t have a plan. What was he going to do?! Was his opponent also so unsure? Probably not. He had looked confident. Maybe too confident. He better not underestimate Shōyō!  The sound of a gong signalled the beginning of the match.

 Shōyō stood up and turned around and immediately had to roll aside as a fireball was sent his way. Fast! His opponent was not only powerful with steady flames, but also incredibly fast! How unfair! He jumped aside before sending a fireball Tobio’s way. Tobio gracefully evaded it. In comparison Shōyō felt clunky and clumsy. Tobio’s movements were graceful and proper. The movements of someone who had had proper training for years. Shōyō was mostly self-taught. But he had entered this tournament to prove himself and prove himself he shall!

His fireballs were not as big or reached very far, which just meant he had to get in close. He ran towards Tobio, screaming. His first attack was simply pushed to the side. But the same went for Tobio’s attack. For a minute or so they just exchanged attacks. Shōyō tried to get a punch in with a fiery fist. Tobio blocked. Tobio tried to hit Shōyō with a fiery dagger. Shōyō pushed his hands out of the way. Shōyō tried to swipe out Tobio’s legs from underneath him… You get the gist.

Shōyō felt sweat roll down his face. How long had they been fighting? It felt like hours. But it definitely wasn’t. There was an hour limit on the match after all. He needed a chance. Just one opportunity. He’d get a good hit in. At least then people would know he wasn’t pathetic.

 And a chance he got. Though not the way he expected it. Though to be fair, Tobio did not expect it either.

He caught Shōyō off guard with an upwards strike. In his surprise, Shōyō simply went along with it. There was a faint pressure on Tobio’s arm as Shōyō used his flame to propel himself upwards. Tobio couldn’t help but gape at the move. That boy. That boy that nobody had taken seriously. (Well anybody but him, but that was more because he took everybody seriously on principle and not because he had expected much out of the nervous wreck of a boy). That boy who had been shaking when he realised, he would be facing off against Tobio. That boy had just used Tobio’s flames for his own sake. He watched Shōyō spin in the air, screaming in pure determination. He then stuck out his leg, which was engulfed with flames, ready to strike. Tobio snapped out of his daze. He had to ask later. How long this kid had been training. Couldn’t be long. Maybe a month at most. If it had been longer the kid had just been wasting so much time with so little results for the amount of potential he showed. Tobio jumped quite a long distance backwards, evading the kick. He moved his hands so his fingers were pointing outwards to Shōyō. He pressed his fingertips together and pushed forwards. The flames from Shōyō’s kick were redirected out of his way through his move. Redirecting flames was easy. He’d been doing it since he was five. But Shōyō had just used his flame. How was that even possible?! It shouldn’t be! Nobody had ever told him that! He took a deep breath, before taking a step out and pushing his arms out, his palms facing Shōyō. A simple attack, sure. But Tobio had always found that simple attacks could be incredibly useful if you just put enough force into it.

 Shōyō’s eyes widened as a large flame came barrelling towards him. Instinctively he took a step back in fear. It wasn’t just the size of the flame that scared him. It was also the colour. Tobio’s flame turned blue. Shōyō could already feel the heat, even though it wasn’t close. He then took a sturdy stance. He wished he was an earthbender, so he could literally plant his feet into the earth. He threw out his arms in front of him, pushing all his force into that one flame meant to protect him. He looked away, unable to face the heat of his own flame, nevermind the heat of Tobio’s blue flame hitting his. Tobio’s fire pushed against his fiery shield and split off towards the side. Blue surrounded him. He could hear the fire roar around him. It was all he could hear. But at least it wasn’t harming him. Just being pushed to the side. More sweat cascaded down Shōyō’s face. His arms trembled. And he couldn’t help but take another step back. He tried to steady himself. And he succeeded, but it didn’t matter much. He could feel himself being pushed back by the sheer force of Tobio’s fire. He pushed his arms out again, locking his shoulders in one last desperate attempt to fight back. But even as his fire grew a little bit, it was no match for the roaring blue flames. He felt his bare feet scrape over the line of the arena. And then he heard the gong.

The match was over.

 ‘Three minutes and twelve seconds. Kageyama Tobio wins.’

Three minutes. It had felt like hours. Or at least longer than that. Three minutes. As soon as Tobio’s fire was gone Shōyō fell to his knees. Three minutes. He felt exhausted. Three minutes. He wouldn’t cry. Not yet. Later. When he left the arena. When only he would be there. Three minutes. Tobio was standing in front of him. Shōyō looked up, meeting those cold, stern eyes. Three minutes.

‘How long?’ Three minutes.

‘Wh-what?’ Shōyō asked shakily. Why was this guy talking to him? He had already won. Three minutes.

‘How long have you been training?’ Tobio clarified.

‘Three years,’ Shōyō responded. He noticed Tobio’s unsatisfied expression. ‘Don’t look down on me! I know I only lasted three minutes! I’m self-taught, but I can fight!’ Yet Tobio only clicked his tongue.

‘What a waste of time.’ Those words broke his heart. He clenched his fists, glaring up at the speaker of those words. There were tears in his eyes, but he would not let them fall. Not while Tobio was still there to watch. He was strong. He was proud. He would not cry. Tobio turned around and started walking away, having said his piece. But Shōyō wasn’t done.

‘Next time I will win,’ Shōyō declared. To everyone else it sounded like a last cry of despair. But to Tobio it sounded the exact way Shōyō had intended it. A challenge. And Tobio never underestimated anyone even if only out of principle.

[doeeyeddarlingxo]

The Myriad Misadventures of a Midgardian Queen-To-Be - Chapter 1

AO3 | Next

Summary: The Choosing was just the beginning. After a year-long whirlwind of interviews, wedding plans, and attempts to get your family to warm up to your (gulp!) fiancé, you’re ready to be married, once and for all. But you aren’t the only one who’s been busy. There are, after all, those who have remained skeptical of Loki’s true intentions for Midgard, even after his confession. And they’re not going to give up their cause without a fight. 

SEQUEL to "The Myriad Misadventures of Midgardian Queen-In-Training"

Word Count: 1394

Pairing: Loki/Reader

Rating: T

A/N: The first 6 chapters are up on AO3/Wattpad, if you’re interested in more. See you next update!

Queen-To-Be - Chapter 1

You would think that, after spending the better part of the last three years living in a quasi-Bachelor-esque reality show, you’d be used to cameras by now. Right?

“Two minutes to rolling!”

Far from it. Instead, you’re practically squirming in your seat, your gaze drifting away from Ricky Morgenstern’s face and towards the blinking red light to your left—and, even worse, the live studio audience behind it.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, you know.” A hand closes over your own on the arm of your chair. “They adore you.”

You glance up to your right, and immediately calm a bit at the sight of those sharp, clever eyes. “Easy for you to say.”

Loki squeezes your hand gently, dimples appearing on either side of his mouth. It really is easy for him to say, because at the very least you know they adore him. How could they not? Even dressed as simply as he is, in a fitted green tee and black jeans (a look more casual than even you’re used to), he’s not just endearing, he’s stunning—all cheekbones and cropped curls and open-mouth grins.

You’re back in modern clothing too, though you’re surprised to see more than a few audience members wearing outfits that more closely resemble any number of your “day dresses” from your competition days. Nothing so intricate as Meg’s embroidery work, but still. It’s strange, wearing pants again. Not necessarily a bad change, but something to get used to. (You’re still wearing your hair up, though, and a delicate circlet on top, almost too thin to be caught by the cameras. Some old habits die harder than others.)

Ashley Marino smiles at you kindly as she takes her seat. “You ready?”

Your stomach drops. You'd known this was coming, but now that you actually have to directly face the judgement of the crowd—a crowd that, for once, is face-to-face, not random names on the other end of a screen—you'd rather be anywhere but here.

Still, a queen—or whatever kind of public figure you are now—must do many unpleasant things for the good of their people. And so you nod.

As ready as I’ll ever be.

“And we’re live in three, two…” The cameraman gives a signal, and Ashley launches in.

“Welcome to Good Evening, America. I’m Ashley Marino, this is Ricky Morgenstern, and today we have perhaps our most highly anticipated guests in the history of the show.” You fix your best cheery-but-not-too-bright smile to your face and keep your eyes fixed on Ashley and Richard as the camera pans over. “I hope you’ll all join us in welcoming his formerly royal highness Loki and his lovely fiancée (Y/N)!”

The round of applause that rises is certainly enthusiastic enough. To be honest, it takes you by surprise. It’s been barely a week since the proposal, and your interactions with the outside world have been limited—you haven’t even seen your family yet. This is your first big television interview since (and, based on the schedule your newly-hired publicist sent over this morning, the first of many).

When the cheers die down, you dial up the smile a few notches, bringing your focus back to Ashley and Richard. “Thank you for having us!” You squeeze Loki’s hand, and he nods.

“Yes, we are both most grateful to be here.”

“The pleasure is ours.”

"Now, (Y/N),” Richard begins. “If I may, you have stunned the entire planet with your rapid development these past two weeks, absolutely taken our breath away."

You laugh in a way that you hope comes across as more witty than nervous. "Development? I'm not a character in a book. I haven't changed so drastically, not really. I've just become more relevant to the, um, plot."

He chuckles. "Yes, well, real as you are, many have been calling your love story a fairytale. My daughter went nuts when I told her I'd be interviewing you—she's six," he explains. "She always calls you 'the princess.'"

"Wow. That's really sweet." You raise a hand to your hair, trying not to disturb the intricate braids as, one by one, you pull out the hairpins and remove the circlet. "Hold on a sec..."

Well, you try to remove it. But either it got caught in your hair or you missed a pin, because it doesn't quite come off.

Ack, next time I - ow - wear one with so many damn rhinestones, I'll have to make sure I - ah - wear my hair down - ouch!

After a few seconds of wrestling with your hair—several times you have to bat away Loki's hands—you hand your headpiece to a bemused-looking Richard Morgenstern. "Here. For your daughter."

You feel a slight pressure on your head, and can't help but smile to see, out of the corner of your eye, Loki trying to smooth down your hair where it must have come loose from your battle with the circlet. You lean up to peck his cheek, an action that receives a collective "awww" from the audience.

"No need to be embarrassed!" laughs Ashley Marino as you blush. “It’s wonderful, seeing that the chemistry we all fell in love with on screen wasn’t just the result of a good edit!”

You laugh at that, and you hear more clapping. Scanning the audience, you realize that Loki was right: this is a room full of people who were—are—rooting for you. Rooting for you not in spite of your awkward moments, but because of them. And with that, it’s much easier to calm your racing heart and let the conversation flow.

That is, until you reach the part you’d been dreading:

"Now, we're going to be taking the first set of questions from our audience."

And just like that, your pulse spikes once more.

"Anyone?” Ashley scans the mob for raised hands, pointing at random. "Yes?"

A thin woman stands up, with intelligent eyes and a sleek, inky black bob. "Hi! I just have to say, I was a huge fan of the show.” You smile politely, not at all expecting for her to hit you with this: “How has your relationship been affected by the age difference?”

Even as you tense up, you feel a fair amount of self-assuredness—this, at least, is a question you can easily answer. “As you all know, I’m just about twenty, while Loki is...it’s one thousand and fifty I believe?” You look to him for confirmation, and he nots, eliciting a quiet rush of disapproving murmurs from the audience. You raise a hand, silencing them. “I do understand the objections. However, I would also take into consideration that, on Asgard, the average life expectancy is around five thousand years, give or take a century or so. Put in terms of total life expectancy, the two of us aren’t actually very far apart at all.”

There is scattered applause—enough to let you know you said the right thing, although you don’t feel ready to relax just yet. If that’s the first question, who knows what’s yet to come?

Another viewer rises. “When are you getting married?” Before either or Loki can so much as open your mouths, she presses on, “Are you planning on having children?”

You feel your jaw drop at that last bit. “Well, I...we…”

The truth was, you haven’t yet discussed it. You know that Loki didn’t expect you to have children—he had told you as much a few months ago, before the proposal, back when you were still convinced that he had resigned himself to a marriage of convenience. But has that changed, now that your relationship has gone from platonic to decidedly less-than-platonic?

The truth is, you don’t know if you ever want kids. Certainly not now, at nineteen. You know Loki wouldn’t particularly care if you decided you wanted to be childless forever—considering he already gave up the monarchy and his secret mind control secret in order to win you over, you doubt that children would be a dealbreaker.

That being said, it’s not exactly a conversation you want to have in front of a live studio audience.

Loki comes to your rescue. “In spite of our proportionally similar ages, we are cognizant of (Y/N)’s relative youth, when compared to the average age of marriage for most Midgardians today. Due to this, we have had some discussions of perhaps postponing the wedding a few years.”

Wait, what?

[collateralfiction]

00

Bailey

Out of all Sunday services, I have never seen so many faces; familiar and some not, show up… out of support for such a tragedy in the community. Even when it was a wedding or someone being baptized, it was nothing compared to how much people came to show their faces and condolences today; July 28. Those that weren’t even as religious as they should be, showed their faces and arrived in their cleanest of Sunday clothes, ready to show their support and love. It took a loss in the community for everyone to realize how things will never be the same. It took a loss in the community to gather everyone together for once. It took a loss in the community for many to realize everyone’s life was limited.

Why weren’t we warned about this two weeks ago?

Two weeks ago, everything seemedabsolutely perfect. New York’s weather was great for once, I was able to see my father, my mothers’ Day Care was ranked number one in New York State, along with her budding interior design company. Ryan finally had his brother back after he relocated from Georgia to New York. Things were running smoothly and most importantly, the violence and corruption was at a bare minimum, for once. Of course, in this world not everyone was able to coexist but I did wonder what worldwide peace would look like. It seemed childish to even think about but it was a legit goal. I guess people would have to be high for that to happen. But then again, people still manage to do outrageous stuff when under the influence.

Fast forward two weeks later, nothing seemed to be falling into place like it once did a few weeks back. The sun was no longer shinning and creating a warm weather we all grew accustomed to, everyone seemed tense and unrealistic, and it was seldom you wouldn’t see anyone outside. Now? No one wanted to be outside like they used to, and it was all due to an unfortunate turn of events. People were too shaken up to function, let alone do a simple task of grocery shopping at the local supermarket. It was complete and utter chaos.

A slew of Riley and Ryan’s family sat in the front few pews, stoic as ever. I know this must have been rough on them but I was surprised that none of them were weeping as hard as I had been prior to the occasion and even the days leading to it. I wondered if this was just a casualty of the game. Were they expecting it? No, but did it happen? Yes and they would be stupid to ignore the small hints along the way.

I didn’t have any blood connection to Riley but I always looked at him as my older brother and someone I could easily run to for whatever, regardless of the distance. A year in New York and I had not the slightest clue it would result in this; no one was expecting it. Not him, at least. A surge of emotions started to skyrocket through my body as my legs continued to tremble. I’ve never been to a funeral, surprisingly, and being at one now caused a plethora of emotions to fly from inside. Knowing that if I possibly shed a single tear, I wouldn’t stop, I tried not to.

Crying really does nothing for the body anyhow. My tears aren’t going to bring Riley back so why exhaust myself to the point of sickness?

I stared at my lap and toyed with my royal blue colored acrylic nails. The service hadn’t started yet and we were just waiting on Riley and Ryan’s mother to come along. I haven’t seen Ms. Chalmers in quite a while and ever since Riley had been gunned down, the same day as his birthday might I add, she’s been different. The relationship I used to have with her, I have no longer. The idea of one of her sons’ being gunned down really brought her to her breaking point. She remained to herself and most recently, it seems she severed her relationship with her only remaining child, Ryan. Although he might deny the fact that it doesn’t bother him, I know it does and it’s a sad thing to see.

Ryan and his mother weren’t as close as Riley and their mother, but it was better than nothing. They still communicated very often unlike now.

“Are you okay?” I mumbled, connecting Ryan and I’s hand together. He was relatively quiet for the most part, only speaking when spoken to. We arrived an hour before the service was set to begin because of how antsy Ryan had become. We were one of the first to arrive and we’d probably be the last to leave. The dynamic relationship between his brother and him were one for the books. There was once a time when neither of them enjoyed the other’s company and I hypothesized it was because they have different fathers and their living situations while growing up was much different as well. However, things changed as they grew and had begun to appreciate one another like they should have before. Too bad it was too late for them to develop that bond they severely needed.

“I’m good,” he said, his chocolate eyes focused ahead. I leaned my head against his shoulder and sighed. Ryan’s very good at suppressing his emotions and it’s not intentional either. When you’re put into certain situations you have no control over, your emotions are the last thing that could possibly interfere. With this moment here, behind closed doors, he let everything out; I know he has. But in front of hundreds of civilians, he wouldn’t. I watched as he looked down at his gold Patek watch and mumbled something inaudible about the time or something concerning his mother. I kept my eyes planted on the door, awaiting for his mother’s arrival. My mind began to wonder and conjure up the idea of her not showing. I mean, I wouldn’t fault her but I know Ryan would make a big fuss out of it.

“She’s here,” I said, admiring her natural beauty. Ms. Chalmers was a beautiful Trinidadian lady with natural curls that surrounded her round face. She had light hazel eyes that were almond shape. She had a slight accent but spoke fluent English. I know her to be strict at times but she was very affectionate and loving as well. I just couldn’t understand nor fathom the sudden change. Ryan turned his head to look at his mother and for a second, I saw the sadness clearly in his eyes but he simply shrugged it off and turned to look away. Ms. Chalmers was stopped numerous times towards her seat and all eyes were placed on her; except for her son. “Are you going to greet her?”

“No,” he mumbled. “I’m here to pay respect to my brother. My mother and I have nothing to talk about whatsoever,” he stated sternly, clenching his jaw. It seems like when he loses someone he was close with, he loses someone else at the same time. I don’t want him to experience that again. That would tear him apart.

“Don’t be like that,” I whispered, making eye contact with his mother. She stared at me for a total of five seconds before giving me a small smile. I know she noticed that Ryan was beside me, but she didn’t even bother to acknowledge him causing me to frown. Sucking his teeth, he dropped my hands from his hold and crossed them over his chest. Rolling my eyes at his unnecessary attitude, I just decided to focus on what was happening before me. Memories of that fatal night flooded my mind miserably once the funeral began.

The cool nighttime air of New York was without a doubt beautiful tonight. So beautiful, only a pair of ripped jeans, an Indiana Pacer jersey and a pair of black Toms rested comfortably on my body. It had just struck midnight and Ryan and I decided to visit Riley and surprise him with the first of the many Happy Birthdays’ he would receive over the day. He was turning twenty-three and being that I get overly excited about the idea of a birthday or something similarly close to it, I wanted his day to be amazing from start to finish. This was the first birthday I would be sharing with him and it was a birthday that I wanted to be memorable for him. The only proper way that would be able to happen is if I carried a bottle of his favorite liquor and some new clothes. Two of his favorite things in the world. I live only a mere ten blocks from the brownstone he resided in and with Ryan insisting on taking his car, we reached the house in no time. As a gift for graduating College early, his paternal grandfather allowed him to reside in the house he grew up in as a child.

To my surprise, when we reached the brownstone Riley was already standing outside, a blunt in hand. Upon noticing our arrival, his smile widened as he jogged down the few steps and stood before me. “Happy birthday, Riley!” I smiled, extending my arms out wide for a hug.

His deep baritone voice invaded my ears as he chucked before responding. “Thank you, ma. I appreciate it, I do,” he said, welcoming me in a tight embrace, my feet coming off the ground a bit. Riley was a little bit taller than Ryan, but they shared a lot of characteristics together such as their thick hair, smooth chocolate skin and sense of style. I’m surprised they aren’t twins with the way they tend to act. Pulling away from me, he looked down at the blunt in his hand and then at me. “I should put this out, right?” he questioned with a chuckle.

“I don’t want to be the reason for you to not enjoy your day so do as you please. I should be fine,” I told him, stepping back some.

“Good looks,” he nodded. “What’s good with you and this Pacers jersey though?” he commented.

“It’s just for looks,” I chuckled. “You know I support Miami,” Slightly.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, taking a quick pull of the neatly rolled blunt. His eyes looked past me and landed on his brother. “What’s up, Ryan?” he questioned, pulling him into a brotherly hug and dap.

“Shit. We out here for you, bro,” he chuckled. “Happy pussy day, nigga. Stay trill for the day,” I rolled my eyes accordingly to their conversation and moved to take a seat on the steps. Their conversation continued for a total of fifteen minutes as they pretty much summed up their night and what’s been going on lately. Their conversation was cut short by a black Jeep pulling up and the door opening with great ease. Out walked a few of Riley’s friend, coming along with more Liquor in their hands and bags of food. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had ample the amount of weed hidden somewhere in those bags. From the logo on one of the bags, I easily noted that the food came from the seafood spot not too far away from here.

Great choice.

As the group embraced each other with loud talking, I distracted myself with my iPhone, wanting to make sure that my sister was alright and according to her, she was. I only had one sibling and that was my eighteen-year old sister, who I cared for as if she was mine. I would go insane if something were to happen to her due to what the men in our lives do.

“You want some food, Bailey?” Riley questioned, causing me look away from my phone. “There’s more than enough for everyone,” he said, passing off the blunt for Ryan to finish.

“Sure,” I declared. “I can’t stay long though,”

“No problem,” he smiled. “I can’t send my sister home without something to fill her up though,” he said, draping his arm around my shoulder. I turned around slightly and went to question what Ryan was doing, seeing that he was on his phone, feverishly talking to someone after Riley gave him the blunt to finish. However, with Riley almost dragging me inside his lavish house, I didn’t have time to question him on what he was doing. Riley’s brownstone was nothing short of magnificent. I trailed behind everyone as they led the way towards the living room, setting everything up. Riley had the Stereo on, playing the latest rap music. The T.V. was on and GTA V was on, ready to be played by anybody. I would have to call dibs before someone else did. With the addition of food, liquor, weed and friends, this could have been considered a small get together or party if you will.

I took a seat at the table, along with the two other girls that emerged from the Jeep. Food was placed in front of us and since I hadn’t had anything to eat for the day, the Shrimp and Fish, along with a side order of French Fries would have to do. It wasn’t until thirty minutes later that Ryan finally made his appearance besides me, reaching to take a sip of the drink I had been babysitting. His hand rested on the thigh furthest from him as I sat back against his arm and leaned into him. “Who were you talking to?” I questioned, smelling the odor of weed on him.

“No one, baby,” he mumbled. “No one important at least,”

“No,” I said. “That person must have been extremely important if the conversation lasted thirty minutes,” I gritted, not trying to easily display my distaste in him lying to me.

“Well, it’s nothing to worry ‘bout so don’t stress it,” he said sternly. I sighed wearily, knowing that Ryan was extremely stubborn and nothing would be solved until he admits it on his own time. However, not everything is on his time. For as long as I’ve known Ryan, all through Middle School and High School, he’s always been very hardheaded. It’s his way or no way at all. You’re either on his side or you’re against him. You either work with him or leave him alone. Everything must be done on his accord and I must be that one exception, depending on the situation.

Sighing roughly, I stood from my seat and went to go find Riley. I had to go home soon, and I wanted to say my farewells to him before I see him later on today. There were a couple of things I had planned and he was included in all of it. I checked in his room, but he wasn’t there, he wasn’t in the living room and wasn’t in the kitchen. My best guess would have to be outside, seeing as that his doorbell would constantly ring. Pulling the door back, I looked outside and noticed how quiet the neighborhood was, but I didn’t see any signs of Riley. However, I didn’t go back inside because I noticed his favorite Supreme hat siting on one of the steps. I continued down the stairs, in reach to get it. I damn near jumped out of my skin after hearing an electrifying sound, resembling one of a fire cracker. Fourth of July was a week ago and people were still doing them?

Shaking my head, I snatched the hat off the ground and looked up in time to catch a black van, tinted heavily, speed down the road quickly as if cops were behind them. Funny thing is, none were behind them. “What the fuck? That’s the number one way to cause an accident,” I grumbled.

“B-B-Bailey…” My voice got caught in my throat as I halted and look to the left of me. Through the dim lightening, my eyes had to be playing cruel tricks on me. I dropped the Supreme hat that was once in my grasp and briskly walked towards Riley. My hands came in contact with the side of his stomach. “Call Ryan,” he choked out.

Tears I’ve been trying to suppress lately, easily spilled from my eyes and I hadn’t even noticed Ryan trying to console me to stop. I’ve never lost anyone as close as I was to Riley so this hit close to home. I can recall the many conversations I would hold with him and he was so wise and smart for someone so young. He was going to be great one day but no one would be able to see that and neither would he. “Calm down with the tears now. No more tears,” Ryan mumbled, pulling me in closer to his body, kissing my forehead. The service was devastating and every now and then, you could easily hear the weeping of many. The only one who looked like they refused to cry was Ms. Chalmers; she was being strong about this. It was obvious that she favored Riley more than Ryan but at this point, she was numb to everything that was occurring. The last thing she expected was for her son to be murdered the day of his birthday.

The service continued for at least another hour and by then, people were able to approach the casket – the open casket - and say their farewells. I clung to Ryan as he weaved through the crowd, heading towards the exit. “You’re not going to…”

“No,” he said, cutting me off. “I’m not saying goodbye to my brother like that. He’s still here with me,” he snapped.

“Okay,” I said, sighing.  “What does this mean now?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll figure it out,” he said shortly, looking for someone over my head. I turned, trying to scout out who he was looking for but coming up fruitless. I frowned and turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched, and his fist were balled tightly, exposing his veins.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my turn to now console him.

“Niggas are so disrespectful,” he spat, my eyebrows furrowing together. He pushed me to the side gently and began storming off. Due to the church attendees’ emerging from the church, it blocked my vision of him; essentially, losing him to the crowd. What niggas were he referring to? I felt so lost and drained. My mind was spinning with a million and one thoughts, all breaking me down mentally. A part of me didn’t find the courage to wake up this morning and attend this service because of the effects that it would come with. But I knew I had to, I just didn’t know what would possibly entail from this point on.

[skye-hudson]

a first || gavin +skye

ABOUT:  Skylar is assigned to Gavin as his switch to look after for two weeks.  Neither of them are thrilled about it.

Skylar Hudson

Skylar showed up on time to their scene day.  She was beyond annoyed that she had to submit to Gavin and even more annoyed that she was under his care for two whole weeks.  Hopefully this scene would be quick and relatively painless.  She wanted to get on with life and get on with avoiding this man.  She was dressed in short jean cutoffs that rode dangerously low on her hips, a white crop top and a pair of beat up chucks.  Dark waves were pulled up into a ponytail and her make up was barely there.  She knocked and waited, arms crossing beneath her chest.

Gavin

This was the absolute last thing Gavin wanted to do. He knew Sylvester was not dumb and she knew well how Gavin thought about switches, which was why he was never careless enough to voice it directly in front of her. Gavin didn't have the energy to deal with a switch right now especially this one. She was mouthy, not as much as Kurt had been, but enough to where Gavin would have soon avoided her all together. Upon Sylvester's instruction he was to do a scene with Skylar and report back, which couldn't have been more of a waste of time. There was a deadline at work he had to meet and had scheduled orders to go out the rest of the week. This was his only small amount of downtime. Hearing the knock on the door, Gavin rose from the armchair in the study, setting his glasses and book on the table nest to it. Gavin sighed as he approached the door and rolled his shoulders back, all walls up and reenforced. He opened the door to find Skylar standing there with what Gavin deemed as attitude. Gavin regarded her a moment and stepped aside to let her enter. "Kneel in the middle of the rug." He said and pointed to what was essentially the middle of his entrance hall, closing the door behind her. "Do it without question and this will be over with sooner rather than later."

Skylar Hudson

Dark eyes looked up as the door opened and she kept her arms crossed.  She couldn't even fake a polite smile at this point.  What this man had done to her brother was inexcusable and in her eyes he was a fucking monster.  She had a whole slew of names for him... asshole, bag of dicks, bag o' dicks, asshat, he who must not be named, satan, mother fucker, son of a bitch... the list went on and on and on in her mind.  It was very telling that neither one of them even had the common decency to greet the other. As he stepped aside she walked past him.  At the order she shot him a glare.  Everything in her body told her not to go through with this.. even if the man were to keep it 'simple and easy', she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him.  Her eyes narrowed as he tacked on that last bit and after a long moment she went to the middle of the rug and knelt.  Opening her mouth was sure to get her into some sort of trouble.May 28, 2020

Gavin

It was clear that Skylar was going to make this more difficult than it needed to be. It was just a scene, after all. Any scene and Gavin intended to keep it simple enough so they would be able to get through it with ease. He didn’t want this switch in his house more than she wanted to be there. “There, that wasn’t so hard.” Gavin said with an arch of his brow. He wasn’t in the mood for any kind of punishment today and hoped to God this switch would keep her mouth shut. “Alright, Madame Sylvester...suggested we do a scene together. You’re in my care for two weeks since you’re new here. I’m supposed to act as a...mentor...as it were, to you. That means that I am supposed to be an example for you and if you do anything wrong it reflects on me.” He pauses for a moment. “With that being said, just know if you do speak out of turn I will be forced to punish you, understand? Now. Get up and follow me upstairs, we’re going to be working from there.” @Frannie+Skye  [Lei]May 29, 2020

Skylar Hudson

Skylar resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  She was hardly new.  It was almost insulting that he hadn't noticed but then again it spoke volumes about how well she'd managed to duck him in the past.  She'd been here for eight full months but she'd managed to stay under the radar- hell, she'd been working with him for seven of those eight months at the paper.  "Yes, Master."  The words left her lips and she clenched her jaw.  It just felt wrong calling him that... that was her name for Riley but she wasn't about to give him the ego boost of calling him Lord.

When told to get up, she did.  She followed him through the house and up the stairs, dark eyes burning holes in the back of his head as they walked.  He was infuriating.  Skylar couldn't for the life of her understand why Sylvester had thought this was a good idea.  Who in their right mind would put a Switch under the care of a Switch hater?  It didn't make any fucking sense.

Gavin

Gavin still felt as if he was being punished for something from Sue, she knew his feelings on switches. This had to be for something or other Gavin did to offend her. "I need to know your safe word or words, as well as any hard limits you have." He said, his back still to her as he guided her up the stairs toward his room. "The last thing I want to do is over step and hurt you. And yes, I mean that you can wipe off any look that might be on your face right now." As they reach his bedroom, Gavin opened the door and gestured for Skylar to go inside. "Go over to the bed and kneel at the foot of it." @Frannie+Skye  [Lei]

Skylar Hudson

She followed him up the stairs and gave him the biggest eye roll possible just before he told her to wipe the look off her face.  "You really do have eyes in the back of your head, don't you?"

She went over to the bed as she'd been directed and she knelt.  "My safeword is APPLE.  My hard limits are- Dominating in the bedroom, being called fat or the name of an animal, scat, vore, gore, feet, or anything that could potentially land me in the hospital.  My only soft limit is knife play."  She'd almost forgotten,  "Master."  That was definitely going to take some getting used to.  She hated being on her knees for people she didn't respect but she had promised quite a few people that she'd behave... to the best of her ability. @Blaine/GavinJune 7, 2020

Gavin

Gavin scoffed and shrugged his shoulders a little. "Once you've lived here long enough you sort of have to." He made mental notes of her safe word and hard limits as he went to his closet. It was a pretty sizable walk in that was full of different toys, a few crops, harnesses, and other items that were more mild compared to what was store in his dungeon. Sylvester said they had to have a scene but didn't say what it needed to be. He could have kept it simple and had her clean or do some kind of chore but that didn't really test her as a switch sub. Gavin emerged with a bundle of silver rope in hand. "We're not going to do much, just some light bondage.Tell me, what experience do you have with it?"June 10, 2020

Skylar Hudson

"Why does that not surprise me..." As she knelt by the bed, dark eyes followed him as he went to his closet.  When he reemerged with that silver rope, she rose a brow. Skylar thought for a moment or so.  She and Thea didn't play much with bondage, it had never really been one of her top kinks so she didn't have far too much experience except with Riley.  "Riley ties me up sometimes.  But never in a non-sexual scene, Master.  Other than kinky sex, I don't have much experience with it."  She replied honestly.June 12, 2020