#oh shut up you joyless shit

[pageofheartdj]

Reading all the complaints about microlabels it seems like people have an idea that ‘you just want to feel opressed’.

Which is. No!

That’s not what microlabels are for. And honestly it feels pretty offensive to assume that you are the way you are just to be opressed. This is the core part of your identity and if you are not opressed or not as oppressed as others, you are not valid.

Labels are words. And you know what words are for? That’s right, to desribe something in the most accurate way.

Labels give people a sense of belonging and community. A sense of understanding and being understood.

When you don’t have to build this massive explanation, when you can say one word and this is you.

They are acting like we will rip away their spot light of poor opressed victim. Or we will take their piece of a pie by also being here jfc.

We are people and we are all living our lifes and you don’t get to order how we do it. We aren’t touching you and you leave us alone.

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Deep like water: Chapter 4 – Punished by Mystra

(Trigger warnings: angst, depression, life crisis, graphic description of evil magic that tries to consume the human body, masturbation)

When Gale awoke in his living room, he felt like shit. His head was spinning, his body felt heavy, and there was a painful pressure squeezing in his chest. Groaning, the wizard struggled to sit up, only to collapse again. He tried again, and before he could do anything about it, he vomited all over the carpet.

Am I dying? Gale asked himself as he rolled into a ball. The pressure in his chest was almost unbearable and he absentmindedly clawed at his left pectoral until he drew blood. The pain forced tears into his eyes and down his cheeks.

"Oh, my! Mister Dekarios!"

Gale sobbed in relief when he felt warm, soft fur brush against the back of his neck.

"Tara... Tara, help me, I'm dying."

"What happened? It was that godsforsaken tome, wasn't it?"

Gale whimpered and his friend started to lick the tears off his cheek.

"I feel vile, corrupted magic flowing through your body, pulsing vulgarly like a black hole or a pus-oozing wound."

The wizard swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut in shame and humiliation.

"I lost control," he croaked. "I failed, and now, Mystra abandoned me. I'm no longer her Chosen."

Tara pushed her fluffy head under his chin and started purring.

They stayed like this for hours, letting the day pass.

Gale could feel the Netherese Destruction Orb beat in his chest, hungry for magic. When he'd finally been able to get up from the floor, he searched his belongings for a magical item to be absorbed by it. It eased the pain in his chest, like a cold glass of water quenched one's thirst on a hot summer day, but the Orb's hunger was insatiably, demanding more energy.

Thanks to his extensive research, Gale knew enough auf the menacing magic trapped in his chest. The Orb could only be stabilised by allowing it to break down parts of the Weave around it, and if it wasn't fed regularly from the outside, it would begin to feed on Gale's own life source from the inside. If the Orb's balance was disrupted, by lack of magic or Gale's emotional turmoil, it would simply combust, killing the wizard and anything within its radius the size of Waterdeep.

To make matters worse, Gale realised Mystra had abandoned him completely and he was cut off from the Weave, stripped off all his powers, with a ticking time bomb in his chest. The once greatest wizard prodigy of his time and the Goddess of Magic's Chosen, had become a mere human. Gale had never felt so utterly alone and hopeless before.

"Quit wallowing in self-pity and eat something!" Tara said sternly. "You haven't left your bed in days, haven't eaten anything, and reek worse than a wet dog!"

Gale didn't move. His body felt heavy, his mind was darkened and joyless. But the Orb that was balled up inside his aching chest needed to be fed. Gale stretched out his hand.

"I'm not hungry. Just bring me one of the artefacts."

Tara tsked, stomping around louder than necessary, but she still fetched a pair of magic gauntlets for him. Unenthusiastically, Gale pressed them against his chest, closed his eyes, and let the never-sated Orb absorb the energy. The painful pressure in his chest lessened slightly, but he knew that the relief would only be temporary. Still, no matter how depressed he was, he didn't intend to kill himself and all of Waterdeep. The residents of his birthplace didn't deserve such a death because he'd overestimated his powers and had failed to control the Netherese Weave.

It took another four days of constant, persisting scolding from Tara until Gale finally left the bedroom.

"Eat, wash, and for the love of all that's dear, shave, Mister Dekarios. I'd cut it down myself if I could hold a razor," she told him motherly and sternly.

Gale complied reluctantly, sinking into the hot, lavender-scented bath. He closed his eyes and wished that the water could wash away all woes. An external manifestation of the Orb had made itself known on his chest as a tattoo-like imprint in the shape of an aflame circle with swirling lines that went up the side of his neck. Gale hated this permanently-visible reminder of his greatest mistake.

After freshening up, he apathetically stirred in his bowl of soup. He hadn't gone outside to buy anything fresh and he couldn't conjure up anything, but thankfully, his pantry was stocked with pre-canned meals he'd made before his life had gone down the drain.

"You must keep your strength," Tara drummed into him while feasting on some fish. "It's time, my brilliant friend solves his terrible problem."

"I can't, Tara," Gale replied, frustrated. "Magic's like water; it slips through your fingers and can't be caught without a vessel. Usually, I can effortlessly be that vessel, but now, it feels like I'm littered with holes, like a colander, and the magic slips from me, no matter how hard I try to catch it. Without it, I can't do anything other than being useless."

At that, the tressym bristled.

"You're not useless. How dare you even let this atrocious thought cross your pained mind!"

Furiously, Gale jumped off the chair, stretching out his arms, while yelling: "Look at me, Tara! I'm merely a shadow of what I once was! I was a prodigy, Mystra's Chosen, a promising wizard who could have made the world a better place. Now, I'm nothing! I'm nothing without my magic!"

His last sentence hung in the air like the lash of a whip in the sudden silence. Gale, trembling, looked at Tara, and his anger turned into despair and fear. His face's twisted as the first tears started to fall. It had been a long time ago since Gale had cried last, but now, it seemed like he couldn't stop. He stumbled into his bedroom and curled into a ball under the blanket. Tara hopped onto the bed, slinking closer.

"Who am I without my magic?" Gale sobbed. "A nobody. A nothing."

"That's not true, Mister Dekarios. Gale, you're so much more," spoke the tressym and rubbed her face against his cheek. "You're kind, polite, a talented cook, and a wonderful friend. And I love you so."

The wizard squeezed his eyes shut and kept weeping. Tara pressed her head under his chin and started to purr. Gale cried and cried until there were no tears left in him, and then, he fell asleep, exhausted.

Gale was ashamed and heartbroken. He locked himself into his tower and refused to leave the bedroom for months. Tara tried to force food into him and hunted for magical items to be consumed by the Orb to keep Gale from combusting and destroying all of Waterdeep and its residents with him.

Even though Gale ignored his mother's attempts to see him, Morena didn't give up on him. She learnt about his dire state thanks to Tara, and together, the sorceress and the tressym travelled near and far to buy magical artefacts to keep the Netherese Orb at bay and Gale alive.

When Morena, once again, knocked at her son's door furiously, Tara remarked: "You should let Miss Dekarios in. It does you no good to hide away in your home."

"I don't want to see my mum yet. I'm ashamed," Gale mumbled into his knees. "She'll say 'I told you so', and I can't deal with that right now."

Tara tsked.

"Give your mother more credit, Mister Dekarios. Even though that might be her reaction, she does it out of concern, not glee. Your mother loves you unconditionally."

"I know," he muttered, "but she shouldn't. I failed miserably, I brought shame over our family. I screwed it up because I wanted to impress the Goddess of Magic so badly. I'm such an idiot."

They fell silent again and Gale kept sitting there, with his legs drawn up and hiding his face in his crossed arms that rested on his knees.

"At least, drink your lavender tea," Tara told him.

He obeyed.

Gale locked himself into his home for an entire year, refusing to let anyone see him other than his dear friend Tara.

In spring, the tressym betrayed him and opened the door for his mother.

"You!" Morena yelled, storming into Gale's tower house like a fury. "You!"

The wizard prepared himself mentally for a good scolding, thus, he was taken aback when his mother hugged him tightly instead.

"Don't ever shut me out again, I was worried sick. Don't ever do that to me again!"

"Mum," was all Gale could croak out before he burst into tears.

Morena shushed him and rubbed his back soothingly.

"You've gotten skinny. Aren't you eating?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, please! I'll cook something nice for you," his mother told him and walked into his kitchen.

Gale followed her with a sigh and cowered on a chair with his legs drawn up. They stayed silent. Morena put away the groceries she'd bought for him and set to work. Tara hopped onto the free chair next to Gale's, observing the scene. Morena got the noodles ready, put pine nuts, garlic cloves, basil, lamb's lettuce, and oil in the mortar and began pounding it all into a fine-grained sauce. Meanwhile, Gale mulled over what he could say to her. He was still ashamed and didn't know how to voice his regret.

"Mum, I'm sorry – about everything."

Morena pressed her lips together and hit the bottom of the mortar even harder. Gale sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead.

"Just say it, mum."

"I told you! I told you to be careful and now, look at you! Look what SHE has done to you!"

The words burst out of the sorceress like water from a reservoir dam.

"I'm not mad at you, honey. I'm not even disappointed because I know it's not your fault."

"Of course it is!" Gale shouted in a sudden upsurge of anger. "Mystra didn't tell me to fetch that book, she even advised against it! It was my own stupidity that got me into this godsforsaken situation. I brought this onto myself!"

Morena glared at him.

"Don't you dare to even think that. You wouldn't have done this if it wouldn't have been for Mystra. You were trying to impress her yet again, tailing after her to receive mere breadcrumbs instead of the acknowledgement you crave and deserve. She may have fooled you, but not me. I know what the Goddess of Magic really is: a monster."

Gale opened his mouth to object, but his mother cut him off with a brisk flick of the wrist.

"We're not discussing this topic any longer. It doesn't matter who's to blame for your situation and how it came to be, instead, we must think about possible solutions. I'll contact Elminster, Alistair, and my good friend Alea – no, don't make that face, honey – They might be able to help with your... 'inconvenience'."

With a groan, Gale leant his forehead against the table. It was impossible to argue his mother out of her rescue plan.

Morena and her friends fussed about and probed him as if he was some kind of rare magical creature. Gale hated it – and wanted to die of embarrassment.

"I'll ask my scholars for help," Elminster had proclaimed.

"Must you? I'd prefer if this unfortunate situation of mine could stay solely between us," Gale had muttered.

"Sorry, my boy, but this isn't a common affliction," the addressed had retorted. "If you want answers, you need to search far and wide. Usually, you'll find the solution to a problem in the most unexpected places."

Gale had sighed, defeated.

"Fine. I don't have another choice, do I?"

"No," Elminster had answered dryly.

"Splendid," Gale had grumbled.

Unfortunately, all the inspections and discussions led to nothing.

Gale had three options to stay alive: to continue appeasing the swirling mass in his chest by letting it absorb the Weave inside powerful artefacts, to somehow manage expelling it while in the Astral Plane, or to learn how to control said primal fragment of blackest Weave.

At the moment, the first option was the only possible one to achieve.

When Gale woke up, he felt a different kind of malaise than the one the Orb caused him. He fidgeted around and groaned when he pressed his hand against his erection.

It had been a while since the last time he'd had sex. Usually, Mystra favoured astral intimacy over the real deal, and usually, Gale didn't mind. It felt good either way.

But now, Gale craved physical touch. He bit his lip and shook off his underpants. He sighed when he wrapped his hand around his member and started stroking. Gale turned his face into the pillow to muffle his moans of pleasure. He was so desperate for release, he wasn't even able to come up with a fantasy in his head. It was a raw, animalistic chase for climax. Gale's breath hitched and he let out a guttural moan when he spilled his seeds over his hand and onto the bedsheets.

"Gods," he panted, still dizzy from the intensity of his orgasm.

"Don't mind my humble self, Mister Dekarios."

"Tara?!" the addressed squeaked, turning crimson.

The tressym tsked, perched high on the dresser next to the bed. She looked at him amused.

"A lover might help with your pent-up energy, but you just won't go out with any of the suggested individuals your mother and I so graciously pick out for you."

Gale groaned and tried to hide under his blanket.

"I don't need a lover," he muttered. "I'm perfectly fine by myself, and until recently, I could call Mystra herself my lover."

Tara sighed sufferingly.

"Company would do you good. It's not healthy to waste away in this tower."

"I have you."

"Naturally, but I can't be your lover."

Gale made a face at the thought. Bestiality? No thank you, he wasn't that desperate and sick in the head.

"I also have my books," he added.

"Ah, yes. Your 'interesting' collection on the top shelf, far away from prying eyes," Tara teased.

Gale hid deeper under his blanket and felt his cheeks burn.

Erotic novels were a guilty pleasure of his. He liked to indulge in them when feeling especially horny.

"At least, leave the house once in a while. I miss our daily walks," the tressym spoke now softly.

"I can't, I'm ashamed," Gale mumbled. "What will people think of me when they realise I can't perform the simplest spells anymore? It's like I'm... impotent."

He grimaced at his poor choice of words.

"The situation won't get any better if you keep hiding away. Please, Mister Dekarios, Gale, we'll find a solution for your terrible problem, but until then, you must rebound and master your days with your head carried high."

Gale hummed and tried to find the motivation and strength to do so.

For Tara, he told himself. For my dearest friend I can endure the shame and disgrace. And for mum. I've given them little to be proud of recently.

Tara was overjoyed when Gale told her that he'd join her search for rare magical items to feed the Orb.

"How wonderful! It'll almost be like the good old days. Although... You're quickly becoming the most expensive pet in Waterdeep."

Gale laughed, the first time in months, and scratched the tressym's chin. He dressed in his favourite blue-purple robe and the fancy boots he'd gotten hold of on his trip to Mirabar. Comfortable footwear was a must and he indulged in collecting nice boots from all over Faerûn while travelling. Tara hopped onto his shoulder, purring: "Let's go then. I'm looking forward to the sumptuous home-cooked meal you'll make for us when we return."

Smiling, Gale turned his face into her fluffy flank.

Tara had seen it all, his greatest triumphs and greatest failures, but she'd never left his side or doubted him. She was a true friend.

"You look older."

"It's the beard," Gale muttered.

"That's not what I'm talking about," sighed his mother. She stroke his cheek, frowning. "It's your eyes, your skin, your hair..."

"What about my hair?" Gale asked, slightly worried.

"I can see the first streaks of grey."

"No... Tell me you're joking."

"I'm not, but don't worry, it suits you, honey."

"But I'm only twenty-five years old!"

"Better turning grey than bald, don't you think? The Netherese Orb that beats in your chest is taking its toll on you. It doesn't merely feed on the Weave and the magical items, but on you too. If you're not careful, it will absorb all of your life force and you'll die of old age in a few years."

Gale closed his eyes and turned his face away in shame.

"I'm so sorry, mum. I made an ass out of myself."

"You did, but we'll fix it." Morena sighed tiredly, running her fingers through her son's hair. "We'll find a solution for your problem. I won't let you die. You're my everything."

"Am I still?" Gale whispered. "After everything I've done, you still deem me worthy of your love? I can't even cast a simple first-grade spell anymore."

"Oh, honey... I love you for who you are, not what you are," Morena replied. "With or without magic, you'll always be my precious son. I don't need you to be a grand wizard, a prodigy, or Mystra's Chosen. I just want you."

Gale couldn't keep his tears at bay when he fell into his mother's loving arms. So, they stood there, in Gale's living room, surrounded by books, art, and sculptures, the sound of the soughing sea, the screeching seagulls, and the harbour's bell in the background.

"I miss the Weave," he mumbled. "Not because of its powers, but because it feels like I'm missing a part of myself."

Morena stayed quiet for a moment, frowning slightly, then she told him: "Hold out your hands, honey."

Gale did as he was told, stretching his hands out with the palms facing down. His mother placed her hands on top of his.

"Close your eyes and open yourself for the energy around us," Morena instructed him.

"Mum, I'm not an amateur. I know how to conjure the Weave," Gale huffed.

"Will you shut up for once?" his mother scolded him, half-heartedly and he chuckled.

"Apologies."

Morena snorted and lightly smacked his hand before staying still again. Gale closed his eyes, breathed and tried to relax. First, nothing happened, but then, he felt a prickling sensation in his palms. Its intensity got more extreme until the familiar feeling of humming magic was wrapped around his hands. With a gasp, Gale snapped his eyes opened and stared at the blue mass of energy flowing from Morena's hands through his.

"It feels different, doesn't it?" she murmured. "As I told you many times; you don't need Mystra's help to conjure the Weave. It'll take time to master it again, but it isn't impossible."

Stunned, Gale barked a laugh, and with his mother's help, he cast his first simple spell after one and a half years of magic silence. He couldn't hold back the tears of joy.

Gale finally found the courage to face Monty. His childhood friend was relieved to see him still alive, but he was also angry. Ashamed, Gale confessed his foolish mistake to him.

"You idiot! You utter idiot!" Monty yelled before surging forward and kissing him like a starving man. Gale gasped in surprise.

"Monty, I can't... I -"

The addressed looked at him sadly.

"Is it because I'm a man or a tiefling?"

"Neither! Oh, Gods, please don't even consider that! It's me. I just - I can't right now. I'm still - I'm still hurt."

Sympathy showed on Monty's face and he stroke Gale's hand gently as he said: "I see, but believe me when I tell you that I love you with and without your magic. It was you I fell for, not your powers. I love Gale, not the wizard prodigy. And it doesn't matter that you don't love me anymore, my feelings towards you haven't changed."

The addressed huffed a laugh, linked his fingers with Monty's, and lifted their hands up to kiss the red skin that was such a stark contrast to his own.

"Thank you. I'll never forget your kind words." After a pause, he added: "Give me some time. Maybe, our story doesn't have to end here."

"You know we can stay friends even if you don't reciprocate my feelings, right?" spoke the tiefling.

A genuine smile appeared on Gale's face.

"Thank you, you're a true friend."

The wizard, aware of the implication of his next move, leaned towards Monty and place a gentle, chaste kiss on his lips. The tiefling sighed happily, but when he opened his eyes, they were clouded by melancholy. With one last squeeze to his hand, Gale said goodbye and travelled back to Waterdeep. Monty kept sitting on the wooden bench behind Elminster's tower, mourning the light-hearted joy and mischief that had disappeared from his friend's eyes.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Stay | Russell Adler x fem!bell!Reader

Summary: Despite having developed deep feelings for you after all this time working together, Adler takes you to antarctica like he was told. The only issue is... Things aren't as they seem when he finally confronts you.

Aka, sorry Treyarch, but this time the thotlers win.

SKSKSKS I ONLY MADE THAT POST TO TEST THE WATER, SO THANK YOU @smokeywhalee FOR ASKING FOR THE FIC. I ACTUALLY WROTE THIS WHOLE ASS THING LAST NIGHT SO COME GET THIS FLUFFY ASS BREAD Y'ALL AND ENJOY

Tags: fluff, angst, and angst with a happy ending

Warnings: some strong language and you might need a tissue box bc I sure did 😭😭

"Nothing like arctic air, eh?"

Russell Alder stands just a few feet away, hands resting squarely on his hips, looking out over the cliffs.

"Sure", you smile tiredly, a little sleepy from the long flight, as you walk up beside him. Without needing permission, you slip your pinky around his as he loosens his grip to allow you to do so.

Adler takes a glance down at your intertwined hands. He can't keep you in the dark for long. But still, he's afraid to tell you...

You move to lean your head on his shoulder, only to be left alone as he wrenches himself away.

"Listen Bell, there's... There's something I need to tell you", he refuses himself a glance at you. It would hurt him too much. You make an inquisitive noise and a long silence passes.

Perhaps it would be best just to get the hard part over. He was never one for beating around the bush anyway. "They sent me out here to kill you, Bell"

His voice is hardly audible, a clever trick to disguise the hurt in his voice. He grits his teeth, wondering if you really needed to know that, but then he remembers... He's done lying to you. You deserve to know.

Adler braces himself for the backlash, perhaps even a bullet in the back. Instead, he's met with a whisper.

"I know"

Your voice is only audible thanks to the bitter wind helping it along to his ear, leaving a ghostly caress as it passes him by. Russell turns around this time, almost disappointed to see your back still turned to him.

"How d-?"

You turn slowly, and even from there he can see the tear rolling down your face, "Why else would we be out here?", you gesture around to the great nothingness enveloping you both. You sniff and swipe a hand across you cheek, a joyless laugh escaping you, "Besides, you never take me anywhere nice"

In any other scenario, it would be playful and teasing, just like he knows you for.

Adler huffs a half hearted laugh at that, before tearing his gaze away. "Bell, I..."

"Oh, cut the shit Russell. Just do it, alright?", the tears flow freely down your glassy eyes now, "I know you have to... Really, I get it. A-and it's alright, you know? I-"

By now, Adler has made his way across to you. Even now, he hates to see you so upset. He gently grips your arms in his strong, steady hands, hoping against hope to give you some sense of ease. He needs to finish what he has to say.

"Bell..."

He then tries to say your name, but you won't allow it.

"Just shut up, alright? God, I hate you! I h-hate you..."

You struggle in his grip, beating weakly against his chest as your body becomes wracked pwith sobs, voice trailing off pathetically. Adler pulls you close, just in time, as you collapse into his arms.

"God, why? Why why...?"

You're choked up with hiccuping sobs again as Adler lowers you both to kneel in the grass. He squeezes you tighter, comfortingly he hopes, and if nothing else, to keep him from allowing tears of his own to fall too.

With a ragged gasp, you find your voice, allowing your anger and frustration to seap in at last, "After all I did for you people... This is how yo-?"

But you're cut off, and suddenly all your senses are overwhelmed with... Him.

Adlers lips crush into yours, the eagerness with which he kisses you is enough to erase all the fear, and pain, and sadness. At least, for the moment.

The crisp arctic air only accentuates the musky smell of his cologne, infusing every breath you breathe with its familiar scent. Charred birch and a hint of cigarettes. You almost smile at that.

He's been trying to quit, per your request, but... Old habits die hard.

The uneven stubble of his scarred chin tickles as he works over your lips, sucking gently, but adamantly once, then twice, before sustaining one long kiss again.

At last you part, lungs burning for air. Small puffs of condensation intermingle between your mouths as you catch your breath.

Adler takes one last gasp for air, to steady himself more then anything, before delivering one more kiss to your forehead. He knows he doesn't deserve to think such things, but...

You have no idea how long he's wanted to kiss you.

A few more tears start up from you again, but in that moment, he decides once and for all to commit to all the promises he's been wanting to make to you. He's done watching you suffer, and it's time you knew.

"I'm not going to kill you Bell...", he whispers against the warm skin of your forehead before pulling you to the crook of his neck.

You sniff, instantly frozen as you try to make sense of what you just heard. Too soon, faster then your mind can catch up, you search for words, "Wha-? Why? How? Russell, if they find out they'll kill yo-"

"Shhhh, they're not going to find out. I'm defecting. Right here, right now"

"B-but, why? I already told you, it's o-"

Adler moves his hands to cup your face, training your gaze to be all on him.

"No, it's not ok Bell. What we did to you... What I did to you... Was fucked, and unfair, but... it was for the greater good. But this? No."

"W-well ok... but-?"

"I'm doing this because I love you Bell", he barks it out, almost angrily, but even behind those old tinted aviators, you can see his expression soften almost immediately as he gently strokes your cheek with his thumb, "I love you... So much. Do you understand?"

He pauses for a moment, and his grand show of steely emotions breaks as he removes the sunglasses to wipe away his tears. And when he looks back at you... You're surprised at the reminder of how beautiful his eyes are.

"And... I'm... sorry I never told you before... Well, this"

Your mind is reeling at the rush of information. This... confession, isn't exactly news to you, but to hear him say it...

With one more sniff, Adler manages to pull himself together for a final moment of vulnerability, "Look, I know this is... a lot, but I was thinki- I...", he sighs and takes a deep breath. This is it.

"Would you... Come away with me? The CIA is going to be looking for both of us, and, well... No body and all, so I was thinking... We could find somewhere... off the grid, just you and me, start fresh? I know it'll be tough bu-"

"Yes!"

"-t I can protect you an- Wait... Yes?"

"Yes!", you seal the statement with a quick kiss. A promise. Then, you grow serious, "There's nothing left for me out here Russell... You're my only choice"

"...I'm sorry to hear that"

You cup a hand to his face, a tiny glimpse of that beautiful smile he loves so much peeking through, "No no, I didn't mean... This is a good thing. I meant to say, I wouldn't want to choose anyone else"

Adler sniffs and huffs a laugh, rocking gently as you pull in for an embrace, "Well in that case... I'm sorry to hear you have such terrible taste in men"

That earns a genuine laugh from you, and to him, it sounds like music.

You slip your hand into his, holding on just by the fingers before reaching up to plant a kiss over the scar on his jaw. You always rather liked those scars of his, no matter how much he wishes they never were.

But then again... He loves the way you use them to make him feel handsome, and he'll never understand how you do it.

After a few moments more, Adler gets up, pulling you to your feet as well. You wipe away the last of your tears, and as you glance up at him, a look of uncertainty crosses you.

He knows he has no right to ask you to trust him. Not after all the lies and the manipulation that got you and him to this point. But even after all that... The fact that you're willing to give him a chance humbles him to no end.

Adler looks back at you, and wishes for nothing more then the ability to make sure you never have to worry, or hurt, or live in fear ever again. But if there's one thing he does know, he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

"Come on kid", he rubs some warmth back into your arms, then kisses the top of your hair, "let's get out of here, huh? I've got just the place in mind..."

And just the place indeed.

A few months of preparation go by first, but at last you've managed to escape to the Swiss country side. Fields and fields of vibrant green grass and small wildflowers pass you by as Adler drives along, the great alps standing tall and strong just in the distance.

The sun glows warmly over head, and a little sparkle catches your eye. You look down and admire the ring on your hand once again, turning it this way and that, before stealing a glance at Russell's matching one.

With a couple more twists and turns, Adler asks you to close your eyes. A little while more, and the car comes to a stop. "Hey, don't open yet!", He hurries around to help you out, guiding you along want feels like a gravel path.

He puts his hands over yours, "Ready?"

You nod, the suspense absolutely eating you up. Finally, he moves your hands aside, revealing a small, brightly painted house before you. A stone path leads up to a white fenced porch complete with a swing for two.

The whole thing is practically overgrown with wysteria, coiling in and around the pillars and walls, and out front a wild garden stretches up towards the sun.

It's perfect.

You whip around, finding yourself unable to speak. But, he already knows. Adler sweeps you up off your feet and gives you a little spin as you shriek in surprise, melting into a fit of laughter as he sets you down.

He leans in and kisses you, just another of countless more to come, before pulling back. You have no idea how much it means to him to see you this happy....

"Welcome home"

[twiistedgalaxies]

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

      “Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

      Geralt blinked, “What?”  This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

      “You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

      “...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

      But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill. 

      “I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

      Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

      “You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

      It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

      “Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

      “Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

      “The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

      A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

      The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

      Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

      Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

      “Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

      Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius. 

      He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain. 

      Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him. 

      A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

      The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

      “Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

      The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade. 

      Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

      “Hm?”

      “I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

      “It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

      Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

      Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

      He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

      “She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

      “Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

      He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

      Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

      Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

      “You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

      Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

      “I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

      “It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

      He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

      The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

      “Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

      Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

      Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

      At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

      “No,” Geralt said resolutely.

      “Huh?”

      “I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

      The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N:  I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

[slashingdisneypasta]

Sheriff Hoyt / Charlie Hewitt x Reader || Oneshot

Title: Twenty Years Separated and Getting Divorced 

Notes:

This is inspired by Sweet Home Alabama, with Reese Witherspoon and Josh Lucas. 

Plot: After 20 years you finally come back to the town you grew up in, which is now basically non-existent except for a couple ghost buildings and wild cows to find your husband and his family, who are the only ones crazy enough to still live there, and get your fucking divorce finalised.

Warnings: Swearing, divorce? 

~~~

Hoyt sees me strolling up to the house before I even reach the porch. Our eyes meet, a short moment of nostalgia passes quickly- and World War 3 begins. 

“Well, hi to you too! Just fabulous to see you, after… half a goddamn century.” Charlie gets up from his seat on the porch and now stands up to 5 feet taller than me… because he’s still on the god forsaken porch and I’m the ground. Goddamn, his ego’s still as big as that ridiculous hat that he’s wearing now. Since when is he sheriff? He didn’t even go to college- I know; I’ve been married to him since we were 18. “Fucking city slicker.”

My jaw falls open. City slicker?? “You know damn well I grew up right here, you two-bit drama queen. And I live in Alice Springs now. Maybe it ain’t your country but it is still butt crack nowhere, you old fucking coot!” After a second, I also say. “And I’m not even 50 years old yet, you asshole!”

“Pft.” He chews on something in his mouth, maybe his cheek, and sets his jaw. “You lived here, what? 20 years ago then? If you wanna get specific about it.” Okay, that’s better, more accurate at least, but I could’ve done without the attitude. “You lived somewhere else more than half your life- don’t go gettin’ excited and acting like you’re a local.”

I mean, going by that logic I’m a fuck-ton more southern then he is- Australia’s as southern as it gets without living in Antarctica. But I digress. We need to get this show on the road.

“I did not come all the way here to argue with you Charlie.” I roll my eyes and sigh deeply, stomping up the porch stairs to meet him at the top, scrunching up my shoulders and feeling slightly sick when he leans over the steps a moment later and spits thick brown shit into the dirt. Why is he always spitting? Why! If he has excess saliva like that, he should go get himself checked out! And if he’s chewing tobacco, then he fucking needs to stop! Restraining myself from saying so though by taking a deep breath as he straightens up again, I instead hold out the A4, manilla yellow envelope that encases our divorce papers - already signed by me, - to him�� which he just looks at, of course. Difficult, ancient bastard. “I’ll pay!”

“Is that your way of askin’ for a divorce, honey bear?”

“Why, yes.” I smile, already feeling the relief of cutting ties from this man.

“Then I sweetly decline.” The smile is wiped off my face, and sketched onto his instead. He turns around and goes on into his home, letting the screen door slam shut hard behind him, too, after he gets in.

I sigh in frustration, close to a scream and stand there uselessly for a second before barging in after him and am about to yell for him to get back here, before a rustling sound alerts me to the door on my right and Luda Mae comes out of it. Closing it carefully shut behind her.

Immediately, my mood calms down considerably and I feel a startling, familiar warmth in my chest. The mood Charlie put me in just a second ago all but disappears seeing her. “Luda Mae!”

The moment she realises it’s me, she beams. “Oh, dear. I thought I heard you arguing outside with Hoyt, but I didn’t believe it!”

“Hoyt?” I blink, still smiling but in a confused way. Am I missing something?

“O-oh, I meant Charlie. Sorry, baby.”

After a tight hug we let go and assess each other.

I’m happy to see that she looks healthy. A little sweaty and tired, but she’s always been that way. It’s hard to not be, living here. It’s hot all day, every day - hell, they barely have winter in this part, -, and she’s never really been a summer kind of girl. I suggested to her a couple times that she could move away, but she always said that this is where their family had always lived- and they will always live here. Its where Charlie got it from.

I’m just getting to her eyes, and noticing of course immediately, the sad change in them from the last time I was here and forming a way to ask her if she’s okay when she tucks some grey hair behind her ear and asks me how I am. To be polite of course, I answer. Expecting to ask her the same right after.

“Aw, I’m doing just fine! Trying to get your stubborn son to give me a divorce, but apart from that life’s treating me well. I would love it if you could come visit me sometime in Australia, I have a guest bedroom where I picked the wallpaper and I just know you would love it. Soon as I looked at it, it was so you!” Her eyes brighten at the idea and she’s about to, bashfully decline I’m guessing, but Charlie stomps heavily down the old wooden stairs again like the attention seeking hippopotamus that he is. Has to let everyone know he’s entering. I roll my eyes. “Why don’t you just get a career on the stage, Charlie; They’ll announce your entrance for you. Jee-sus. Save you some time!”

He flashes me an unimpressed and joyless smile, as Luda Mae covers her mouth - not to hide her laughter from her son, but to be polite. She’s classy; I always liked that about her. In fact, I tried to be just like her growing up… I failed, but I still admire the quality on her, - and laughs a bit at my quip. Pride blossoms in my chest and makes me smile wider.

“You keep sweet talking me like that and I’ll never divorce you.”

My smile turns into a scowl and glare. “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?” He stops beside Luda and drops the barrel of his shotgun back against his shoulder, like a soldier in Buckingham palace. What does he need that for right now?! “Besides, I’m too expensive for you darlin’.”

“I hate you.” I say slowly, so it gets through his skull and he understands. “And you hate me.” He nods in agreement, still looking far too smug and pleased with himself. “So why can’t we get divorced and never talk again?!” I fail to see a downside!!

“Cuz I like to see your feathers all ruffled.”

“You-“ A slew of insults are about to break free of my lips, but a loud, popping bang comes from the kitchen like something tried to get out, making me look startled from the closed door to the room, to Charlie and Luda Mae. “What was that!?”

“Well… “Charlie looks thoughtful for a second, like he truly doesn’t know what to tell me, before slowly turning his gaze on Luda. “I believe Momma just blew up her pie.”

“Wha- “For half a second, Luda Mae looks like she’s about to slap her son all the way to Tim Buk Tu, before smoothening out her features again and turning back to me. Pasting an honestly believable, bashful smile on her face and speaks in a restrained voice that gives away her displeasure. “Yes. Must have lost track of time.”

Well, clearly that’s a bare faced lie. “Nice try. Charlie can pull off a lie like that, but you cant, Luda. What is it?”

Her smile softens and in two seconds she has smacked Charlie -not enough to hurt. It’s just a warning slap for trying to make her sound like a bad baker when we all here know how great she is, - and takes my arm in hers, guiding me across the hall and into the living room. “Really darling, its nothing. Thomas’ havin’ a bad day. I’m sure he’ll buck right back up though when he sees you! Are you going to stay for dinner?”

Looking behind us, I squint dangerously at Charlie. “If Charlie won’t sign these now, I might not have a choice!” Turning back to Luda, I genuinely smile. “But I would genuinely love to stay and see Thomas and Monty too, and eat your cooking! Thank you for the invitation. Maybe I can help with dinner! I have gotten better since the last time I was here.”

Charlie scoffs at my words, walking in after me and beating us to the chairs. He drops down in a recliner while Luda sits us down on the couch together. “You mean when you broke my oven?” She grins, a cheeky glint in her eye and I sigh, embarrassed.

“Yes… “Giggling, I cover my face a moment before jumping back into the fray. “But I really have gotten better!”

“I’d love to see that dear.” And the great thing is, she really does seem to. She would give any number of chances just to see one of her kids - me included, even if I am just her daughter in law. For now, - succeed. For a moment the room is just silent, and I let myself remember what it was like to be here all the time - the good things, I mean. Don’t you worry though, I remember the bad things like fighting tooth and nail with Charlie better the anything, - and how that felt, before Luda claps her hands.

She doesn’t like emotional stuff, Luda. Charlie’s a drama queen, but that’s where the emotion showing stops in this family. Thomas takes after his mother in not being too emotional, ever, and Monty prefers to keep to himself. He always has, and he goes by that philosophy regarding everything. “Well, I’m assuming there’ll be no driving off after dinner- the airport is a solid 4-hour drive! And you will not be driving that long at night.” She sets me with a cold, stern look over her glasses for a moment and even though I’m a 40-year-old woman, I submissively nod to her like a teenager. “You’ll stay in the spare room! Hoyt- Charlie. Sorry. Go change the sheets in there, and I’ll go get Monty to give you company while I start up dinner! Chop chop.”

“Wh- Did you forget she’s here tryin’ t’ divorce me, Momma? I ain’t offering the bitch any pleasantries like that! -“

“You will and you will do it with your mouth shut, Charlie.” Luda Mae gets up to her feet and Charlie and I both crane our necks to see her face. She gets much quieter, and her gaze goes dark like a parents’ does when they’re pissed. “And watch your mouth.”

Charlie bows his head and gets up from his seat, going off to do as she says. “R-Right, momma.”

My grin gets so big it turns into a laugh, leaning back into the couch cushions as I watch Charlie walk off up the stairs, flipping me off when Luda leaves the room.

~~~TIME SKIP~~~

In the middle of the night, I get the bight idea to get the divorce done, immediately. If I don’t, I’ll just let time fly by again with Luda Mae and Monty, and Thomas who’s a grown up now, and I’ll never get it done. It has to be done now.

So I get out of bed, pull on my coat since I didn’t bring my dressing gown, grab the manilla file and a pen and leave the room. It doesn’t take me long to get to Charlie’s, seeing as its just down the hall, and I don’t knock before barging in. I close the door veeeeery slowly, and quietly, then sneak around to his side of the bed and take the shotgun that’s leaning against the bedside table, the handgun that sits on it, and the knife under his pillow- I still know my husband, thank you very much. And I know that if he hears someone in his room at night eh will not think or look, before shooting me in the head.

Dropping all the weapons carefully on the armchair in the corner of the room, no longer trying to be quiet as I sit down on the side of his bed that Charilie is not sleeping on. His eyes burst open at feeling the bed dip, and as he looks over to my form, his hand reaches out to grab the handgun of course, and… he calms down immediately to his cranky, exhausted, middle-of-the-night mess. “Y/N? What the fuck are you doing in here?? This ain’t your room anymore, piss off!”

“I know that, silly!” As he forces himself to sit up and carefully lean his back on the headboard, I hold up the manilla folder. I beam. “Just thought this would be a good time to get our affairs in order!”

“Well,” He takes a gulp from the water on his nightstand. He swallows it like it’s a rock, or a large pill. Is it even water? “You were wrong.”  

“Au contrair, mon frair.” I grin, looking around behind me and on the other side of the room for something hard to write on. Ah! Hopping off the bed for a second, I grab a large hardbacked recipe book. “It is the perfect time! You’re sleepy, which makes you 90 percent more likely to be swayed into signing these papers.” I pop the book on his lap, along with the appropriate papers and the pen. “There you go; Now remember, once you sign these, we never have to look at each other’s faces, ever, again. Think about how lovely that’ll be.”

Still with the suspicious liquid at his chin, Charlie slowly raises his eyebrows at me. “Girl, you better get those papers off my lap right now or I’m gonna tear ‘em up.”

“Eep!” Immediately, I snatch them back. Then glare at him as he takes another sip of the drink. “Please.”

“Ain’t no good manners ever made any difference with me.”

I let out a deep sigh, in utter frustration at him.

I turn fully to him, completely comfortable seeing him in his bed shirt and boxers this way- it’s been 20 years and his hair’s going grey, but it still feels natural, fine, to be like this with Charlie. That does not, though, mean that I want to be here. I cross my arms, leaning my shoulder into the headboard. “Why? Why wont you divorce me? Do you hate me that much?”

“No, ‘sweetie’. I love you that much.” I watch him as he sets his jaw, takes yet another sip and glances at me. I gesture for the glass, and he hands it to me.

Taking a gulp as I turn to settle my back against the headboard, I’m pleased to find that the water is not actually water. It’s vodka. Good, I need this after a statement like that from Charlie. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t try to tell me what I do or don’t know.” Taking the glass back from me when I finish it off, he sets it on the table. I can tell he’s still sleepy, and aching to go back to dreamland, as his words are gentler than usual, and his movements are a struggle. “Bottom line is, Y/N. I’m finally getting everything I every wanted- and I’m not gonna to let you slip through the cracks again.”

“Hard to believe, Charlie. You never tried to contact me during those, oh, 20 years I was gone?” Turning my head, I raise my eyebrows at him.

Groaning from the effort, he turns around in his spot, takes one pillow from behind him and gives it to me. “Yeah, well, I was a bit busy helpin’ Mama raise Tommy. I never stopped thinkin’ a’ you as my wife, though. You’re mine, sugar. Whether you like it right now, or not.”

“What’s this for?” I ask, holding the pillow with a confused look.

“Sleep. Its too damn late for this conversation.” My jaw drops, as Charlie lays back down in his bed and snuggles under the blankets, closing his eyes. “If you sleep here, we can talk about this as soon as we wake up; If you go to your room, you’ll have to wait til’ dinner. Then Mama’ll make you stay another night… I suggest you lay down.” With that, he pats the bed as if as an order, and after a moment of thought I groan. Evil, conniving bastard.

I take off my jacket and lay it at the end of the bed, then get under the covers and lay down my head on the pillow, half annoyed and half ready to sleep- it is late, after all. I am pretty tired. And one more night in bed with Charlie isn’t going to kill me, besides… him still loving me? The news does give me something new to think about. It… it needs to be factored in.

A moment passes where we just lay on the different sides of the bed, him with his eyes closed and probably 2 seconds from entering a hypnogogic state and me unable to get comfortable, before I sigh in frustration again and just decide to try something.

Crossing the space between us without warning, I wrap my arms around his middle in a hug, and press my face the nook between where his throat is and his shoulder, smelling a shock of his scent for the first time in 2 decades and closing my eyes to it, trying to ignore the fast paced beating in my chest.

Goddamnit, it worked. I’m comfortable as fuck now.

Charlie doesn’t comment, thankfully, and just makes a sleepy noise and reciprocates the cuddle, pulling my body closer to him by the waist. My heart beats extra fast at it, but I try to focus on going to sleep.

Cuddling with your soon-to-be ex husband and enjoying it means nothing, right? Haha… hopefully.

[kbstories]

Entangled

en·tan·gled (adj.) Twisted together; interconnected.

Eustass Kidd joins the Flying Six. The Kidd Pirates go to war.

(Or: Welcome to the worst timeline.)

Tags: Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, References to Brainwashing, Rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort (It’s a solid 80% hurt you have been warned)

Set in Wano, Act Three. Spoiler warning for all of Wano. This is an AU where Kidd is imprisoned on Onigashima and Killer doesn’t eat SMILE.

Content warning for some torture, some blood and references to brainwashing.

***

They’re dead, they said.

Wiping blood from his mouth, Kidd had laughed. “My crew? Dying to cock-faced cunts like you? Never.”

They fought to get to you and they died, they said as cruel hands dug into Kidd’s hair and put him under, over and over.

“They didn’t”, Kidd bit back. “They’re alive”, words fractured by the water in his throat, his lungs. Again – they will come – and again – they’re fine – and again – they’ll come for me. By then he couldn’t catch enough breath to speak but it was there, conviction burning bright in his chest.

They said, he’s dead, and even though his eyes could barely see and his ears were ringing, Kidd recognized blue and white and Killer. Kidd’s veins ached with whatever they pumped into him, his brain struggling to tell truth from lie, dream from reality.

The mask is there, real. The seams Kidd worked a full day and night on to get them just right, cracked apart and caked with blood where Killer’s temple would be–

They’re dead, they say and Eustass Kidd’s world shatters apart.

***

The Victoria Punk strains against the raging of the sea, waves mighty as mountains crashing against her skull and bursting into a thousand pieces. Killer doesn’t turn his head away from the spray, lets the ocean sting every inch of exposed skin.

Under his mask, his eyes stare straight into Onigashima’s soulless gaze.

“Hey, you there! Spikey’s friend!”

Strawhat’s voice rings true through the winds and the rain. Killer keeps his arms crossed and nods, the gesture over-articulated to carry despite the storm. “Stick to the plan, Strawhat! We’ll catch up to you on the other side!”

A smile and a thumbs-up from Strawhat to his right, a sardonic laugh from Law to his left. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for an optimist, Massacre Soldier.”

All Killer gives him is the bird. Kidd would’ve laughed at that, he thinks.

Wire is at the helm, hands steadfast and solid. “Keep course”, Killer tells him as he hops down on deck. “There’s a spot at the bottom of the bay. The Punk should be safe there.” Heat flanks him as the rest of the crew gathers, every face around him retaining that grim sort of tenacity that carried them through the past month.

There’s exhaustion there too, so keen Killer can sense it: None of them can quite shake that phantom presence permeating the Punk, the constellation of their very being-together fundamentally incomplete.

To sail into battle without Kidd is… wrong, inconceivable, almost. Killer has endured all magnitudes of that feeling while they scoured every corner of Wano Country in search for that element that will make them whole again, that unique gravitational pull that makes their individual parts click into each other like carefully-crafted machinery.

(It doesn’t get easier, being without him. Missing him. Killer can’t tell why he ever expected it to.)

“Stay low”, Killer reminds his crewmates, his voice as steady as it’s been since this nightmare started. “Find the Flying Six, that’s our priority. We have to get to Kidd before the raid starts, or things will get messy.”

For years, Killer’s mask has been a comfort; the immediate “Aye, Captain” he gets in return makes him wince where the crew can’t see it. It’s a necessity, for them to remain in the dark about his weakness – about the visceral fear that shot through Killer when he realized Kidd is gone and all eyes fell on him to make the next step.

(This has been a possibility since the very beginning yet Killer never expected to live long enough for it to become reality. Always together, even in death, that was the plan.)

*

From the moment their boots touch land, all Killer can think of is Kidd. Find Kidd, save Kidd, a near-obsessive mantra playing in his head on an endless loop as they leave the Punk behind.

For weeks he lived as Kamazo the Manslayer, every scrap of intel extracted in crimson splatters under moonlit skies. Alliances made and information combined for one purpose alone, and it’s worth it to pass by hordes of drunks and people-soon-to-be-drunks unnoticed. Every step the Kidd Pirates make on Onigashima is accounted for, their approach methodical sans the perpetual chaos Kidd’s mere existence brings.

Killer hates how easy it is, to become something other than themselves. There is no time to waste on regret, not here. They have to keep going.

Finally: There is the fortress, there are the Flying Six – and among them, a flash of red Killer would recognize anywhere, anytime. His vision narrows down to the shape of Kidd perched on the parapet, dressed black-on-black like the rest of them, and a murmur goes through the crew behind him. By some animal instinct, Kidd’s head turns and he stares right at them, too.

And for the first time in a month Killer inhales and feels his lungs unfold, his chest swell with a full breath. Kidd is there. He’s right there, and Killer’s too far away to pick up any details but Kidd is alive and now he knows they’re here, too. All that’s left is to get him out of here and regroup and–

“Soldier, watch out!”

–the shout is almost drowned out by Killer’s instincts. He tears his scythes up in the last second to deflect the little bits of something raining down on them. Shrapnel, the ground littered with it in moments.

What the…?

The thunderclap of Conqueror’s Haki precedes a furious roar he has heard a hundred times, a hundred battles over. Killer catches sight of Kidd, and how scrap gathers and swirls around him, the eye of a silver-tinged hurricane about to hit, and his mind stalls as that murderous glare locks on him.

Then Kidd is upon them.

Metal screeches against metal, the air turning sharp and heavy with Kidd’s will as his fists clash against Killer’s scythes. There’s not a shred of hesitance to the strike: A fraction of a second is all Killer gets to seek out Kidd’s eyes, glowing with the sparks exploding in all directions between them, and Killer’s gut drops at the cold fury he finds there.

That, and bloodlust so strong he can taste it. Oh fuck.

The force of the attack has Killer’s heels skidding back a few feet – motherfucker, Kidd isn’t holding anything back, is he? – before Kidd’s gaze flicks to the side and he scoffs, a pissed-off tch.

A breath, drawing deep. Flames engulf them both, then, the fire throwing up a wall that gives Killer some room to breathe.

“Heat”, he gasps, and they motion for him to move. Wire isn’t far behind, grabbing Killer by the elbow and dragging him away from the inferno swallowing the person they came to save. “You okay? Killer. Did he–?”

Killer can barely look elsewhere. “No. I’m fine, Wire, let me– What the hell did they do to him?” The last part is little more than a snarl, something venomous and ugly within him stirring. Just a glimpse of it sends Killer’s heart on a warpath, beating hard enough to throb even in his fingertips.

Wire’s expression is drawn, lips a tense line. “I don’t know but this is bad. There’s too much metal on all of us.” Which is by design, to help Kidd get around in a fight and– Fuck. Fuck.

A handful of seconds, that’s all Heat can buy them. Fire can’t hold Kidd, not for long, the man himself forged in heat and pressure just as the metal he commands. Killer grits his teeth to see Kidd emerge from plumes of smoke wiping soot off that same look on his face, lethal and so cold, and he pulls both Heat and Wire behind himself.

“Leave him to me. Take the others and–”

Wire’s hand goes bruise-tight on Killer’s arm. Heat hisses, “Killer–”

“Listen to me. Kaido’s forces will follow him here any minute. Keep them off our backs. Buy us time. Whatever this is, Kidd will fight it. I just have to make him listen.”

Two little words stick to Killer’s tongue, almost making it out of his mouth. Captain’s orders. He doesn’t have to say them, though, the tense sigh Wire exhales an answer in and of itself.

“Fine, just– Stay sharp. Let’s go, Heat.”

“Yeah”, Heat says with a final glance Kidd’s way, and they’re gone. Disappearing from Killer’s limited field of vision, and Killer trusts they will keep the crew safe. It’s not like he can turn and check, not with Kidd stalking ever-closer.

Coming for him, not the crew. Just him. A joyless smile stretches Killer’s lips wide. Good.

“Care to explain what game you’re playing, Kidd? We’re here to take you home.”

Kidd snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up”, teeth big and white against the backdrop of black leather Kidd is wearing. His face is bare for the first time in years, his hair slicked back like he couldn’t give any less of a damn how it looks. Killer’s gaze falls on the symbol of the Beast Pirates on the thick belts crossing over his chest and his heart lurches, skips out of rhythm–

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll fucking kill you for wearing that mask.”

Killer stares.

“Who I…? The mask is mine. It’s mine, Kidd, you made it for me. I’m–”

Oh shit, the earth itself shakes from the pulse of magnetism Kidd draws in every last bit of metal with, Killer’s arms threatening to snap out of their sockets as his scythes are pulled in, too. “Don’t you dare”, the words are a growl more than anything. “Don’t you fucking dare say his name”, and the pressure drops to be replaced by brute physical force as Kidd lunges.

Killer doesn’t stand a chance against Kidd, he knows that. There’s his Devil Fruit, his natural strength, his skill with damn-near every weapon he’s collected – ever since he unlocked the Haki to match, Kidd has shrugged off any and all limits imposed on him. Killer knows what Kidd can do, knows his body better than his own, some days, knows every emotion that flashes in that rust-red gaze of his.

And, with Kidd hellbent on ripping him apart, Killer knows he’s but one misstep away from a very violent death.

Countless times they’ve fought yet this is an entirely different beast: The only advantage Killer has is speed, and even that is rendered meaningless in the face of Kidd’s powers turning the metal on his body into anchors, his wrists and neck aching trying to withstand that particular gravity. Time and time again they collide, a spray of sparks and panted breath as Killer stares into the hate-filled eyes of the man he loves and doesn’t back down.

As he tells him, “It’s me, Killer, it’s me, I came back for you”, and Kidd snarls, beyond words.

Something has to give and for a moment there, Killer thinks it might not be him. Kidd is panting, growing pale and covered in sweat. This close, Killer can see the fresh wounds left to scar, dotting his chest with sickening precision, and the mottled bruises blooming on his neck, right over his pulse point.

Whatever they put him through, it’s recent enough for Kidd to look like he’s on the verge of collapse once he’s burned through his rage, and Killer despises himself for drawing hope from that.

Then Kidd stumbles, Killer hesitates – and Kidd nails him in the side, a punch too swift for Killer to block, and the taste of copper spills on Killer’s tongue as he feels his ribs give before he twists. The second fist is inches from connecting when Killer slips his hand out of the metal guard slowing him down and elbows Kidd in the face, stomach turning at the immediate gush of blood that clearly spells broken nose.

They fall apart, Killer holding the scratched-and-bruised mess of his midriff and Kidd groaning with his face tucked into his elbow. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Killer fumbles for his second scythe, throwing it to the side where it lands with a dull thud, unseen. Kidd is staring at him, mouth open and painted crimson.

Then Killer’s fingers hook into the back of his mask and he pulls it off, the world suddenly too-bright, too-loud, overwhelming – it all pales against the fear choking him, smothering any ounce of reason Killer clung to without Kidd there to guide him.

“Kidd, it’s me”, he says, the words small between them, on the brink of vanishing altogether. Well and truly lost, for the first time since they met. “Your partner. Please. I don’t know what to do. Please come back to me.”

And Kidd– He staggers towards him, like he can’t help it. “You’re dead”, he whispers, helplessly hoarse. “You died. You’re dead, Kil.”

Killer’s eyes sting as tears well up; he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. Thinks, oh, and his mind puts together the puzzle pieces even if all he feels is his heart break.

“I’m right here. Right here, Kidd.”

Step by step Kidd’s fists lose their substance, metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces and loose gears. Kidd asks, “…Killer?”, and it sounds so painfully uncertain, so threadbare and fragile that Killer throws caution to the wind.

Kidd’s knees give the moment Killer reaches for him. He doesn’t manage to catch the fall but it doesn’t matter, the feeling of Kidd’s arm sliding around his neck like breaking the water’s surface, like coming home at long last. His stump is left bare, bandaged and sore-looking, lacking the mechanics that have become Kidd as much any other part of him. Killer holds that shoulder before he does anything else, the tension there beyond unbearable to watch.

“Killer”, Kidd rasps, and Killer kneels so he doesn’t have to strain himself so much. “K-Kil, fuck, I didn’t– I thought–”

Half-realized words turning to heaving gasps, and Killer wraps himself around him as his shirt grows wet where Kidd’s head is tucked against his neck, equal parts blood and tears with how fucked up Kidd’s nose is. Murmurs against his hair, “It’s okay”, rubs a hand up and down the groove of his spine.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re all here, Kidd. Not leaving you behind, ever, got it?”

It’s there, with Kidd in his arms, that Killer becomes aware of their surroundings once more: There’s distant cannon fire, and battlecries cut short; the cracking of rifles and ringing of blades being drawn and crossed; bit by bit, the world reshapes itself into the beginnings of a war around them. The first thing Killer sees is a loose circle of backs turned towards them. Dead ahead, the signature woosh of Heat’s breath-turned-fire illuminates the silhouette of each and every member of their crew fighting tooth and nail to uphold the perimeter.

Closest to them, Wire’s trident blurs with motion as he smashes a volley of arrows out of the air, aimed directly at Kidd’s vulnerable back. A glance over his shoulder, and Wire’s eyes widen as they meet Killer’s.

Properly catching his gaze, for the very first time. Killer nods at him, mouths, we gotta get outta here. Wire reads his lips and smiles, unwavering.

Kidd is stirring as well, eyes red-rimmed and weirdly naked without the heavy black around them. He wipes at the blood that hasn’t quite stopped dripping down his chin before he looks up. Stares at Killer like he can’t quite believe he’s there, and then:

“Shit. Fuck, Killer, your mask”, Kidd mumbles urgently, an exhausted motion of his hand pulling closer the scattered remnants of their fight. “Where’s– Ah.”

And something in Killer breaks a little more at the gentleness with which Kidd handles his mask, his fingers unsteady as they wipe dirt and blood off the blue-white stripes before offering it to Killer, those red eyes tender with unspoken emotion.

Kidd doesn’t do apologies, mostly because there aren’t many actions he deems truly reprehensible, but... If apologies were Kidd’s thing this would be it.

Killer exhales a soft breath and presses a kiss to the line between Kidd’s shaved brows. “C’mon”, he says, and he hides his face before hoisting Kidd up to his feet, a breath shuddering out of him as his ribs shift in his chest. Kidd’s hand brushes over the furrows he left on Killer’s skin, frown deepening yet he doesn’t speak.

Piece by piece, they put themselves back together until they’re Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd and Massacre Soldier Killer once more. There is hell to pay, a war to win and an Emperor to kill – when Kidd steps forward to rejoin their crew, he doesn’t waver and neither does Killer, following close behind.

[johobi]

Eating for Two

Word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), fingering, near-fisting, dry humping, some slight pregnancy kink/impreg kink going on, lots of dirty talk, i’m gonna put a tw here for dysphoric folks bc there are a couple sentences in there that might be triggering, reader gets jilled off, i based it on a video lol, very graphic sexual description

A/N: this was the 3rd of 4 drabble winners during my drabble request game! I hope anon and everyone else enjoys it!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19969732

He’ll have a Large.

"Hoseokie! What are you doing down there? Hurry up! I'm gonna die!"

It's an exaggeration, of course, but Hoseok isn't going to question the validity of your outburst. Not when you're 8 months crazy with rollercoastering pregnancy hormones. Not when you're - so graciously - carrying to term his twin girls and all the strain that comes with. The aching back, the ballooning ankles, the waning stamina. You do all this with the most radiant - if weary - of smiles, and Hoseok is reminded, again and again, that he has been gifted not twice, but three times. He is but an unworthy devotee to your Goddess of Fertility.

And his Goddess is horny as fuck.

"I know, baby," Hoseok coos across your rotund belly. Head between your bent legs, he can see nothing beyond but the mass he enthusiastically helped create. And though he can't see your face, he feels your predicament through your laboured gasping. Sees it as it saturates the crotch of your cotton panties. "You really are incredibly wet. Like, this fast? This is a new record."

"Shut up and do something, Hoseok!" you hiss, exasperating with your toes like you're in the throes of childbirth. "I swear. I swear to fucking Christ I'll die if you don't."

"Well, we can't have that." Your cussing flicks some sordid switch in him. It’s not often you resort to swears. And in this context, Hoseok finds it oddly thrilling. “Let’s see what we have here.” 

Thumbs sinking deep into your fleshy inner thighs, he needs only assert the lightest of pressure before you’re spreading. You're so receptive, so desperate, that he too is being roused. He's already pressing snugly to the crotch of his jeans. But it's not about him right now, it's about you. His obligation as your eager husband. And while he feels duty-bound to relieve you, it's hardly some chore. Not when he's nose-and-cheek-deep in your sodden panties, huffing in your heavy musk. Fuck. His cock stirs, sensing a meal. Shit. You're mewling like a tormented whore with the merest of touches. "Are you aching, sweetheart?" Hoseok allows himself that small tease because you’re already warping his purest intentions to relieve you. His dick also wants a stake, now. "I bet you're gaping, huh. Bet I could slide right in."

"God—" you hiss, the soft thud of fist to cushion coming from beyond your mountainous stomach. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm so fucking ready. I need it so badly, Hoseokie, don't make me wait. I'll cry. I will."

"You don't need to cry, baby." You've already done so once this past hour, during S03E02 of Stranger Things. 

It had been vaguely alarming. Enough that Hoseok had dropped instantly to his knees, hands scanning your body for the source of your discomfort. The location of your hospital bag was thrust to the forefront of his mind, as were emergency birthing measures.  He’d been primed for action. “Is it time?!” 

After some coaxing, however, you attributed your outburst to sudden, severe arousal. “It’s so weird!” you’d repeated between sobs. “It’s like someone’s been edging me all day!” 

“You’re crying because you’re horny?” Admittedly, Hoseok had been a tinge sceptical of this revelation, thinking it some silly prank. But when you clutched at his hands like climbing holds, a hollow, hungry fear brewing in your eyes, he soon realised your sincerity. 

Hormones were wild.

And here he is now, tonguing beyond the elastic of your panties for a taste of your pooling essence. For each of your agonised whines he steeps his fingers deeper into your thighs to ground you. Selfishly, too. Because, God, you're like proven dough in his hands. Softer for your weight gain. You hate it, but he doesn't. Can't do when you're so fucking silky and supple. Hoseok's senses are momentarily swamped as he loses himself in you. A desirous moan spills from him: "You're so fucking sexy." The praise is muffled in cotton and your slickened skin. "Can I eat you?"

"Yes. Yes you can," you pant, writhe, quiver at the knees. "I'm gonna be so quick. I can feel it. I've never felt like this. I'm, like, super-charged." Your voice is thicker for the lust. Difficult to swallow. "Get me off so we can keep watching Stranger Things."

That last bit was likely meant to placate Hoseok, but he no longer gives a flying fuck about the Netflix binge. All his interest lies in the centre of your sticky, sopping core as he peels aside your panties and appreciates its beauty. So deep and warm, he thinks, or his cock does, clouding his priorities. 

No, priority number one is you. 

You and your tight, hot, wet, pleading cunt. 

Goddamnit. 

"Jesus. You're so swollen." And you are, remarkably so. Your lips are plump and begging to be kissed. But what begs his attention is just how erect - yes, erect - you are. Your clit protrudes so far from its sheathe that Hoseok is taken with the sight. "Are you in pain?" He has to ask.

"No, I just want my fucking! God," you squirm for alleviation, pressing closed your thighs around his head. "Put your fingers in. Fill me."

And why should he deny you? There's no fun to be had in prolonging your suffering today. Your plea is too heartfelt. So he extends two fingers toward your opening, himself tensing when he watches it mouth desperately around the tips. He feels it. Feels it like a phantom around his cockhead, engulfing him whole. His hips thrust into your imagined heat and feel only the stifle of denim. “You’re driving me crazy. Why are you so sloppy?”

“Ah~” Is all the answer you give.

Hoseok breaches you ever so smooth. Without a whisper of resistance. You're flooded and gaping, like you've already had your overfill of dick today. It does things to him that can't be explained. It is his body, instead, that expresses itself; his pelvis driving a hungry, stuttered rhythm into the sofa cushion, dreaming of your warm and wet. "Do you need more, ____?" It’s a question that begs no answer. You whimper your assent, yes, but your clenching cunt is what truly conveys the extent of your need.

A third finger slips seamlessly between your messy folds, merging with the two already lodged deep. Hoseok gnaws his bottom lip to keep his headiness at the fringes, because this isn’t about him. 

It’s about you.

But, oh, there's nothing he wants more than to delve his pulsing inches as far into you as they’ll go. And there's nothing less he wants than to scour his cock into a joyless orgasm in the crotch of his jeans. And yet, right now, as you stir him into an impassioned frenzy, even the latter option seems irresistible. 

No. Nope. Focus, he chides himself not for the first time, and it’s with that he recentres himself. "Let me know how it feels, sweetheart," Hoseok mumbles from cunt-slickened lips, puffing breath over your protruding clit. He knows it hits warm and welcome, because that, too, elicits moaning. "Your clit is huge. It's so fucking hot. I'm gonna suck you 'til you come all over my fingers." 

Before you're given your chance to respond, Hoseok scoops at your soft, upper walls. Presses into the place you're spongiest. You're so incredibly lubricated that it wouldn't take much to work in his entire fist. God. His balls heave in his boxer shorts, vying for the idea. But you're doing well with the fullness of three; your frantically bucking hips say so. Hoseok doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Instead, he fingers your cunt with a practiced fury, his palm slapping at your mound like the rim of a drum.

The reverberation is undoing you. "F-Fuck, I'm almost there already. Sh-Shit— " Hoseok feels it in the building pulse of your pussy; sees it in your spastically splaying toes.

It shocks him. A usual session requires extensive clitplay before you can get anywhere close. "Already?" As tempted as he is to slow, to spend hours labouring over your juicy cunt, that time is not now. "I knew it wouldn't take much. You're such a good, filthy little slut," he encourages, knowing well that dirty words are as potent as dirtied fingers. "You wish I was fucking you with my fat cock, don't you, sweetheart?" Your ragged, resultant moan confirms it. Hoseok ploughs your hole with one hand and encircles your clit with the other, index and thumb playing gently around its base. 

You convulse. 

From the glimpse he steals of your contorted face, your soul looks fit to leave you. "I bet you'd stretch so fucking well around two cocks, ugh—" Hoseok's game falters somewhat when you contract violently around his fingers. The strength with which your cunt resists him does nothing but encourage his cock to leak. His boxers become uncomfortably tacky.

"Y-Yeah, I wanna be fucked by two cocks—"

"Two monster cocks. So big they can barely fit. God, they'd fill you so fucking good." He's focused on your reddening clit, dragging the hood along its considerable length. "Fill you full with cum. You nasty little cumslut. Jesus." Your panicked, breathless caterwauling mounts. "Look at your clit. I'm practically jerking you off, you dirty girl." And then he groans, because he feels it in tandem; the drag and draw of friction. The coiling of pleasure.

"I-I'm c—" Your mouth merely hangs open. The rest of you tenses, curls every which way. And your cunt, fuck, it tries so hard to eject him from you, crushing his fingers in its narrowing passage. “—coming.”

And - shit - so is Hoseok. He grunts, propels his pelvis into the sofa with the same enthusiasm he's ruining you with, and then the front of his pants fill, warm and sticky. "Nngh—sh-shit. ____..."

Goddamnit. That wasn't the priority.

By some luck, you're still far-flung from reality, undulating like a boneless thing against his embedded fingers. You don’t register his lapse of control. Your eyelids are sealed, mouth whispering obscenities. Hoseok catches a thready plea for more, but he's already in motion - he never really stopped - stuffing and emptying your swollen pussy. A little slower, now, while you ride out your high. “This good?”

“Mmm.” Sounds positive.

Fuck. Your cunt is audible. It slurps him in with the lewdest noises. You really are a marvel of nature. He's wary of touching your clit just yet, though. It’s painfully engorged and jumps at the faintest touch. So would his cock if it weren't appallingly flaccid and glued to his boxers. "I'm kinda worried you're gonna pop the twins out if I keep going," Hoseok only half-jokes, head clearer for having come. His arousal’s down to a mild simmer. Your own is still in full flow, however, and nothing brings him to boil quicker. "How much of a good thing is too much?"

"No, more. Please." The soft soles of your feet curve over his shoulders, coaxing him where your hands can't reach. "Please, Hoseokie. Just one more." You're desperate but not as, trembling like you're hypoglycaemic.

"Okay, babe," he settles you, though he never intended to refuse anyway. Hoseok just enjoys the sound of your voice on his ears, needy and suppliant. His head drops low, right into the musk of your wet sex, ready to wield his willing mouth. "Let's fuck you 'til you're nice and sleepy." You don't sleep well these days. Nights. The burden is too big.

Hoseok’s only sampled you thus far. So it's with the hollowness of a hungry man that he parts his lips and encompasses your labia. Suckles, noisily, on the the stuff oozing from you. 

Perhaps it's the pregnancy. 

Perhaps it's his mind's own trickery. 

But the bigger you get, the sultrier you are. The tastier your cunt. 

And it's his. 

It belongs to him. 

As you do, jammed full with his child as you are. 

Hoseok isn't inclined to possessiveness, he really isn’t. But when you're spread, stretched, and growing his progeny so visibly, he wants nothing more than to mark you with ropes of steaming cum. Streak your belly with the signature of ownership.

But that's just his dick talking. Again. Growing, despite its sensitivity, in the gummy mess at his groin.

It's you that owns him. Heart and soul and the bones in between.

"God yes, god yes, god yes—" Your weak exclamations filter over your heaving bump. "Put your tongue in me."

Hoseok does. Seeks the space by his fingers and worms his tongue in, too. Saliva and spunk drool from the corners of his mouth as he makes out with your pussy. His wrist burns with fatigue but he never once misses a beat in his rhythmic pumping. By the bane of his own nature he finds himself humping in sync, despite the soreness of his rubbed-raw cock. It hurts, it’s too much, and yet he kinda likes it, kinda revels in the ambiguity. The pleasure is an undercurrent that’s growing stronger. 

“Harder. Harder—I need it, please—” you whine, pitifully. 

Hoseok hears you.

Again and again, he strikes at your g-spot. It’s punishing and unerring, because you like the consistency. Again and again, he mimics the movement with his hips, raw from the friction but compelled by the need. You're already getting too tight for what's in you and he knows you're nearly there. Your breaths comes less as breath and more as a wheeze. His name tumbles endlessly from your lips and, God, he's not ready for it to stop. But the rumblings of your climax are already beginning, the groan already building. Hoseok groans, too, railing the pillow between his knees as he wishes he could your greedy cunt. It’s with wild abandon he thrusts his cock into the mess of its own making, relishing the debauchery of it all. 

“Mmmmfhh—baby.” Further, indistinct sounds of enjoyment escape him. You respond in kind.

Hoseok’s discomfort diminishes entirely as he nears, and is instead possessed by absolute lust. His nose and mouth dig deeper for your sweet scent and sweeter slick; diligent tongue lapping clean all that it touches. And then he’s dragging in breath, venturing upwards, and encompassing your clit with the gentlest of lips. Ripping from you the most violent of reactions. “Ah—God— Hoseok!”

You convulse, pulse, smother him with your thighs, deafening him to your sobbing. All Hoseok can hear is the rush of his own blood as it surges for his cock. "____, baby, f-fuck." Everything's muffled. All he sees is your ruined cunt and then all he sees is white.  It floods his vision. Floods  his pants. It's weaker this time and yet not, like you're draining his balls entirely, and his cognizance with it.

When he sits back, Hoseok is dumb.

You are, too, by your inability to shape your mouth around any coherent word. "Uh."

He agrees. "Yeah."

Something comes over him then, as he admires your sweat-streaked face. 

A realisation. An important one. 

And the panic sets in. 

It's been too long since he last looked upon that face. Fifteen whole minutes. He dives past your knocking knees and situates himself over you, elbows settling carefully either side your head. "I love you," he professes as sincerely as he has every time since the first. "I love you so much." Hoseok's mouth presses ardently to yours, still fresh with the dew of your sex. His tongue falls into your parting lips when you mumble your reciprocation.

It's after a few, giddy seconds that you push at him. "I need to breathe, Hoseokie. I'm spent."

Hoseok is, too, but he's dumb enough in love to disregard the oxygen and suffocate. "Good. You look tired. Do you feel better?" He runs a finger over the curve of your cheek. Swims in your sated eyes.

"So much better. So—" On cue, a yawn. "So tired. Oh, but—" Suddenly, you're roused again. "Let me finish you off. You must be h—"

With a certain comedic synchrony, both sets of eyes land on Hoseok's incredibly soggy crotch. There's not an erection in sight. "Yeah, I don't think you need to worry about that."

"Oh my God, did you come in your pants? You haven't done that since we first started dating," you snicker, though he knows it's no taunt. Not when— "That got me so turned on when you did that back then. Damn, I wish you'd let me know!"

Despite your enjoying it, Hoseok finds himself bashful. "Yeah, well—I wasn't really subtle about it, but you didn't notice." Suddenly, a smirk. "You were a bit too tied up."

You gaze melancholically into mid-distance. "I miss being tied up."

"After the kids get here." Hoseok heaves himself from the sofa on noodley legs. "You gonna nap?"

"Yeah. Right here." You're already wriggling into a more pleasing position. A contented smile splits your face. "Thanks, love. What are you gonna do?"

"Uh, well—" Hoseok gestures toward his lower half and you giggle into your throw. "I better clean myself up. I'll clean you up, too. Don't move an inch."

Your eyes track Hoseok's journey across the room. "I love being waited on hand and foot. Maybe I should stay heavily pregnant forever?"

"Yeah, maybe," he chuckles. Blows away his bangs as he kneels between your legs, towel in hand. "It's not very often I can come twice like that. In that space of time, at least."

Obscured, again, by your sizeable stomach, Hoseok can only hear you exclaim. "Twice?! You came in your pants twice?!"

[bonesthebeloved]

It’s a fine (taped) line

Summary: In which Roman isn't doing well after the events of SVS Redux and Remus finds him in their room next to a bunchof balled up tape that had separated them for years and years. Characters: Roman and Remus (Janus mention)

Triggers/ Squicks: crying/ breakdown. Mention of weapons and (mild)violence, intrusive thoughts, sea monster, swimming in natural water, eyes. (if I missed anything/ you’d like me to tag anything let me know.)

Words:2881 (I didn’t spell check this. We die like men.)

He was afraid

It hadn't been quite as long as he'd liked since the last time he'd been afraid like this. Not even a full week.

Afraid like a shiver that ran deep until you were sure you could hear your skeleton rattle. Afraid like laboured quite breathing and wide eyes staring into unseeing darkness and even more unseeing void.

Afraid like standing on the plank with a sword poking in your back and hungry sharks beneath you.

Afraid like he was now, standing in a well lit room accompanied by two other sides and Thomas himself. In the middle of the day with the doors safely locked and his Katana at his side.

He shouldn't be afraid.

Uncertain. Angry, yes. Maybe even hurt. But afraid should not apply to this situation. After all there was no threat.

Yet he felt it. And he knew his voice would be shaking even before he'd opened his mouth to speak. And he knew his hands would be shaking even before he lifted them to cover his mouth. And he knew that and he knew that and he knew-

He didn't know anything anymore.

"You are!" came a shout. Almost sounding desperate enough to be genuine . Almost sounding certain enough to be true.

But Roman was afraid. And he was shaking when he looked over for confirmation to the side that had cracked his trust beyond repair because how else would he know if it really was genuine and certain enough. How else would he-

He'd never have guessed that a single nod would be the thing that would shatter the cracked funhouse mirror. Never would've guessed that the only thing standing between him and the hungry sharks below would be the incline of a head. The confirmation of a lie.

So he sunk out with a last scoff at their hosts expression. Seeing the tiniest of cracks forming would've concerned him to no end if he himself wasn't completely shattered at that moment.

And when he popped into his room he looked at where he was standing. The edge of the plank. Toes nearly touching the line of white tape seperating the two sides of the room. One messy, clothes on piles and crumpled up paper all over the floor. Bed unmade and in need of a change of sheets. Curtains still drawn and houseplants dying.

The other half belonged to Remus.

And there, on the edge of the plank, with noise coming from the bathroom attached to their room and Remus his pet rat squeaking happily while running around the bed, Roman bowed down and, getting a good grip on an edge of it, ripped the tape away from the floor, shattering the imaginary barrier and the line he'd set for himself.

When he had taken of all the tape, all of it a sticky, bawled up mess on the floor now, he dropped to his knees, slowly lowering his head to the floor aswell and leaning it against the carpet, closing his eyes.

And he cried. Not dramatic and loud wailing like would be expected. No, his crying was quiet. Almost deadly so as the tears dropped down his face and onto the carpet. As he gripped his hair to stop himself from hitting the floor. And he pulled his hair to stop himself from pouncing his fist on it.

And when the bathroom door opened he stopped, still pulling and still silent and facing away from whoever had just walked in.

The side stopped in their tracks too. Still by the bathroom. Hand probably still on the door handle, hair probably still wet, eyes probably trying to communicate with their brain about what it is their seeing.

Because Remus had walked in on his brother on the floor which was devoid of tape. The tape of which he’d tried to convince his brother was the spot an invisible lazer beam would kill the first person that walked over it.

Because Remus had walked in on his brother while he was crying.

Because Roman never cried infront of him. Not since they had been kids and they’d learned to hate eachother once drawings of nightterrors and bloody zombies became ‘bad’ instead of just ‘creative’.

Because Remus was hurrying over to his brother now, falling onto his knees with a loud smack and feeling the carpetburn set in already as he shuffled closer, a hand outstretched as both a warning and a question.

When Roman shrugged his shoulder away from the hand close to it Remus nodded silently and let it drop to his side. No touching then. Alright.

“That bad huh?” He grimaced at the words. Too loud in the now deadly quiet room.

Roman simply let a hollow laugh echoe through it and Remus swore they’d never had an echoe before but then again their room changed all the time.

Like how the glow in the dark stars had changed into swirling galaxy above his bed and how Roman tore down his posters every month to rearange them.

Like how the white tape that had been there for years was now suddenly gone.

“Wanna talk about it?”

A short silence that stretched out just long enough for Remus to take another breath to offer to distract his brother instead when suddenly:

“I’m not his hero anymore.”

Remus saw it now, the outlines of the shattered mirror his brother had become.

He didn't like it one bit.

"I'm sure that's just good ol' Double D's messing with your head of course your his he-" "Janus."

Remus was silent then, slowly sinking down to sit infront of his brother, careful not to cross the now nonexistent line theyd set for themselves so long ago.

"Pardon?"

"He's called Janus. He told us so you don't have to act like you don't know his name anymore Rem. He told us. The fucker told us."

"That's... Good right?"

Roman laughed, the sound hollow and joyless, before muttering the most quiet 'yeah right' and letting his head drop again, still sitting in the middle of the room that used to be seen as two. The room that now lacked the devider.

"He called me evil." And there it was. The issue that Roman was struggling with the most, laid out in the open raw and ugly in the dim light of the room.

"Did he now? What'd he say exactly. Because, if I know one thing, it's that Dee only says shit like that as a joke or when something seriously messed up was said to him and I'm assuming the later didn't happen so-"

"I laughed at his name." Roman said numbly, the monotone voice nearly as terrifying as the one full of pain from just seconds ago.

"Well of course you did! It's a stupid name! It sounds like he's a middle school libr-" "Librarian yeah. I said the same thing."

Remus opened his mouth to speak again, to return to his way of comforting his brother which was distraction by blatant mockery.

But then...

"And that's the problem Re. That's the whole damn problem."

"What is?"

"He called me evil Re."

"I mean yeah you've told me already what you hit your head or some-"

"He compared me to you."

Ah.

Right.

That.

'Well fuck you too Ro!' Remus said. Only he didn't say that because what kind of a brother would he be.

Because Roman, after all these years, still didn't get it. Still thought of him as evil and himself as good. Still stuck in the black and white, the good and evil narrative that they were taught since they were able to count to two.

And oh Remus wanted to slap his brother for that. Wanted to give him a good shake and ask him who the hell he thought he was.

But Roman was crying at the thought of being compared to him.

And while that idea made him sick to his stomach, Roman was still crying. And he was still his brother, even if it ment being hated so viscously that the mere thought of being like him caused a breakdown this severe.

Even if his own brother seemed to want him gone.

"Then he's even dumber then his name Ro."

Roman looked up at that, snot and tears mixing under his nose and on his hand as he wiped it away. Looking pathetic as ever but the little spark of hope the sentence had created was present. And that's all he needed.

"Have you seen yourself? Of course you're not evil! You're basically prince charming except gayer! Ha! Can you even imagine an evil Prince Eric? Of course you can't because it's ridiculous!"

A huff of air from Romans nose then. And it wasn't quite a laugh sure. But it was a start. And Remus could work with just a start.

What he couldn't work with though, was no response beside just that puff of air. The silence in the room seeming to press down on him. Threatening to squish him flat like a pancake. Squashing him so hard that his eyeballs popped out and-

Right. Sad brother. Focus Remus focus.

"Hey I've got an idea."

-

Twenty minutes later and they stood in the imagination, his brothers eyes still red rimmed and he himself repressing the urge to make a comment about how it matched his colour scheme and how he should really put some blood splatters here and there for another pop of colour.

"Why are we here again?" Roman said into the cold misty evening. Slowly feeling his shoes soak up the water, his socks getting a bit wet.

"To scream." Remus said, gesturing towards the giant lake infront of them. The fog hanging low over it giving it both a mythical and horror movie esque feeling. Though with Romans current mood, horror movie was probably more likely.

"... To scream?"

"Yeah! I saw a man do that in a movie once after his daughter got killed by a man with a butchers knife. It looked awesome there was blood all over the kitchen walls and her head was-" "Don't spoil the movie for me Rem."

'Don't spoil it for me' had become Roman’s go to way of nicely telling his brother to shut the fuck up. Remus saw right through it of course. His brother would never watch slasher films after all. They made him have nightmares. But he appreciated the vague form of effort none the less.

"Just scream at the damn lake Ro. I didn't take you out here just so you could complain."

Roman looked at him weirdly, though decided that 'fuck it' seemed to be the mood he was going for today, stepped forward towards the edge of the lake, and screamed at the top of his lungs.

His voice broke several times while he did so. The scream sounding more and more choked up the longer it went on for, so much so that Remus started to wonder if his brother was losing his voice when he finslly fell silent and the quiet came back to press down on them.

Remus came to stand next to his brother, looking at him, at the tears streaming down his face and at how his eyebrows seemed to be trying to recreate the Nike symbol.

At how he was slightly shaking and standing just a smudge too close to the water.

At how his expression changed from pained to surprised to shocked when Remus pushed him into the ice cold lake.

At how this might be how he made his brother atleast a bit happy again. After a while of cursing and splashing around he got used to it, standing till his waist in the water and looking at his brother until finally he too jumped in, water splashing everywhere as he did so.

Roman snapped his fingers, the both of them now in diving suits rather than their normal outfits.

He ignored Remus his complains about how he'd rather swim naked as he came up to him and dunked his head under the water again. A fight breaking lose that had water splashing everywhere and curious woodland creatures come out of the woods to watch the two rulers of their kingdom seemingly get along for once.

Remus noticed how, after a minute or so, the deer suddenly fled. Not thinking much of it as he summoned a huge water gun and blasted it straight into Romans face.

Roman noticed, a moment later, how all the rabbits and squirrels and mice and rats fled aswell. Looking around for a moment but getting distracted when Remus summoned Poseidon trident to make a wave.

The twins both noticed how the birds also fled when the water began to ripple in a way that wasn't caused by them. How the water underneath them suddenly got darker as a huge shadow swam circles in the lake.

The both looked at eachother with wide eyes as they swam to the edge, summoning their respective weapons.

"Remus?"

"Hm?"

"Did you maybe forget to mention something when we came here?"

"I-... Mightve forgotten about me trying to recreate the log Ness monster yes."

"Wait, you made Nessy?!"

As if on queue, the giant seacreature emerged from the surface, scales glittering as the sunlight hit them. Green and blue and purple making for quite a beautiful image weren't it for the razor sharp teeth and monstrous features that came along with it.

"This is one hell of a way to distract me Rem." Roman said, rolling his shoulders as he held out his sword.

"... You're welcome?" Remus said, eyes flicking from the rip off Nessy to his brother and back as the monster growled and came closer.

"Alright then. Let's do this." Roman said, voice low and dangerous, bending his knees slightly as if preparing to dash away.

"Let's kick some ass!" Remus said. Surprised but not put off by this new development in his plans to cheer up his brother. If screaming at a lake would always lead him to a monster fight then he'd have to do this more often!

-

They set foot in their room four hours later. Both of them completely soaked, Roman wearing a small satisfied smile while Remus just looked grumpy.

They both flopped down on their respective beds, Remus his rat looking up in shock before quickly darting over to go and Greet its owner who just huffed and reluctantly petted the thing.

"That was fun." Roman said into the now quiet air.

"For you maybe! I had to watch how you 'calmed down' Nessy instead of taking part in the bloody fight I'd been hoping for!"

"Nessy did nothing to us she didn't deserve to get hurt."

"She nearly bit my arm off!!"

"Yeah? Well that's your fault for trying to poke her with your mace."

A strangely comfortable silence fell over the room then. And Remus began to slowly realise something. The realisation not quite there yet but almost.

Almost.

"... Thank you Rem. That was... Nice."

Ah. He got it now.

"Yeah well, at least I don't have to watch you cry on the floor anymore hm dipshit?"

"With how things are going, I think you'll see that more often than not. Asshat."

They both laughed, quiet and only partly sarcastic.

And Remus smiled into the quite. Pulling his legs up so his brother wouldn't see it.

"Hey Ro?"

"Hmm? You're not evil okay? He just said that cuz you hurt him a bit."

"Hmm. I should apoligise shouldn't I?"

Remus smiled again at that. Sitting up after he realised that he didn't mind his brother seeing him happy. Enjoyed it even.

"Oh I'm sure he'll show up at the door with a basket of fruit and a heartfelt letter next thing in the morning." Roman sat up too then. A small, unsure smile on his face.

And Remus realised he didn't mind seing his brother happy, either.

Enjoyed it even.

"And if you want. I can punch a little sense into him if he doesn't, and we'll go and look for another lake to scream at, how bout that."

"That'd be nice Rem."

And then Roman did something neither of them had done in a very long time.

He got up from the bed, brushing off his wrinkled clothes and, one step at a time, inched closer to the now non-existent barrier.

"Ro what are you-"

And then Roman was infront of him. On his side. Leaning over him slightly with his arms outstretched the tiniest bit.

"You're not evil either Rem. You never were."

Remus hadn't hugged his brother in over ten years.

But now here Roman was, carefully wrapping his arms around him after getting a nod of approval. Carefully tightening them and laying his head on his brothers shoulder. Squeezing him a little bit as Remus returned the hug hesitantly.

And nothing had been resolved. Nothing had been talked out or solved and things might only get worse before they get better but they were hugging and that was something at least.

And they'd been living in the same room for as long as they'd existed. Always there, always together.

And yet...

"I missed you Roman."

"I missed you too, brother."

-

This has been in my drafts for month I hope it's alright-ish at least.

-

-

Tags: @purp-man @sapphire-knight @ragingdumpsterfiremess @chronophobica @lance-alt @mylifeisadeceit @itriedandimtired 

[thiswasinevitableid]

#7? NSFW? Sternclay? Pretty please 🙇‍♀️

7: It’s our one year anniversary fuck how does one celebrate an anniversary of rivalry and one-sided devotion?

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts. 

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order. 

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal. 

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.”  He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.” 

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern. 

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints. 

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor. 

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche  but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish. 

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me--do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away. 

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“...Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks. 

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before. 

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and  arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.” 

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him. 

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained. 

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it's made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.” 

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.” 

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out. 

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold. 

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up. 

“Please, Barclay,  please.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?” 

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been spying on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.”  He lowers his head meekly. 

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it. 

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.”

“Wait, how can you know that.”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock. 

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment. 

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor. 

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries. 

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans. 

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, agent.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him. 

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH--shit that felt good--amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.” 

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips,  and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor. 

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response. 

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come. 

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.” 

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, yes.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet. 

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly. 

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”

[franklyshipping]

Love Never Gives Up On You ~ A Markiplier and Jacksepticeye Ego Fanfic

THIS IS A HECKIN WONDERUL ANON PROMPT THAT I'M VERY EXCITED TO WRITE! WARNING: THIS STARTS OFF WITH SOME ANGST REGARDING TOXIC AND UPSETTING RELATIONSHIPS, SO DON'T READ ON IF YOU FEEL THAT THOSE THEMES MIGHT AFFECT YOU! PRIORITISE YOUR OWN HEALTH PLEASE! Okey dokey LET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @silvlee-shepherd and @chase-brodlee

The only real sound in the room was laboured, rasping breathing. The only movement was that of a half-curled body, rocking back and forth and back and forth, never stopping. This is why the worst thing you can do if you're feeling even a little bit not good, is stew in your own thoughts. That's what Chase Brody was doing and let me tell you, he was NOT having a good time inside his own head right now.

It was official, he and Stacy were no longer married. The divorce had been finalised and all was said and done, Chase was in a stable living space with all the Septics too....but he honestly couldn't have felt worse about the situation. Up until right now, he'd never actually imagined what it would be like not being with Stacy anymore. He felt so empty....he even missed the fighting....because then at the very least she was talking to him. Most of all though, he missed his kids. His beautiful, innocent, smart kids who had none of their father's sadness or their mother's anger, they were just all perfect. Chase whimpered into his hands....he just wanted things to be back like they were, he just wanted his famil-'

'JACKIE-BOOOOYYY-o-oh my! O-Oh Mr Brody I-I am so sorry!'

Chase jumped and hurried to wipe his face when his door was opened at speed, by none other than Silver Shepherd himself, who evidently was looking for the heroic septic. Silver wrung his huge gloved hands awkwardly, since at the moment to him it just looked like he'd severely startled Chase. Chase averted his eyes, every thought in his head was wishing Silver out of the room.

'J-Jackie's in the gym, y-you'll find him th-there....'

Chase's teeth were gritted as he stammered, hoping he could hide his shit emotions for just a few more seconds, long enough for Silver to accept his words and just get out. However, whatever you might think of Silver Shepherd, if he sees even the slightest hint of distress or discontent he will fight it until it's not even atoms. Silver saw Chase's tension, his watery eyes, his blotchy tear-stained cheeks. Jackie-Boy Man could wait.

'Hey ah....are you alright? You don't look...well....'

Silver tensed when Chase let out a dry, joyless laugh before replying lowly.

'Wow, thanks, you r-reeeeally know how to s-sweet talk a guy huh?'

Silver nibbled his bottom lip nervously, before shutting Chase's bedroom door behind him and tentatively stepping further into the room, looking down at Chase as he spoke softly.

'L-Look uhm....if it's worth anything, I-I'm quite an unnoticeable person. B-By that I mean, if you were to tell me things, the odds of someone asking me about you is basically impossible...I'd never repeat anything you told me....'

Silver was getting closer to Chase as he spoke, and eventually decided to sit next to Chase on the carpeted floor. Now, Chase may not have been looking at Silver, but I can assure you that he was listening. With all the chaotic thoughts swirling around in Chase's head, the one thing he needed was just plain logic. And it was logic and honesty that Silver was offering him.

'I g-....guess that m-makes sense.'

As Chase sniffed and wiped his face, Silver decided to keep quiet. He knew that he needed to be careful and tactful with this situation of delicacy, and to do that he had to allow Chase to gather his thoughts at his own pace and without pressure. It didn't matter that Chase wasn't looking at him, what DID matter....was the fact that he talked.

'I-I've ah....just gotten divorced, from the person who a-always put me down and....made me feel like everything I ever d-did was wrong and never good enough....'

Silver's expression softened under his mask because, for reasons that will be addressed later, Silver knew before Chase even said it...that there was a but coming.

'But it....despite what everyone is saying, it just feels l-like I've made the biggest mistake imaginable. Y-Y'know she did love me! She always said I w-was cute a-and quirky! We were good together, and I was good at making her laugh and smile and she always looked happy when one of my trick-shot vids got loads of views, sh-she was proud of me!'

Chase was resolute as he wiped his eyes, and yet his shaky voice persisted. Silver felt a pit in his stomach grow as he saw it....as he saw Chase trying to defend her.

'I-I mean y'know, granted, i-it couldn't last I mean this is the real world! I could never actually s-support her off all of that, we had to prioritise, f-for family's sake! It was always just a stupid hobbie, I-I had to grow out of it eventually! A-And when the kids came along y'know, changes had to be made. I c-couldn't be a-around them dressed like a teenage thug, I had to be an example to them! S-Stacy was so good y'know, planning what we all ate s-so I never had to think about it, k-keeping track of my weight s-so I didn't risk my health around the kids....'

Chase said much more besides this, how even though Stacy would be stern, making sure his sugar intake was monitored, keeping track of his phone calls so the bill could be managed, always having the location on his phone turned on wherever he went so she always knew where he was in case of emergencies. And of course, making sure she always supervised if any of his septic family visited. They were weird she said, she had to make sure the kids were safe she said. Of course, with how much Chase loved Stacy, whatever she said he went along with...with all of his heart. As Chase talked, Silver felt sick. Sick that he wasn't closer to Chase so that he could fix all of this, but by God he was going to help in some way even if it killed him.

'....b-but I-I know all the things I did wrong now! I-I shouldn't have over-reacted and left I mean, sh-she was just always trying to look out for me and the kids and m-maybe if I can just see her again we coul-'

'Chase.....I-I'm sorry, may I say something? Is that okay?'

Chase swallowed, shakily exhaling at Silver's interjection as he glanced at the hero. Chase laced his fingers together and nodded, mainly because his mouth was so dry that it felt like it was going to light up on fire at any second. Silver exhaled through his nose as he thought for a few seconds....before making a decision. First, he slipped off his oversized gloves, setting them aside, before he pulled off the mask part of his costume. Once that was set aside, he smiled gently to Chase.

'You uh....y-you've just told me a-a lot about yourself, that takes a lot of strength, i-if that doesn't sound too cheesy. Uhm, w-with your permission, can I tell you a little about me? Just so it's more even, yeah?'

Through his slightly blurred vision, Chase looked over Silver's face. He was an Iplier alright, and Mark's face was a trusting one....but something about Silver's just had this innocence and....strange tranquility that made Chase want to focus. Another step away from the chaos.

'....yeah....a-alright.'

Silver smiles at Chase, before taking a few seconds to collect himself. This was going to be a raw conversation.

'I uh....I-I had a girlfriend once. She was funny, clever, a-and just more than I thought I deserved in a person....but uhm....she would say things, make comments about things....'

Silver fiddled with his fingers as he spoke, and Chase couldn't help but listen to him. When Silver trailed off, Chase sat up a little straighter, looking the hero up and down.

'What....what things d-did she comment on?'

Silver smiled dryly as he replied.

'At first, she said I was too fat, and that I was an idiot.'

'That's nasty-'

Chase's breath hitched in his throat as the words came out of his mouth, out of instinct. Because that's what happens when you see something bad happening to someone that isn't you....everyone's always faster to fight back when it's someone else. Chase bowed his head a tad, but Silver's smile was a little wider as he softly nodded.

'Yes....yes it was. It was nasty, it was cruel bullying, and it bordered on verbal abuse with how many times she reminded me of my weight and lack of brain cells....'

Silver let out a light, shaky sigh as he remembered it all, rubbing the back of his neck as he continued.

'But ah....well, I always thought she was looking out for me, she wanted me healthy and all that. Plus, she always told me that i-if I was really meant to be a superhero there were....certain things I had to be. I had to have strength, I had to hone my look for the public and....well, that was the basic gist of it all. I even ended up creating an ego of myself with a six pack of abs and the charisma of a book character....and she chose him over me.'

Silver never stopped smiling his dry smile as he said his piece. Chase swallowed as Silver then looked at him, his voice softening as he asked.

'What do you think? About all those things she said, all those things she told me I had to do?'

Chase sniffed harshly, feeling a pit develop in his stomach, since he was almost reeling from everything Silver had told him. Chase looked up a the hero as he replied, shakily, but with a certainty that made Silver feel that he was doing some good here.

'Nasty....sh-she was nasty to you, you shouldn't have had to change for her....'

Silver perked up at Chase's words, tentatively placing a hand on Chase's shoulder as he whispered.

'....that last bit....can you say it again for me?'

Chase was starting to feel new tears springing to his eyes. He knew where this was going, he knew what Silver was getting at....but thankfully, deep down, Chase wanted to get at it too.

'....you sh-shouldn't have had to change for her.'

Silver squeezed Chase's shoulder reassuringly, because he could see in Chase's eyes that it wasn't just Silver he was saying this for. There was a little silence between them now, where Silver watched and waited, and Chase repeated that phrase. Over and over again in his head until he had them blaring in neon lights in the front of his brain.

'H-How....uhm....'

Silver smiled reassuringly as Chase cleared his throat and moistened his lips, before muttering.

'How d-did you....get away from it?'

As Chase and Silver's eyes met, Silver smiled his biggest smile so far.

'My family. Do you know how many of them there are? I didn't....until they found out what I was going through, and then I got love and support from every single one of them.'

Chase let out a light laugh through his nose at the thought of about thirty people aggressively providing Silver with their support....and he smiled at the thought of how his brothers would probably be even more intense and wildly loving if he asked for their help.

'I....Ihi can kinda imagine that....'

Silver giggled, nudging Chase's shoulder with his as he replied.

'Oh yeah? I bet even one of mine could be wilder than all of yours put together, have you met Wilford Warfstache?'

Now, Chase could take things like insults and nastiness....but you question the wild energy of his brothers and you good sir have a storm coming. Chase felt himself smiling and playfully glaring at Silver's smug, challenging smile and thinking....game on.

'Have you met Antisepticeye? Dude he's feral!'

Silver spluttered and burst into giggles, but he was still determined to defend the absolutely crazy honour of his Iplier family.

'Yeheah well King LITERALLY lihives in a tree!'

Chase was giggling too now....things from earlier were not forgotten, they were just being marvellously overshadowed by all the good that Chase's true loved ones had to offer. Chase folded his arms resolutely as he pursed his lips at Silver, speaking matter-of-factly.

'Well Marvin spits at people who touch his crispy cereal, and Robbie communicates with nibbles instead of words!'

Silver sat up straighter, raising his brow and folding his own arms playfully.

'Well Bim is way more of a nibbler than Robbie is! H-He's obsessed with p-people with soft tummies....'

Chase grinned at that as he listened to Silver stammer and avert his eyes....and Chase just couldn't help himself. He poked Silver's spandex covered belly with a teasy grin.

'Awww does he target yooou? Poor little Silveeer!' 

Silver's eyes widened as he squeaked and covered his tummy, his eyes widening with embarrassment. Obviously he was overjoyed at Chase being so playful, but damn he already got targeted for tickles nearly every day at home and he was NOT going to let it happen now! He narrowed his eyes at Chase.

'....you shouldn't have done that.'

Chase grinned, looking Silver up and down curiously as he saw the hero's pink cheeks and narrowed eyes.

'Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?'

Silver smirked then, a smirk that you wouldn't fathom a superhero wearing, but I can tell you that Silver wore it scarily well. So much so that it made Chase gulp, especially when Silver leant closer and replied with a giggle.

'Ohhh I think you already knooow....'

Chase's eyes widened, and he let out quite a prompt squeak when Silver grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him into his chest, trapping him in a giggly hug.

'I looove cuddles, don't you?'

Silver had affectionately buried his face into the crook of Chase's neck, grinning as Chase giggled and struggled and became the far blushier one out of the two of them.

'N-Noho w-wahait c-c'mon I-Ihi ohonly pohoked you!'

Silver chuckled into Chase's neck, sending tickly vibrations down the man's spine as the hero kept his arms wrapped around Chase's torso. He was trapped, and all Silver's for the tickling, so Silver let the nuzzling begin as he purred.

'Ohhh but that was all it took Chase....that was all it took to bring forth my tickly vengeance!'

Silver growled dramatically as he nuzzled into the soft, sensitive skin that Chase had to offer as said man attempted to scrunch up and fight back. Emphasis on attempted. No matter how hard he pushed, Silver's hold on him remained strong, and with his face buried deep into the crook of Chase's neck....there was no way to block it now.

'N-Nohohoho stahahappihit stahahap! Ihihi'll g-gehehet yohou bahack!'

Chase spluttered amidst his mirth, attempting to fight back with his words since he knew Silver's strength surpassed his by a mile. His little threat merely made Silver giggle, before he developed a devious little thought.

'....are you threatening a superhero?'

Chase wriggled, getting chills down his spine at Silver's lowered tone. He got even more chills when he felt Silver smirk into his neck and growl.

'Because if that's the case....then that would make you a villain that I must vanquish!'

As soon as Chase heard Silver's words, his eyes widened and he started to formulate a reply saying that Silver absolutely did not need to vanquish him and that it was all a big misunderstanding. However, Silver didn't give him the chance to wiggle out of what he had planned, in any regard. Silver smirked and let his hands slip down to Chase's fleshy sides where he could attack them with the most evil squeezy tickles you have ever seen.

'NOHOHO NOHOHOHO PLEHEHEHEASE!!'

Chase threw his head back with his hysterical giggles before trying to curl up his upper body, but Silver had the talent of being a very dextrous fellow. He was rather adept at tickling you see....well, how else was he supposed to interrogate his regular villains, he couldn't very well HURT people! So Silver's torture method of choice was tickling, and as Chase was now realising, Silver very much made it into a torture.

'Beg all you want but I will NOT stand for villainy, no sir! And if that means tickling villains like you into submission then by heck I'll do it!'

Silver heroically spoke with his chest puffed out, his resolute fingers wiggling into and scratching Chase's sides non-stop. Chase tried to push his hands away, but every time he moved or shifted he just felt like he was exposing himself more, he was caught between wanted to attack and wanting to defend himself! Being caught in the middle like this meant he could do neither, all he could do was scrunch his red face up with flustered mirth.

'IHIHI'M NAHAHAT AHA VIHIHILLAIN!!'

Silver raised an eyebrow at that, letting his tickling fingers sneak under Chase's t-shirt to target his bare sides as he mused.

'Oh? Then why, pray tell, would you threaten a superhero such as myself?'

Chase shook his head as he squealed, kicking out with ticklish desperation as he cried out VERY preciously.

'IHIHI DIHIDN'T MEHEHEAN IHIT!!'

Silver grinned, fighting hard to hide how giddy he felt at having such a cutie at the mercy of his tickling. Chase was so cute in the way his face scrunched up when he was embarrassed, and how as time went on his struggling got weaker and weaker, which made it easy for Silver to keep on tickling and teasing to his villaino-HEROIC heart's content.

'Hmmm, how do I know you're not just saying that to get me to stop tickling you?'

Chase gasped as his giggles softened a little, since Silver had slowed his tickling so only his fingertips traced Chase's sides rather than wiggling deep into the flesh. Chase gulped and shivered, hurrying to stammer in a way that he hoped would sound believable because my goodness the tickling was breaking him.

'N-Noho I-I-I'm ahan h-honest person I-I'm t-tehelling the truth!'

Chase exclaimed with a whimper, trying to crane his head round to try and see if Silver was thinking about being merciful. Granted, Silver did think about it...however, there was something in his way that was preventing him from providing mercy. Amidst the tickly kerfuffle, Chase's t-shirt had ridden up and exposed Chase's stunning, ticklish-looking stomach. Silver couldn't resist. He leant in close to Chase's ear, and grinned with shining eyes as he whispered.

'Sorry....but I don't think I believe you just yet!'

Chase....absolutely....shrieked. Not only had Silver had the evil idea of blowing a raspberry into the crook of Chase's neck, but all ten of his devilish fingers had set about poking and scribbling all over Chase's stomach.

'AAHHH NOHOHO NOHO FAHAHAHACK!!!'

Silver gasped dramatically, scribbling harder as Chase writhed about hysterically; I mean, if that wasn't a villain's vocabulary then he didn't know what was!

'You rude little villain! Oh yes, I think some more laughter should wash that rudeness out of your mouth!'

Chase laughed and laughed for sure, arching his back as his limbs flailed about recklessly. His face was crimson and his eyes were filled with tears of mirth...even through the madness of the tickling Chase was still having thoughts. Flustering thoughts of his family, how Schneeple always reprimanded him about his cheeky mouth, how Anti and Jackie would gang tickle him until he wept with joy and nothing else....how they'd all make him just feel happiness, and nothing else.

'IHIHIHI'M SAHAHARRY SIHIHIHILVEHER EHEHEHEE PLEHEHEEEEASE!!!'

Chases laughter was flitting between different shrill pitches as Chase thrashed and weakly tugged at Silver's fingers. Silver kept up the tickling though, giving Chase's lower tummy a good hearty scratch as he mused with a grin.

'You've got a seriously tickly tummy haven't you? Does that tickle Chase, hmm? Does it tickle bad?'

Silver almost started to sound like Wilford fricking Warfstache with how much he was cooing, and that just pushed Chase over the edge of flusteredness. He was shrieking and bucking from the scratching and teasing, it was all he was thinking about, anything else that might have been in his mind before had been seriously overshadowed. 

'YEHEHEHES YEHEHES!!! PLEHEHEASE NOHO MOHOHOOORE!!!'

Chase whined through his desperate laughter, feeling achy already from the force of his own laughter, and thankfully Silver heeded his sweet begs. Silver's fingers drew away from Chase's tummy, making the man gasp and hug his abdomen as his residual giggles made him titter adorably. Silver kept hugging him though, Silver's hugs were inescapable.

'Ahalright, alright no more....for now at least.'

Silver snorted and giggled when Chase loudly whined into his shoulder....before his whines swiftly turned into little huffs and snores. Silver grinned and rooted around for his phone, before throwing out a text to his heroic septic companion saying that their planned mission for today was going to lean more towards snuggling rather than the scaling of buildings.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS FICCY LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

[beholdthemem]

Gwen: The gifted child mentality is bullshit.

David: I wouldn't say THAT.

Gwen: You wouldn't, but I would. Every time I hear a parent talking about their Gifted Child and all the programs and contests and after school shit they've put them in, I die a little inside. I just want to slap the shit out of them.

David: You're being awfully negative. If a child has a talent I think they deserve to feel special about it!

Gwen: Fuck, David, it's not feeling special it's- it's removing them from REALITY.

David: Oh, honestly Gwen-

Gwen: It's isolating them while putting twice the pressure and in the end it doesn't even help. They learn how to be the absolute best in a temporary environment and nothing else. It's not doing them a favor, it's bullshit.

David(Sighing): Gwen...

Gwen(Throwing up her hands in frustration): No, David, shut up. You want an example? You want to see what a gifted kid grows up into? Here's a fun fact about me: I have an IQ of 164.

David(Eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline): You WHAT?

Gwen(With a joyless half laugh): Shocker, right? 164. My parents nearly shat themselves when they first found out. I had straight As for YEARS and when I finally got around to taking the SATs I got two questions wrong on the entire thing-which, I might add, have since been stricken for being misleading. I graduated high school with honors... and then I went out into the world knowing NOTHING about life.

David(At a loss for words): That's...

Gwen: Truly nothing! I have had to figure out everything from scratch, by hitting the ground over and over, and making really awful decisions. I still do!

David: Gwen...

Gwen(Laughing harshly and rubbing her eyes): I make awful decisions! Like really, you know, really, REALLY awful decisions.

[curupiracue]

A Bunch of Unimportant Ramdomness

...That was odd.

It’s true that I, Ienorb Yenruoj escaped with my life thanks to a sudden evolution in my methods… However. There is something quite strange about these events.

First they wanted me away… And then I was attacked. And that person attacked alone: it took a while before those two went after me. A conflict of plans, of interests? Then the three were not working together.

That is good and all, but what about now?

If they didn’t know each other, then they’re definitely working together now. Almost a 100% guaranteed. But… Could it really be, a duo of incredibly powerful psychics discovering evidence of my crimes at the same time another psychic does the same? Or could it be that the second one was just passing by? That doesn’t seem very likely either…

Which means they probably did know each other, but there is some sort of conflict between them that stopped cooperation. Though, well, now that they experienced first hand the consequences of not working together, it might be that they decided to form an alliance… I really can’t say without knowing more.

“And I won’t be able to know more, because they’ve got me cornered in that sense...”

Thank goodness I decided to check that crow and kill it. I couldn’t really see much, but now that I know all about what’s presumably that woman’s construction, I understand my situation much better. Though I ran away, it should be the opposite: since the more time passes, the more they (or at least she) will discover about me, and the more at a disadvantage I’ll be, it should be best to stop them dead on their tracks right now.

Of course, I’m shaking in fear, quite literally. Perhaps because of that, I decided to give it a day or two. Thought it’s also because, if they’re working begrudgingly… then it’s possible that they won’t be staying together.

If so, there is my chance. All I need to do is go after those two… not only do I know where they live already, but I also admit that a bout against that woman is not something that I look forward to.

“But… If they prove too strong… Then I’ll need a plan b. And for that...”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

“...Wake up, sleepyhead.”

(dreaming...)

“Hey! Nim! Wake up already!”

AAAAGGHGGGGGHGHGHHHHHHHHHHHHRRR!!!

“Ugghhhh… What time is it…?”

“Doesn’t matter. It-”

“If it doesn’t, I can go back to sleep… ahhh...”

“...We have things to do.”

“Uuuuuh… Goddammit...”

Novalue sat in the bed besides me and caressed my hair.

“(sigh...) Come on. You’re taking even more time than I do getting out of bed.”

“Mmmm… fine...” I replied, feeling as if my head was about to burst open, and someone punched me in the stomach. Also, heavy eyelids, but that is SO cliché.

“Hey, Novalue, can you like, open the window?”

“Sure.”

His action was followed by the radiant rays of the sun, alongside a most pristine breath.

“...Lindíssimo!” I said, looking through the window.

“...Stop referencing Dom Casmurro and get out of bed.”

“Oook~ But like… What’s the thing we have to do again...?”

Novalue seemed as if he could facepalm, but then suddenly figured it would be too much of a bother, and just stared blankly at me before answering:

“We’re meeting up with Wims to hear ab-”

“Oh, fuck no!”

“Wh-”

“Yeah, you’re going alone. See- ciao, adios! Hell, why did you even wake me up?! For fuck’s sake! UGH!”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

...Unreasonable, as always. I thought, while reminiscing over the events of the morning.

...In retrospect, I should have seen this coming.

Well, not like I care.

“Yo!” I’m suddenly greeted by a familiar voice

“...Well, aren’t you in a good mood.” I turn towards it, finding Wims looking at me.

“Well, I don’t have to meet Mr. Imsogreat, so that is certainly a reason.”

“Oh, good. I thought someone had died.”

Wims grimaced in response:

“Mind your tongue!” She said, clearly having took umbrage.

“Journalism is the work of gods! To spread the truth is like a sacred duty passed through universities by those who had mastered it! Life is just one big flow of events, and a society is a flow comprised of all the minor flows of the people living on it! It’s impossible, IMPOSSIBLE I say, to be able to witness the TRUE flow of a society, even when looking at large scale events! However, if you look at the individual flows of enough people living in it, and sum them up, then you’ll be able to reach it! A complete understanding! It’s got nothing to do with merely looking for drama and polemic like a damn vulture!” She then promptly summoned a guitar Hallucinogen, and started playing it:

“We are the fourth power, we rule this world!”

“Ever since people started talking, everything has whirled!”

“But some may seek it, a truth most priiiistiiiiine!”

“And among all of these, I’m the indisputable queen!”

“Oooooooooh YEAAH!”

(Guitar solo)

“Just try and stop it, the endless flow!”

“Fucking hell, go ahead and make a row!”

“But sorry to say this is the status quo!”

“Compared to information, you’re all slow!”

“Slow slow slow slow!”

“To be a journalist, one must dare to be a badass.”

“And this is a test, that not all may pass!”

“Countless obstacles await you...”

“If you wish to be part of the highest class!”

“Journalism! IS! Awesome! Journalism! IS! Awesome! Journalism! IS! Awesome! Journalism! IS! Awesome! WOO-HOOO!!”

…Wow.

“Did you write the lyrics beforehand?”

“Course not, dumbass. I’m a goddess, no, more than that, I’m an entity gods and goddesses envy. Improvising these was child’s play.”

“Ugh… Please, just… stop. It’s bad enough when it’s Nim, but now I have to deal with another egocentric...”

“Bah. We’re different types of egocentric, sucker.”

“Yes, and I much prefer his.”

Wims glared at me for a moment before shrugging.

“Well, look at me. Can’t even stop myself from picking a fight with you. How am I gonna’ cooperate with you two like that? I guess it’s better to just skip straight to business.”

“Indeed.”

“So. I’ve been getting lots of suspicious activities with my crows, but… that’s all par for the course. When I go to read the memories of those involved with Film Tape, I don’t get anything related to the killer.”

“Don’t you know of a little thing called “privacy”?”

“Don’t you know of a little thing called “bullshit”? Anyways, I don’t really have much to report… though that in itself is a report. Seems as if the killer is scared of us.”

“I wouldn’t say that’s good.”

“Because it isn’t. But it’s not all bad either: I’ll find him, eventually, but surely. And without a escape route, he’s doomed.”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

I, Ienorb Yenruoj, am walking towards work.

...Then all of a sudden, I pass through a trash can, and slip on a banana heel, falling inside.

“WAAAAAAUGH! FUCK!”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

“Meaning… There are two worst case scenarios. ...If he manages to do something while you’re not looking… or if he decides to attack us suddenly.”

“The first case is possible, but too unlikely. He won’t want to risk himself, and if he does, it’s highly likely I’ll catch him, since I have crows at most points of interest of this city… As for the second one...”

...Yeah.

It can’t possibly work. The obvious counter-measure.

“If we stayed together, the killer would be the least of our worries.”

“Yuuuuup. Glad you’re understanding… Incidentally...”

“?”

“Can’t you track him?”

“...Even a homing missile needs to have a target set.”

“Pfff, useless as always.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

Unexpectedly, Wims seemed to feel a bit bad.

“Oh, come on. Don’t say that. You’re an amazing person, and not a dick.”

I simply shrugged. This wouldn’t lead me anywhere.

“There’s something else that I wanted to ask you.”

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a crow around us?”

“Nah, I don’t. Ni- that stupid little shit, I mean, already does the crow’s job, and probably better. Or… are you saying you two would need my help?”

“I wasn’t saying anything. I merely asked.”

“Hah. Well… anyways, I don’t have enough crows for that. I need to spread them out and keep them as sentinels at various points, as well as have them conduct ordinary research. Speaking of that, Shiva found a demolition man slacking off on his job to go have sex.”

“Why is that important?”

“Well, it tried to peck the guy to death, as usual, and I had to stop it.”

“...Again, why is that important?”

“Ah, whatevs. Go away, shoo. Gotta’ feed some crows.”

Craa!

“See? I bet Nim’s waiting for you, too.”

(Time passes...)

“Oh hey!” Nim greeted me.

He was enjoying the armchair while drinking what I think was grape juice. Though, once he saw me, he immediately went out of his relaxed position. Almost seemed like he would get up.

“I’m back. Nothing new, before you ask.”

Nim frowned.

“Man, c’est una desgraça. How much time will grand me have to wait before I get to the most awesome interview ever?”

“If I’m going to be honest…” I start saying while I sit in the armchair “I think you already did it that one time with radio host. You’re not topping that.” Nim perked up:

“Mm! True that. Hey, want some juice?”

“...You know I hate grapes.”

“...And I also know that my knowledge of the gustatory arts is ultimate and supreme. Here, drink!”

“Sigh… Fine- ! ...!” Nim suddenly forced the cup on my lips “...Huh. Ignoring you being you being you, that was actually pretty good...”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

“Viu? I told you, Novalue. Jeez, I’d figure eating my cooking every day would create an- H-Hey, don’t drink it all! I wanna’ drink too!”

“? You’ve already drank thou-”

“Shut up!” I picked the cup out of his hands and downed the rest of the juice. “Pronto! Nada más, nihil grape juice! Now let’s get to work!”

“It isn’t work, though?”

“Novalue, do you want me to defenestrate you?”

“Hah.” He gave his usual joyless, poker faced laugh “Should I start boarding up the windows?”

“No, you should start stopping the string of stupid dumb shit coming out of your mouth just to tease me!”

“Nah. You’re adorable when you’re mad. ...Well.” He added in consideration “Assuming you’re not ACTUALLY mad.”

“I am gonna’ be, if you keep this u-gah!” Suddenly, he hugged me.

“See? Not mad anymore.”

“...That’s cheating.”

“When you’re actually mad, this doesn’t work. So, not really cheating.” he said, letting go of the hug to my disappointment.

“Anyway…! We should get going. Though we don’t have a construction useful for this, we still need to prove our superiority! March!”

“Where to, though?”

I opened the door, jumped outside, opening my arms and laughing maniacally.

“Worry not, my little disciple! For I, the great Nim, whose greatness is uninterrupt, devoid of any and all transience, have a ploy that will breach the heavens, teaching to all who is the almighty being in this world, and striking a most deep fear in the depths of that vile killer’s mind!”

“...What’s your plan?”

“Secret~ Just follow meeeee~!”

I could tell Novalue was bothered, but he still followed me when I started walking.

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

I could tell that Nim could tell that I was bothered, and he probably could tell that I could tell that. Yet he still went on walking… Sigh… So selfish…

Well, for now, I might as well follow him.

On our way, we passed through a large building which I barely recognized. And just a few more steps afterwards, we came face-to-face with a man.

He was of average, though quite healthy build, with above average height. Blond hair and green eyes, the very epitome of bishounen, wearing an ordinary white suit, a striped green and red tie, a wristwatch and a horrified expression.

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

...Oh…?

This is…

“Hey, you’re the killer, right?” I asked. In response, the man dropped his jaw even more and ran away. “Yup, sure is~ So, Novalue, let’s drop the ploy that will breach the heavens, teaching to all who is the almighty being in this world, and striking a most deep fear in the depths of that vile killer’s mind and instead run after him!” I started running after the killer, but a hand grabbed me:

“Hold on. Shouldn’t we communicate with Wims?”

Communicate with her… Neither of us has her cellphone number (if she even uses one) and any psychic messages will be too flimsy and random: these can probably be intercepted by the killer, and he could even use them to pinpoint her location.

A crow? But, alas, there were neither a crow nor a drunkard in sight.

“Damn. Guess not.” Novalue said, having followed my train of thought and started running after the killer.

“H-Hold on!”

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

...Out of all the moments! Out of ALL the moments!

But then again… This could be good. I’ll have my opportunity to take them out. I might be a little inexperienced in combat, but I’m stronger than both of them. And inexperienced I may be, but uncreative I am not. Just wait and see… I won’t be running away to escape you… I’ll be running away to make sure you can’t escape me…

I already have a plan. And the first step…

...Is to enter this apartment building uninvited!

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

“Where is he?”

“D-Dumba-”

“Save your breath.”

“...He went... in there...” ...How… How the hell can people keep this up…?

“That apartment? That’s odd...”

We bust the front door open and looked at the attendant.

“Wher-” Novalue started.

“Upstairs, room 216” I finished for him.

“I know it’s efficient, but you sure are lax with mind reading...”

“Shuuush. He can’t... escape now...!” Then again… Why would he come here if he can’t escape? ...Better stay cautious…

We ran up the stairs, with me feeling like I would collapse at any moment, although, mercifully enough, room 216 was just after a turn in the corridor near the stairway. I could also feel a presence inside it, and the door was evidently unlocked. With that obvious fact, Novalue moved his hand towards the doorknob… but…

(The prism spins, and senseless light is reflected with a different sense)

I put my hand on the doorknob to open the door, but I am suddenly interrupted by a screaming Nim:

“Don't!” I looked at him to find his face filled with panic “That doorknob is a trap!”

I look back at the doorknob, confused, and find that the doorknob was actually a knife.

And looking back at my fingers, I discover that they were bleeding.

“...What...? ...He... Took out the doorknob, put a knife on the then empty hole and created an illusion…”

“Yeah... I only realized it because of the design. The door had a very distinct design that was quite famous 40 years back, but the doorknob, while following the design, was flawed. The lines were too thick, and it's body too big…”

Perceptive. But more impressively...

“...Though he could only do it because it was a small sensorial thing, he still infiltrated an illusion on our minds... What power... And this knife... Looks like a pretty sharp butcher knife. If you hadn't warned me... I might have lost these four fingers…”

“Yeah, no shit dumbass! Try and pay more attention for fuck's sake! I'd pummel your head in if that were any other situation!”

...Yeah, as if. Still, he's got a point... This serial killer is way more than I bargained for. I can't keep underestimating him...

“What? You worried?” ...though that wouldn’t stop me from having fun.

“I’m not worried! You should be worried! UGH, shut up!”

“Um, if you didn’t fall for my trap, can you get a move on? It’s not really time for romance and all, and I’m afraid I might end up being late to my night shift...” we could hear the serial killer’s voice coming from the other side of the door.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Oh, shut up!”

[minaminokyoko]

How about favourite captain America movies scenes?

WELL YOU ASKED FOR IT PAL.

The First Avenger

-Steve at the movie theater, telling that douche to shut up and getting his little ass kicked for his trouble. Oh, Steve. Goddammit, Steve. You are too pure and good and wonderful for all of us. I like that it’s both a good quality trait and a weakness for Steve that he can’t abide bullies and he’ll stand up to anyone even if all it means is he’ll just get the stuffing beaten out of him. Plus, Bucky stepping up to help his idiot best friend is so heartwarming it’s insane. I love that Bucky is just fucking used to Steve getting himself beaten up because he stands up to shitty men. That’s best friends for you. 

-Peggy punching the bejeezus out of Whatshisface in the troops’ first scene together. Oh, dear Lord. Where do I start? First, her telling him to step forward. Second, the completely placid look before she does it. Third, the fact that she puts his bitch ass on the ground no trouble. Fourth, Steve’s appreciative smile. Fifth, the General not even blinking that she flattened that douche. It’s just brilliant.

-Steve jumping on the grenade. Standing ovation. Steve is too good and too pure a cinnamon roll for any of us.

- “Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” This is the heart and soul of Captain America and Steve Rogers and I cannot stress enough how this is honestly probably my favorite scene of the movie. We follow this guy not because of the strength of his body, but the strength of his heart. Steve has all the heart.

-Bucky and Steve being reunited. The best bros just knock it out of the park. 

-Peggy’s reaction to Steve returning with all the captured soldiers. Seriously, it is the most NC-17 thing I’ve ever seen in a PG-13 movie. That smile Steve gives her and the smile she gives him right back is 100% code for “if we weren’t in the middle of this camp right now, I would tear your clothes off and fuck you to Jupiter and back.” It’s such a pure, awesome moment of sexual tension, and it’s done in such a classy way. I love that scene to death. They eye-fucked the shit out of each other and I adore the overwhelming yet subtle acknowledgement of what’s going on between them.

-Steve having a picture of Peggy in his pocket watch, and the fact that Peggy sees this during the little film montage. I want to scream. I LOVED the General giving her an amused side eye but not actually saying anything. It was a wonderful little nod to Steve’s reciprocated feelings for her. 

-Steve and Peggy’s kiss. Whyyyyyyyyyyy, Lord? Whyyyyyyyyyy? Why didn’t they get more time together?! They were so fucking cute and I know if they’d have gotten together, it’d have been amazing and wonderful and they would have been so happy. Dammit.

The Winter Soldier

Disclaimer: Legit, The Winter Soldier is arguably one of the best comic book movies ever made and it is taking so much restraint for me not to list the entire goddamn film as my favorite scene, because I love it from end to end. Gun to my head, I’d say my Top 3 MCU films would be this, Ragnarok, and either Avengers 1 or Avengers 3. It’s really hard to pick out scenes in a perfect movie.

-Sam and Steve’s introduction to each other. The sheer chemistry here is stellar. I was in stitches that Steve Rogers was just okay with teasing a total fucking stranger for no reason other than just lolz. I love that TWS starts out reminding us that Steve isn’t some humorless do gooder. He has a great sense of humor and he’s just a friendly guy in general, so they couldn’t have picked a better scenario to introduce their dynamic. I adore that opening scene, man.

-Taking back the ship. Fuck, dude. Talk about one of the best executed action scenes in the MCU. Everything from Cap racing around just laying those fucking dudes out on his own to Nat popping in to the absolutely genius execution of Cap vs. Batroc. Oh, if a film scene could get me pregnant, it’d be that one, man. I fucking love that entire damn sequence.

-Nick Fury vs. Hydra. I appreciate this simply because we saw some badass Nick Fury in Avengers, but this was a delightful addition to remind us that the man is the head of SHIELD for a reason. He is NOT to be fucked with. He is a very capable agent and held his own and it was awesome.

-The elevator fight scene. ‘Nuff said.

-Natasha confronting Steve with the flash drive. So this was the first moment where I knew I was going to ship Captasha/Romanogers until the end of time, regardless of the canon. I loved this interaction. Steve is frustrated and suspicious, and so is Nat, but they both find a common ground and realize neither one is actually the enemy. I especially love: “Bye bye, bikinis.” “Yeah, I bet you look terrible in ‘em now.” That snark tho. Cap is flawless, and there is a healthy dollop of sexual tension delightfully overlaid with this scene of him backing her up against a wall and then her showing some skin. Yas lawd. 

-Steve and Nat undercover at the mall. Not only is it just funny as hell and delightfully awkward, but it really shows off the great chemistry between the two of them. You’d think that with them being polar opposites that they’d butt heads, but they actually just complement each other extremely fucking well. Then there’s the exquisite escalator kiss. I mean, mm, did that look yummy. Even Steve comes out of it like, “well, damn.”

-The car conversation on the way to Jersey. I think that I would’ve only liked this movie, not loved it, if Nat hadn’t been there. I think Nat’s presence is what helped make this one of the MCU’s best films period. The honesty between them as they have probably one of their first real conversations getting to know each other is amazing. I adore this scene. I adore seeing them bond. “That’s a tough way to live.” “Good way not to die, though.” I think that is one of the best lines in the whole MCU, personally. 

-Recovering at Sam’s place. First off, the two of them sharing the guest room and bathroom says a whole lot of shit right there. It’s an implied intimacy. Then Cap walking over and just knowing in his gut that Nat isn’t okay, and just gently, gently asking her what’s wrong is so important to both of their characters. You get to see them go from coworkers to friends and from friends to good friends in such an amazingly short period of time that it’s so heartwarming. Evans and Johansson have worked on several films together, and this is definitely one of those things where they just play off each other so well from being friends in real life. I love the inflections. I love the close up on their expressions. I love how Steve is able to get Nat to lower her walls and just talk to him about how she’s feeling, and how she sincerely thanks him, and how she’s even a little scared when she asks “if it were down to me to save your life, and you be honest with me, would you trust me to do it?” and Steve emphatically answers, “I would now” and then smiles at her so sweetly and makes a little joke. I just…my heart, man. My heart. Steve and Nat’s relationship is possibly my favorite out of all the Avengers, and I should note that Chris Evans ships it and I am really happy about that fact.

-The Winter Soldier’s attack. Flawless. This fucking sequence is flawless. Getting to see everyone’s skills on display, and then capped with the emotional realization from Steve that his best friend is not only alive, but has been brainwashed and is trying to kill them, is just so great. Huge, huge kudos to Evans, Stan, Mackie, and Johansson as well as their stunt team and the choreographers, because it’s some of the most gorgeous, polished action I’ve ever laid eyes on. Especially Evans and Stan’s fight. Wow, that could not have been easy and it’s all them when there are close ups during the knife fight. I really appreciate them going HAM on that shit. It turned out beautifully.

-“But I knew him.” Yep. Let me die. Just let me die. Poor tortured Bucky’s memories surfacing at the sight of his best friend saying his name just tears me up inside. Ugh. Bury me. 

-Cap remembering Bucky’s words after his mother’s funeral. Bury me again.

-Cap’s speech to SHIELD after they arrive at the HQ. Hnnnnnnngh. I would die for Steve Rogers. Without question. This speech is why. He knows that he might die trying to stop Hydra, but he gives those people the choice to do what’s right at great cost, and he believes that they will do the right thing, and he’s absolutely right. I had mentioned years ago that this is why the DCEU’s current Superman has failed; that trait, believing in people despite evidence pointing to the opposite, is what make Cap and Superman two American icons. This is why we rally behind them as characters. Because they believe in us and they believe we are worth protecting. It’s a fucking shame the DCEU writers don’t understand that and have forced a decent actor like Henry Cavill to be a morose, joyless, brooding Superman, and don’t even try to tell me they “fixed” him in the JLA movie, because they retconned it and thought that did the trick, and they were wrong. What Cap said in that speech is precisely why he is as great a man as we’ve all come to love over the years. It’s nothing short of incredible.

-The entire ending helicarrier sequence. Good to the last fucking drop, man. Everything about it is flawless. Especially “You’re my mission!” “Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” Cue me screaming and crying and clawing down my curtains. Bucky pulling Steve from the river turns me into an absolute wreck of emotions. 

Civil War

-Cap consoling Wanda after the bullshit news report. Man, fuck the whole ass world for that reaction, by the way. Wanda saved that entire marketplace full of people, but she still got blamed for intervening anyway, and we know Crossbones would’ve killed countless people if they hadn’t stopped him, so you can all fuck off. But what I really like about this scene is Cap’s almost fatherly concern for her, knowing she was still recovering from the pain of losing her twin brother not too long ago. He understands the loss and the pain she feels and knows that she has doubts about herself and he’s there to assure her he doesn’t blame her, if that is any consolation. Cap is so conscious of her needs and emotions that it’s extremely touching to see, even though the scene is brief.

-The team going over the Accords and choosing sides. This was very well done, as everyone’s reactions are very interesting. I personally don’t see how the hell anyone could be Team Iron Man, but that’s just me. I at least like that Tony’s actions are justified in that he has been trying so hard this whole time to do the right thing, but it feels like the harder he tries, the more awful things become until he’s left with no good choices at all. I feel for him. So much. I feel for Cap as well knowing that about Tony and yet being unyielding in his feelings about the Accords.

-Nat comforting Steve at Peggy’s funeral. Cue gross sobbing. Damn, this is why I ship Captasha so hard. She tells him that she’s pretty much going along with the Accords for the sake of keeping their little family together if possible, and Steve sadly tells her he can’t do it, but she already knows, and she’s just there to support him. That’s love. You can debate if it’s platonic or romantic, but that scene is just pure love between Nat and Steve. She is there for no other reason than to hug her friend and check on him and make sure he knows he is not alone in this awful time in his life. It’s by far one of the most touching scenes in the entire MCU. 

-The death of T’Chaka. Oh my God. Give Chadwick Boseman all the awards. How did we become that emotionally attached to him in such a short amount of time? Wow. I mean, wow, was that powerfully acted. 

-Nat warning Steve not to intervene. Again, you can’t tell me these two people don’t love each other. She’s so worried about him, and even Sam acknowledges that she’s not wrong to want them to stay out of it since they’ll now get arrested. 

-Everyone chasing after Bucky. Hnnnnnngh, yes please, this shit was awesome. Especially Cap and T’Challa racing over moving fucking cars and Bucky snatching that motorcycle mid-air. I love that scene with all my heart and soul.

-”So, you like cats?”

-Bucky’s escape. Seriously, the Winter Soldier is not to be trifled with. Holy hell, does he put everyone through their paces.

-Tony recruiting Peter Parker. And now we have it, the shining crown jewel of Tony Stark’s development as a character, in the form of a tiny adorable baby he adopts to fight a ninety year old veteran. I know, right? I never expected that Tony recruiting Parker would be anything like what we got and yet it’s by far one of my favorite relationships in the MCU. It’s so genuinely cute and sweet and the word choice during that scene in Parker’s room is very important from a character standpoint. “When you can do what I can do, but you don’t, and then the bad things happen…they happen because of you.” Without saying it out loud, they were able to convey what happened to Uncle Ben, and that’s really good storytelling, man. You see this kid is hurt and blames himself and he will do anything to make up for his sins. Tony is even touched by it. Plus, the humor in that scene is awesome and it’s so warm and evident that RDJ and Tom Holland really got along and had chemistry.

-Recruiting Scott Lang. It’s so brief, but that fucking scene puts me in stitches every time, especially Paul Rudd’s improv of grabbing Chris Evans’ shoulders when he sees just how goddamn built and cut the man is. I thought that was genius. It’s so perfect.

-”Can you move your seat up?” “No.”

-The airport fight scene. Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. This is so good. For so many reasons. How it’s staged. How it starts off quiet and it slowly builds tension. How Tony is so hurt that Cap appears to be choosing Bucky over him, how Cap is protecting him, how Tony absolutely doesn’t want to fight his friend and yet they are on opposite sides anyway. “You’re gonna come with us because it’s us.” The utter desperation in Tony’s eyes when he almost begs Cap to turn himself in is so heartbreaking. It kills me, man. Emotions aside, I simply love all the fights and the various match ups. Especially Spidey versus Bucky and Sam (”Couldn’t you have done that earlier?” “I hate you.”) and Spidey versus Cap (”That thing does not obey that laws of physics at all!”) and Spidey versus Ant Man. It’s all so glorious.

-Nat stopping T’Challa from getting to Bucky and Steve. It’s raining on my face. “You’re not gonna stop.” “You know I can’t.” “I’m gonna regret this. Go.” It’s so important. It’s so important, y’all. Nat chose Steve when it mattered most and I ship them until my dying breath.

-“Vengeance has consumed you. It is consuming them.” All the awards, Chadwick. All the motherfucking awards. 

-The final scene of Steve walking up to Sam’s cell. There’s just something about the playful confidence and determination in his expression that despite how sad the ending is that Tony and Cap are no longer on speaking terms that it gives you just a tiny flicker of hope that maybe things will be okay for Team Cap. 

Well, there you go. Cap and Thor are currently tied for the top spot in my heart of Favorite Avenger, hence all the word vomit. Sorry, not sorry. 

[its-love-u-asshole]

Twelve Hours [Ch. 1]

Pairings: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei

Summary: Kuroo Tetsurou has dealt with a lot since he was eighteen, each year bringing the same depressing challenges on the same depressing night. He expects this time to be no different, but the universe is trying desperately to prove him wrong in the most bizarre ways imaginable. So screw it, Kuroo’s only choice is to buckle in and hope he doesn’t die. Easy enough. And hey, with some new allies at his side, maybe he has a chance. Who knows? At least Kuroo is sure of one thing in life when it comes to March 15th, and he stands by this unwritten law, no matter what happens:

If you try to kill pizza delivery boys on Purge Night, you’re irrevocably a bitch. 

Rating: T

Tags: Purge AU, mentions of violence but nothing graphic or too bad, no character deaths here okay, this is borderline crack and idk what I was thinking, first meetings, other characters, shenanigans and just...a lot of fun (it seems angsty but its not)

Note: I said I had a new weird au and I do not lie. This au....is so fun to write lmao I got the inspiration from a writing prompts blog (they always work wonders, I swear) and I'm so glad I actually sat down and produced this, no matter how crackish it is lol. I hope everyone enjoys! I already have 2 more chapters written so 'm going to try and be frequent with the updates (as much as I can anyways), so expect those every other week ^^ Thanks to @emeraldwaves for reading this over! 

AO3

Sec. 175. In accordance with national law and employment regulations, no government corporations, hospitals, schools, or select businesses are to remain open on the night of the annual Purge. Should a private chain or entity choose to conduct themselves, all labor codes must be adhered to, and employees are to be compensated with a wage fifty times the normal hourly rate, as well as provided with basic equipment needed for protection. Any businesses found to be neglectful of such policies will be examined and penalized.

--

March 15, 2020

1:00 PM

6 hours until the Purge

"Shit."

A shrill, joyless tune rang through Kuroo's room, and his eyes snapped open. His first mistake of many.

The sound of his alarm and his general grogginess had him rolling right out of bed and onto the floor in his piss poor attempt to reach for the snooze button (for real, how had he fucked that up?). His limbs acted like hooks, bringing his bundle of blankets and pillows down with him.

It wasn't that different from a regular morning, in truth. The only difference was that this time, he was ashamed by how late he'd managed to sleep in.

Kuroo prided himself on being an early riser. He had his good name to defend. At this rate, even Bokuto would be up and about (or in the midst of his first nap), that log.

"Dammit," Kuroo muttered, reaching up to silence his phone. The end of the stupid ringtone didn't end Kuroo's suffering. The sun shone through his window, making him squint, and that, along with his mind beginning to power on, reeling with dates and to-do-lists, became far too much stimulation for the morning.

Er...afternoon.

Kuroo sprang up, unaware he'd collapsed the previous night in such exhaustion he hadn't been able to pull his jeans all the way off his legs.

The result? He fell face first onto his unvacuumed carpet once again, and okay, out of all the days of the year, this was not the day for him to be so clumsy. It probably hadn't been a good idea to work a double shift the day before at the pizza parlor, but there was a gaming console he really wanted (not to mention his strong desire to keep his savings growing), and he was so close to being able to afford it.

And make no mistake, Kuroo didn't like stealing, sanctioned crime or no sanctioned crime.

So he was saving up, like a high schooler or something. Oh well, it beat the alternative...

On autopilot, Kuroo fumbled for his remote, groaning as his hand touched something mushy.

Oh god. Gross. Gross and weird, what the fuck--

Clearly, some spring cleaning would be in order for tomorrow. The world ‘tomorrow’ made his heart stop for a second in fear of the unknown, but he got over himself quickly. He had to. Today he just had to.

After some deep breathing, he managed to pry his eyes open enough to find what he was looking for: the remote. Switching on the television, because that's what he did on a normal day, he couldn't help but groan at his mistake.

Routines could be his downfall at times, especially when his television automatically turned onto the news station. He should really know better by now…

This was the one day where he preferred to not watch the news while he got ready. Kuroo would've much preferred some B movies, or even better, a documentary on how to make soap.

Not caring enough to switch the set off, he threw the remote to his bed, and waited for the coverage to begin. No point avoiding it now. In the meantime, he figured he really needed a quick rinse, and a good brush through his hair (it wouldn't look any better afterwards, but it was the thought that counted).

Kuroo had to return to work by five anyways, as was policy. Even though the pizza place he worked at wouldn't start accepting orders until the start of the Purge, they had to be there to lockdown, take inventory, prepare their cars, and get their gear on.

So basically, Kuroo would have to get gas, organize his artillery, and make lunch all before then.

I want ramen...no...fried chicken.

Fuck it, he was getting paid fifty times his usual wage tonight, he could afford to treat himself to both.

The news logo flashed onto the television, gaudy and bright. On screen, two anchors sat, the countdown clock framed innocently in the upper right-hand corner.

"Good afternoon and thank you for joining us on the eve of our nation's 7th annual Purge! I sure hope everyone is excited. What should we be expecting from tonight Kudobera-san?"

Before closing the bathroom door, Kuroo glanced back, catching the far too cheery smiles of the news anchors giving their annual spiel.

"Well Takigawa-san, we expect a much higher turnout than last year. However, reports show that a lot of businesses have upgraded to new top of the line security systems. It'll be interesting to see how these changes will affect the crime rates tonight.

"But in celebrity news, idol Fuwa Reiko's Purge bash is said to have a guest list of over fifty people this year, and prizes will include..."

Kuroo rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest bath towel, and shutting the door.

--

The Purge began when Kuroo was eighteen years old, and it was truly a terrifying and horrific time and blah, blah, blah, blah...

Yeesh.

Look. Kuroo could go on and on about the corruption and politics surrounding the Purge and how it came into being. He could then spend another few hours about how it ended up impacting him personally. His newly formed anxiety, his suppressed fears, the fact that many people he knew and met sometimes didn't survive the year.

Very grim stuff. No fun.

Tonight wasn't about any of that, and Kuroo wasn't going to waste time on detailing the Purge and all the blood-chilling and fucked up things which happened during it.

No one had time for that.

And yeah, one day Kuroo dreamed he'd be rich enough to move away from this cursed nation, safe and healthy with all his friends without the Purge looming over him every month until March rolled around.

But, it was not the time for escape quite yet, so Kuroo refused to dwell on the subjects of blood and gore. No time to reminisce over his childhood, no reason to recount his tragic backstories or feelings on the matter.

Not tonight. Maybe next year.

Tonight, he had a twelve-hour shift, and he was expecting to be paid well.

The point of all this? (Aside from the gaming anyways...) Simple. In order to one day achieve his dream, and keep himself alive until then, he needed money. Purge night, as shitty and immoral as it could be, let him earn enough money to cover three months’ worth of rent. That was without tips too.

That was his only focus.

So in short, in order to keep himself sane, Kuroo worked hard, and had no problem with diverting his internal angst into jokes at any given moment.

Liiiiike now.

Kuroo kicked open the door to Bokuto's bedroom, where he was still cuddling Akaashi against his chest. One of their infamous afternoon naps. How cute.

They were sickening. "Hello naughty children, it's murder time!"

The couple jolted awake, and while he might deny it later, Bokuto totally screamed. Kuroo smirked as Bokuto flailed on the floor, reaching for a nearby water gun to defend himself.

Given that Kuroo knew Bokuto was quite skilled with actual guns, it was a sight to see.

Akaashi glared at Kuroo from the bed, eyes full of pure, empty disgust, like Kuroo was a dead bug on the windshield of Akaashi’s life. Kuroo's joy was not deterred, and in a sudden moment of bluntness, Akaashi uttered his first sentence of the day: "Kuroo-san, I hate you."

"Is that any way to treat your best friend who woke you guys up in time for your flight?" Kuroo wiped his fake tears, gesturing to the bundle of suitcases Akaashi had packed dutifully two nights prior.

"I had an alarm set--"

"And your best friend, who made you guys lunch and drives you to the airport every year," Kuroo continued, not willing to wilt under Akaashi's piercing stare. Bokuto stayed on the floor, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes.

Kuroo could defend himself alright? Being a cunt was a defense mechanism he used so he wouldn’t just start fucking crying all over how much he loved his friends on the worst day of the year, so he was sticking with it. They knew of course, but maybe they didn’t say anything for Kuroo’s sake, and he loved them for it.

Akaashi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he channeled his inner anger management guru. Kuroo liked to poke fun at the fact that maybe Akaashi needed to purge more than anyone, but they all knew the raven abhorred violence.

Well, most of the time.

Without another word, Akaashi chucked a pillow directly at Kuroo's face (with impressive force he might add), and Bokuto became aware enough to tackle Kuroo to the ground two seconds later.

And though Kuroo whined and complained, eventually crying his surrender after Bokuto had him pinned down long enough, he couldn't help but smile at how much he cherished these moments.

Bokuto and Akaashi would only be gone for a week, but he would miss them. They always picked the time of the Purge to take their yearly vacation.

It was...better that way.

They could afford it too, being players for the national team. Bokuto got nervous and overly protective whenever the Purge rolled around, and though Akaashi wouldn't admit it, they were both scared of ever being remotely close to a situation in which they might lose each other.

So, they decided to travel to a different country every time the heinous event rolled around, one where the Purge had no weight or influence.

As Kuroo made them their pancakes and helped them with their bags, he couldn't help but doubt himself, like he did each year.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us Kuroo, we can still get you a ticket, we can figure something out!" Bokuto's concerned look almost had Kuroo giving in. He slammed the trunk, putting Bokuto's suitcase down next to him.

The airport was never that crowded on Purge night. Guess people trust their security systems enough to not leave the county.

The couple never failed to offer Kuroo a ticket. They cared about him, didn't like the thought of him not being safe. Kuroo agreed. That's why he'd begged his family to move out of the country years ago, why he encouraged Bokuto and Akaashi to leave around this time as well.

But Kuroo...Kuroo was stubborn.

He hadn't finished school yet, and his savings weren't where he wanted them to be. When he moved, he wanted to be secure. Plus...Kuroo could be kind of dumb about these things. He got a twisted sense of pride when he survived Murder Night™ every year, even more so now that he chose to work during the event.

Yeah...that was a whole different story.

Kuroo shook his head, smiling easily. "We've been over this man, you don't have to worry about me. I refuse to die."

Akaashi curled his hand around Bokuto's before the other could begin to protest. Akaashi disagreed with Kuroo's decisions too, but he knew arguing got them nowhere. "You are like a roach."

Kuroo stumbled back, as if punched. "Ouch. I'll try to take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"Akaashi."

They all laughed, and as the clock struck four, he watched them disappear into the airport, after a painful, drawn out embrace, waving at him one last time.

He smiled through his misty eyes, and couldn't help but feel relief knowing they'd be far away by 7 PM.

--

Now generally, it was pretty agreed by all that during the Purge, people shouldn't target delivery boys. Out of all the people to kill, you're gonna go after Papa John? Get fucked.

Who the hell was shitty enough to murder some sad minimum wage worker?

Well, a lot of people actually. People were cruel during the Purge, that was sorta the point. But, in Kuroo's experience, the freaks with knives and masks would often overlook him and his crappy pizza delivery uniform.

Some things were worse than death, they probably thought.

Kuroo wouldn't complain. The less trouble for him the better. While he did occasionally have to fire warning shots and rev his car at people who were a bit bolder and more bloodthirsty, he stayed fairly safe.

Or as safe as one could be, surrounded by crazed people wielding machetes. He was more than fine with ignoring the screams and explosions by turning up his stereo to inhuman levels, bottling up his inner hero.

Because in reality, Kuroo had never managed to shake his core beliefs, no matter how fucked up the system was. He was honest, valued good work ethic, respected his elders, all that jazz.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou was the guy who helped old ladies cross the street. Definitely not someone who should be working during the Purge. But, well, his mother always told him people would underestimate him if given the chance.

Kuroo's natural instinct was to defend, to protect. However, during the Purge, it simply wasn't practical, and he was forced to hate himself for it later.

At least he had Matsukawa and Semi to keep him company.

"Happy Murder Night, would you like to hear about our specials?" Matsukawa deadpanned as Kuroo walked through the front door of the parlor. The blast shields were already up, and the shop was technically closed. The only occupants of the booths were his fellow coworkers, the other people insane enough to be working that night.

Semi rolled his eyes, greeting Kuroo without a polite nod. He assumed Kyoutani was in the back, making breadsticks. Again, normal day, if he didn't count the various rifles and bulletproof vests spread out on the counter. Backup measures, in case somehow, the titanium doors were broken down.

Kuroo laughed, walking over to where Matsukawa sat perched behind the register, and picked up the vest with his nametag on it.

So much to do, so little time.

He clipped the vest on securely, holstering two of the guns and a knife.

"I don't know how this place stays in business," Semi muttered from where he polished the counter. "Why would people order pizza on the most dangerous night of the year?"

"You say that as if we don't get at least ten or so orders every year," Matsukawa reminded.

"Robbing and plundering does work up an appetite," Kuroo agreed.

"Like you'd know," Semi said with a snort, throwing the dirty dish rag at Kuroo's face. All this disrespect today.

"Hey, I'll have you know, I once stole a bag of chocolate coins from the discount store." Kuroo crossed his arms, his grin wide and triumphant.

Matsukawa squinted, tapping his hands on the bright red countertop. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

"..."

"Did you cry afterwards?"

Fuck.

Kuroo said nothing, and Semi looked two seconds away from laughing his ass off. Wankers. All of them. Nothing but wankers.

"I'll take that as a yes," Matsukawa said, ducking just in time to avoid Kuroo's headlock.

It was at that moment Kyoutani made himself known, asking if Kuroo had ever done jail time for a crime so heinous.

"You've got jokes now? What's the world coming to?" Kuroo cried, falling to his knees.

"Given what day it is, should you really be asking that?" Semi said, and man, too far.

They all stared at each other, letting the dark foreboding and realization settle over them. The thoughts sprang up like they always did, violent and despair-riddled, before Kuroo defiantly squished them down.

Then, they all broke out into laughter, the kind which brought tears to the eyes.

Yeah, the Purge was fucked up, but it brought them closer together.

And honestly, grease stains or not, Kuroo was glad to wait out the Purge in the company of these assholes.

After all, it was the best he was gonna get for now.

--

Kuroo's car was geared up and ready to go.

The delivery vehicle given to them for Purge night only opened from the driver's side. The rest of the car was plated with a lightweight metal, armor essentially. The front behaved more like a battering ram than a hood, in case of extreme circumstances, like having to get through a crowd of attackers. The mirrors were shatter resistant, and the tires were as slash and puncture resistant as possible. Still, the car came equipped with a set of spares just in case.

They kept the car in a special fortified garage which was only accessible through the parlor. The garage door into the parlor locked every time it was closed, a security measure for if someone tried to break in while Kuroo was leaving for a delivery.

All in all, Kuroo felt safe at his workplace. Outside though...he didn't trust anything, and for good reason. Better safe than sorry.

After helping with food prep, checking the car's interior, and filling up the tank, hours had gone by. Looking at his clock, Kuroo's heart skipped a beat.

6:50 PM. Ten minutes until the Purge.

Dread coiled in his gut for a moment before it was gone. Kuroo never got used to this, but he knew what to expect now after seven years.

"Kuroo c'mon, time to get inside," Semi said, poking his head through the garage door. Kuroo was technically safe in the garage but...they just liked to all be together during the opening broadcasts.

Taking a deep breath, Kuroo followed after him, just in time to catch the start. The large flat screen in the dining area which usually played sports games and cheesy commercials lit up blue, the emergency broadcast text slowly beginning to scroll up the screen.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by your government. Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when The Purge concludes. May God be with you all."

The classic pause.

The silence.

Kuroo never got why there had to be the brief stall before the alarms began, but he despised it. Everyone in the parlor remained stone-like as the chilling sirens began echoed in the distance. They were ghostly almost, unreal, like a thick fog no one could escape from. Sometimes, Kuroo could hear them in his dreams, and he’d wake up with two pillows pressed against his head, as if trying to block the sound.

Kuroo couldn't help but laugh bitterly to himself.

Guess the walls aren't that thick.

As the sirens began to fade, none of them moved. Yeah, it never stopped being sort of surreal. They waited for the telltale crash of store glass or gunshots in the distance, but for now, things had yet to get into full swing.

Or so they'd thought.

Life was weird and unexpected. That much Kuroo knew. But if someone had told him all the twists and turns he'd go through over the course of the next twelve hours, he would have laughed in their face.

He'd be wrong though.

Now, it wasn't abnormal for them to get orders later in the night, usually from families waiting out the Purge or from rich assholes throwing Purge parties. Kuroo didn't get it, and he didn't appreciate the calls, but it was his job.

But again, the calls normally came later. Like, much later.

So when the phone on the counter started to ring not even two minutes after the sirens stopped, only Kyoutani managed to find his voice through the shock of it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

[euphxmia-pxtter-blog]

The Prank (a Marauders/Wolfstar fanfic; BPD!Sirius)

trigger warnings: abuse mention, self harm "James! JAMES!!" The desperate, terrified voice pierced through the silence of the dormitory like a razor blade. A moment later, the door banged open, revealing a wide-eyed, sweat-soaked, shaking Sirius Black. "I... Oh god, James, I really messed up." He wanted more than anything to explain himself, to explain why he did what he did, but there wasn't time. "Snape k-knows about the tree- how t-t get past it- we've gotta stop him!" James and Peter, both sitting on their beds, jumped to their feet. "Peter, you tell Madam Pomfrey what happened, in case he gets injured. Sirius, just stay here; don't move a muscle. I'll take care of it," James said quickly before racing from the room. Peter followed him out. The door swung closed behind them. Sirius just stood there. He stood and stared at the door. His heart was still beating fast, but- having delivered his message- he was left frozen in a state of shock. He couldn't process, he couldn't understand. /'What have I done?'/ he thought dully. /'What have I done, What have I done, What have I done?'/ And then, predictably, the voice in his mind answered, /'You betrayed Remus. And you might have killed someone.'/ With that thought- that enormous, almost incomprehensible thought- something inside him broke. His stomach constricted. He sunk to the floor, bringing his legs up to his chest and covering his head with his arms, as if this meaningless gesture could somehow protect him from his own actions. His lungs burned. His head spun. He didn't understand how this had happened, how he could have told the secret he'd sworn to protect with his life. His limbs shook violently. He was a traitor, possibly a murderer. Briefly, he thought, /'They'll all hate me now,'/ but that didn't matter right now. There was so much worse that could happen, and he had lost the right to care about what would happen when /his/ world came crashing down. Even if Snape didn't die, even if James arrived in time to save him, he would tell. Snape would tell everyone that Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Everyone would turn on him, fear him, hate him. He'd be in danger. Dumbledore would have no choice but to expel him, and he'd never have a job, a life. And it would be Sirius's fault. He would have single-handedly destroyed the life of the one person he cared about the most, the one person he would most gladly die to protect, the one that he- No. No, he had no right to even think those words. Not now. He sat in silence for what felt like years, but was likely only hours. When the buildup of pressure under his skin, waiting for the others to return, became too great, he got up and paced. When that didn't help, he started pulling his hair. The sharp prickles on his scalp helped distract him, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. So he started scratching. He dug his fingernails into his skin and raked over the same spot again and again, wincing through the pain and wearing away the outer layer of skin. He didn't bleed, but the skin left behind was pink and dotted with red not quite at the surface. It stung like a burn. Sirius's mouth curved up in joyless satisfaction. He started again in another place. All those overwhelming feelings began to ebb and recede, until all but a dull, throbbing ache in his chest was gone. He felt empty, hollow. The void was all he knew, and it was a horrible, twisted kind of safety that he found there. He returned to his curled-up position on the floor, but now he just stared blankly at the floor- pulse steady, arms slack. Eventually, he heard footsteps, but he didn't move. He heard a voice outside the door- Peter's- ask, "What do we do?" He heard James's muffled response but couldn't make out the words. He didn't move. The door opened, and both boys entered. Sirius's eyes flicked up to their faces. "So?" he said tonelessly. For half a second, James's brows furrowed in anger at the nonchalance in his voice. Then he seemed to notice the wild hair and unfocused eyes. His eyes drifted down in what was now instinct to check Sirius's arms. His eyes widened a fraction when he saw the marks, and his tone was significantly softer than it might have been as he said, "Snape's fine." Sirius nodded. He knew he would feel relief about this later, but right now he just waited to hear more. "Moony's okay too," Peter said quietly. "Dumbledore convinced Snape not to talk; I don't know how." At this, Sirius did let out a minuscule sigh. Even in his numb state, he was worried about Remus. "He won't be expelled?" he asked. "No." "And has he turned back yet?" "Yeah, an hour ago. He's in the hospital wing now." James crossed the room and sat beside his friend. Peter crouched at their feet. "Why'd you do it?" James asked simply. "I got mad," Sirius answered. God, it sounded so stupid now. "He- Snape, I mean- he caught me in the hallway, started talking about Regulus, then making cracks about my home life. 'How did a precious, rich Pureblood like you end up so fucked up? What, did daddy touch you?' 'You think your mommy would take you back if you cried, little Blood Traitor?' 'Your brother's on the right side for now, but you'd better be there to watch out for him if he messes up, or else.' All that shit. I should have walked, I know, they're just words. But I lost it. I snapped, said I could tell him a secret, and the idiot bought it. I realized what I'd done a minute after he left and came running for you, and, well, you know the rest...." The room was very quiet. Peter looked at James, James looked at Sirius, Sirius looked at the floor. Then James put an arm around Sirius's shoulder. The long-haired boy's gaze snapped up, locking with his friend's. He started to cry. Emotion seeped back in- sorrow and guilt and shame and relief. He clung to James's shirt and sobbed into his chest. James, ever parental, stroked his hair, which just made him cry harder. He cried until he couldn't anymore, until he was dry-cheeked and utterly exhausted. Still leaning on his best friend, his eyes slid shut and he fell asleep. When he woke up several hours later, Sirius was alone, but not for long. After just a few minutes, the door opened again. Peter and James came back in, followed closely by Remus himself. He looked awful: bags under his eyes, hair wild, an ugly bruise on his jaw. He stared at Sirius. Sirius stared back. Neither one moved, just watched each other carefully. Finally, gently, Remus said, "Are you alright?" Sirius's heart broke. "Me?" he croaked. "I almost killed a boy and got you thrown into Azkaban last night, and you're asking if /I'm/ alright?" His eyes started to burn again, but he blinked hard. He wouldn't cry in front of Remus. He wasn't allowed. This wasn't about Sirius, it was about the friend he betrayed, and he wouldn't manipulate his friend into forgiving him by crying now. The only problem was, it didn't seem like he had to. "Pads," Remus said steadily, "Last night, you had to deal with Snape mocking your abusive childhood and threatening your brother's safety, if James and Peter are telling it right. And since then you've been dealing with the guilt over your mistake- and don't try to say it wasn't taxing for you, because I see your arm. Plus, I know everything is ten times worse for you because of your illness, which is why you did what you did in the first place. So, yeah, I'm asking if you're alright." A wave of bitterness rolled over Sirius. Not directed at Remus, of course, but just because of the situation. "Ah, yes, I forgot. I can't be held accountable for being evil because of my /illness/." "Your illness is literally the reason you react so impulsively when you're angry, Sirius!" Remus exclaimed exasperatedly. "It is an /actual/ condition with /actual/ effects, just like my lycanthropy! Yeah, you have a little more control, but you've got to deal with it all the time, and I only have to once a month! You aren't evil. And I /am/ holding you accountable; what I'm /not/ doing is hating you or being furious with you, because you're disordered and you're sorry and you're already beating yourself up over it, so I don't have to." Sirius was still staring, now with an expression of awe on his face. Words that he'd thought a hundred times were now racing through his head. /'He's perfect. He's so perfect, so good, so pure. He deserves the world. I love him.'/ "Sirius?" Remus prompted, waiting for a response. "Sirius, say some-" "I love you." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and as Remus's eyes widened, Sirius's face went red. He hid behind his hands. "Shit. Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- oh, shit, I'm sorry." No one spoke, and then: "We're just gonna go..." James's voice said. Two pairs of feet shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind them. Sirius chanced a glance up at Remus's face and was surprised to see a warm smile there. He suddenly looked healthier, better-rested. "I always believed," he said softly, lowering himself onto his knees beside Sirius, "that I wasn't worthy of love." "Well, you are," Sirius responded with newfound fierceness. "You deserve everything, /everything./" "Really?" Remus said, something like playfulness or amusement in his eyes now. "Everything?" "Everything," Sirius repeated firmly. "What about the guy I've been in love with since second year?" Remus asked. And before Sirius could respond, they were kissing. They were kissing, and it was like nothing either had ever experienced before. Sirius's stomach swooped with glee. It felt like finding something that had been missing his whole life, a piece of him being put back in its place. He reveled in the feeling of Remus's touch, the scent that was so distinctly his- coffee and candle wax, the faint taste of chocolate on his tongue. It was heaven. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Sirius leaned his forehead against Remus's. "I never thought I was worthy of love, either," he whispered. "Well, you were dead wrong, then, weren't you?" Remus replied, and they both laughed. "You were too," Sirius pointed out. Remus grinned. "I guess so." They say its darkest just before the light, and Sirius supposed that- whoever "they" were- they were right.

[thesoundofnat]

Different

Jim, Bones

Summary: Bones is discovering in what ways Jim is different after having died, and in what ways he’s still the same.

A/N: This is my first Star Trek fic on here, and I can only hope you’ll like it! Thank you to @heartsalotofstuff for reading it and assuring me I hadn’t just thrown together a bunch of bullshit.

Words: 2 013

Dying, albeit briefly, had changed Jim. Bones could tell. When it came to Jim, Bones could always tell.

It was a painful realization, he had to admit. It had been bad enough to see his best friend lie there, as if frozen, with no pulse to find despite how much Bones tried. It had been bad enough to believe he would live the rest of his life without him. It had all been bad enough. But to think they would come out of this unscathed was wistful thinking.

Jim was different. He wasn’t the only one, of course. They had all changed a little bit. Spock seemed more distant. Scotty more emotional. Uhura became softer. Sulu all but danced around the Captain. Chekov was more quiet than ever, as if unsure of what to say. And Bones? Well, let’s just say that he panicked as soon as the kid was out of his sight. Jim called him overprotective, but Bones didn’t care. He wouldn’t be able to lose him again.

Jim was the one to change the most. Bones shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was over that fact. He wasn’t as naive anymore, nor as cheerful. The latter saddened the doctor, who had gotten so used to his friend’s easy smiles. Jim aged way too quickly due to that experience. Due to the new blood in his system. It was horrifying to watch, once Bones realized what was going on. It was as if Jim was changing every day; morphing into a new version right before his very eyes.

It was safe to say Bones didn’t like it.

At all.

He started observing his Captain and friend, and while he knew Jim’s scowl and dismissing waves would be endless if he noticed, Bones couldn’t stop. He had to keep watching him or he was afraid the kid would change so much he would be unrecognizable.

And so Bones started desperately looking for signs of the old Jim. Any little trace of the enthusiastic guy he knew. Just the smallest of signs would be enough. The vaguest of aspects.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked one day as he entered Jim’s quarters. The man in question was sitting on the couch with a plate full of untouched fruit on the coffee table in front of him. Had he not been staring at it somewhat skeptically Bones would’ve guessed he’d forgotten about it completely.

“I don’t know,” Jim replied and caught his gaze. Well, at least he was being honest.

Bones plopped down beside him. “I would ask if it’s the wrong kind of fruit, but I know for a fact that not only are you crazy about all of that, but it’s also the only types you’re not allergic to.”

Jim barked out an almost sheepish laugh, and Bones mentally ticked it off as a sign. “Maybe I don’t believe they won’t kill me.”

“Oh, trust me. Whatever you’ve been through can’t alter allergies. Only nature can do that, and that wasn’t natural.”

“I guess.” Jim picked up an apple slice, but he only turned it around in his hand. “My apetite is different. It’s like…”

“Like?”

“Like going hungry isn’t as big of a fear of mine anymore.”

Bones tilted his head. There was more to that story, but he wasn’t going to pry. “Just take a few bites. Do I have to say please? Because I will if it’s enough to get some nutrition into your system.”

Jim’s smile wasn’t as bright as it used to, but it still made Bones feel calm whenever he saw it. “Nah, I’m not a sadist.” He took a bite out of his slice. “There. Happy?”

“Immensely so,” Bones replied dryly. To see the kid who used to devour whatever you put in front of him practically force himself to eat was alarming to say the least.

Jim chewed slowly, but he ate the whole slice, and even went for a second one before pushing the plate away from him. Bones decided not to nag and let it be, though if the kid kept it up he’d have to change strategies. Jim wasn’t going to self destruct on his watch, whether it was consciously or not.

***

Jim’s temper was worse than ever. While he could be impatient in his personal life, Jim was usually a very level headed man who was willing to listen to other people whose opinions he valued, and he was prepared to alter his own plans if he realized their ideas could contribute to a better result. Now he just seemed tired, glowering in ways that even scared Bones if someone tried to go against his orders. His patient was thinner, but not enough for Bones to be able to pull him aside and chastise him about his new way of acting since it didn’t endanger the ship or crew. Jim was as impeccable of a Captain as ever, but the atmosphere on the bridge had never been this bad, and Bones didn’t even spend that much time there.

Seeing as Jim had never been very bothered about showing Bones when he was unhappy outside of work, Bones would expect it to get ten times worse and was utterly surprised to realize the exact opposite was happening.

Rather than let his emotions run amok behind closed doors, Jim seemed to shut them off completely, his body going slack and his face becoming a blank canvas with no expression. It terrified Bones too much to keep quiet about it.

“If I told you you’re being an idiot, would you yell at me?”

Jim glanced up. At least he could still express confusion. “Sorry, what?”

“I’m just trying to see if you can get angry, s’all.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You used to be very good at snapping at me, but lately you just give me a tired look and move on with your life.”

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Sure, if you spared the rest of the crew your angry looks.”

“I don’t look angry.”

“Oh yes, you do. I’m pretty sure Chekov is terrified of you now.”

Jim frowned. “Why would he be scared? I’d never yell for no reason.”

“I know that. They’re probably not very sure anymore.”

His words weren’t well received, but Jim didn’t stand up in rage to ask him to take it back or clarify. Instead he just looked exhausted. Jim was never one to give into exhaustion.

Jim rubbed his temples with a sigh. “I’m sure they know better than to think I’d hurt them or something.”

“You used to be so patient, but lately it’s like you don’t even want to listen to them.”

Something flickered over Jim’s face, and the next second his expression had changed, though Bones couldn’t entirely identify what it was he was feeling. “Do I really come off like that?”

“More often than not, yes.”

“Shit.”

They didn’t say anything more about it, but Jim sank back into his expressionless exhaustion and Bones never stopped worrying. He could only hope their talk would change things. It had to.

***

Jim slept less. Bones only knew that because he’d accidentally - or not so accidentally - fallen asleep on Jim’s couch, which resulted in him waking up to find Jim pacing around the dark room restlessly and scaring the crap out of Bones in the progress.

“Dammit, Jim!” he exclaimed only seconds after he’d opened his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Jim didn’t pause in his stride, but basically flew into the air instead. “Bones! Holy crap, I had forgotten you were here.”

Bones sat up, his eyes still trying to properly make out Jim’s features in the dark. “Light at 50 percent.”

The room lit up, and Bones’ eyes landed on Jim’s face instantly. He looked like death himself.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Jim said before Bones could ask. “Whenever I can’t sleep I walk around in an attempt to tire myself out. You’re usually not in this room.”

“Jim, if you’re having trouble sleeping I can always get you something for it.”

“Drugs, you mean?” Jim’s smile was joyless. “I’d rather not have to rely on substances.”

“Says the guy who almost drinks himself unconscious every other night.”

That was another discovery Bones had made, but seeing as both he and Jim had liked drinking for a long time he couldn’t exactly call him out on it. The difference was vague enough for Jim to be able to deny it.

Jim’s laugh matched his smile. “In my own defense, it’s not as frequent as that.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not abusing it-”

“I know, I know.” Bones sat up properly. “But you know how easy it can be to cross that line, right?”

Jim didn’t reply, but Bones hadn’t expected him to.

“Tell me about why you can’t sleep.”

“I just can’t. My mind is too active. My body can’t sit still.”

“How often does this happen?”

“Probably too often.”

“When was the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”

“I honestly can’t remember.”

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. “Stop keeping things from me.”

“And what, exactly, are you supposed to do about this other than give me pills?”

“I’m not just a doctor, you know. I have other methods of helping a friend.”

“It’s all right, Bones. I’m all right.”

“That’s the biggest lie you’ve told, kid,” Bones replied softly. “Come here.”

Jim hesitated for just a second before he walked over and dropped down onto the space beside him. Bones reached over to place a hand on his chest, choosing not to comment on how he tensed up under the touch.

“Take deep, steady breaths,” he said instead. “That way you will calm your body down enough to stop its restless fidgeting.”

Jim did as he was told, and with each breath Bones felt his hand rise where it was resting on his chest. He only removed it once Jim’s breathing felt naturally calm, and he took a hold of Jim’s wrist instead.

“Now, try to relax your body. Let your shoulders drop and get rid of all the tension you’ve built up.”

Jim obliged once more, and Bones made a mental note of how the kid still trusted him enough to know what he was doing, thank god.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”

Jim’s gaze flickered to him briefly before he followed his request, and for a moment Bones didn’t say anything but let him sit there in silence.

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I do,” Jim mumbled back, his eyelids twitching.

“The body is easier to control than the mind. Whenever you can’t sleep you have to make sure to relax your body as much as possible and your mind won’t be far behind.”

Jim hummed sleepily now, cracking one eye open to look at him. “Thank you, Bones. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Bones’ heart broke into a million pieces at his dejected tone. “Don’t think I’ll ever let you find that out.”

Jim let out a laugh and Bones made one more mental note. Beneath all those changes Jim was still a scared guy with big dreams. Life had just beaten him a little too much this time. Bones could only hope Jim would be able to fully recover.

***

Bones slept badly that night, but that was only because Jim’s elbow was digging into his gut in a rather painful way. Bones didn’t dare try to move away though out of fear of disturbing him. Jim was finally sleeping deeply enough to not even stir, and Bones wasn’t about to ruin that. The couch wasn’t necessarily the comfiest sleeping place either, but Jim must’ve been so exhausted that he barely noticed.

Bones smiled slightly to himself as he made one last mental note. Jim still snuggled closer to him in his sleep, and Bones was happy to discover that his friend still felt safe enough around him to do so. Bones vowed to always be Jim’s safe space for as long as he needed him to be.