#out of nowhere he gets shot and dies and then we get three seconds to mourn. cut away to pete & lucius wedding.

[quietwingsinthesky]

choosing the believe that the seagull is buttons come to bring izzy back from the dead because what the fuck was that

[thiswaytwoinfinity]

it’s a bad idea, right? - part 1: can’t two people reconnect

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader • inspired by sleeping with other people

Warnings: no use of y/n or physical description of reader except they have hair that can be tucked behind their ears, implied smut, this chapter is fine but future installments will be 18+

It’s finally here! Thank you to everyone for being so supportive and patient about this fic; I was dealing with some rough personal stuff and lost all my inspiration but it’s back now and I’m happy to be writing about everyone’s favorite cocky flyboy.

There’s something about a sticky summer night when you’re 22 that makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been.

It’s the third bar that your new roommates have dragged you to tonight, there’s a cocktail sweating in your hand and the bass from the stereo thudding through your head. You’re not sure if the grin on your face is from the watching all of the wannabe cowboys go flying off the mechanical bull in mere milliseconds or from the possibilities of newfound adulthood laid out in front of you. In this moment, it’s hard to imagine that you were ever scared about moving halfway across the country — away from your family, your hometown and your high school sweetheart who always thought you’d move home after college — to Austin.

In this moment, you feel free. You feel invincible. You feel like this is a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

 

“Okay, the bar is a madhouse but I managed to get another round!” Anna shouts as she makes her way back to the table, tossing her long dark hair behind her before plopping the tray of shots down in front of you and your new friends. “And there’s a new rule!”

Everyone groans in unison; Anna loves to make up drinking games, handing out shots and beers with a new rule or bet that is guaranteed to leave someone embarrassed before the night’s over.

“Oh, stop. Shit like this is how we become lifelong best friends, trust me, I read about it online,” she fires back, rolling her eyes and handing shots to you and the three other girls at the table before taking one in hand. “It’s simple. Last one to finish their shot has to ride the mechanical bull.”

“Bitch, are you trying to kill us?” Erin asks, shooting a sideways glance at Katie, who’s eyeing up her shot glass like she’s trying to strategize the best way to drink it. The two of them are sisters — “Irish twins, it’s a whole thing,” Erin explained when you first moved in — are hyper-competitive and curse like sailors. You loved them instantly.

Your tiny hope of not being the one to end up on the bull dies when you look over at Taylor, who managed to throw back her tequila when nobody was watching. “What?!” she asks, curls bobbing in the bun on top of her head as she takes in everyone’s looks of confusion and frustration. “Anna never said we had to start at the same time.”

It’s like a starting pistol went off at the end of her sentence because before you know it, Erin and Katie are both biting into limes while Anna is swallowing down the liquor with a grimace. Shit.

You do your best to catch up but it’s too late. You, the girl who grew up nowhere near Texas and have never actually seen a bull in real life, are going to have to ride one in front of this entire bar.

Years later you won’t remember the details of the bet, how your friends whooped and hollered as you made your way over to the bull with shaky knees or how the operator took pity on you when you immediately slid off and offered you a second try. The song that was playing is lost to time, as is the actual feeling of riding the bull for a whole half second.

What you will remember, though, is sliding across the tarp to rest right by a group of athletic looking guys and the strong, tan hand that reached down to help you stand up.

You’ll remember the backwards Longhorns cap on his head, the way his green eyes flashed with amusement and the blinding white of his smile as he helped you to your feet, hand lingering just a moment too long in yours. You’ll remember the way it felt like someone had set off fireworks inside of you, fingers tingling where they touched his skin and your stomach swooping like you were on a roller coaster.

You’ll remember exactly what he said to you: “Well, that was definitely the most entertaining attempt of the night.”

You giggled, a little dazed by his chiseled features, by the way he seemed to only see you in that moment, by the force of his charisma.

 “I’m Jake. What’s your name, beautiful?”

 

For a Thursday night, the Hard Deck was surprisingly packed.

The Daggers had managed to claim their usual spot by the pool table, but despite their cramped quarters they practically had to shout over the sounds of drunken sailors and the oldies blasting out of the jukebox to be heard. The table next to Bob was crowded with beer bottles, the bespectacled WSO having waved off Penny when she stopped by to clear them, promising the group would clean up after themselves. Natasha and Bradley were in the middle of some kind of dumb darts competition, being heckled by Bob and a tipsy Rueben, who had his arm slung around the former’s shoulders for balance.

Jake took in the scenery, smug grin on his face, before sinking his final pool ball with a flourish.

“And that’s game, gentlemen,” he said, turning to Javy and Mickey, who were shaking their heads with frustration.

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into betting against him,” Mickey sighed, shuffling through his wallet for a $20 bill. Javy just shrugged and threw a playful punch against his friend’s shoulder, before asking for a rematch.

“Let that be a lesson, Fanboy,” Jake chuckled, making a big show of examining the bill before pocketing it. “Never bet against Jake Seresin. They call me a golden boy for a reason.”

“Who’s ‘they?’ Everyone we know just calls you a dick,” Nat called out, making her way back to the table for her drink. Taking a look at the chaos on the table, she rolled her eyes before starting to gather up a handful of empty bottles. “C’mon, Fanboy. Help me clear some of these and I’ll buy you a beer to drown your sorrows in.”

He ran over to help, allowing Javy to slide over to Jake and elbow his buddy in the side.

“10 o’clock, there’s a whole table of pretty ladies. The blonde’s had her eye on you all night and her friend with the locs is crazy hot,” he murmured, as Jake took a subtle look over at the table in question. 5 or 6 women were crammed into a booth, and judging by the tiara on one of their heads, they were out celebrating a birthday. “Wingman?” the younger aviator asked, holding out his fist for Jake to bump it.

For a half second, he contemplated turning his best friend down.

It wasn’t like Jake wasn’t attracted to the blonde, who was, indeed making eyes at him from across the room. She was exactly his type, all bright smiles and smokey bedroom eyes, her curves and long legs poured into tight jeans. She had an air of confidence that made it clear she knew just how hot she was.

He knew that if he strolled over and gave her his best All-American smile and some of that Southern charm, he could probably win her over. They’d flirt and dance a bit and then he’d drive them back to one of their places, have some decent-to-excellent sex and he’d be asleep shortly after midnight.

It seemed fun. It seemed obvious. It seemed, quite honestly, a little boring to him.

Maybe it was because he turned 35 a few months ago and the idea of going home to his own bed after a night out was starting to seem more and more appealing to him. Maybe it was because he spent so much time trying to convince his fellow Daggers that he wasn’t a complete asshole that he didn’t want to risk them changing their minds again.

Or maybe he was just a little jealous.

Jake would see the way Rueben’s face lit up when he talked about his wife, how he would brag about every milestone his 3-year-old daughter was reaching. He felt awkward about his lack of wedding knowledge when a pink-eared Bob would ask the squad for their opinion on something for his upcoming nuptials. He’d try to ignore the weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d overhead Nat and Mickey picking out a restaurant for their weekly brunch double date with their respective girlfriends.

And despite the fact that he had spent most of his adult life doing whatever he could to avoid those kinds of situations, now he was starting to wonder if maybe … maybe he’d be a little happier if he had been able to settle down with someone of his own.

Oof. That thought made Jake’s chest tighten uncomfortably. So he pushed it down, smiled as wide as he could and first bumped Javy. “Wingmen for life, Coyote. Lead the way.”

 

If you had to spend one more minute squeezed up against this bar, wedged between a couple aggressively making out and a trio of rowdy Navy men who were trying to sing along to Queen, you were going to scream.

“Just come for a drink or two. This place is super chill for a Navy bar, I promise,” you muttered darkly under your breath, repeating the words your friend and new coworker had used to convince you to come out tonight.

Between a frantic weekend spent unpacking all of your belongings into your new studio apartment and a very long first week at your new job, all you had wanted to do was bury yourself under a blanket and watch Real Housewives until your brain melted out of your ears.

But you were trying to be more social. You wanted to focus more on your friendships. Do things that were good for you. That was the whole point of this move.

So instead, you were leaning so far over the bar top that you could feel the edge digging into your ribs, shouting a drink order at the (admittedly, very sweet and slightly overwhelmed) bartender. She had just placed the two beers and margarita you had asked for down in front of you when another hand appeared and tried to snatch them up.

“Hey!” you yelled, tossing the bills in your hand onto the bar as you reached up to catch the offender by the wrist before they made off with your hard-won drinks. “Asshole! Drop them, those are my beers! What the fuck?”

You swiped up the cocktail with your free hand, lest it meet the same fate and turned around to see what kind of absolute monster thought they had the right to steal drinks.

Annoyingly, he was beautiful.

Tall and broad, with sun-kissed skin and a blindingly-white smile, which held a hint of sheepishness as he realized that he had been caught red handed. There was something familiar about the way he ducked his head a little, before peering at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …”

Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after —

“Jake? Jake Seresin!?”

It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on. He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be.

He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well. He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket.

“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look amazing, darling. Beautiful as ever.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out. “You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you concede, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped.

You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix.

“I am good,” Jake promises, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.”

His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago. You can practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar. Your lips part — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before —

The woman behind the bar calls out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumps forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her. Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turns back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.)

“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake says, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waits for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin.

 

You’re not sure if the goosebumps on your arms are from the chill of the California evening or the way that Jake hasn’t stopped staring at you since he joined you outside on the deck. You shift slightly against the wooden bench of the picnic table, overwhelmed by the intensity of having all of the blonde’s attention on you again for the first time in a decade.

“So …” you begin, and your voice seems to startle Jake out of his thoughts slightly. “You’re a California boy now? I never thought you’d ever leave Texas.”

He grins and shakes his head slightly. “Well, when Top Gun calls and offers you a permanent station, you’d be a fool not to accept. And not to brag, but they do only offer that to the best of the best.”

“Please, Seresin. You love to brag,” you fire back, watching those green eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Well, it’s not bragging if it’s the truth. And the truth is, darling, that I am one hell of a pilot.” Jake takes a swig from his beer, before leaning a bit closer into you, like he wants to study your reactions. “What about you? What brings you out to sunny San Diego?”

“New job,” you say shortly, shrugging your shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “Moved from the ICU to the ED, so I figured a change of location would go well with a change of pace.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and you hope he can’t tell. There’s no reason to tell your ex — boyfriend? Fling? — whatever that you followed a guy out here, especially since that whole — relationship? Affair? Complete and utter heartbreaking disaster? — situation crashed and burned almost immediately.

“Mmhmm,” Jake says, as if he can tell that’s not the whole story, and he takes another sip before seemingly deciding to let you off the hook. “And what did you boyfriend have to say about moving halfway across the country? Or did someone manage to finally lock you down after all these years?”

There’s a small, sinking feeling in your stomach as you think about the real reason you moved here for a brief, heartbreaking second.

“No boyfriend. No husband, either,” you say, wiggling your left hand at him in order to illustrate your point, and clock the way his eyes almost look relieved by the sight of your empty finger. “What about you, Seresin? Where’s your sweet, Southern wife?”

He laughs, a little cocky but a little hollow at the same time. “You know I don’t really do commitment, darlin’,” he jokes and, boy, do you, nights of watching him flirt with other girls while you pouted in the corner of the bar flashing in your brain. You take a long swallow of your beer — just like you used to swallow down your pride back then — and roll your eyes at him.

“I swear, you look exactly the same when you roll your eyes like that,” Jake says, his smile softening around the edges. “Nobody ever managed to make it quite as cutting as you.”

“Nobody’s ever been quite as annoying as you,” you fire back, but there’s no real heat behind it. Jake’s eye light up like you just gave him a compliment rather than pointing out that he knew exactly how to press your buttons when you were younger.

“I seem to remember you used to like it when I was able to make your eyes roll. Or, at least, when I could make them roll back into your head …”

You sigh, doing your best not to let on how much that comment made your face heat with decade-old memories of you two tangled up in your sheets. “There it is …” you begin, but he just leans into you a little more, those green eyes traveling all over your face as he speaks.

“I’m just reminiscing, that’s all. Can ya blame me? You’re still so beautiful …” Jake responds, one hand reaching out to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek as he pulls away and you hope you can explain away the goosebumps that erupt on your skin as a product of the ocean breeze. “And I spent a lot of time trying to get you all worked up back then. Force of habit.”

You could give into it.

Allow the sheer force of Jake’s charisma and good looks to carry you away on a wave of old memories. The chemistry that always fizzled between you is clearly still there, the butterflies that have laid dormant in your stomach all this time just waiting for an excuse to be let free once again. It would be easy.

And it would be good — you two had always been good at the physical stuff. He was so gorgeous in so many ways and surprisingly generous when you were in bed. (Jake always took pride in being the best of the best, after all).

But once you woke up tomorrow morning, after all of the awkward goodbyes and the promises to call, then what? Jake Seresin doesn’t commit; he made that clear.

And you were still bruised from your last mess of a relationship, your heart feeling tender and aching in your chest most days. There’s no way that this doesn’t end the same way it did a decade ago, with you sobbing uncontrollably and Jake moving on to the next beautiful girl who manages to hold his attention.

So, with a self-control you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull yourself out of Jake’s undertow.

“Seresin, I … that’s probably a bad idea,” you say softly, eyes dropping down to the tabletop in between you. “I just got out of a relationship and I’m not in a place —”

He cuts you off by tilting your chin up to look at him and then making a point to pull his hands back and keep them to himself.

“Hey, hey, I get it. No worries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, darlin’” Jake explains in a rush. “I’m sorry about that. Like I said, force of habit.”

You huff out a laugh and another eye roll and you can see him fight a grin at your reaction. “Only you would describe flirting with someone as a habit, Jake.”

“Well, I’m one of a kind.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you giggle, glad to be back on solid, friendly ground with him.

 Two hours later, Jake sent you off with a hug and his phone number as you and your friend climbed into an Uber and set off for home. She had a few questions about the “dreamboat” of a Naval aviator that you had apparently dated back in school, but was a little too excited about recounting her own evening to push you for details. It wasn’t until you arrived back at your apartment and collapsed on your couch that you realized Jake had been texting you the whole time you were in the car.

Unknown: It’s Jake 🫡😜🤠⭐️🍻🏈😉

Unknown: Hope you get home safe, beautiful. It was great to catch up with you.

Unknown: And I would be an embarrassment to the U.S. Navy if I didn’t at least offer to be your tour guide around San Diego

Unknown: I know all the best spots after all

Unknown: So text me if you want to grab lunch or something

Unknown: Or if you finally want to learn how to surf

Unknown: But give me fair warning beforehand, I remember how bad your balance is lol

 

You: lol I forgot you text every single thought in your brain

You: but having a tour guide sounds nice

You: we could get brunch this weekend and you can give me the highlights?

 

You had only just begun to take your shoes off, resigned to finally get off the couch, when your phone pinged.

 

Jake 🤠 🧡: I know just the place

You gave his text a quick thumbs up and got ready for bed smiling the whole time.

-—-—-—-—-—

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I don’t know if I’m going to have a regular schedule with this or anything, but I will do my best! Thank you for reading about the absolute menace that is Jake Seresin

Tagging some people who asked:

@tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner @dizzybee03 @olliepig @lynnevanss @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem @mamaskillerqueen @kmc1989 @hookslove1592

[kaybreezy3000]

Five is your employer and he's not happy with you. As the night unfolds, you have a very unexpected encounter with him...

~Rated somewhere between G and Mature because, like many of my stories, you can easily skip the sexually explicit parts. (see notes)

This story takes place where we left off with season three, but 5 years later. The name is a nod to hints of what might be coming, though I doubt the Netflix writers are going with my little storyline I have created for you.

~This one is sort of gift to all fanfiction readers and writers. May you always keep passwords on our documents and devices, or maybe not... 😂👌

Warnings: Mildly sexual themes in the middle. This does turn sexually explicit in the second half, but you don't need to read that part to enjoy the story and there is a warning when that starts if you aren't into all that stuff.

(8,711 words)

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

'Hargreeves home for wayward boys'

It was the end of the day and the Hargreeves family had all disappeared. You knew they were somewhere privately hashing things out, but as just a lowly intern working on their project, staying for that to happen was not necessary. They would call you later to give their decision and then you’d submit the order.

Speaking of which, your phone rang with a call from your boss and it distracted you as you were collecting your things. Arms full and not realizing you had forgotten something, you used your backend to bump open the large doors of the Umbrella Academy. The doors clicked closed behind you and you walked out into the refreshingly cool evening air. 

Downstairs in the musty kitchen, Allison threw her head back, letting out a tired sigh before saying, “Guys, arguing is getting us nowhere. We need to end this debate. The order needs to be placed today or we won’t have the sign back when the masons are scheduled to be here to install it.”

Viktor set his empty mug on the counter next to a pair of Grace’s discarded rubber dishwashing gloves. “Why don’t we just vote on it?” he proposed, uneasily glancing at Five.

“I say we go with ‘The Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys,” Diego loudly declared while raising his arm high, to which the rest of the Hargreeves abruptly raised their hands, making it a unanimous vote, if not for Five, sitting forward with his head in his hands and his elbows on the kitchen table as he venomously glared at all of them.

Five locked eyes with Luther. “Really?” he snapped.

His brother nervously smiled. “Ah… Sorry. I changed my mind, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy.” Five angrily shook his head. “You changed your mind, huh? Sorry to inform you but clearly this one doesn’t work any better!”

Not getting Five’s belittling joke, Luther looked to Ben who silently rolled his eyes for about the hundredth time in the last hour.

“And you,” Five roared, pointing his finger at him. “You had shown signs of intelligence but now I have my doubts. Maybe if you keep rolling your eyes like that you might find evidence of a brain up there. This name doesn’t even make any sense! We aren’t just admitting boys!”

“Sure it does,” Lila disagreed. “You’re the only one who doesn’t think so but that’s because it’s very hard for children to think clearly when they haven’t had their nap. Should we call Grace to fetch your blankie and to make your bottle so you can go to bed early?”

Five balled his hand into fists under the table. “You should use glue instead of Chapstick. I hear it does wonders for making you more tolerable to be around,” he childishly shot back to which Lila merely laughed at him. “So, this is it…nobody else thinks that name sounds awful?” he hissed at anyone still looking at him.

Getting up with a loud squeal of his wooden chair leg on the cracked linoleum flooring, Klaus patted Five on the upper back, but his brother jerked away from the gesture. “Oh, come on, Five,” he said followed by an airy laugh. “It’s perfect. Even that cute intern upstairs thought so. After we gave her the low down dirty-dirty on our real family history, she’s the one that came up with it.”

Five scowled even more.

“Ahhh,” Diego obliviously sighed. “Things are finally coming together with this project and I’m feeling a Hargreeves style celebration coming on.” He draped his arm around the back of Lila’s chair looking at her, but she was too busy smirking at Five’s increasingly animated display of sour expressions.

“Let’s all go out!” Klaus excitedly added. “I know a great place for karaoke.” Five got up, slinging his suit coat over his shoulder as he started to walk away but Klaus snatched his arm. “Hold it! You’re coming with us.”

Five swifty swatted his hand away, distastefully brushing his brother’s invisible fingerprints from the crisp sleeve of his white dress shirt. “I’d rather shove a pinecone up my ass and let it sit in there until it dissolved than have to be in the presence of all of you for even five more minutes,” he smoothly retorted while flipping up his cuff to check the time.

Klaus’s bright eyes grew wide with glee. “If you are looking for things to shove up your ass, I can think of way more painfully pleasant options. Come on, let me tell you all about it while we decide where we are going to eat.”

Skirting around the table, Five dodged Klaus before he could put an arm around him to drag him in with the rest of the group who were now talking about dinner plans and the epic songs they were going to belt out later.

After breaking away and muttering under his breath that they were all a bunch of idiots, Five slowly wandered up the stairs. With his fists firmly jammed in his pockets and his shoulders inclined forward, his gaze remained empty though his thoughts were anything but.

After making numerous other suggestions, they had all disregarded his concerns, just like they always did. Whether it was trying to help them avoid apocalyptic ends or simply being somewhere at a specific time to save their own asses, he never could win in this family. 

Five cringed as he thought about the name they wanted to use and what it was really referring to.

He was the embodiment of the wayward boy in his family’s less than glorious story. Worst yet, the nod to Homer’s Odyssey, being that it was a narrative Reginald had forced them to remember by heart, was just one of the millions of reasons why, in his head, this was a horrible choice.

That man was an evil incarnate, and Five may have for a time wanted his love and acceptance or even in the very least, his recognition, but he never got them. They’d been used and dumped in a new world without their powers, but at least they had been left with their identities and their childhood home, but those days of bowing to that vile alien parading around as a man were long gone. Five did not want to be associated in any way with Reginald Hargreeves and that title for their new foundation did just that.

“How could they not see that?” he asked himself, trying to work through all this but coming up with nothing other than they were morons. “The last name Hargreeves was already on half the buildings in the city!” he shouted to no one, his voice getting eaten up in the long corridor as his dress shoes stomped along the black and white tiled floor.

As Five watched his siblings raise their hands in favor of the symbolic title, he felt even more set apart from them than he ever had. That feeling wasn’t anything new, and there were many reasons for it, but today, he’d had enough of them not listening to him and he wasn’t about to let this one go until he’d tried one more avenue of attack.

Tromping through the foyer, thinking he’d see you or the lead designer, Five glanced inside the formal dining room but neither of you were there. Looking over the stacks of blueprints on the table, Five spotted your laptop. It was lying among the other items strewn in the large mess but your coat and bag that had been hanging on the back of the chair were gone. Thinking you must have forgotten it and that you had gone for the day, he picked up the streamlined electronic device and carried it with him out of the room.

He’d been dying to lay into you for convincing his family that this asinine idea was the way to go. Sadly, since you weren’t there, that would have to wait and that left him in no better mood, but as he carried your laptop down the hall, he was quickly developing a new plan.

Thinking of you, Five could just see you looking at him like you always did-cautiously but kindly. 

You were always professional and extra nice to him in your interactions, despite him being dismissively rude at times. You’d laugh off his detached behavior and truthfully, he didn’t mind the sound of it, or your sweet smiles, or how your legs looked under your many short skirts and smart little slingback heels. He’d never let himself do more than appreciate the view when you weren’t looking, and he’d thought you were about as harmless as a chipmunk marinated in fertilizer that was walking sideways.

He was wrong on that, and worse yet, he simply didn’t get you and Five did not like when he didn’t understand things.

His lips pulled to the side as he noted your almost unnatural ability to remain persistently positive when working with a bunch of ridiculous assholes. Looking past some of your more appealing qualities, he quickly concluded that you were about as stupid and fake as fake could get.

You had stepped on the wrong man’s toes and this meant war.

With steam practically billowing out his ears over how mad he was at you, Five became absorbed in the thought of pissing some of his own mocking sunshine into your Clever Crisp cereal and he knew just the way to do it and get rid of you.

“Perfect fucking idea my ass,” he said through clenched teeth as his diabolical grin spread.

Five opened Reginald’s old office door and flopped down at the large mahogany desk. Flipping the laptop open, he flexed his fingers, his eyes roaming over the keys as the screen came to life.

They could call the design team and tell them the decision was made, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do something about it and make it look like you were the one that fucked things up, which as an added bonus that would probably get you fired.

If the very expensive stone signage they were ordering came and didn’t say what his family had wanted it to say, at that point, you’d be in deep shit, and he’d simply look the other way feigning innocence. He’d argue that at that point it was an issue of money and managing their extremely tight budget, so, to be sensible, they should just go with it as is-which would be his title of choice.

To Five, this was a win-win. Nosy intern fired, and no more demeaning name that was a reference to him hanging above the academy’s front door.

It was a simple matter of typing in his idea in the order form, and sitting in front of him was the means to do it. Call or no call, he’d send this in first. The work would get started and it would be too late.

Five was no hacker but over the last few years of being holed up at the Umbrella Academy due to having to live the life of a shut-in teenager again, he’d learned a thing or two about modern tech. With a few clicks, he was into your files.

“Where is it?” he hummed as his eyes ran over the images of little manila folders. There were tons of them and the way you had them labeled was not helping.

Clicking on one that appeared to have image files attached to it had seemed logical since he was looking for a mockup of the graphic design they’d be using going forward for all their letterhead and signage.

“Shit,” Five scoffed as he saw tiny blips of hundreds of your personal photos. These had nothing to do with what he needed and that also meant this computer was not just something you used for work. He was just about to close the file since it was obviously personal in nature but then an image of you when you were slightly younger caught his eye.

Your cheeks were a little bit rounder and your hair a little longer. When he clicked on the next shot and it was one where you were on some kind of vacation and you were wearing a swimsuit, he leaned forward.

He stared at the picture, suddenly intrigued. Opening more pictures, Five realized that same bright smile of yours never faltered in any one of the shots.

It had never crossed his mind that he’d see anything personal while he was digging through your computer, but here it all was and all he had to do was open the files because you foolishly didn’t password protect them.

Driven by curiosity and with nothing else to do for the night, Five dug deeper into your world. He found files with old college assignments which he skimmed over with only moderate interest. Then, clicking on a folder that seemed harmlessly titled, he found himself completely distracted, all at once, totally forgetting what he’d been searching for.

Five scooched even closer to the screen.

The first file he opened was relatively small and he read through it quickly. It was written like some sort of story, or more like part of one. It was about a man that found himself in a version of his body that was much younger looking than he should be. Miraculously he had been through hell and back, and mentally he was much older than he looked, but outwardly he didn’t look any older than his physical age of eighteen. The details of how this all came to be weren’t in this part of her story, but Five immediately recognized the familiarity of the storyline, and he instantly started plowing through the other files in that folder in a sudden need to know what else you’d written.

The files were like snippets of a larger story, not yet fully written or interconnected the way a novel would be, but all of them involved the same two characters, and the scenes were incredibly familiar but also not. Changes to how they actually occurred in real life were subtle enough to make what he was reading fiction, but the similarities were what agitated him and had his defenses on high alert. Even more than that, the male character in your writings was a perfect description of him in all but his name, and the female, though barely described, very much resembled you.

The story laid out that the male character was the infamously lost son of a very wealthy man whose influence held the entire world by the throat. After appearing out of the blue on the doorstep of his family home after years of being missing, this boy chose to keep to himself but that didn’t mean people weren’t aware he was back.

He intentionally carried himself apart from all others, always dressed impeccably, with his dark hair neatly smoothed to one side. He was cold and calculating and always moved with intent, brooding in his mannerisms, but the female in the story also described him as so breathtakingly handsome when he thought no one was looking and he dared to crack a smile.

“She thinks I’m handsome…?” Five breathed as he read on.

The female narrator went on to say, ‘It turned out, that he could storm around the near empty academy all day if he wanted, or even call the president and claim that he was now a 59-year-old man, but sadly that didn’t mean a thing if you had no proof and you looked like a murderously feral kid parading around in your fancy big boy clothes.’

Five’s stomach dropped through the floor. There was no way this wasn’t about him, and you weren't even trying to hide it!

Talking to a character that was said to be one of this tragic figure’s brother’s, the female in the story was told that the boy had no other choice but to abide by laws of normal men unless he wanted to risk the state forcing him into the foster system or worse. All this left him with little choice and a very bad taste in his mouth and he’d been lashing out for years with vengeance about it, ironically acting just like the temperamental teenager he appeared to be..

By the time the woman in the story had come to work for him, years had passed and this character was technically not a kid anymore. Again, because he was too proud to move in with any of his siblings, he’d served his time living behind the walls of the academy his family owned, but those difficult days were no more. It was time to move on, but the female character could see that for all her employer’s outward confidence, the man inside the boy wasn’t sure how to do that.

He still hadn’t found his place in the world. He lived in limbo, completely alone, other than the presence of a robot housekeeper that he called Grace and his siblings still called mom.

He went out but did not act as someone would who was his outward age, yet it wasn’t really his fault because he couldn’t partake in what those his real age did. He dressed like a man on a mission though he had no reason to anymore. Three-piece suits on a teenager and his smug expressions and even more caustically biting words weren’t gaining him any friends on his daily outings or within the tight circle of those he trusted and called family.

The female narrator said, outwardly, he was one thing, but inside, he felt like a joke.

His sharp green eyes spoke of his true age and the trauma of the life he’d lived, but he kept himself in check most of the time, never letting his guard down or letting anyone in for fear that they would see how much he suffered and still does.

Despite his cruelties to even her, the female protagonist said she saw right through him and under all of it was some very special. She said he was worthy of so much more than he was letting himself have.

“What the fuck? What the hell does she mean by special and worthy of more? My life is just fine!” Five fumed.

Five wasn’t just furious about this, he was confused. It didn’t seem like you were trying to actually write a book since none of this it was in any form of order, but he was stumped as to why else you’d be writing such things other than to exploit him somehow and make money by trying to sell some bullshit tell-all story about his fucked-up life.

He shook with fury, his knuckles white as he clenched the wooden armrests on Reginald’s old high back chair.

You had called him out but did so safely from his pretend female’s perspective. 

You said this male’s lack of interest in others was just a way to hide how vulnerable and lonely he truly felt! 

You said that all his arrogance and cocky remarks were nothing more than a sign that he was desperate for love that he’d never been given, and now didn’t know how to reach for.

You said you felt bad for him!

“I don’t need her fucking sympathy!” Five seethed as he angrily clicked on another much longer file in your writing folder.

Right off, he could tell this one was much different than the others he’d read about your daily exchanges in this fictional yet not fictional narrative you’d been writing about him.

It was set in the same work setting, set in the large manor that the deceptively young male lived. The characters were in a richly decorated office, with dark paneled walls and low light filtering in from the setting sun bleeding through the stained-glass windowpanes.  You didn’t need to say this was once this man’s notoriously cruel father’s office for Five to know you were trying to describe the room he was sitting in right now.

The male was sitting in the regal looking chair behind the desk, smug as ever as he stared at the girl. His cool, calculating eyes devoured the entire length of her legs while he slowly but deliberately pushed them apart at the knees, spreading them wide as she submissively sat on the desk in front of him.

Five’s breath hitched as that line and the images described in it played over and over in his head like a naughty ping pong ball.

That saucy passage was Five’s first indication that this story was not like the others and that what he was about to read was not going to be at all like what he’d read so far. 

This had turned into some kind of fictional love affair.

Itching heat started to crawl up Five’s neck once he reached the third paragraph and the first lines of dialogue were laid out with perfect effect.

With this male shamelessly observing that under her skirt, the girl was not wearing any panties, she grinned and playfully purred, “You can have me any way you want…”

From there, the two characters proceeded to take things to a place between them that Five had never considered until it was literally being spelled out for him.

As Five read on, parts of him were waking up that had nothing to do with his anger concerning you. The document he was reading was essentially like taking a very seductive trip inside your mind and maybe even more surprising, seeing something that was inside his. It was a firsthand description of how you really saw him, what you wanted from him, and maybe even more scandalously what you wanted to do to him.

Five was not familiar with this kind of writing and the only way he could describe it was explicit, with the descriptions of what was going on being detailed enough that he read the words with a slightly gapped mouth and a rapidly quickening pulse.

The previous files he’d read had focused on emotional and psychological themes, making the barefaced sexual purpose of this one all that much more of a shock. He had no idea you were attracted to him and found his appearance and flippantly dickish behavior so appealing.

If he’d thought you made no sense before, but now he was beyond baffled by you.

As the scene he read moved past him pleasuring you, on to your character kneeling down on the floor between his legs as he confidently opened his pants and he told you to get to work, Five took in a long, deep breath. He reactively moved his hand over the heat between his legs, his palm pressing down the hard length beginning to make itself known under the tightening stretch of fabric covering him.

In spite of his flawlessly pale skin, Five was typically not the type to blush, but by the time he was done reading your story, he felt like his face was on fire and his body was going to spontaneously combust. Unable to stop himself, Five began to more intently rub the aroused flesh hidden under the wool of his pants.

He started reading the story again, and he was so taken by it all that he didn’t hear you walking down the hall.

“Oh, there it is,” you said as you walked in and saw the back of your laptop sitting in front of the last person you had figured you see with it. To make it more bizarre, you didn’t remember leaving it in there and Five was looking at it with the most intense expression you’d ever seen grace his sharply expressive features.

With worry hitting you with the unforgiving force of a tanker truck, you rushed around the large piece of furniture separating you to see what had captured his attention so fully that he only just now looked up at you, finally registering that you were there.

With his hands flying up from his lap, Five tried to clear the screen.

Seeing the title to your very, very naughty story about him on the autosave line, you shrieked out a plethora of swear words, some which you just made up on the fly. Five was sure to have never heard some of your more imaginative curses prior to that moment, but you were pretty sure their meaning was not lost on him based on how he was backing away from you.

You slammed the laptop closed.  Then you covered your face with your hands and started pacing as you incoherently mumbled.

Through the cracks between your fingers, you could see that Five was clearly stunned by what had just transpired. He looked like his brain had stopped working, which was impressive since he was a proven genius.

Great. You broke the poor man and all it took was literarily getting your fuck on with him!

Then, instead of flipping out, to your surprise, Five said your name. It came out so soft and unsure and nothing like the way he normally spoke to you. It was the first time he’d ever acknowledged that he knew your name. You had thought that to him, you were just another nameless person they’d hired.

Hearing it, you dropped your hands, revealing a face so red that it only made your body’s less than desirable response accelerate even more, and then you got redder.

Not sure what to say, your next words burst from your mouth. “You must think I am a perverted weirdo! I swear I am not… It’s just…a silly hobby. I- I write things to get them out of my head and I always delete them. I wasn’t going to-"

You didn’t know how to explain yourself, so you squeezed your eyes shut rather than take another second of him sitting there, still as a statue, still staring at you in what you could only guess was horror.

If you weren’t sure that Five was gearing up to bite your head off and report you to the police, you’d almost think his own red-faced expression of distress was cute, but that was only if you didn’t know better. Under his boyish charm, there was a very dangerous man that was about to spring to life. That person had no interest or reason to show someone who’d invaded his privacy any mercy.

Trying to save your ass, you sputtered, “I never write stuff like that, it’s just… Shit. This is basically my worst nightmare. I am so sorry.”  You let out a broken sounding moan. You turned around, burying your face in your hands again. “Don’t worry, I am going. I will submit my resignation right away and I will delete that right now.”

Starting to cry, you moved to do just that but Five scared the hell out of you when he snatched your hand away and didn’t let go.

His eyes narrowed and your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. You tried yanking your hand back, but he held fast. “Stop!” he ordered, and you did, sort of. Your entire body trembled as you uselessly pulled, trying to get away. Reeling you back in to face him, Five calmly said, “You better not quit.”

What?

Had you heard him right?

God, he was close. You could feel the heat from his body and the warmth of his breath hitting your lips.

“Please stop crying,” he whispered.

You shook your head.

Undeterred by your inability to speak or to stop your sniffles, Five moved his hand to your waist and his penetrating eyes bore into yours making it impossible to look away. “That little story there…” 

He stopped speaking. Suddenly looking flustered he ran his hand back through his hair, rumpling it in the most adorable way. 

“You haven’t asked me what I thought about your writing?” he taunted, his voice so low and threatening sounding that you weren’t sure why your feet weren’t moving so you could high-tail it out of there.

Your reply came out as anxious sounding as you felt. “I don’t need to ask. I can tell by the way you are looking at me that you think I am nuts, and you hate me.”

Five drew in a deep breath, his eyes floating to the ceiling for a moment before he held your eye again and countered, “Well, if you think that, then you are right about the other things you wrote about me. I am a complete asshole and treat people like shit, but that is not my intent right now, despite my past and what my face says. You were very accurate and astute when it comes to nailing down who I really am, but perhaps when it comes to how I really feel about all this, and you, you shouldn’t be looking at my face.”

Before you could ask him what he meant by that, Five slid his arm around your waist, pulling your hips flush with his, and that forceful maneuver made it very clear what he thought about what you wrote.

Wiping your eyes as your heart raced, you muttered a very unintelligent sounding, “Oh.”

Five’s excruciatingly soft looking lips pulled up on one side, the look of it matching what you only now recognized in the sparking emerald of his shining eyes. There was a menacing level of mischief in him that was all the more strengthened by his burning arousal.

Confidently taking you by the wrist, Five led you back to the desk. Pressing you back against the unforgiving wood surface, directly between him and his chair as he said, “I am sorry I have been so…” His smile widened and you felt like you could melt from the sheer sight of his dimple deepening. “I have been so blind. You are right about everything you said about me.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you tried not to lose it over the way he was looking at you or the feel of his long fingers trailing up your thighs, not stopping until they were hidden just under the hem of your skirt where he let them settle.

Not sure what was happening, you shakily asked, “How much did you read?”

“All of it. Twice,” he blew across your lips as his teasingly hovered so close it was making you dizzy. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. Your writing is very good,” Five added as he flipped your hair aside and his mouth brushed with featherlight gentleness against your neck, making spiraling fireworks of tingles run up and down your spine.

You shut your eyes, feeling like you were having an outer body experience as Five placed tender but persistently more certain kisses along your throat and the shell of your ear. “You’re not mad?” you quietly asked, lost in his extremely loving touches.

Five’s fingers came up, moving a strand of hair from your forehead before those same fingertips tickled across your cheek then gripped your chin, forcing your face up next to his.

Your droopy eyes reactively flipped open.

“No. I am not mad,” he quietly responded, the comforting green of his eyes all but overtaken with the darkness of his growing lust. “I was mad at first and not just because you like to write stories about me. At first, I was hell bent on ending you for interfering in matters that don’t concern you. Pushing my family to choose such an inadequate name for our foundation was your crime and I was going to make you pay, but I see all that a little differently now. Funny how hearing a little truth done in the right way can make a very old, yet forever young fool see the light,” he finished with a chuckle that sounded so unbelievably charming coming from such a normally serious person.

“You don’t like the name, and you wanted to end me? That’s why you stole my laptop?”

Five laughed again. “Thanks to you, the name might be growing on me.” Ignoring your other questions he somewhat less assuredly said, “Is it true what you said about me… That part you wrote about how in the face of how much I lost, the fact that I never stopped fighting to change things for the better was the most admirable and important quality a person could have?”

“Yes. Of course I meant it.  You’re an example of what it means to be strong and not give up and that’s what these kids need, and that is why I suggested that name after hearing your brother Klaus ramble on for hours about your life and how wonderful you are. You are someone they can look up to and that name seemed like it spoke of the trials yet also many triumphs of your amazing life.” Seeing Five’s face light up and feeling brave, you cautiously added, “From what I hear, we are all lucky you never gave up and aren’t lost anymore. If not for you, there wouldn’t be a world left. We owe our life to you.”

Five looked down at the minimal space between you, his dark lashes fanning his beautifully flushed cheeks.

“That’s not necessarily true, and in many ways, I am still lost,” he admitted. “You were right, I push people away. I lack basic social skills and I have been way too much of an arrogant prick to own that, and for it, I am alone.” His smoldering eyes flipped back up. “But I don’t want that. I want someone that sees me the way you do and isn’t scared of who I really am.”

The slightest tic as his jaw tensed was the only sign that Five wasn’t as sure of himself as he appeared.  

“Are you scared of me?” he provocatively lured, almost as if he were baiting you.

You croaked back a very embarrassing sounding, “No.”

Looking like he loved that, Five excitedly asked, “Good, then will you let me show you how sorry I am for being a dick, and how much I appreciate you making me see all this in a new way? You are right. Nothing sticks it to my old man like making this place in name and purpose into something about giving people less fortunate a second chance. That is not what he’s about and using his name and things he knows are a jab at him is a perfect fuck you.”

That smile of Five’s that could explode a girl’s lady bits came out to play again and with it his hand ran down your back, gripping you by hard on the ass.

“Since you seemed to like the idea of it, and you haven’t kicked me in the balls yet, will you give me a chance to make your fiction come to life?”  he courteously questioned, though none of this conversation had anything to do with any form of normal social decorum.

As his words hit home, Five quirked a dark brow at you, and again, ever so subtly, he let you get a feel of his desire as he trapped your body between his and the desk.

“What I lack in experience, I tend to make up with determination and my ability to quickly learn even the most complex concepts and tasks,” he added hopefully.

Squirming a little, your eyes flit over the contours of Five’s face as you tried to imagine the older man that he really was, but like usual, you could only nail that part of him down in the unnaturally assured way he held himself. Like it had from the first time you laid eyes on him, the paradox that was Five Hargreeves only made you want him more.

“I could let you do that…” you flirtatiously dangled, “as long as you aren’t planning on ending me still. Being all scary like you are is hot and all, but the threats against my life and livelihood are sort of a lady boner kill.”

Letting out another laugh that you could hardly believe you were hearing coming from him, Five nodded. “You aren’t going anywhere, sweetheart. Not until I give us both a happy ending and I don’t mean that kind of ending,” he growled just before his lips crashed against yours and his hand moved behind your neck, locking you to him.

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

⚠️This concludes the PG 13 ending option. Go on if you want the explicit ending option.

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

Five’s kiss took your breath away. His tongue pushed inside your mouth as he searched for more.

His kiss was perfectly unpracticed, warm and innocent.

The feel of him letting himself go in this way had you securing your legs around his backside, encouraging him to take even more, which he did, urging your bottom up onto the desk where he held you on the edge.

The protrusion of Five’s erect cock jabbed into your abdomen as he thrust himself against you as if he was already fucking you. “Fuck, I fucking want you,” he wetly gasped as he let your mouth go, only to assault your neck and then your collarbone with nips and needy kisses that were sure to leave their mark.

With his sucking and well timed bites, he was hitting all your most sensitive spots, and you knew without asking that he’d learned just what to do to drive you wild from what he’d just read. As your head dropped back and your eyes closed, you couldn’t believe that a story that was never meant for his eyes had accidentally stoked this passion in him and had now come to this.

Feeling his hand moving higher under your skirt, you let out a huffy little moan, followed by a whining sound. With a smile, Five looked up, looking first at your puffy lips and then your glossy eyes as if something had just occurred to him.

As you were trying to figure out why he’d stopped, he leaned into your ear, softly speaking something in another language. “Sei così bella. Voglio conoscere ogni parte di te ed essere tutto ciò che pensi che io sia..”  (You are so beautiful. I want to know every part of you and be all the things you think I am.)

As Five moved along, kissing your jaw, you didn’t even get to ask what he’d said before his fingers were dropping down over your underwear.

“Well, well, well…” he tutted. “You aren’t supposed to be wearing these.” With that, Five remedied that deviation from your story, flipping your legs together and then tugging your panties down so he could stuff them in his back pocket.

His lips brushed yours and you trembled from that as well as the sensation of his fingers coming at you back and forth. They were gliding between your folds as he gauged your reactions to his explorations with a look of devoted persistence that proved he wasn’t kidding when he said he was all about learning the best way to please you. 

Soon Five had you making sounds that were somewhere between pathetic whimpers and pleas for more. Then with no warning, he pushed two fingers inside you, and half mad, your mind spiraled into chaos ad he crooked the digits upwards. He worked them in and out with an intensity that was bordering on too much and your body spasmed around him, your legs at his backside clenching him tighter before going limp as you cried out his name.

Five smiled with satisfaction, pulling back just a little to watch your chest heaving and your body writhe.

“That’s it, honey, only next time I want the entire city to know I am fucking you,” he smugly informed before diving back in to kiss you again, all the while his long fingers never stopped dragging out every last tremor of your release.

Even in your state of bliss you could tell that Five was trying and failing to one-handedly undo his belt. Softly pushing him back, you weren’t sure he was going to relent but when he did, he looked humorously desperate.

“Wait you breathed. You can have me as many times as you want and in any way you want, but first there’s something I’ve been dying to do to you.”

That perked Five’s attention.

You pulled your lip between your teeth for only a moment before you pounced on him, your humiliation from earlier now nothing more than an afterthought as you pushed Five back and down into his chair. His vest buttons were your first target, and you relished the feeling of Five straining as you took control and your hands worked, unpackaging him.

Next, the shiny little buttons on his dress shirt popped open, one-by-one.

Once done, you ran your hands across Five’s exposed upper body, loving how firm and smooth his skin was. The contours of his leanly defined abs made him look like some kind of sex God. The very fine trail of dark hair leading from his belly button down, along with the ‘V’ shaped arrow of his muscle leading into his pants, were a sight to behold on their own but they were also drawing your attention to another intriguing a part of him that you could already tell was plenty more than average sized.

Not one to be outdone, while you were checking him out, Five suddenly reached up and ripped your blouse open, making it your second clothing casualty if you counted your underpants that he’d stolen.

His voice was barely more than a whisper but this time you were pretty sure you knew what the single word he spoke meant.

“Perfetta.” (Perfect.)

As your mouth moved to his, he shot forward to meet you, but Five was still mostly letting you have your way with him as you finished undoing his pants and pulled them open so you could fish him out of the thin cotton restraining him.

“My turn,” you warned before coming back to Five’s awaiting mouth, your kiss muffling his groan as your hand pumped his hard length, testing him and finding him deliciously responsive and dripping with pre-cum.

You saw a tinge of madness in his gaze as your thumb circled, teasing the slit of skin and the ridge surrounding the underside of his tip. Your adoring kisses moved down his neck, cherishing every curve and dip of his flesh as he swallowed down what you could only assume was how much he wanted to move this along.

One more kiss, your tongue tracing along his teeth before you sucked at his bottom lip and another spark of need had him pushing down on the armrests so he could better rock his shaft up into your hand even more than he already was.

Five’s thoughts came out in a rush of disjointed words. “Plea- Please. Oh, fuck yes,” he grunted and gasped. 

His chocolatey brown hair fell in his eyes, but it didn’t matter because they were closed so beautifully in his state of total surrender. 

“I have waited so long to have this,” he groaned as you jerked him harder and faster.

“And you’ve waited long enough,” you whispered against his lips before slipping lower, kissing his jaw and quivering stomach muscles along the way as you moved down between his legs.

As your mouth found him, you could only hope that Five felt truly young and free as he looked. You meant it in your story when you said that he deserved this and so much more.

You took him in, letting him push down your throat until it was too much, but even then you fought to hold your mouth around him, encasing his throbbing cock with hollowed cheeks and the flat of your tongue.

You knew you’d given him some form of peace when he anxiously reached back, tugging at his own hair. A warmth started filling your mouth, not stopping as you swallowed the flood of his seed down. His eyes sprung wide, and his mouth dropped open, a guttural sound flying from his lips as his head fell back helplessly against the upholstered chair.  

You knew right then; you’d never forget that beautiful look on his face or the beautiful sounds he’d made. But more than that, you’d never forget the way Five made you feel when he looked at you.

You weren’t one-hundred percent sure that he had never been with a woman like this, but it had been strongly hinted by his brother that may have been the case. Just the fact that he trusted you to be his first brought a whole new depth to this moment. It was so empowering, it felt like pure energy was running through your veins.

Of all people, Five had chosen you.

Through his soft panting, Five looked all sorts of delirious, slouching in his father’s grand chair, with his clothes askew and his dick in your hand as you gave him a few final licks and proceeded to stretch your jaw and shyly smile up at him. Not about to let the fun end, you crawled up in his lap, letting your legs fall through the armrests at his sides so you were straddling him.

Five’s eyes fluttered open and closed as his hands gripped your hips and he gave you a little bounce on his knees. He smiled so happily and sleepily it made your heart skip a beat. Then he said, “Ready for round two, gorgeous?”

“Are you,” you teased, letting your fingers weave together around the backside of his neck as you leaned back so you could admire him in all his post organism, messy haired glory.

“Not yet, but I will be soon,” Five replied and he clearly meant it too. He was still partially hard, and by the way he had just started rubbing your tits and looked totally enthralled with how they were hardening for him, you were pretty sure that with a little more educational exploration of your body it wouldn’t take him long to be ready to go again.

“Five,” you breathed as he plucked and teased your nipples.

“Hmmm,” he sweetly hummed as his mouth found one, sucking on it with increasing pressure until you squeaked, so he resorted again to softly groping and nipping instead.

“What did you say to me before?” you questioned while still recovering from that.

“I asked you to go on a date with me after we finish this little reenactment of yours,” he replied, his words slow and thick. “I need an older woman like you to show me the way of the world and keep me in line and nothing would make me happier than to take you to dinner tonight and tomorrow night and...”

Oh my God.

Gone was the jerk you’d been walking on pins and needles around, and here was a man pouring out his heart to you though you hardly knew each other. To add to your dismay, you could tell he at least partially was lying. There’s no way Five had said all of that while glammering you with his ability to speak in seductive sounding languages. His arrogant little smirk as he lied only added to his power over you, yet you found that all you wanted was to kiss it right off his pretty lying face.

“Well, is it a plan? Will you go on a date with me?” he pushed, while also pushing his hardening shaft into the hand that you had been using to leisurely stroke him.

You laughed at the absurdity of the situation you’d gotten yourself into. The age differences you were dealing with were complicated to say the least, not to mention that you’d already messed up how normal people went about starting this kind of thing.

Doing your best pouty face, you pretended to be offended. “I am not older than you. Not really”

“No, you are not,” he agreed then frowned too and just like that, you wanted to do anything in your power to make him smile again.

Leaning in, you gave Five the softest, most chaste kiss you could.

“I take that as a yes to both aforementioned questions,” he mumbled, not even breaking your kiss as his arms fastened around you and he started lifting you both out of the chair.

Not stopping, in a matter of seconds, Five had you repositioned on top of the desk with his body lined up between your legs.

With his dick in hand, Five didn’t look at all embarrassed as he jerked himself off as he patiently waited for your answer.

This man had said he wasn’t going to end you but right then you knew he was ruin you for anyone else.

“Yes to both,” you frantically gulped, to which Five instantly started swiping his cockhead across your slicked wet entrance.

 “Ohhh, fuu-ah-auck!” he moaned as he sank forward and your body stretched and clenched around him with each slow dip inside you that he took.

Biting down your own much higher pitched curse, your fingernails went up under his shirt, stripping it and his vest off.

As Five’s entire length disappeared all the way inside you your body folded around him.

You saw stars and Five also looked perfectly shattered by what he must have been feeling and seeing.

Clinging to him, your fingers dug into his back and he carefully began to roll his hips, fucking you deeply at first, only switching to full and more abrupt thrusts the more your body accepted him.    

It was as things were starting to really get moving that Luther walked in.

 “Hey, Five?” he started to question before he saw you and what Five was doing to you and then let out a very startled sounding, “Oh SHIT!”

You were already trying to cover breasts but Five didn’t seem concerned about it at all. With hardly a look up over your shoulder, with his cock still slamming into your cunt as he bucked his strong hips, hitting you just right, he roughly grunted out, “I. Smell. Something. Burning. Arrr-you trying to think again, Luther?”

Five’s larger than life brother was floundering, the heels of his shoes clumsily moving backwards before he ran into the wall.

“I urrr-umm… I felt bad. I mean, we felt bad,” he frantically rambled. “I was coming back to see if you were feeling any better about the naming thing. We can go with your idea if you really want and…and we were hoping you changed your mind about coming out to the karaoke bar with us and…shit. This is awkward!”

Still using your legs for leverage as he fucked you as hard as he could, looking up with a goofy smile you’d never seen him make as he casually blew his hair out of his face, Five spoke as if nothing was amiss at all. “I love the ‘Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys’ name. It’s perfect, just like my smart lady right here said it was, but really Luther… No shit this is awkward for you! Get the fuck out. Can’t you see that I’m a little busy?”

As your body started to tense and then fall into quaking vibrations of uncoiling heat all compounded by flaming embarrassment, just then, Ben rounded the corner, letting out a cynical sounding laugh as his hand flew over his mouth then came down slapping his leg instead. 

“Come on, big guy. Looks like this isn’t the time for a family chat,” he said, guiding his frozen brother out of the room.

Alone again, you were somewhere between orgasmic bliss and an odd sort of mortification filled with the feeling that nothing really mattered but the man whose head had fallen against your chest as he started to spill inside you while muttering praises that made your heart feel like it might burst.

This was nuts. All of this was. But somehow, it made sense. It was perfect and you couldn’t have written it happening any better.

Somehow, with Five and his crazy family, you knew things would always be unexpected and extraordinary, but you were ready for it. The once broken but not beaten wayward boy was proving he was far from giving up and he didn’t need special powers to make your wildest dreams come true. He just needed to be the person he'd always been.

Thanks for reading, lovies. ❤️

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[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is well and completely aware that his boyfriend is, objectively, a bad bitch.

He’s seen him shoot through the crook of someone’s arm to disable an entire warship. He’s seen him wink and brush by seasoned Blade and send them stumbling. He’s seen him choke someone out with his legs alone. (He’s been choked out by Lance legs. Several times. He’s even instigated that happening.)

But one thing Lance is before anything else; before he is a paladin, before he is a friend, before he is a badass, before he is anything, he is a complainer.

“You never take me anywhere,” he is fond of whining, as if they are not on a floating hunk of metal and polymer in dead space at all times. Or getting shot at. They are in the equivalent of the cross-Atlantic highway at three in the morning in a century old car that breaks down every two hundred miles like clockwork, and also sometimes they just get bombed out of nowhere. That is their life.

We never do anything, he says. Bah. Sometimes he thinks he is going to scoop his boyfriend up and — throw him at something.

But he knows that would never. Not really. As much as Lance drives him batty (and he does drive him fucking batty — he’s been huffy at Keith for a week because Keith didn’t listen to him on a mission, in a dream, and died. He has had an attitude for six days), he really and truly loves Lance more than anything. He loves the way Lance snorts when he laughs and trips over his own two feet more often than not and talks in his sleep and forgets English words and shrugs about it. He loves the magnitude of Lance’s smile and the endless brown of his eyes and the way he always kisses Keith’s clavicle before bed and doesn’t know he does it. He loves the way Lance leans into him without thinking when they sit next to each other and holds his hand when they walk. He loves how Lance fights for a way to meet his eyes when missions go to shit and asks him what to do next just to help Keith focus on something. He loves the way that his jacket was mysteriously fixed the time the old thing wore a hole along the seams and Lance played dumb about it like it could have been anyone else. He loves the way Lance coos over every animal they stumble across, no matter how horrifying, the way he cries his eyes out at every single movie and smacks anyone who looks at him. He loves the way Lance’s entire person always just seems to bubble out of him, like he’s holding his bleeding heart with open fingers.

Keith loves him in a way he didn’t think he deserved. And so it bugs him, really, that he can’t take Lance places, can’t buy him every ugly flower he wants or take him to hole-in-the-wall clubs to dance like Keith knows he wants to or even just go to the space mall with him.

Floating junkmobile in space or not, Keith is going to treat him or die trying. He is.

“So we’re not even close to something with gravity?” Keith clarifies, perhaps a touch desperate.

“Farther than your brain can conceptualise to even an asteroid,” Coran confirms, with no subtle amount of amusement.

Keith purses his lips. “Could we, like…travel there?”

Coran holds his gaze for a moment, eyebrow raised, then returns to the medical supplies he was sorting through.

“I’m afraid not, dear.”

“Why not?”

“I’m quite fond of not getting ambushed.”

“What if you just dropped me off? Then you can go back to not getting ambushed.”

“No.”

“I’ll keep my comm on! For real this time! Just a couple vargas.”

“Unfortunately not, Number Three.”

“Please?”

Keith does his best to widen his eyes the way Lance does it when he’s trying and succeeding at getting his way. He somehow dilates his pupils on command, which Keith doesn’t know how to do, but he figures he can most certainly try. Coran likes him, anyway. He said so.

“Child.” Look of amusement still slotted firmly on his face, and also somehow sporting a piece of wizened reading glasses that he was not wearing three seconds ago, Coran carefully sets down the equipment he’s holding, standing to walk over to Keith. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and leans in. “I am not dropping off one of the leaders of Voltron alone on a swap moon for a ‘couple vargas’. You understand why.”

Keith sighs petulantly. “I would get super murdered.”

Coran hums. “You would get super murdered, yes.”

He claps Keith’s back heartily, nearly sending Keith sprawling, then turns back to his sorting. Keith waits til his back is turned to silently and dramatically fall to his knees and mime screaming like Troy Bolton in the third High School Musical Movie (Shiro has too much of an influence on him). He had really hoped Coran would magically have a solution.

“Although,” Coran says, making Keith jump and scramble to his feet (thank every deity to ever exist that Coran keeps his back turned or Keith would crumble to humiliated dust), “if you’re looking for a change of scenery for whatever reason, there are lots of secluded places in the castle.”

Keith flushes red. He knows that’s not how Coran means it — only Hunk knows about them, having magically been able to keep his mouth shut after the whole found-your-lion debacle — but he can’t help where his mind goes, and he’s standing in front of someone who is for all intents and purposes his father, basically, or at least one of them, and it’s horrible and embarrassing and the worst. Imagining that in front of Coran, who once cried and told him he’s just so proud of the man he’s becoming, is just — no. He can’t handle having a father figure again. He’s going back to being a sad orphan.

Well. No.

Whatever.

“Okay bye Coran,” he says loudly and tellingly, practically sprinting out of the room in mortification. He considers ducking into his room to see if Lance is there, but he knows Lance will ask what’s up, and the idea of explaining to him and then hearing him laugh himself to tears adds a beautifully shiny cherry to his sundae of suffering and he decides otherwise.

He ducks instead into the kitchen, hoping it’ll be empty at this time so he can eat his feelings away, but of course that’s not the case. Hunk stands with his hands on his hips at a counter, knife clenched in his right hand, glaring at what Keith hopes is a vegetable of some kind.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk calls, slowly moving his knife so as to not startle the vegetable.

The vegetable twitches. Keith pretends it doesn’t, choosing to ignore its existence and hoisting himself up to sit on the counter while Hunk is too distracted to stop him.

“I have a dilemma,” he whines when Hunk fails to ask further questions.

“You and Lance are slowly morphing into the same person,” Hunk comments idly. “I have to deal with two of you now. It’s exhausting. Go back to hating each other.”

Keith smiles. “No.”

“Ugh.” He makes a sudden move towards the nightmare vegetable and it panics, throwing itself off the counter in sad vegetable suicide and splatters on the floor. Hunk sighs for a very long time, then reaches for a rag. “Tell me about your dilemma then, catboy. I am looking forward to clowning you.”

“I need to take Lance on a date,” Keith says. “An amazing one.” He tries to be cool and normal for three seconds before remembering that Hunk caught them making out on a moon when they still pretended to hate each other and knows there is no worse shame. “One that is worthy of him, you know? I want him to feel treasured.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows. “Take him to the space mall to commit crimes again. He loves doing that.”

“Coran said no.”

“Observation deck?”

“Makes him sad.”

“Pool?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, considering. “Well, maybe. But we do that all the time. Plus anyone could just walk in on us.”

Hunk groans loudly, chucking the dirty rag at Keith’s face. Keith manages to dodge but only barely.

“You two and your stupid sneaky shit. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to cover for you two so you can giggle about your secrets?”

Keith grins guiltily. “Love you, Hunk.”

“Shut up. I hate you. When everyone finds out I’m going to point and laugh. I don’t even understand why you bother.”

Keith shrugs, twisting the rag sound his fingers. “It’s not…” He sighs. Hunk must sense the shift in the air, because he stops what he’s doing and hoists himself up next to Keith, even though he hates it when people sit on the counter, and leans against him. Keith shoots him a small, grateful smile.

“There’s something special when it’s just the two of us, I guess. Like being in our own little blanket fort. The lighting’s low and every sound feels muffled and it’s hard to breathe and everything else fades, for a bit.”

Keith doesn’t know how else to describe it. His Pa used to build him blanket forts, when he was really little, and he would stay in there until it collapsed on top of him. The same safe feeling settles in his chest when he lies in bed with Lance, when they stand back to back in battle, when they’re as closely pressed together as they can be. Like he’s wrapped in blankets and floating on air.

“Do that, then,” Hunk says softly. He grabs Keith’s hand and squeezes it softly. “Lance loves you, dude. He just wants to spend time with you. He complains because of who he is as a person, but he doesn’t…he swoons about you, man. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

For all of his poking and whining, Lance was the one to move his stuff into Keith’s room. It was Lance who pulled him in with a smirk when Keith knocked on that door, asking what they were next. Lance who pulls him back under the covers in the morning and peppers kisses to his skin, Lance to whisper their first I-love-you, fast and near silent like a gasping inhale, Lance who thought Keith was asleep when he whispered you make me happy like no one else into his hair.

Lance wants him. Plain and simple. In whatever way they have, floating piece of junk or not.

“You got something?” Hunk murmurs.

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. He smiles at his friend, eyes crinkling when he grins right back. “Yeah, I got something.”

He thinks about blanket forts and low lighting and feeling like floating. He thinks about the first time they were ever a team on the castle. He thinks about all the picnic dates in all the romcoms Lance makes him watch.

Suddenly he can’t sit still for another moment. His blood feels like it’s buzzing, and his fingers twitch. He has an idea and if he doesn’t implement it immediately he’s gonna die.

“Get out of here,” Hunk says tiredly, shaking his head in amusement. “You stress me out. Go bother Lance.”

Keith presses a smacking kiss on his cheek because he is, at the core of him, annoying. The action startles a laugh out of him, because at the core of him, Hunk is not nearly as much of hater as he pretends to be.

“Bye Hunk! Love you!”

He runs out of the room to Hunk’s rolled eyes and his own wide grin, heading straight for the pool — he’s got some prep to do.

———

He’s shifty the whole day and he knows it. Lance knows it too, based on the narrowed, judgemental eyes, long, considering glare, and the way he flicks Keith on the forehead mid-spar and says “You’re being shifty, weirdo.”

Keith grabs his hand and kisses it just to make Lance smile on reflex and then scowl about smiling when he’s trying to be mad. It’s all very predictable and amusing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says lightly. He even pitches his voice to sound more innocent and everything, just like Adam taught him.

“Ugh,” Lance responds.

They go back to sparring, and Keith can’t keep the smile off his face for the life of him. He’s just — so excited. He can’t wait. (And, also, his refusal to answer Lance’s questions is visibly pissing him off, and that’s always fun.) He makes an excuse after a couple hours, kissing Lance loudly and obnoxiously on the cheek before running off, leaving him in the training room and circling the castle three times to make sure he’s not being followed before ducking into the kitchen. As Hunk had promised yesterday when Keith had explained his plan, there are dozens of supplies laid out on the counter and a detailed instruction manual. Keith makes a mental note to clean Hunk’s tools until they are shining in thanks.

Keith, says a pink post-it note on the manual, you’re a whipped loser. Love, Hunk.

Keith grins, folding up the note and tucking it in his pocket. He takes inventory of the supplies, making a special note of the weirdo lump shaped fruit that Keith knows taste like strawberries, that Lance is obsessed with and Hunk often has to literally claw out of his hands when they’re on ship so that Lance doesn’t eat them all. (Actually, now he just puts a lock on the fridge. It’s a problem. Lance loves those strawberries more than Keith, probably.)

Confident that Hunk will keep Lance distracted and praying that no one comes into the kitchen and asks him what the hell he’s doing, Keith gets started. He chops up vegetables, whisks up batters, cuts sandwiches into cool shapes (a sword, Mothman, and an elaborate brachiosaurus) for three straight hours, tucking everything away into a basket and then into the very back corner of the fridge and hiding it behind a case of soda that no one but Keith likes. He barely manages to finish cleaning up the kitchen by the time Shiro and Pidge stroll into the room to get dinner, and both of them eye him suspiciously.

“You’re early,” Pidge says, eyebrows raised.

“You’re never early,” Shiro adds. “I usually have to go send someone to drag you.”

“I’m hungry,” Keith says primly. He’s not, really, since he’s been snacking on stuff as he’s been cooking, but he marches over to the goo machine and squirts himself a bowl anyway. He’ll pull a Lance and feed half of it to the mice, it’ll be fine.

The rest of the team files in a few minutes later; Allura with her hair stuck up in a million places and her nose nearly pressed to her tablet, Coran guiding her by the shoulders so she doesn’t walk right into the counter (again); Hunk and Lance side by side, Lance aggressively swinging their joined hands.

“Hello!” he announces loudly to the room, and it says something about him that every single one of them smiles on reflex, saying hi back.

Lance takes his usual spot next to Keith, Shiro on his other side, Hunk across from them. Under the table, Keith links their ankles together, because no one will look for it and every time it makes a pleased flush grow on the back of Lance’s neck.

“Guess what,” Lance says twenty seconds into a comfortable silence because nothing makes Lance squirm like not talking for ten seconds.

Allura sets her tablet down because she is nosey. “What?”

“I beat Keith at sparring today. Twice,” Lance brags.

Keith scowls at his goo. That’s true, but only because he fought dirty. Keith had him pinned and Lance kissed him, and what was Keith supposed to do, shrug that off? Unlikely. And unrealistic. It’s not like Lance is going to be doing that to fight enemies.

Well. He better not.

“Because you cheated,” Keith mutters.

“Nope, nuh uh, didn’t happen. You are just old and grey and losing your abilities.”

“I’m barely one year older than you!” Keith cries.

Lance smirks. “Elderly, basically. Geriatric. I went easy on you today because I was worried about your knees.”

“Oh, you fucking —”

“Boys,” Shiro interrupts sharply.

They both jump.

“One meal,” the Black Paladin sighs, hand sliding down his face. “Just — one fucking meal, where you two don’t fight.”

“I don’t get it,” Pidge comments, irritated furrow to her brows. “You guys hang out, like, all the time. You’d think you’d be able to talk without jabbing at each other.”

“I think they’re just weirdos,” Hunk says flatly looking at them with a very pointed expression. “I think they just enjoy going at each other. Like weirdos.”

Beside him, Lance averts his eyes, biting his lip to hold back laughter. Keith looks away so he doesn’t have to do the same.

“Sorry, Shiro,” Keith says, working hard to keep his tone neutral. “I’ll do my best to not rise to Lance’s bait.”

“And I’ll try really hard to be okay with stinky mullet’s presence as a whole,” Lance promises.

Shiro only shakes his head and sighs harder. Keith reaches over and pinches his boyfriend’s thigh in revenge.

After dinner, and an aggravated pinching contest that ends with them straight up brawling beside the table and the team looking like they wanted to pelt food good at them, they wait for everyone else to head out to the common room before making their way down to their rooms.

“We’re not joining everyone else?” Lance questions, looking pointedly at their joined hands, blatant as they are in the hallway.

Keith hums, lifting their joined hands and looping around Lance’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Lance stumbles into him, laughing as Keith manages to catch him and keep them both upright.

“Nope,” Keith says, smiling into his hair. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively — God, he really is becoming Lance. “They’re all tired of us, I think. Perfect opportunity for us to have some time without any interruptions, I was thinking.”

Lance grins. “Sounds good to me.”

The stumble into their room giggling.

———

Hours later, Lance is half asleep on his chest, and Keith traces lazy shapes onto his back. The hallways are quiet, even if he strains his ears. The only thing he can hear is Lance’s even breathing, and the steady thud of his heartbeat. He checks his watch — ten thirty. Everyone else is asleep or close to it.

It’s time, he thinks.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips pressed to Lance’s hair. “Wake up.”

“‘M not asleep.”

“Good.” Keith shifts slightly, forcing Lance’s head to move, which earns him a sharp smack on the arm. He grabs Lance’s wrists and holds it there, rubbing a thumb on the palm of his hands. “Up you get.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Lance.”

Lance groans loudly. “I am comfortable,” he laments. “Your tiddies are comfortable. I’m not moving, Pillow. Lie down in silence and be grateful you have the honour of sleeping with me. I’m a delight.”

Keith snorts, but doesn’t back down. “Get up or I tip you over.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance settles right back in, confident in the knowledge that Keith would do nothing of the sort.

Well, he’s wrong.

Careful to tuck his hand over the back of Lance’s head and neck, Keith flips them over at whip speeds, sending them sprawling over the side of the bed and onto the floor in a heap of skewed blankets and flailing limbs.

“You’re such a butthead!” Lance shrieks, smacking him repeatedly on the chest. Keith once again grabs both his wrists and holds tight, pinning him to the floor with his own body weight. He knows Lance isn’t really mad because he hardly puts up a struggle.

“I love you,” Keith says in response, leaning over to peck his boyfriend smack between the eyes. Lance huffs, grinning. “Come on. We’re going somewhere.”

“Ugh,” Lance groans again, but he grabs the hand Keith offers and pulls himself up anyway. He mutters derisively the entire time he gets dressed, but Keith wisely decides not to push it. “Let’s go, dingus. You better be bringing me to a five-star restaurant and then hotel.”

Keith bites back a grin. He knows his line.

“And where the fresh hell am I meant to find that, bastard?” he responds dutifully, wrapping his arm around Lance’s waist and tucking a hand into his back pocket as they walk.

Lance smiles coyly, leaning into him. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Keith rolls his eyes, smiling. “C’mon. We gotta stop in the kitchen first.”

Ignoring Lance’s pestering questions, which is one of his favourite hobbies, Keith steers them towards the fridge and grabs the basket he prepared, tucking it under his arm before Lance can steal it to look.

“If you peek I’m tossing it in the incinerator,” Keith warns.

Lance pouts. “That’s biphobic.”

“You’ll live.”

“Nope. I just found out the love of my life doesn’t accept me for who I am. I’ll try to choke it down, try to get over it, but it’ll eat me alive. Every night after you fall asleep I’ll cry until I pass out. Resentment will build. Eventually I’ll start turning away every time you kiss me. And then we’ll fight, and I will be too heartbroken to defend our relationship, and then all will crumble and we’ll be bitter exes until we die. I see it all now.”

“There are actual playwrights that are less dramatic than you,” Keith observes, looking at Lance’s gesturing in amusement. “I’m pretty sure most of them would beg for lessons.”

“They would be lucky as hell to have me.”

“They would be, baby.” He’d aimed for mocking, but his voice comes out fond and gooey and whipped and he knows it. Lance knows it too, judging by the shy little smile he sports, the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“Where are we even going?” he asks, a clear change of subject. “We’ve been walking the halls for ninety years.”

Keith scoffs. “We have not. And we’re going to the pool.”

Lance stops them mid-step, groaning. “Aw, come on! It’s nearly eleven, Keith!”

“And?” Keith asks, tugging him forward. He goes, but not without whining.

“You are the worst pool partner. You never just want to chill and float. Oh, no, it’s gotta be laps, you fuckin’ jock. Fuckin’ — olympic tryhard ass.”

Keith doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter, and through all his groaning Lance is laughing, too, and even when he’s complaining and being ridiculous and mocking Keith, Keith loves him. There’s not a second of the day when Keith doesn’t.

“Just come on,” he says, finally pulling them into the pool. “You’ll like it. I promise.” He holds his hands up to Lance’s eyes, raising a brow in question, then laying his palms over the top of Lance’s face when he isn’t told to stop.

Lance sighs, but he lets himself get manhandled, let’s Keith guide him up the walls like Coran showed them until they’re finally settled at the edge of the pool. Keith sets down the basket, takes a deep breath, and removes his hands from Lance’s face.

“Happy everyday,” he says quietly.

It takes Lance a moment to register the set up in front of him — the giant blow up kiddie pool floating on the real pool, layered in pillows and blankets. The projector on the wall, queueing Lance’s favourite movie — 10 Things I Hate About You, even though Keith can’t stand that movie and never lets it get picked during family movie nights. The soft lighting sending waves of dappled light reflecting all over the room, making the browns of Lance’s eyes shine gold. The scent of chocolate covered strawberries coming from the now-open picnic basket in Keith’s hands.

Lance m, predictably, bursts into tears.

“You — you jerk,” he cries, flinging himself onto Keith, who barely manages to catch him with an oof. “You are — the worst person alive. I despise you.”

Keith grins, setting down to basket to hold Lance in his arms properly, squeezing him as tight has he can, trying to — say, what he feels, with his body alone. Because there aren’t words for it, he doesn’t think, the way Lance is the first person he seeks out in any room he’s in, the way one touch from Lance has the tension melting from his body in bad days. How even when they’re at their worst and screaming in each other’s faces, there’s a voice in Keith’s head three times louder than anger that booms, don’t you dare hurt him. How he hasn’t felt this kind of safe with a person since his Pa; since he was tiny and young and not afraid of the world yet.

“I take it I win this dating thing?” Keith teases, face tucked into the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance laughs wetly, breath still shuddering and tears still leaking out of his eyes, and turns his head to kiss him slowly, hands pressed to either side of his face.

“You’re a dickhead and I love you more than air,” he says, smile wide and breathtaking. Keith has to bite back to urge to do something insane like ask him to marry him. God. He’s so — hngh. How is Keith supposed to explain. What he is to him.

“C’mon,” Keith says instead of any of that, voice kind of hoarse. He wraps their hands together and pulls them closer to the edge of the pool, kneeling down and reaching out to steady the floatie and holding it as Lance crawls in. He hands him the basket and tumbles in after him, falling onto his chest, and he feels it shame as Lance laughs, quiet and fond, and he knows he won’t be able to move away. So he settles into him and Lance’s hands come up automatically to rest in his hair, and Keith fumbles for the remote and plays the movie and hands him strawberries and watches Kat and Patrick fall in love and thanks anyone who is out there, from every atom in his body, for getting Lance’s dumb ass tied to a tree and having Keith the only one available to save him. And for the magnetism, between them, and the way Keith has never been able to hide himself from him.

“I love you,” Lance whispers as Kat reads her poem, fingers tangled around locks of Keith’s hair. “I mean it. I do.”

Keith turns his head slightly to kiss the inside of his knee, eyes closed, breaths heavy. “I know.” He lets himself bask in it, Lance’s love, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

———

first part

based off this video

[jupiter-soups]

a sheep in wolf's clothing

pairing + tag: joel miller x f!reader, established relationship, fluff

summary: joel miller is not quite as scary as the people of jackson believe him to be. at least, not around you.

word count: 1.9k

a/n: kinda been dealing with some writers block and i thought i'd write a cute fluffy one shot to deal with it. please let me know what you think! also, thank you to the incredible @papipascalispunk for beta-ing!

The swing of Joel’s sledgehammer squarely met the metal pole, pushing it down further into the hard earth with a raw strength that made the pair of teens watching grimace.

“God, he’s scary today. Why’s he hulking out so much? Who pissed him off?” The taller of the teens, Nathan, whispers to his friend, whilst leaning against his shovel for support. 

“I don’t know, but whoever it is better get their shit together, because he’s gonna end up snapping. We do not want to be here for that,” Callum responds with a conspiratorial tone, gesturing for Nathan to come closer so he could divulge some gossip.

“Apparently, before he got to Jackson, he was this total killing machine, just ruthless, relentless and bloodthirsty,” Callum stagewhispers, peeking out of the corner of his eye to where Joel was clearly funneling pure rage in each swing of his hammer.

“Why would they even let some mad man in here with us?” Nathan responds nervously, with much less subtlety in how he was eyeing Joel’s movements and his apparent familiarity with swinging a blunt object.

“I guess he adopted Ellie, or something. Maybe that mellowed him out a bit?” Callum winces at a particularly hard swing of the hammer, one that made Joel grunt out in effort, wiping the back of his hand against his forehead as he stepped back, seemingly satisfied with his work.

“Clearly not enough. Ellie’s dad, huh?” Nathan lets out a huff of an exhale, reminiscing on a particularly painful evening where his romantic advances on Ellie were met with a swift and brutally painful punch in the gut. “Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Their gossiping fades away into a terrified silence, as Joel stalks up to where they’re standing, walking slowly and with eyes slightly narrowed. The two practically shrink under his gaze as he approaches.

“You two just gonna stand around all day or get to fuckin’ work like the rest of us,” Joel grits out, the furrow of his brow informing the two that they were nowhere near quiet enough when gossiping.

“Uh, I–”

“We were j–”

“Stop fuckin’ around and dig.” Before Joel even finished his sentence, the pair scrambles back over to the patch of soil they were assigned to clear, working with a vigor that they didn’t even know they were capable of. 

—-----------

Joel had sort of assumed that the rumors about him had died down. No one crossed the street when they saw him anymore. No one even begged to get swapped to a different patrol route when grouped with him, terrified of what he might do outside of the safety of laws and watchful eyes in Jackson. 

He shifts his head from side to side as he walks home on the barely illuminated streets, stretching out the strain from working all day. He holds a paper bag close to his body, trying to keep it dry from the light rainfall that had begun at some point between him leaving the building site and stopping at the bakery. 

A smile breaks through his cold exterior as he finally approaches his house and sees the living room light still on, a beacon welcoming him home.

To you.

In his eagerness to see you, he forgot to take off his dirty work boots, a fact you quickly remind him of with a croaky call of “Shoes!”, the second he turned the corner into the living room. 

“Sorry, baby,” He laughs quietly, tossing the paper bag he was carrying onto your lap where you were sprawled out on the couch, before heading back into the hall to kick off his boots.

You gasp in excitement as you open the paper bag and see three of your favorite caramel cookies from the bakery, immediately regretting it as your throat stung from the act.

The cold that currently had you couchridden under the warm embrace of a thick woolen blanket had also meant that you weren’t able to pick up the rare treats. The bakery only made them once a month, and typically ran out by noon. Your heart swelled as you realized Joel must have gone out of his way on an already busy day, just to get them for you.

“How did you manage to get three of them?” You ask in awe as he reenters the room and moves to join you where you were sitting, lifting your extended legs to rest his back against the back of the couch and placing them over his lap. His hands settled on your legs, rubbing them gently through your thick winter pajama pants. 

“Guess there’s some good in being scary, ol’ Joel Miller,” He chuckles, taking a cookie from your extended hand and taking a bite.

You begin to sit up slightly to take a bite too, but visibly wince when your head begins to spin from the movement. Joel stops you instantly, dropping his cookie back into the bag on your lap to rearrange your pillows behind you into a slightly more seated position.

“You’re still not doing well,” He tuts, disapproval radiating off of him in a way that made you want to roll your eyes. “Shouldn’ta made me go to work today, darlin’, I should’a been here for you.”

“Joel,” you reassure, “I’m completely fine, barely got the sniffles at this point.” He raises an eyebrow at your blatant lie, taking in the sweaty sheen on your forehead and nasally voice before sighing and settling back into his seat. You weren’t in a state to argue.

“So, big, bad Joel Miller scares the town folk into giving him extra cookies?” You tease, drawing a laugh out of the guilty man sitting next to you. His grip on your shins loosens slightly as he begins to actually relax again, much to your satisfaction. He was already stressed enough in the morning when he had to leave you to go fill in for someone at the construction site, almost canceling after you spent most of the night awake, shivering and sniffling. You didn’t want him to feel even more guilty, regardless of the fact that you had been the one who insisted that he goes. 

“You should’a heard some of the stuff they were sayin’ about me today,” He shook his head in feigned disbelief, well aware of his reputation. “Somethin’ about being ruthless and relentless,”

You laugh through a bite of the cookie, “I could see that.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh, really?”

“At least the relentless part. There’s been more than a few times I’ve had to tap out,” you wiggle your eyebrows suggestively at him, causing him to shake his head at you, trying to fight back the way his lips were turning up at the corners in amusement. 

He watches you finish off the second cookie in a comfortable silence, a faint smile on his face as he observes the absolute glee in your eyes with each bite. His fingers begin to play with the hem of your pajama pants the more he watches you, and you can sense the slight anxiety in his movements.

“Stop worrying, Joel, I was fine. I promise. You know the building team needed you today.”

He grumbles a quiet response that you don’t quite make out, something about ‘incompetent,’ and ‘ill-equipped,’ before turning his annoyance to you, “I already know you didn’t drink enough water.”

You nudge him gently in the stomach with your knee, prompting him to drop it, which he does with a moody sigh.

“How was Ellie today?” He opts to change the subject.

“Not been around too much. She’s still running around after Dina, thinking she's so slick. I know we need to wait for her to come to us about it, but I wish she would just tell us already.” His soft brown eyes betray the unease he felt at the issue.

“I hope…” He trails off in a worried tone that’s familiar to you; the, I think I’m fucking up tone. “I hope she doesn’t think she can’t talk to me about it.” You reach your hand out and grab his, big and warm and immediately squeezing and rubbing your hand within his to warm up your freezing fingers. ”I suppose I can be a little scary sometimes. Those kids down at the site sure thought so,” He chuckles once, humorlessly and self-deprecatingly, reaching over to grab your other hand to warm up that one too.

“There’s no fucking way, Joel. Maybe those kids who’ve never been outside of the walls for a day in their lives were scared of you, but we know you’re a big ol’ softie. Besides, there’s not much that scares Ellie. Definitely not an old man that she could easily beat in a fight,” You tease, relieved when his shoulders seem to relax a little. 

Joel leans forward, cupping your chin in his hand to pull you in for a kiss. You don’t let him indulge, perhaps for the first time in your relationship. “Joel, I’ll just get you sick too. You gotta be back at work tomorrow, remember?” Your heart squeezes at the almost pout on his face, but he doesn’t push the matter, instead starting to get up with a grunt, gently placing your legs back down on the couch where he had been sat. He turns to you with an expectant look and reaches out a hand.

“Let’s head up to bed, darlin’,”

You blink. “Joel, I just said I can’t get you sick. I’ll just sleep down here for the night, the couch is comfy enough.”

His hand stays extended for a moment, before letting it drop. “Fine,” he states resolutely, “I suppose I’ll see you in the mornin’, then?” His voice seems almost too innocent, and your suspicions are confirmed when he drags the warm blanket from your body in one swift motion and starts walking towards the stairs. 

“Joel!” You exclaim, “What the fuck?” 

He pauses part way up the stairs to your bedroom and gives you a nonchalant shrug. “This is my blanket. Can’t go to sleep without it.” He turns back and continues to head up the stairs. You grumble at the real satisfied little smirk on his face as he does so.

“But…” You groan and roll off the warm couch, and begin to plod up the stairs to your shared bed. 

Fine, if he wants to get sick so badly, I’ll let him. 

—-------------

“Shouldn’ Miller be here by now?” Nathan says as he eyes the entrance to the build site nervously, doing his best to appear busy.

“I guess he’s sick today, heard he got a fever or something.” Callum’s words instantly ease Nathan’s rigid posture.

“Thank God for that,” He mutters, letting the shovel in his hands drop to the ground with a relieved sigh. 

“Or maybe,” Callum smiled sinisterly, “He’s out plotting his next kil–” He’s cut off when a hand is smacked down onto the nape of his neck, turning into a painful grip that swivels his head in the direction of his assailant and the project’s latest stand-in worker, Ellie Williams.

“Why don’t you fucks get back to work, hmm?” Her grip tightens on the back of Callum’s neck, and he visibly flinches under her exacting gaze. Nathan gulps and reaches to pick up his shovel as quickly as possible. Joel Miller was definitely not the scariest person in Jackson

tags: @gasolinerainbowpuddles @beardedjoel @huffle-punk

thank you for reading <3 please let me know your thoughts :)

[lulublack90]

Prompt 21 - Ancient Greece

@wolfstarmicrofic August 21, word count 940

This is the last part of the Apple Core Series from a Wolfstar POV. There will be a part three starting next month where I am going to write my first Rosekiller. Hope you've all enjoyed the story so far.

Previous part First Jegulus part

Everyone was in on Monday. Effie had insisted and, as usual, she got her way. But Regulus had called in a few friends for the occasion as well. 

“Who are they and why are they in my kitchen?” Sirius asked his brother with a sceptical look on his face as he took in the two men and the tiny elf-like woman with a ridiculous amount of floaty hair, standing just inside the door. 

“These insane people are your personal protection unit. The second Wormtail steps foot in the café, they will be on him. Have you ever seen a lion lake down a wilder beast? That’s them.” Regulus smiled proudly as he gestured to his friends. 

“That’s really kind of you to volunteer them, Reggie, but you do know that we’re just going to ban him and not kill him, right?”

“Aw, take all the fun out of it, why don’t you,” The one he thought was Barty sulked. 

“Don’t worry, babe, you can stab me in bed tonight,” Evan purred in his ear loud enough for them all to hear. 

“I think I’m about to have a stroke,” Sirius groaned, dropping his head into his hand. 

“I can smell burning toast,” Pandora piped up, sniffing the surrounding air.

“Shit!” Sirius spun around, pulled the burnt toasties from the machines and tossed them straight into the bin.  

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Regulus patted Sirius’s arm. “They’ll scare him just enough so that he never comes back.”

“Fine. Now get out of my kitchen, I have toasties to create!”

 ***

It didn’t take long for Wormtail to turn up. He waltzed in as though nothing was amiss, not that he knew it was, and sat at his usual table. He opened the menu, blocking his view in front of him, and began reading. That’s when Barty and Evan pounced. 

“Hello,” Evan said, his voice smooth as velvet. Wormtail jumped and dropped his menu. 

“Oh, er, hi. Erm, I don’t really like sharing a table, if, if you don’t mind,” He squeaked nervously as Barty picked up the fork from in front of him and twirled it in his fingers. 

“Well, we don’t like little rats who film our friends,” Barty said in an over-calm way. His smile was just a bit too toothy. Even Sirius felt unnerved from his viewpoint. 

Two chairs dragged across the floor and stopped beside the table. Effie and Monty sat down, looking all polite. 

“And we don’t appreciate our son’s being used for your entertainment,” Effie hissed. Barty looked at her impressed. Sirius felt like there’d be another handful of strays added to their family by the end of this. 

“What she said,” Monty said cheerfully as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Wormtail. 

“Peter?” Pandora appeared out of nowhere. “Peter Pettigrew, is that you?” She gasped. “Oh, haven’t you been naughty? I’ve a good mind to tell your mother on you. Using my dear friend Sirius to get views online. That’s not very nice, you know,” She chastised him. 

Two more chairs joined the group. 

“The only one who can torture my brother is me,” Regulus sneered. "The fact you think you have the right to film him at all is beyond me." 

“Dickhead,” James shot at him. 

“James Fleamont Potter, language,” Effie gasped. 

“Sorry, Mum,” James flushed and tried again. “You hurt my friend, prepare to di—” Monty elbowed his son in the ribs, “Have a good telling off,” He huffed. 

Remus took Sirius’s hand and led him over to the table. 

"It gives me great pleasure, Mr Pettigrew, to inform you--” Remus said too sweetly. 

“Sling your hook, you're barred!” Sirius shouted at the cowering man. Wormtail jumped to his feet and ran for the door.   

Then, like some film about Ancient Greece, they all charged down the giant rat, yelling and screaming after him. Sirius brandishing his toastie tongs and Remus throwing coffee cup lids like discuses, as Peter Pettigrew scurried down the road as fast as his short legs could carry him and disappeared around the corner out of sight. 

“I got it all on film! I got it all on film!” Effie cried out excitedly. 

“So did I,” Monty grinned wildly. “Oh, wait,” His face fell. “I had it on the wrong camera. It’s just my face.”

“So who’s watching the café?” James asked once they were done cheering and laughing at Monty. 

“Oh shit!” Sirius yelled and raced back to the unmanned café.

They went back to serving their customers as if nothing had happened. Sirius couldn't believe how lucky he was to have so many people who cared about him like his chosen family did. Remus came up behind him and wrapped him in a hug. Sirius turned his face so he could kiss Remus on the lips. "I love these guys so much," He said, sighing happily as he watched them all chatting and laughing. 

"I love you," Remus whispered in his ear, making Sirius's knees go weak. 

"I love you too," He said, capturing Remus's lips with his own again. "Think Reggie would mind if we snuck off into his flat for a bit?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

"Yes he bloody would!" Regulus glared at them. "Mine." 

"Want a bet?" Sirius asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he dragged Remus out of the staff door with Regulus screaming bloody murder behind them.

He spun Remus around and kissed him properly. "Chinese for tea?"

"Yeah, go on then," Remus laughed, kissing him one more time before going back to his counter to take the orders of their waiting customers. 

[universallychaoticpan]

Stories and scars

Dazai x reader

ex enemies to lovers

You cherished nights like these more than you would let on. Nights when the summer air was the perfect, balmy and rich with the smell of earth outside your apartment window, when your skin was bare under the sheets of your bed, and the man you loved was tracing that skin with the fondness of a wistful smile. When you leaned forward, exposing your back to the man who would have once tried to stab you there, and letting him run his gentle fingers over the slopes of your shoulder blades instead.

He was amazed at the lines on your body, the scars that you wore like medals, the stories they must hold- it told the story of you. It entranced him, in a macabre way.

"You're too quiet," you murmured. "What's on your mind?"

He hummed. "Just wondering about where these came from."

Looking over your shoulder mischievously, you suggested a game with the curve of your lips. "Then let's play a game hm?

Touch one at a time; let's see if I can remember where they're from."

Again, he was quiet, and you closed your eyes as you reveled in the feeling of his warm gaze on your body. You liked it, knowing his eyes were nowhere but you. It made you feel power like nothing you could name.

A finger to the right of your lower back.

"This one."

"Easy," you smiled. "That was a target who got too close and reckless with a knife. Nothing impressive, but he managed to make it sting like hell."

"Alright then. How about here?" This time his finger landed atop your left shoulder.

"Got caught where I shouldn't have been and got shot. Now that one was a pain in the ass to dig out. Had to get a friend of mine to do it with her knife."

He was quiet for a few seconds and you closed your eyes, feeling the kiss of warm air running around your body. It was so wonderful, so still, that you jumped a bit when his fingers landed on you once more.

On a scar you were waiting to explain, one that ran down your back for three inches, just to the right of your spine in a white line of nearly surgical precision.

"That," you smirked, "was your doing."

You could see his jaw go slack even turned away from him and you could have died laughing then and there.

"What, forget we tried to kill each other for years before this happened? We didn't always kiss each others scars before bed, you know." You teasing voice snapped him awake from his trance and he pushed you playfully into the covers.

"I'm aware," he laughed. "You act like I don't have scars from you!!"

"SEE," you squealed, "I'm right! We probably have matching scars we don't even know about."

He kissed his handiwork gently, making your skin light up with the sensation, pushing your eyes closed as he moved his hands gently along your back.

"I'm sorry for all of it, you know."

You looked into his eyes as you settled back at his side, burying your face into the warm skin of his chest and smiling against him.

"If we were sorry for every scar we gave each other, or every time we hurt one another, we'd be sorry for the rest of our lives."

When you looked at him then, he knew he would never forget that sight; the way the moon flickered in the glittering spheres that gazed through him, the smile on your mouth in the silver light- you were radiant and you were his.

"Don't be sorry; love me instead."

[dubiousculturalartifact]

do you ever think about the wheel of time season two from elayne's perspective like: finally arrive at college!!! meet your neighbour in residence, accidentally microaggress against her, but you're totally gonna be buds! you brought too much dorm furniture so the RA says she's gonna beat you later, but you're like 'k, whatever, let's get drunk with my new bestie, college LYF!' turns out that same night your new BFF's BFF disappeared during a really intense exam, presumed dead. you decide to have a sleepover to console her, and get woken up by the totally-dead girl appearing out of nowhere, half naked, covered in blood, and crying. you're like 'okay so i'll just put these pillows away I guess?' then suddenly your friends are like 'brb we gotta go bail our friend out of jail' and you're like 'shit i'm coming too' and then your prof shows up and knocks you all out, and tries to sell you all into slavery? so you and your BFF's BFF escape, but your BFF gets captured, and you're trying to rescue her but BFFsBFF keeps giving major attitude, and then you run into a DIFFERENT prof from another department, who tries to help you out then immediately gets kidnapped as well. multiple people die. it's super intense. then you've got a great escape plan all figured out, except like three different groups of people invade the city, and you get SHOT, and then you eventually make it to help your BFF, only she's already freed herself??? and there's some kind of intense situation going on with your BFF's ex (presumed dead), your BFF's dirtbag highschool classmate, the guy who had a crush on your BFF, some random magic ghosts, and Satan's righthand man? so anyway you apply first aid and then your BFF's not-dead-i-guess ex nukes Satan's lieutenant, and there's this giant fireworks thing happening, and you think maybe your BFF's ex is the second coming of Jesus? he's cute tho so the fighting dies down, and you're trying very badly to process all that while still bleeding from your leg and then your aunt shows up?!?

[adidastain]

love to hate you

90s matt stone x fem!reader (named Sadie)

warnings: arguing, suggestive themes if you squint really hard

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.), this is part one of a series mwahaha cliffhanger

word count: 2539

—

The time was 7:54 PM. That marked six hours since I’d last sat down. 

It got to the point where I could barely move more than three feet in any direction. I was perched next to the camera, watching each take while the director spectated from the monitor, just a few feet away. 

We were on Take #5 of the second shot of the entire scene. I knew at this rate, we would still be here shooting the tail end of this scene at 9 o’clock. But Trey was picky, and it was my job to make sure he got what he wanted out of each take. 

“Cut!” he shouted, exhaling heavily. I trudged over to where he was standing, keeping my back straight so as to not look so tired in front of all my colleagues.

“What do you think?” I asked him, standing at his side just a few inches away. Trey stared into space, gnawing on his fingernail as he thought deeply. 

“What’s the time looking like?” he asked me, words muffled by his hand. 

“We should wrap up this scene by 9 and be done for the night,” I sighed. 

He stood in silence, staring at the actors on set as they waited for his call. 

“Okay,” he sighed. “Let’s move on.”

“Moving on!” I echoed. Thank God. Trey walked onto the set, standing in front of the actors to explain what he wanted for the next shot. 

I moved as quickly as I could over to the table off to the side, grabbing a water bottle for myself and chugging it. I so badly wanted to sit down for just a minute, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t going to let myself. 

“What’s going on?” I heard a voice behind me. I turned my head, seeing our producer with his big silver glasses and curly hair, towering over me. He had his skinny, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest. He was obviously peeved. 

“Setting up the next shot. Where have you been?” I asked, subtly leaning against the table. Matt and I didn’t really get along most days. We didn’t get along at all, actually. I didn’t really understand why, but as long as he stayed out of my way, I couldn’t care less what he thought of me. 

“Signing your checks,” he spat. I turned my back to him, walking away towards the set. I approached the cinematographer, before Matt put his hand on my shoulder to prevent me from moving any further. 

“Did we get the shot?” Matt asked me, raising his eyebrows. 

“What does it look like?” I hissed, gesturing to our surroundings. I turned my back to him again to help the camera crew move around. 

Matt disappeared shortly after. For someone who was nowhere to be found during rehearsals and shooting, he cared an awful lot about what I was doing. I knew he was busy with scheduling and budget stuff, but he was Trey’s right hand man on most of their projects, so it didn’t make sense why he wouldn’t make time to see it all happening. 

Perhaps that’s why he was always up my ass on set. Even then, he had no reason to get such an attitude when talking to me. So many people told me how professional he was on set before I started shooting with them; if he was so professional, then only God might know why he treated me the way he did. 

While I waited for Trey to finish running a rehearsal for the camera, I kept a close eye on the time. 9 o’clock was a huge stretch at this point. Granted, we did make a lot of progress for one day. 

I noticed Matt talking to a lady in the corner. She looked professional; she had on a black blazer and held a binder tucked underneath her arm. I stared for a moment, thinking about what they could be talking about. It was almost quiet enough to hear, since all the buzz from PAs and crew members had died down for the rehearsal. Matt was leaning down slightly so he could hear whatever the woman was saying. He was… looking at me. 

I looked away. Are they talking about me? God. He better not be saying anything bad. I was good at my job and he knew it. I knew it. 

Soon, we called for quiet, and we were back to shooting. Trey opted to do a continuous take and have actors run their lines multiple times, so they could just pick up if they forgot. The scene was almost three pages long, so there was a lot of dialogue and no doubt that they would slip up. 

And of course, as expected, one of the actors called for a line a few times. I was actually really happy. Doing a single continuous take would save us so much time. 

After we wrapped up the shot, Trey called for everyone to take five. 

“‘Scuse me,” I heard a voice next to me. It was the lady that Matt was talking to just a few minutes ago. 

“How can I help you?” I asked, giving her a smile. 

“Can you come with me for a moment?” she asked. 

I followed her to an empty portion of the room where most of the gear was camping out, waiting to be used. Matt was standing there next to a door to another room.

“It would seem that you and Mr. Stone have been having some problems, no?” she said, gesturing towards Matt. He stared me down, chewing on the inside of his cheek. I felt my body burning under his angry and slightly intimidating gaze.

“I guess,” I said. “I’m not sure why.”

“Me neither,” she said, sporting a fake smile. I could see now how caked her makeup was when her skin wrinkled with her grin. “Care to explain, Mr. Stone?”

I was honestly shocked. I guess she was acting in my defense. Perhaps his unprofessionalism stood out to her; I realized that she was probably a supervisor from a big production company. 

“I think Sadie is slowing down production. That’s all,” he said calmly. I hated the way his voice sounded. It was deep and nasally and he always had such a snobby tone. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I argued, furrowing my eyebrows. “My job is to keep things moving. We would’ve been stuck shooting that same shot over and over if I hadn’t said anything.” 

“Well if you would just let Trey get what he wants, we wouldn’t have to take time every day to reshoot scenes from the day before,” Matt said, raising his eyebrows. 

“There’s clearly a misunderstanding here,” the lady huffed, rubbing her temples. “I want you two to work it out between yourselves. Right now. Personally, I’m embarrassed for you. Fix it.” 

Matt sighed, looking down at his feet. I laughed on the inside. 

The woman took a step closer to me to whisper, “I don’t know what his problem is. I think you’ve been doing just fine. But the way you’re reacting to him isn’t helping anybody in this situation, so figure it out.” 

I nodded. She walked away, leaving the space between Matt and I filled with nothing but silence and tension. His glare was throwing daggers at me. I couldn’t lie and say that he wasn’t scary most of the time. I swallowed, trying my best to keep it subtle so he wouldn’t notice.

“So what’s your deal?” I asked calmly, shifting my weight from one heal to the other. 

“I told you what my deal is,” he said. He licked his lips. “Not very good at listening, are you?”

“Did I say or do something that’s been affecting you outside of work?” I said, laughing. I was truly at a loss for words. What on Earth could I have done to make him hate me so much? I’m not friends with anyone in the cast or crew outside of shooting, so why did it matter? Trey seemed to be fine with me. Maybe Matt was jealous? 

“You’re fucking up our project, Sadie,” he hissed. “Not to mention you just fucking humiliated me in front of the exec from Universal!”

My jaw dropped open. He sounded like such an idiot. I humiliated him? “You started it! I was just doing my fucking job, Matt!” I exclaimed, keeping my voice as hushed as possible. “When have I ever gotten in your way, hm? Give me an example. Go ahead.”

“Every single day,” he laughed. “You won’t let Trey just do his thing. This thing’s gonna turn out to be shit by the time we’re done and it’s gonna be your fault.”

“Who hired me, Matt? I wanna know,” I said. He hired me. I knew that. He knew that. “I think you ought to have a strong word with him. He looks like an idiot right now.”

“You’re lucky you were even considered,” he said. Matt crossed his arms and leaned closer. “You don’t have shit in your portfolio.” 

“If you don’t back off and let me do my job, there’s only gonna be more shit,” I said lowly, gritting my teeth. 

“That won’t happen. Don’t forget who signs your checks, sweetheart,” he growled.

He was just a few inches away from me now. At this point I could feel his breath covering my face. 

“Fire me,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “If I’m such a nuisance to this project, fire me.”

“Alright, then. Leave.”

“Say ‘you’re fired,’” I instructed. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” he said, laughing softly. “Be my guest.”

“You’re scared, Matt. I know you are. I can see it in your eyes,” I grinned. “You’re scared you’re gonna look bad in front of the execs for firing me without reason, hm? Say it.”

“You’re fucking fired,” he said, raising his voice. He had no need to; my face was less than a foot away from his. I jumped slightly, not expecting the sheer volume with which he spoke. 

The entire set went quiet for a brief moment. I felt my face start to burn as I realized that every single person in the building probably heard that. Now I felt like an idiot. Matt leaned away from me, crossing his arms and staring me down. I could see a smirk curling on the side of his lip. Never in my professional career did I want to hit anyone more than I did in that moment.

I swallowed back tears, trying to compose myself before I actually turned to walk out. I could see Matt’s broad, muscular chest rising and falling rapidly. Perhaps he felt a rush of adrenaline for finally putting me in my place. 

“Good luck finishing this scene by the end of the hour without my help,” I muttered, ramming my shoulder into his body as I pushed past him to get through the exit. 

I grabbed my backpack from the hallway and stormed outside. Of course, it was raining. How cliche. 

Once I was in the safety and quiet of my car, I burst into tears. I couldn’t believe that asshole actually fired me. I know I encouraged him to do it, but I didn’t think he actually would. He was so fucking confusing all the time; I trusted my judgement and my judgement was wrong. 

I put on a crewneck over the tank top I was wearing as I tried to take deep breaths and calm down. I was confident that they wouldn’t get the rest of shooting done within the next two weeks without my help. Fine, they could suffer all they wanted. They only had one person to blame and it sure as Hell wasn’t me. 

Just to make my life even better, the location of the set was a good forty minutes away from where I lived, so the drive home sucked. It was late, I was exhausted, I was cold, it was raining, Matt was an asshole, Trey was probably in shambles. The whole sundae with the whipped cream, chocolate syrup, and the cherry on top. 

It was well after 9 PM when I got home. I looked at the clock in my kitchen and wondered if they’d finished filming as I watched the second hand tick. Whatever. I shouldn’t care. 

I set all my stuff down in my bedroom and turned the water on for a hot shower. I felt really gross, from sweat, tears, snot, and rain water. I thought about the Universal lady giving Matt a verbal beating about his unprofessionalism. The thought made me smile as I got undressed and stepped into the shower, every bit of tension and stress in my body melting away as the hot water poured over my skin. 

I pictured his face turning red with embarrassment as she told him how immature and unprofessional he was. Call it cruel, but imagining him getting verbally beaten by a big company really relieved my stress. 

My mind circled back to our dispute from before I left. I didn’t understand why he got so fucking angry at me for no apparent reason. Maybe after I started teasing him, sure, but before? I was defending myself. If he was so worried about me sabotaging his and Trey’s project, then he was far from ready for working in Hollywood. 

It was ridiculous, honestly. I couldn’t even do anything to ruin the creative aspect of the film with the position I held. I was the 1st Assistant Director, for God’s sake. All I was there to do was prevent people from wasting time and keep things moving. I couldn’t fathom what Matt would have had such a major fucking problem with. 

I found myself less relaxed again. Weirdly, I wondered what Matt was doing right now. Maybe he was getting scolded by the exec, maybe he was getting scolded by Trey. They’d probably (hopefully) finished loading out by now, so maybe he was driving. Maybe he was in the shower too. Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel and drove off a cliff and ended up in a fiery car crash on a remote beach. Maybe they were still filming. Maybe he was in the shower, washing his hair or his body, just like I was…

I cringed and turned the water off, ringing my hair out. I shook my arms and legs and stepped out of the shower, quickly grabbing my towel and smothering my head with it. Matt had been on my mind the entire night since I left, but truthfully, I didn’t care that much. I was way too tired and honestly relieved to not have to get up at 6 AM the following morning and film for another 15 hours again. I smeared the rough fabric all over my body as I walked down the hall to my room. 

That’s when my doorbell rang. 

I froze. What time is it? Who the fuck could possibly at my door this late anyway? 

I ran to my room, throwing on a baggy T-shirt and some fuzzy pajama shorts and running over to my door to peer through the peephole. 

A loud groan escaped me when I saw who it was. 

The last person I wanted to see at my door at any hour of the day, let alone past 10 PM.

[a-hazbin-reader]

Okay, let's continue.

So Alastor makes a few digs in about her family. He found out that her father had died a few years ago. She has three older sisters and one brother. He knew what he was going to do. 

So one day, he invited all of her family members to stay for a month in New Orleans. He's not going to finish them all in one kill; it's going to look suspicious, especially on her behalf. So he's going to take them down, one by one. 

First, he tricks her first sister into a tavern and buys her a drink that has poison. One down.

(Btw, I know he most likely killed them by hand in his way, but he needs to make sure the family is cursed by coming here somehow.) (So it's not going to look suspicious.)

Second, her brother. This one he killed by hand, but in the end, he made it seem like he died in an accident. He put his dead body on a car, then put a brick on the pedal, and off you go! Boom! It's crashed into another car. 

For the last two sisters, they tried to flirt with him (he was disgusted by them). So he used this advantage to trick them into this one abounded warehouse in the middle of nowhere and killed them in the most brutal way possible. His heart only belongs to his wife. 

Now for the mother. He already has her tied up in the basement. When he was about to finish him off, Katty came down to the basement to look for him. How shocked is she when she finds out about the scenery in front of her? Alastor tries to explain the situation while the mother begs her to let her go. She then slowly stood in front of her mother.

The mother: "Kat, please... Please let me go. Together, we report this psychopath's husband of yours and live a happy life. I know you never had a mother to grow up with. So let me give you one."

Kaltain: "You think I never know...why the reason my real mother died...? You think I never know why my father got into a car crash...? You think I will never find out that you are the reason behind this? I know you poisoned my mother, and I know you planned my father's accident. I would never want you, mother, love; you are not one to begin with. You make my life a living hell. Now I will make sure you end up in hell."

She then took a knife from one of the Alastor collections and stabbed her. Not once, not twice, but until she is satisfied and breaks down. She then slowly sank to the floor while crying. A pair of arms wrap around her and comfort her. 

Alastor then cleans up all the evidence and gets rid of the body. He then returned home and comforted her all night. The next day, she confronts her husband to see if he is the serial killer they are looking for. At first, he was scared that she would leave him, but his wife offered to help him with his killing. He declined at first, worried something was going to happen to her, but then let her. 

Surprise is written on his face when he finds out his wife is pretty good. So they became partners in crime (yeah!). One lures the victim; one finishes the victim.

Until he got shot. Oh, how sad Katty was sad when she heard the news! It took her a few weeks, maybe a month, to recover. So to continue his legacy, she keeps killing for him. This continues for 2 years until she gets murdered or shot. 

When she woke up, she was in a forest or swamp. Her appearance is also different. A hand is offered to her; she looks up and finds her husband in deer form. He quickly jumped into his arms. They finally reunited. The couple couldn't be more happy than they were. 

So they live happily ever after death.

The end <3

Thank you for reading ✨

OH SHIT BBY GIRL GOT HER REVENGE AND HER MAN

[powdermelonkeg]

Tears of the Kingdom: The Final Analysis

Part 10

Part 9 here

After the beam shoots into the sky, monsters crash down like meteors in bursts of malice.

This differs from Breath of the Wild's blood moon mechanic, where wisps descent to circle around monsters and poof them into existence.

There are snowy trees in the background, meaning this is somewhere either in the Hebra region or the Gerudo highlands. I believe this is the former, mainly because of these:

We get three Lynels—a blue, a black, and a silver, all with strange horns.

Something I do in my spare time in Breath of the Wild is go Lynel-hunting. I try to wipe them all out before the Blood Moon starts to rise, and while usually, the Lynels are pretty evenly spaced, there's one spot that has multiple in it within shouting distance of each other.

There ARE some trees in the area, if a little sparse. So I think that the point this shot takes place in is right here:

Then the Lynels themselves are...odd.

This one has new horns, which seems to be a common theme among the revived monsters.

But this one has asymmetrical horns, one of which looks like a narwhal horn or a ridiculously long blade. It very likely attacks with this when it does its charging move:

But then the blue Lynel—

It straight up has a blade on its crown.

And it's bolted into place, so this is definitely metal.

Then this piece here has a blade's edge, just like the Savage Lynel Sword of Breath of the Wild.

So when the Lynel dies, does this drop and become a weapon? We know the Moblin horn can be one, back from the Goron fight scene in Eldin.

We then go to the malice climbing up Link's sword arm, a scene we saw in the earlier trailers back in complete darkness.

But as it goes up, it not only seems to cause Link pain, but it blackens his tunic. This blow was likely meant to consume Link entirely, but he managed to pull away at the last second—and it might be why we later see him in Zonai garb, because this tunic is ruined and needs repairing.

What's more, this isn't his first encounter with the malice.

His pants and the edge of his tunic are singed, and even the chainmail underneath has started corroding. The malice on his arm is nowhere near touching this whole thing, so this is after some prior fight.

Next, we get our first proper look at Rehydrated Ganon. Malice comes off of him like steam under the light of the blood moon. Random note, his nails are painted black.

But this structure. It's part of Hyrule Castle.

The stone and style matches up well.

Specifically, I think he's up here. I can't see him going off-center, especially in a cutscene, and up here is the only central spot with parapets tall enough and widely spaced enough to match the cutscene.

Edit: There are also lilypads up here! I need to find them.

Ganondorf roars, properly rehydrated—he looks VERY different to his corpse form.

First and most notably, his chin lacks facial hair completely, but the differences continue from there.

Corpse Ganon has fangs, live Ganon does not.

Corpse Ganon's eyes are malice slits, with black sclera. Live Ganon's are bright red with round pupils, and white sclera.

Corpse Ganon's headdress digs into his muscles, while Live Ganon's sits atop his head, unbound. On top of this:

The gem here, while hard to make out, is a tear, like Zelda holds.

This is directly confirmed in his official art. Interestingly, as well, his art gives him gold eyes, rather than red.

This, however, is not a tear. It's a glowing void, like something reaching for power to latch onto. Ganondorf undergoes some drastic changes to get enough power to regain his humanity—likely relating to acquiring the tear itself.

Out of images yet again, part 11 coming up!

Edit: Part 11!

[skymaiden32]

Bad News

AO3 link here

Fandom: Thunderbirds, Stingray

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

I thought I was done with this story. Brain said no and gave me three extra chapters.

Recommended you read some of Mariana Trench first, plus the first chapter since it's been a while.

Enjoy! ^^

Continuity: TOS

No matter how hard he tries, Gordon can't get his conversation with Shore off his mind.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Gordon sighed, watching as the hole in front of him was finally sealed. “That’s the last of it, Virg.” He updated his brother, who circled the damaged ship on the surface of the water. Gordon grimaced when he thought about how much the vessel was leaning. “I’m afraid it’s taken on too much water to remove by ourselves, but at least there’s no casualties. I can pull it back to the base myself.” 

The USS Rodgers, a brand new ship named for the late Colonel Gregory Rodgers, a senior officer of the United States Navy who’d died valiantly in the line of duty. And when Gordon said brand new, he meant brand new. This was supposed to be her maiden voyage. And she’d already had her first taste of danger, attacked senselessly by an unknown submersible. The ship had been carrying vital cargo, the nature of which International Rescue wasn’t under any circumstance permitted to know. 

Gordon huffed. A hole the size of Australia had been ripped into the side of the Rodgers when she’d been attacked. He’d been surprised that she hadn’t sunk. It had taken him a good hour to seal it up. He guessed he should count himself lucky the attackers were nowhere in sight. “Are you sure Thunderbird 4 can take that strain, Gordon?” Virgil’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Not really.” He answered honestly. “But what other choice do we have?”

Gordon could hear Virgil’s frown across the airwaves. “We have more choices than you think, Gordon…” 

“I just feel like I have a duty to do this.” There was silence. It was Gordon’s turn to frown now. “Virgil, are you there?” Still nothing. “Virgil, you’re really worrying me here.”

After a few more tense seconds, his brother answered his calls. “Sorry for that, Gords. I just let the others know about your …idea…”

“And?” He listened closely.

He started listing the verdicts. “Brains says there’s no way, Dad said - in his words - 'Hell no', Scott’s probably glaring at you from One, John’s losing his mind up there…”

“Okay, I get it. You’re all freaking out.”

Virgil ignored him. “And Alan did a legitimate spit take all over the new upholstery. Grandma did not look happy…” He chuckled briefly, sobering up almost immediately. “If you try to pull that ship, Gordon, Thunderbird 4 will get ripped to shreds. I know you know that.” The aquanaut bit back a hiss. He should’ve known Virgil would figure him out. “And you know what else?”

Gordon inwardly groaned. “What?”

“You’ve been reckless.” Wow, Virgil was going right for the gut today. “More so than usual. The plans you’re coming up with on missions are getting more and more risky, and we’re getting worried.”

“What’s it to you?” Gordon grumbled. 

“What’s it to me?” Virgil shot back. His voice sounded further away, as if he’d stood up from his seat. “What’s it to me? You’re my brother, Gordon! We’re family! And the thing about family is that we all look out for each other no matter what.” His voice grew quieter still, although the soft rustling let Gordon know Virgil was sitting down again. “So tell us what’s gotten you so worked up.”

The aquanaut watched the watery expanse in front of him for a few moments, trying to work up the courage to talk about it. Chances were it wasn’t just Virgil who was listening, but that was good. What was haunting him cut deeper than he thought it would, and he didn’t think he’d be able to talk about it twice. He sighed. “You know when Commander Shore called me the other day?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Virgil answered. “Whatever he said, it really shook you. It wasn’t him working out you were International Rescue, was it?”

“What?!” Their father’s shocked and angry voice interrupted, almost echoing through the comms. Gordon and Virgil both froze. Guess this confirmed the whole family was listening.

Scott quickly came to their rescue. Virgil could practically feel his older brother’s face palm. “Father, he figured it out on his own. Nobody told him.”

“I know that, Scott. That’s not the point. In fact, it might be worse! If someone like Commander Shore can figure out who we are, anyone can.” 

“Dad, chill.” Gordon folded his arms, eyes still on the ocean ahead. He thought he saw something flash in the distance, but brushed it off. “I know how it sounds, but he said himself that he worked it out because he knows me and he knows how I operate submarines. He won’t say anything.” Jeff Tracy fell silent, but Gordon could tell that wasn’t the end of the conversation. “Besides, that’s not what he said that has me so tense.” Okay, that time he definitely saw something. “Huh, that’s weird. Wonder what that is…” He muttered, trying to get a better look. 

“What’s what, Gordon?” Scott asked, instincts on high alert.

“I saw something.” 

Jeff spoke up again. “Return to the Pod, Thunderbird 4. It might be the attackers. The Navy is on their way to retrieve the USS Rodgers.”

“FAB.” Gordon confirmed, already turning his ship in the direction of Pod 4.

“And don’t think we won’t be finishing our talk.”

Gordon rolled his eyes fondly. He’d been expecting that. “Yes sir!” The radio clicked off, leaving the aquanaut to continue speeding just below the surface of the water to his rendezvous point with Thunderbird 2.

“Gordon!” The radio crackled to life again, his eldest brother’s urgent voice getting his attention. “You’re being tailed!”

Thunderbird 4 jolted as she was hit with something. Gordon looked behind him. His eyes widened in shock. That was a Terrorfish. Right behind him. He swore. Even out of WASP, there wasn’t any escape from the war below the waves. But it didn’t make sense. International Rescue made a point to never get involved with this sort of thing. Why was Titan targeting Thunderbird 4?

He shook his head. He couldn’t think about that right now, or it was over before it even really began. He’d already been outrun, so his only option was to outmanoeuvre. In the blink of an eye, Thunderbird 4 dived, spun round, and fired. Gordon smirked when the Aquaphibian vessel was blown to pieces. He quickly pulled on his diving suit. Once he did so, he slipped out of the submarine to assess the damage. “Thunderbird 4 to International Rescue. Target successfully destroyed.” 

He could hear the relief in Scott’s voice. “FAB, Thunderbird 4. Head back to Pod and return to base.” As IR’s Field Commander gave his orders, Gordon plucked a small black mass off of his ship’s otherwise untarnished hull.

Gordon shook his head, rolling the object around in his fingers. “No can do, Scott. I was hit by something earlier.” He growled. “I know a tracker when I see one…” The implication hung in the air, and the idea of Titanica knowing the location of International Rescue’s base was terrifying. The aquanaut decided right then and there that it wouldn’t happen.

“Well,” Virgil sighed, “what do you want to do, then?” He asked. 

“If they want me, they can have me.” Outrage. “I don’t mean like that! I’m saying I set up a little welcome committee for them…”

“‘I’? Who is this ‘I’ you speak of?” Scott scoffed. “These people just tried to kill you! We’re coming with you.”

Oh no, Gordon thought. Absolutely not. “There’s no way either of you are coming with me. Look, you probably wouldn’t believe me, but that vessel belonged to an undersea race at war with WASP. I’m the only one in this family who knows what they’re really capable of. And there’s no way I’m letting you two get involved. Titan and his Aquaphibians are dangerous. I can’t lose anyone to him or his forces.” Silence followed. 

“Maybe so.” Virgil agreed. “But we can’t lose you either. Let us come too, even if it’s just to watch and step in if it gets too serious.” 

“We’ll leave it to you, Gords. We just wanna make sure you come home in one piece…” Scott added.

Gordon sighed. “Fine. Let’s pick a random island where I can wait for whoever’s coming, and you two can stay hidden…”

[tagthescullion]

Il Minuetto della Ragazza

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: Bianca di Angelo is alive. Alive and upset, confused, desperate… Camp Half Blood lost her little brother, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to bring him home safe.

AO3 link

One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven

Chapter 12: Unblessed

REEEEEEEEEEEET.

The group of Hunters had by now assembled behind Thalia, looking around in every direction. The low hills made it difficult to know with precision where the noise came from.

“Pan’s blessing,” Bianca said. 

Thalia nodded.

“What?” Asked Greta. “That does not sound like a blessing.”

“Grover Underwood called it that,” Thalia explained. “And it was useful in our quest to free Artemis. Useful and not very controllable.”

“There!” Ludovica pointed at the Northeast. 

Indeed, a big shadow of an animal had jumped from behind a clutter of trees, contrasting with the rising sun.

“Federica, Greta, you two go cover Phoebe and Maddie,” Thalia ordered. “The rest, scatter! We’ve got to keep him distracted.”

She took off diagonally from the boar’s path. Bianca and Ludovica, the closest to her, followed suit. 

Bianca looked back to see the rest of the Hunters had gone off in groups, all of them ready for battle.

“Is that…?” Ludovica was staring with horror at the boar. “The Erymanthian Boar?”

“Oh, that was the name,” Thalia said. “I knew Zoë had called it something, but I couldn’t remember what it was.”

Ludovica turned to her. “That was the blessing?”

“It’s debatable,” Thalia admitted. “Like I said, it was useful, we needed transportation and–”

Thalia stopped. 

“Wait a minute,” she said, frowning. “You’re telling me Zoë could’ve got us a bus instead of making us ride a wild boar for miles and miles? I mean, if she could use the card I’ve been using…”

“It was the middle of nowhere,” Bianca reminded her. “We couldn’t even get a taxi, remember?”

“Oh, yes, you’re right.” Thalia waved her hand. “Apollo dumped us in the middle of shit-nowhere, he could’ve at least–”

“Girls,” Ludovica interrupted, her voice tight. “Maybe reminisce another time? The boar is coming this way!”

She was right. The boar had stopped in its tracks all of a sudden. Its tusked snout was sniffing the air. After a couple of seconds, in which none of them dared to move, the boar tilted its head towards them.

“Merda,” Ludovica said. She’d taken her bow and arrows out. 

Bianca unsheathed her knives. After a couple of days with Clarisse, she’d grown fond of them, if not very proficient. 

Thalia had her spear out, but not the shield. Bianca recalled that the boar had reacted badly to Medusa’s head before.

“Well it seems it remembers us,” Thalia said. 

The boar attacked. 

Bianca jumped to the side, as did her friends, all three of them in different ways. 

The boar chose Thalia, which was probably not its wisest choice.

Ludovica shot an arrow that embedded itself on the boar’s side. It was as if it had been stung by a mosquito, it barely huffed.

“One arrow won’t do the trick,” Bianca said. “But maybe many will?”

Ludovica nodded. “Signal the others to come, I’ll help Thalia.”

She ran towards the boar, dropping the bow and unsheathing one of her knives.

Bianca took a few steps towards the group of Hunters closest to her, but she needn’t call them, they were already halfway there.

She ran back to Thalia and Ludovica, who were dancing in and out of the boar’s reach.

Thalia tried to stab it with her spear. 

The boar sidestepped out of the way, right into Ludovica’s knife.

Apparently the knife hurt more than an arrow, because the animal roared and shook its head wildly. One of its tusks hit Ludovica and sent her flying. 

Bianca saw with alarm that the older girl laid motionless on the dusty ground where she’d fallen.

“REEEEEEEEEET,” the boar yelled.

“Greta,” she heard Thalia call. “I’ll distract it–” She dodged one of the tusks. “And you cut one of its infernal horns off!”

Edwina, who’d run to Ludovica’s aid, yelled: “They’re called tusks!”

“I don’t give a fuck!” Thalia’s voice said from the other side of the boar.

“Here!”

Bianca was startled by something being shoved into her hands. She turned to see Maddie’s face, red from running all the way from the bus. She’d given Bianca the end of a thick rope. 

“We can make it trip,” Maddie explained, pointing at the beast’s back legs.

Bianca nodded. 

Maddie took off behind the boar, who was busy trying to fend off Thalia, Greta, and two other girls who had joined the game of Take the Tusk Off the Boar.

She tried to find an opening to slide under the boar with the rope in her hands. 

“Just chuck it this way!” Bianca told her. “I’ll try to grab it!”

Maddie looked dubious but she threw the loosely tied rope like a low-flying frisbee under the animal’s belly.

The rope fell almost on her side, and Bianca, building up as much of her courage as she could muster, dived under the beast to retrieve it.

She saw, from the corner of her eye, Maddie running back to her side.

Bianca picked up the rope and tried to backtrack crouching. 

The rough hair of the moving boar’s underside felt like sandpaper on her forehead and head.

She felt a grip on her back and she was pulled back by strong hands.

Maddie stood grinning. She seemed to be having fun.

“Come on, then,” she said. “You’ll take that end and chuck it back to me this time.”

Bianca didn’t argue, she’d been too close to the animal’s legs to be as cheerful about their plan as Maddie was.

“YEAH!” 

Bianca looked up and saw the girls had managed to cut off one of the boar’s tusks. Its back had several arrows incrusted in it, but they weren’t enough to seriously harm it.

“Quickly, now,” Maddie rushed her.

Bianca ran to the other side of the animal and realised throwing the rope was a lot harder than it looked.

The beast was moving and the rope was heavy on her hands. 

She threw it with as much force as she could, but the boar’s leg kicked it back to her before it reached even half of its width.

Bianca pulled the rope back to her, and threw it again, her arms straining with the effort.

This time, it got close enough for Maddie to hit the ground on her back and grab it.

Much more swiftly than Bianca had, Maddie pushed herself from under the boar with her legs, rolled out of harm’s way and stood up. She ran to Bianca’s side.

“I’m not sure it’ll be enough,” she said, studying the loose circles of rope inside which the hind legs of the boar were jumping and kicking.

“It’ll have to do,” Bianca took one of the ends of the rope and ran backwards.

Maddie followed suit. 

Luckily for them, Thalia had decided to practise extreme sports in her quest to un-tusk the boar. She grabbed the remaining tusk and tried to stay clinging to it, like a crazy version of that weird game Bianca had been told about, where the person tried to stay on a moving mount that pretended to be a bull.

Maddie and Bianca used the boar’s stupefaction, which made it still for a second, to pull on the rope. 

The rope, which had been laying on the ground, now rose up a metre and tied the boar’s back legs. 

“Oi, you lot!” Maddie yelled at some of the girls who were staring at Thalia bemusedly. “We need a hand here!”

The girls ran to them at once, taking the rope with Maddie and Bianca and pulling. 

The boar was strong, but a combination dozen hunters pulling and over fifteen arrows stuck to his back and sides were stronger. After half a minute of struggling, the beast fell over its front legs, stuck under its own weight.

Bianca didn’t dare stop pulling, lest the boar decided to run free and kill them all.

Thalia got off the boar’s tusk and sighed. “Gods, what do we do now?”

“Kill it!” Phoebe said from somewhere behind Bianca. “What else are we supposed to do with it?”

“It was a gift from the Wild,” Thalia reminded them. “Wouldn’t we be offending Pan if we killed it?”

“Whatever’s left of Pan, anyway,” sneered Helena. Bianca had never properly spoken to her, but she was a head taller than her, and had never seemed in a very good mood. “We’d be in more trouble if we let it go than if we had to face Pan.”

Bianca could see in Thalia’s face that she wasn’t comfortable with that decision. 

“Whatever we do,” Edwina called from Ludovica’s side. “We better do it quickly, Ludi needs help.”

“Fede, go get nectar for Ludi,” Thalia commanded. “Our bags should still be on the bus, if the mortals haven’t fled with everything.”

“We told them it was an ambush,” Maddie said, her arms strained holding the rope. “That they should hide. They’ve probably called the police, though, we have to deal with this as fast as possible.”

Thalia stood right in front of the boar, whose giant head alone was her height, and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” she told the beast. 

Then she stabbed it in one of its eyes. 

Bianca looked away with disgust. Despite knowing it was a monster and that it had tried to kill her on more than one occasion, it gave her a despicable feeling to end its life like that.

The Erymanthian Boar exploded in golden dust, which dissipated in a warm breeze that smelled like wildflowers, the same they’d felt before its arrival in Cloudcroft, back during the quest, leaving behind a lone gigantic tusk.

The dozen Hunters that had been pulling the rope fell one over the other when the boar disintegrated. 

Before being crushed by several of the girls, Bianca caught regret in Thalia’s expression.

[bababaka]

Part three of things i'd like to change on red queen

Part 2 is here

Evangeline's and Mare's strength.

You are telling me that a "street girl", a simple thief, was able to defeat a high class highly trained girl? In a fight???? I hated it. So much.

You see. Mare being this badass person from day one makes me so mad. Like. WHY DOES THIS RANDOM CHICK OUT OF NOWHERE KNOW HOW TO FIGHT???? AND WIIIIN????

my villain origin is Mare defeating Evangeline in the first book.

I wouldn't have anything against Evangeline losing on later books or whatever. But at least make Mare fight for it. Damn it.

Like. Dude. Mare only gets proper training with people with her powers on the last book.

LAST FUCKING BOOK!

Ok. She was figuring things out on her own and doing fine. And being a badass. Cool. Good for her.

But like. It feels like training was just... Not that relevant. I could be wrong. Its been a while since i read the books and do not have a good memory. But for what i recall, training didn't do that much difference. Mare was born good. >:(

Which i hate.

I wish Mare made more mistakes. Lost more. Brokedown more. Was human you know.

Now, Evangeline.

I don't even know where to begin.

At the first book, i barely remember how she is. I don't know if she is just badly written in that cliche "he's mine!" about Cal or if she just appeared that way because it was Mare's pov.

Anyhow, as i already said, Evangeline should've been stronger. You trained your whole life girl. Show me that! Damn it.

Ok. She holds herself in later books. But book number 1 still makes me mad.

Second book, she barely gets mentioned if im recalling it right.

Third one is where things get interesting.

Cause we get to know more about her.

And things we know?

She has a bad temper. Knows politics and plays the game using Mare to her benefit. Wants the crown, power. Has an "affair" with Elane. Loves her brother. Fears her father. Been trained and conditioned to be the next queen.

Ok. First. I LOVE how much Ev love Ptolemus. At first, i wanted him to die. But because she cared so much for him, and actively always tried to protect him, i started to care for him. I woulda've flipped and cried if he died.

Learn Mare.

The third book we set this. Evangeline has her own goals and agenda.

She never wanted Cal, she wanted the crown. To be a queen. And sure. You could say "oh! She wants that because that's what they taught her to want" and sure sure. Buuut, at the end of the third book, after house Samos treason and emancipation, Evangeline is completely happy and relieved. She has the crown, and doesn't have to marry someone to have it. She has the girl. She is not a pawn anymore.

She is free.

That's what i think of her wanting power, the crown. Because if you're the one in power, calling the shots, you are not a pawn. You can decide your destiny. She's not something to be shipped off or used as leverage by her father.

She yearns power because she wants to be free. She envies the reds because while they may be "inferior", they are not bound by their duty to their family. They are free to do whatever they want. Sure, she ties it to marriage. "They can marry whoever they want whine" sigh.

The thing is, somehow, along the way, she just loses this in the fourth book.

At first i was "oh my god. Evangeline are you... An interesting character???" but nope. Fourth book all she is "Elaaaaaane whine"

So, what i would change? Ok.

Let me just say first the things i love.

I love she has a temper. I love she is mean. I love she has an agenda and doesn't feel bad about it. She fears her father and has an aversion to her controling mother. She loves ans is protective as hell of Elane(perhaps a bit too much) and Ptolemus. She is vain, she cares about her appearance and that just adds power to her.

The thing though is, fourth book did her dirty. To me it felt her whole personality was her sexuality. Which ok, i get it. You are not allowed to be with the girl you love, and that sucks. But guuurl. It is way more than that. You whole LIFE is controlled. Not only your love life. So yeah. I hate that is just tuned it down to this one thing.

I would change one things in the fourth book. But that to me, it would make the world of difference.

Her desire of power (or simply freedom) to be attached to more reasons than just Elane. Because, dude, you're tying your whole reason to leave behind everything you know to this one person.

Someone the public does not know or care that much.

Like not even Ptolemus is that much of a blank character. He is an astounding warrior. Can be a bit of an oblivious idiot. Is protective of his sister. Can be sweet. Fights alongside Evangeline.

Elane? Pretty. Spy. (And that never is explored much beyond the third book is it?) Is a good fuck ig, because everything they do is fuck.

Ok. That was a bit crass. It is just because Elane could've been more as well. She just took the backsit though. And that enrages me.

I wish Evangeline's motives were more diverse i guess. That people instead of using Elane to convince Evangeline to turn sides, they talked about "hey yo, aren't you tired of being married off to every fucking one? Of not making your own decisions? To have dreams of your own?"

That's what i would change. What needs to be changed.

But also there are things i would've liked to see added. (Not nessary as maybe it wouldn't fit the narrative or just because she aint the protagonist. She wouldn't. Have enough pages to show all of this. One can dream though)

I wished she was friends with Sonya Iral. Maybe not best friends. But it would be apreciated. This book to me lacked friendships. I am not sure of this one though. I can see why she wouldn't have friends, is not how silvers do things but ah, i just wished.

Other things i would've liked to be added. Her training as a child. More sibling moments, not truly necessary, but it would've been a nice touch. And, that's completely necessary, more moments with Elane. Elane is just plain boring. I wish we got moments of them bondig and Elane being an awesome spy. Like in third book she was SPYING MAVEN!! THATS FUCKING AWESOME! So yeah. More Elane moments and Evalane(?) moments.

Oh. And i wished Mare and Evangeline moments. Not romantic, but friendship. Again. Not something huge. But just a few moments that they'd recognize that in a different universe, they could've been friends. I waited the whole fourth book for that to happen. But oh well. I took what i was given. Can't complain much.

And i think that's it. :)

Thanks for reading yall. That was fun.

[mintbubbletea606]

What Lies Behind the Mask (Chapter One: The Circumstances)

Maria, hands clutched around a large tome, sat in front of the desk in the office as she patiently waited for her mother and a strange man to return. In the span of half a year, her father had fallen ill and died, she and her mother had been left with nowhere to go, and they were now in an odd country with brow-raising customs and a strange native tongue. Her mother was able to easily slip into this language, but little Maria was met with strange looks when she tried to speak.

Still, she was able to pick up some things, like “bonjour” was used in greeting and her mother seemed to repeat “n’importe quel lieu de travail?” and “merci” when she entered a new building.

After many tries, her mother’s lips had puckered together in contempt as she clutched tighter to Maria’s hand before pulling her towards an opulent building. Her mother’s boots had made a clacking noise as she pushed her daughter through the door of the building. Maria’s mother had walked up to a portly woman and cleared her throat to gain her attention.

“Bonjour. Puis-je parler au directeur?" Mother asked as the woman’s eyes crinkled in confusion before putting down the mop that she was holding; she beckoned with one finger before walking down a hallway.

“Come on, little one…” the mother murmured to Maria before quickly following the woman. The three had caught up with the unfamiliar man; he was dressed in formal attire and had copper hair. When he saw Maria’s mother, his eyebrows furrowed as he opened his mouth to speak. His words were too quick for Maria to pick up what he was saying. His green eyes looked down at Maria for a second before he went down on his knees to talk softly to the child. This time, he was speaking broken Irish to the child.

“Good morning. I'm Breton. Welcome opera. Mama work here,” the man calmly spoke as he patted Maria’s head awkwardly. “How you?”

“Good, what does my mother do?” Maria questioned as the man turned to look at her mother, who quickly translated.

“Money,” he brusquely answered before getting up and gesturing towards Maria’s mother, switching back to his language.

Now, Maria was sitting in the office as her mother and this man were talking outside. Bowing her head slightly, Maria opened up the book of Irish folk tales and began to read it out as a way to pass the time. She looked up when the door opened back in.

“Merci, cher frère!” Mother’s voice was laced with gratitude as the man nodded in return with his eyebrows creasing together. A moment passed before a certain tapping caught both of their attention. “Ca c'était quoi?”

“Nous devons parler plus tard…” the man’s voice dropped as Mother’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Her mouth closed after a few seconds and she turned around to gather the bag that she had put in the chair beside Maria.

“Come on, Maria Adina…” she said, holding out her hand for her daughter to grab onto. She pulled her daughter through different doors until they were finally outside of a door. “My brother, your uncle, has provided us with a room for the night. We’re going to be moved, later on. You might have your own room here, pet…”

Maria merely nodded as her mother turned to mess with the door handle and slip the tarnished key into the lock. She pulled open the door to reveal an almost barren room. There was only a small cot and a mirror in the windowless room. Mother’s nose wrinkled at the sight of a cobweb in the furthermost corner of the boarding room.

“How long do we have to stay here?” asked Maria as her mother forced a cheery smile on her face.

“Hopefully, only a day…” she quickly answered as she looked out in the hallways before swiftly shutting the door. “Now, if someone knocks on the door, leave it to me to answer it. You will hide, like a game that we used to play!”

“Yes, Mother…” she answered as she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. After a few moments of staring at a wall as her mother scurried into the hallways, Maria opened up her book and delved back into the story of Dagda’s harp.

---

Adina left her daughter in the room and peered around for anybody that she could talk to. Though she and her husband, Raphael, had not been particularly rich, she had never been in a room such as this. When Raphael had finally perished from the disease that had preyed on his weak body for weeks, she had quickly moved around their small cottage to get expensive items to barter. Maria had sat near her father as her mother did this, her unblinking eyes staring at the body. Adina did not stop to think if this was normal for a child to do; instead, she packed up their belongings and began to make a plan to travel to Paris. Once her husband was buried and the money was collected, Adina made out for Paris so that she could be closer to her family.

Maria Adina Monet Sr had been born into the wealthy family of Dupont and had been coddled from a very young age by her parents and older brother. However, this all changed when a struggling artist caught a sixteen-year-old Maria’s eyes. All family ties were severed when she finally married the man. She was forced to adjust to his house and the lack of funds, and nearly three years later, Maria became pregnant with their first child. A boy was born to the family on the second day of the month of November; he slipped away after a few days. The couple had a baby girl on March 17th five years later. This girl survived and the family was happy, despite having unstable finances. Six years passed before tragedy struck again: Raphael’s death.

The last thing that Adina wanted to do was contact her brother and become reliant on him for a job, but it became the final option. Now, she had to supply her daughter with a dusty room and she had to ask for help to find a rag. How had she dropped this low?

The woman spotted movement around the corner so she hurriedly followed after it. Her hand came into contact with a taller woman. Turning around, the woman had a stern look on her face; her lips were turned down in a frown and her painted eyebrows were creased together. She had a brown braid and her entire outfit was rather severe, with daunting curves.

“Yes, madame?” the woman spoke up with a thick French accent.

Adina fought the urge to bow her head and steeled herself to ask her for a rag, anything to clean away the cobwebs and dust.

Lifting an eyebrow, she motioned for Adina to follow her. The two women stopped outside a room and she tapped on it thrice, waiting a few seconds before rapping her cane quickly against the door. A small child peeked out and her eyes lit up when they fell on the severe-looking woman.

“Mother, how were the ballerinas? Were they beautiful?” the little girl exclaimed excitedly as the woman motioned for her to open the door wider. Her child obeyed immediately and scattered out of the way as the two women walked in. Adina turned her head to look at the young one. She was pale and the only thing that stuck out about her was her inky black hair that was arranged in pigtails. Her mother gave her a pat on the head before moving to a chest of drawers and rifling around in there. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m okay. Thank you, Meg…” the woman answered, her voice lilting a bit while dealing with her daughter. “Now, here you go, madame. Do you need anything else?” Her voice had reverted back to its snappy and curt way.

“Oh, I think that’s all,” Adina quickly said before nodding her head in thanks. When she moved to go, the woman cleared her throat.

“May I ask what happened that you might need a rag? You see, I have to make sure that everyone is alright and everything is accounted for.”

“Oh, my daughter and I were given a room to sleep in for a few days, and it was absolutely dreadful in there when we arrived. I wanted to clean the room so that my daughter doesn’t have to sleep in filth.” Adina watched as the woman looked away and seemed to speculate for a second. The room that this woman stayed in was rather extravagant and there were soft couches and pillows all around. It was still rather small, but it was bigger than most people’s rooms in this opera house.

“I might be able to help…” the woman murmured after deliberating for a second. She looked back at the room, eyes staying on the mirror. “Meg, you may help us if you wish. How old is your daughter?”

“Oh, she’s six and a half years old. She only speaks Irish right now, though. I haven’t been able to teach her much French,” Adina added on as the woman made a noise at the back of her throat.

“Well, I’m sure that Meg and her can get along, despite the language barrier. I do know of this couple that has tried to teach their daughter more than one language. I think that Irish was one of the languages, actually… I’ll have to check again, but I’m sure that your daughter will become used to the language and activity here,” the woman offered before smiling politely. “My name is Antoinette Giry, by the way. That would be my child, Meg…”

The little girl offered a gap-toothed grin at Adina, who nodded her head in greeting.

“Now, come on, Meg,” Antoinette said before making her way through the door quickly.

Adina stood by the doorway for a second before heading back to the room with a skip in her step.

[bloodyserb]

Half of the escalators at the mall are shrieking and moaning like wounded animals, the other half are barricaded off and broken entirely.  The random distribution of escalators that have died versus those that are only wounded has turned the mall into a challenging maze, like something right out of a Resident Evil video game.  If this was Resident Evil, let’s say a PS2 era version, after I entered the mall and stood by the railing we would switch to a cut scene boom shot that would zoom out over the railing and reverse to show my position before tilting down to show the shoe store that I need to get to three floors down.  The shoe store is directly beneath me, and in pre apocalyptic times a direct route would only require stepping from one down escalator directly onto the next, but this is the now times. Civilization is crumbling all around us and nowhere is that fact written more largely than in the mall.

 My companion and I make our way to the opposite end of the floor we’re on to check out the escalator situation on that end.  Along the way we pass a different shoe store and she suggests that I go inside to take a look, but I know better.  I only have about enough gas in the tank for a single social interaction and I’m not about to give it up this early in the game.  As we approach I can see the sales guy start to stir, triggered by our motion.  I quickly doge to the side so I can see the shoes through the glass.  There’s nothing I want in there, and the glass proves to be an effective anti-sales barrier.

 Rounding the corner I can see that the down escalator is still turning on this side, I just need to make it past the food court to get there.  There are only two places still operating inside the food court, Umi Chicken and Thai Chicken.  I’m pretty sure there is no difference between the two, so I’m puzzled as to how this came to be, but here we are.  Umi chicken has posted a sample guy, Thai chicken can’t be bothered, and as we pass he lunges at us with a toothpick.  “Sample?” he says.   My companion and I simultaneously point to our mouths and silently speak the word “gum” like we’d rehearsed it.  The sample guy nods like he understands and returns to his position in the shadows.  He’s smiling politely as he does so, but there’s nothing behind those eyes.  He checked out this morning the moment he clocked in.

 We descend to the second floor, mechanical bits beneath us shuddering and grinding the whole way. The mall has recently changed hands and I’m starting to get the feeling that the new owners aren’t paying the maintenance bills.  This space is huge and you can feel the second law of thermodynamics pushing in from every corner.  If it can nip away at the tendons connecting the floors it won’t be long before the mall is brought down by the weight of its own bloated body and finds its throat in the drooling maw of entropy.

 Predictably, the down escalator from the second to the first floor isn’t working on this end, so we must reverse course and head all the way back to the opposite side.  My companion suggests that we try to find the elevator she thinks is hidden in the back of Macy’s.  If she’s right, and it’s working this could save us a lot of time, but if she’s wrong that could mean we’ll have to double back again, or worse yet, we could get stuck in the Macy’s elevator, possibly forever.  I decide to keep walking.  I can’t risk it when we’re already halfway there, and besides that my companion is really stoned and cannot possibly grasp the gravity of the situation we are in.

 The trip across the second floor is mostly uneventful.  We do spy another shoe store, but this time it is on the other side of the mall. The open space in the middle of the floor is filled by deflated Christmas ornaments that hang limply from the ceiling and shield us from view.  I can see that the shoes I am after aren’t in there either and the sales guy never even suspects that his inventory has been perused.

 One more dodgy escalator ride to go and we’re there.  This time it’s going smoothy until we’re about halfway down.  Our poor mechanical animal lets out a howl like it’s been caught in a leg trap.  The fingers of my left hand seize the railing hard, and my right hand reaches up to cover my ear.  Surely this can’t be it?  We were so close.  Were we supposed to take the elevator after all?  But it’s ok.  The howling subsides and we’re delivered gently to the first floor.  As I step off, I’m passed by a tightly bound nuclear family on their way up.  They’re looking around excitedly and speaking to each other in what sounds like a Scandinavian language.  These cheerful looking people can’t have come here to shop.  Each one of the brightly colored down jackets they’re wearing probably cost more than my mortgage payment.  It makes more sense that they’re disaster tourists, come here to explore the wreckage of the 20th century.

 The first-floor shoe store is probably the last business here with any life left in it.  It’s so clean, well lit and well stocked, that it feels like I’ve briefly stepped back in time.  I try to relax and browse casually like we used to do when we were young, and the mall was new.  It takes some effort at first, but it helps that some of the new old stock shoes are so incredibly dated.  I hold one pair in my hand that make me wish I could still go across the hall and buy the matching 8-Ball jacket to go with them.

 After four blissful aisles of strolling, I see them, the shoes I have been looking for, the ones from my dream.  Impossible to miss with their bright colors, they might as well be glowing and hovering like a save spot crystal.  There are three pairs of them on the shelf and my size is printed right on the box in the middle of the stack.  The moment I pick it up I feel that the weight of the box is off, a quick check shows that the weight of all the boxes is.  This is a one shoe in the box kind of store, a reminder of our current reality that snaps me back to the present day like an overstretched rubber band. The final challenge is here, but that’s ok because as you may recall I have been hoarding my ability to socially interact like a health pack before the final boss. My companion goes off on a side quest to find the NPC who knows where the other shoe is and returns with both the necessary human and the shoe only moments later.  Once the fit is confirmed, and the shoes photographed for Instagram, I make my way to the front where I expend the very last of my energy making idle chit chat while the payment goes through.

 The return to the car in the parking lot is smooth and unremarkable, because of course everything works fine in the other direction.  No game designer is going to waste a bunch of time writing stuff to take place after the final battle.

 Tl;dr:  I got new sneaks yesterday.