#people think Ravage is quiet until she gets to know them and then they realise she never shuts up once she's comfortable

[dontpetmeibite]

"You're the one who said you wrote bad poetry." Ravage shrugs. "And I wouldn't have expected any Megatron who knew who I am to lie to me. What was my counterpart like?"

Of course he came to see her directly, she thinks--so she can hear his vents and his sighs. In that sense, her Megatron and this one are very similar, and it's fine, because with both of them, the boundaries have been set.

"Do you know, I don't even remember what that was about, with Shockwave?" Ravage says after a moment, before producing two cubes. "You're allowed to have the real thing now, right? I hope so, because after I saved your alternate we had to chelate his entire fuel system."

She sits back down to crack open her own. "Shockwave was Soundwave's brother. Maybe you didn't know that, or maybe it was different where you came from. I don't usually bother people about the language they use, or the jokes they tell--but I care very much about Soundwave's feelings. They were brothers, the heirs of House Kymatos-in-Kalis; like Dominus and Minimus Ambus were once."

She shrugs and drinks the energon. "I can't really apologise for defending my husband's feelings, but I can say I didn't mean to hurt yours in the process, if that will do. If anything, I feel like I should apologise to you on behalf of that other cat. But I don't know how hard your world used her, or how well she and Soundwave loved one another..."

Ravage shakes her head. "I went from being part of a pile of six very specially trained black ops cats in a postnatal centre, to being Senator Ratbat's 'assistant', which was the first time I ever had my own room, and it wasn't for my benefit. The first thing I did when I got to Rodion was move in with Gasket and Drift, and the birds soon followed. And then Soundwave came, after his House disowned him, and we've been together ever since."

She swallows a large gulp of energon. "The half-year I spent hiding in the vents of the Lost Light was the longest time I had ever been alone since escaping from Skywatch. Of course I fell right back into Megatron's bed like an idiot. I am not meant to be alone. I just pretend I am. I'm glad I could give you hope. And I know about quantum duplication. I came out of the shadows in the Lost Light because the ship was disappearing around me. Nautica outed me as a femme--she still says she just knew--and tried to pet me, and they locked us in a closet and I scratched up Megatron's face, and then he volunteered to go fix the quantum whatever, which should have been my first clue."

She frowns. "I've heard ot the Functionist Universe, though. I thought it didn't happen, because Brainstorm was stopped. I almost died on Ratchet's operating table while they were all out chasing him down. Nobody told Ratchet they were fucking with the timeline or he wouldn't have been doing elective surgery. Ratchet says all my brain function stopped, my spark did a thing, and then they all heard Soundwave's voice, because he was blowing himself up four million years ago in order to protest my summary execution. Then my spark did another thing and I woke back up. Does even a little of this sound familiar?"

She drinks more energon.

"Anyhow, stop saying you deserve to be killed. Dying's the easy way out when you've fucked as much up as we have. Then you don't have to fix it."

Great, let's hang out! I mean it.

I like to think I'd know it if you were propositioning me, but words on a screen don't come with olfactory and vomeronasal triggers that tell me whether or not someone's into me, even if they hate themselves for it. I'm relieved to be right that you didn't know what that meant.

I'm happy not to compromise the fact that you're alive in your universe as long as I know who not to talk to. I don't think I've ever been there, so now, I worry that I might meet someone from there and not know it.

To be fair, I would also characterise many of our previous conversations as contentious and I frequently feel vaguely insulted when we're talking. If I knew why, I would tell you at once. It feels sometimes like you don't think I'm terribly bright, and it stings. Yet I still want to be friends. Perhaps that's just because I'm cussed like that.

I almost deleted the following paragraphs until I realised what I was trying to do was give you a picture of what my own history with Megatron is (aside the disastrous affair), and I want you to understand that I do not think that you are this Megatron.

It was obvious the minute you said you were a terrible poet, because he wasn't, and he wouldn't have said so even if he had been.

That was the first time I felt vaguely insulted, to be fair, because my relationships with everyone in High Command were not so shallow that I can't tell them apart and at no point was I ever trying to say that the two of you were alike.

I was Megatron's confidante until I realised that he cared more for his own guilt than for anyone else's welfare, jumped ship and got Misfire to take me home. We'd been conversing in prose and poetry since he was at Messatine and I was Senator Ratbat's favourite chew toy.

We argued a lot and he usually won, even when he was wrong, because he knew how to manipulate me until the day he didn't any more, but he let me slap him twice and never raised a hand to me.

(Not that I'm proud of that. That's just how we were back then. I think that Soundwave and I were the only people Megatron never hit.)

Soundwave and I have been together since before the war and before my cassettification. We merged sparks for the first time before we were twenty years old, in Rodion, during my brief period of freedom before Ratbat caught up to us.

During the war, when Megatron had taken leave of his senses, I did a whole lot of Soundwave's job so he could do everyone else's.

Megatron's abdication gutted us both and ended our triad, at which point Soundwave was mad at me, too, because I didn't get mad at Megatron as quickly and deeply as he did.

Galvatron goaded him into ordering me to kill Megatron if he were serious. Frankly I probably would have if not for the order, because that was fucked up. Then I saw how serious Megatron was about being an Autobot and understood he really did believe that I should defect, leave my conjunx and my family, in order to quietly sit there and watch him die. And then I was done.

Galvatron and Soundwave fell out. I will never understand why Megatron and OP thought abdicating without naming a successor would make the Decepticons stop fighting. I told Soundwave if he needed to swear allegiance to someone that badly, he should swear allegiance to me, and he did, and so did the Scavengers.

Tarn and I got into a philosophical slapfight on the Big Conversation where everyone knew who we were, even though it's against the terms of service to dox anyone, even yourself, and then other people started swearing allegiance to me. Tarn didn't like my Concordian Ethics or the gloss I wrote on the revision of Towards Peace, because it took a long time to get back to the Sol System, and I spent most of that time writing. Until Starscream decided he'd let me use his spacebridge if I promised to take his malcontents with me. (Tarn eventually died, multiple times, because he tried to fuck over Deathsaurus and forgot about Esmeral.)

Unfortunately for Soundwave that meant he had to let me kill Galvatron in single combat all by myself, but I did it, and after the slag that Galvatron had been pulling, it was a pleasure. After Strika and Deathsaurus swore to me, everyone else either accepted me or fucked off somewhere else. I am Vox Destron.

I actually did end up saving Megatron, which was one of the funny parts. I sentenced him to eight million years of community service for killing all of the people on all of the planets we'd already taken over (which was something I'd always been mad about) on the grounds that he'd killed even more Decepticons than Autobots.

Prowl is going to die mad about it someday, but OP actually signed off on that, especially after he heard about the part where I put Glit in charge of him as head of the Committee for Truth and Reconciliation.

One of the other funny parts was that Rung gave Soundwave a big piece of jewellery to keep where his tape deck used to be. I dearly wish Star Saber could have been there when that happened just so I could see his big stupid face, but overall I'm glad he's dead.

Please understand that I know you are not this person. I am glad you are not this person. Having to deal with one of them is enough. I still care for him, and I also still have days when I'd like to put his spark in a blender, which I say with all the love in my heart.

Now tell me why you faked your own death and who I have got to keep mum around, and let's be friends.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Black - Chapter 10

Here's a chapter that was exceedingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D

@legolasbadass I have officially tagged you in something, now, go back to writing 😂

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, the rest, special mention for Dwalin being a cutie

Words: 5,5 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood, reference to bodily harm, reference to God, ALSO: I am a drama queen *shrug*

“I think you are being unreasonable.” Faith shook her head at him. “Who? Uncle?” Kíli sauntered up to them, bowing crisply to her and adding: “I came to check on you, but I see our own dragon is guarding you jealously.”

“Get dressed, woman, if that one is here, the others are not far behind.” Thorin grumbled and blocked the view of his much too curious nephew while Faith was huddled in the corner of her room, slipping into her chemise and an old rough spun dress she had found in the pile of clothes that were left to her.

Faith had to admit that Thorin might have been right when other dwarrows presented themselves as well in front of her door, “to check on her” as if she was as sickly kitten. “Dori sends me with tea.” Ori mumbled, holding a literal pot of tea in his gloved hands.

“That is ever so kind.” Faith smiled, pouring the rest of her wine back into the carafe and extending the mug to the sweet dwarrow hovering just outside her door. Apparently, there was indeed something unseemly about crossing the threshold of an unmarried woman as an unmarried man. She wondered if that would have been the same if the townspeople of her home had lived. As it was, she would never know, but there was something quite touching in the pile-up of dwarrows outside her room.

“Oh, you’re holding court like a real queen. What is uncle unreasonable about?” Kíli silenced the others by almost screaming.

“Mistress Faith was on her way to bed when you barged in like a fool.” Thorin muttered, obviously in a cantankerous mood.

“She was not, she was berating you!” Kíli replied petulantly. “I don’t think your uncle, the king, should be camped outside of my door.” Faith intervened with an explanation.

“Why don’t you just bolt the door?” The lad asked, scratching his head. When she explained that she couldn’t open the door on her own and that she didn’t like feeling locked in, he gave his uncle a short nod and shrugged: “In that case, uncle is not being unreasonable at all. Let me know if you want company, I can sit with you.”

Faith was speechless. “You are a guest, and we’ll keep you safe.” Kíli said with an easy smile.

“I am safe.” Faith protested. “You are now because you have uncle outside your door. And us.” Kíli winked at her with that youthful pride and confidence that made her heart swell. Oh, bless that kid, she thought, may the stars align for him and bring him endless happiness.

“There you are!” Dwalin came barrelling down the corridor. “Me?” She was taken aback and tiny bit startled.

“No, not you, Mistress. That oaf, the king.” Dwalin nodded to her with what might have been a smile, Faith was not entirely sure and conversed in low, murmured words with Thorin. Faith just sat and listened to the sound of it, weirdly calmed and comforted by the rough elegance of their very own, secret language.

“Mistress Faith? Ah, there comes Fíli.” Faith scrambled to her feet and curtsied for the heir to the throne who presented her with a small cake. “We apologise humbly for having led you astray and for risking your good name. And for annoying you about uncle, we didn’t tell mother everything, but she was not happy either way.” The prince laughed. Faith was impressed by how resolutely and soberly he admitted fault and tried to redress his potential missteps; she understood that their social life had been an unsteady and uncertain thing and that it had been a priority to make them valuable fighters rather than charming courtiers.

Nonetheless, she admired them for their light-hearted honesty as much as for their supposed prowess.

“You’ve given us sweets and now, we give you cake. That makes us friends, doesn’t it? Ah, I see Dori has sent his little brother with that disheartening brew of his.” Fíli declared, commenting casually on the scene he had stumbled upon. Amongst humans, this would have been a childish thing to say, Faith thought, but she realised that he extended an invitation to her, and she was thankful for it. As she was a stranger in their realm, the declaration of a bond between them would protect her, shield her, most probably keep her alive against all odds. It was easy to see them as children as they were the nephews of a man she called a friend, but their lives stretched far into the past and hopefully would extend into a distant future, and already, they knew more than she would ever learn.

With another curtsy, she acknowledged the gracious offer of his friendship and the privileges it brought. “Thank you, dear prince I would be honoured to accept both the cake and your good graces.” He gave her an answering bow that sealed the deal.

If they knew what scandalous actions she had been engaged in only moments ago, Faith thought, they would probably not be that courteous to her. The idea of losing their affection stung, which surprised her, but the idea of losing them, period, turned out to be utterly unbearable to her. Her mind shrank back from the mere thought as from an open, festering wound.

She had been alone most of her life, but the mere contemplation of never seeing the creatures in front of her again filled her with dread and a nameless pain that choked the light out of her heart. For their own people and their culture, they were young still and she couldn’t bear the thought of having such promising torches snuffed out before their time. Would that she could live another hundred years to see their mischief soften to quiet humour, to see them take wives and father children, to be their friend through the different stages of a dwarven life.

The limitations of her own body and life constricted her soul, crushing it to dust, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of being given a glimpse of perfection only to have it snatched away too soon by the ravage of time. No, she thought, she would be thankful to be granted that precious peek; she would be grateful to have known what others only dreamt of and she would treasure those memories and all she had seen until her eyes saw no more.

“Thank you ever so much.” Faith mumbled again, feeling the effects of the half-glass of wine she had drunk and wondering if the dwarrows could eat all the time. She had had more than her fill at the dinner, but she dutifully bit into her cake which was sweet and surprisingly moist.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly. “It is like everything else of dwarven make I have experienced.” Faith grinned.

“Bulky, heavy and smelling kind of weird?” Thorin prompted, much to Faith’s chagrin; she had not noticed that he had finished his conversation with his friend. Maybe, she had been wrong and dwarven mischief never really abated, maybe, they just learned to hide their wicked humour under longer beards in time. “Beautiful, compact, and delicious.” She gave him a brazen look full of dancing sparks; she liked bandying words with Thorin almost as much as she liked being kissed by him.

“Delicious, ey?” Dwalin laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder, and promising to come back later to relieve Thorin in his guard-duties. Oh, this was absurd, Faith rolled her eyes, she didn’t need two prime fighters in front of her door.

She had trekked through wind and weather; she had tackled a man with a knife and had chased away another one; she could take care of herself. It seemed though as if Thorin had been mostly correct: if they had lingered in her room, someone would have come looking for them and she might have lost a name that was worth more in this settlement than it ever had before.

She was half a savage, she realised, unused to the social conventions and rules of a society. As a maiden, she should have waited for a husband to give up this most sacrosanct of female gifts, but she was past the marrying age, and she was not overly fond of the idea of dying a virgin.

It was highly improbable that she would ever be anything else than a concubine to anyone and much more believable that she’d end up taken by force…hence the armed king outside her door. He had saved her once from rape and violence, and Faith did not doubt that he would do it again without hesitating.

Until he left.

Looking at the young princes, Faith realised that she felt safe here. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and hence, had let down her guard too much; all these lovely people would go on a perilous journey, and she would be left to her own devices. Maybe, she would have to heed the king’s advice after all and learn to be demure and discreet again.

That would be a whole lot easier once his startling beauty was removed and she could breathe again without getting a whiff of that intoxicating smell. How far would he have to be removed for her to no longer feel tethered to his steps?

She would miss him. His presence had become solace and home to her, a place to rest, a warmth to sustain her, and she would feel more vulnerable with him gone than ever before. Oh, another painful thought she didn’t want to pursue in this moment.

“We should let you get to bed. Just scream if anything is the matter and enjoy the cake.” The youngsters ambled away in high spirits, mocking Ori and his teapot and squabbling about the last cake. She would miss them too; like everything she had experienced in this wondrous place, they were a curious blend of beauty – light, colour, and laughter – and strength – honour, courage, and faith. Yes, she could say that she was fond of them and that she would be looking forward to seeing them again; there was just no way to dislike their open-hearted…fierceness. They were striving towards a brighter future with such zeal and indefatigable energy that Faith was pulled along despite her own reservations.

“Can I offer you a piece, my king?” Faith sat down again on her side of the doorframe, offering the baked good to Thorin.

“Ah, yes, I won’t say “no” to that.” He nodded, breaking off a piece and shoving it into his mouth, crumbs raining down on his tunic which she brushed away casually, amused to find that the king had a sweet tooth. His hand closed around her wrist.

“I am sorry, Faith, this…it was a mess. I…” He sighed. “I want to do this right…”

Oh, how could she have forgotten? While she was obsessing about her own death as if she was a crone already, she had forgotten that he had seen decades more than her; the time for his retribution had come and, of course, he didn’t want more loose ends and false starts to burden him.

“I will make it right; I will…” His eyes had softened to a mesmerizing dark blue in the low light, intense and captivating.

Now that the fire in her veins had dulled into a sensuous warmth, a steady flow of earnest affection and deep longing, she could put aside the wounds her vanity had sustained and mumble: “Oh, you king of second chances, I am sure you will.”

“Have faith in me, sweet one, I will make good on my word.” – “I shall not be another burden on your shoulders, Thorin-king.” She protested softly, putting her hand lightly on top of his.

“You are not, neither are they.” He waved in the general direction in which his nephews had disappeared. “I will succeed where others have failed, because of all of you. I will bring you home: my sister, my nephews, my friends…you. I swear.”

The intensity of his gaze and of his determination sent shivers down Faith’s spine.

She was a woman without a history and, probably, without a future, but she could recognise the weight of his ancestors’ failures, of his people’s suffering, and of his own ambition bear down on him inexorably.

“Rest, sweet king, you have done me no wrong.” She reassured him. “Have I not?” His eyes narrowed, suspecting a subterfuge or a trick. “You are a stubborn but very honourable fool, and I am glad that you convinced me to come here.” She grinned.

“So, you like it here? You’ll like Erebor then. It’s full of gold.” He smiled. “You and your gold!” She laughed.

“It’s full of beautiful things.” He tried again. “It shall be, yeah.” She chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently into his.

“You…I wanted to say that I feel honoured that you’d…consider me for…” He nodded at the empty room behind her, which made her giggle again; he really was too upstanding to be real.

“You are the single most beautiful living thing I’ve ever beheld in my life. You’re kind, generous, and brave. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I see now that there are rules to be followed and I did not mean any disrespect.”

Thorin seemed to ponder her words for a while before nodding: “Yes, I guess that is true…I know that you are physically incapable of wilfully disrespecting anyone or anything almost, so no problem.”

“What are the rules, Thorin-king?” She had caught a glimmer in his eye that disquieted her considerably.

He looked purposefully away for a moment and then mumbled into his beard: “I’d court you and then…”

“What would you quarter me for? In that case, I do see why you think intercourse would be dangerous.” Faith hissed, aghast.

“Court you, not quarter you. Who do you think I am?” Thorin exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately.

“I am sorry that I do not have your sister’s supersonic hearing.” Faith grumbled, but she had to laugh when she saw his dumbfounded face. “Oh, Dís, she was born like that. It’s because she loves information that much. I call it information…”

He made a face.

“She sounds like a valuable councillor then, wouldn’t you say?” Faith teased him. “Kíli gets it from her, that wicked sense of humour and that…” His voice softened, “She has a fierce heart, my sister does, stay close to Dís, she’ll keep you safe.”

Faith believed him, but she wondered how he could be so sure.

“My sister loves me as I love her, you are my friend, you are her sons’ friend…She won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on the princess either.” Faith protested, flustered by the finality in his voice.

Thorin took her hand and murmured: “Can you do two things for me, please? One, go to bed, otherwise I will have to kiss you again and we have seen that it generally ends in…frustration; and two, promise that you’ll stay with Dís.”

Throwing a quick glance down the corridors, Faith stuck out her head of the doorframe and pressed a single, warm, lingering kiss on his stubborn mouth and whispered: “I swear to stick to the princess…and lay down my life if necessary for her protection.”

Mahal have mercy, Thorin thought, the two women he cared for most would try to die in protection of one another at the slightest provocation; they were both fiercely loyal and brave in their own way. Devoted and self-forgotten, Faith had no regard for her own fragile life that seemed to be entirely made up of service while Dís had ever been a pugnacious dwarrowdam who would not avoid a fight if she thought she could win. Dís always thought she could win. She was his sister, after all.

“Good night, king of kings.” She whispered, flipping one of his braids playfully over his shoulder and scrambling to get to her feet. Thorin watched her go, taking off her dress again as she went, and cursed himself for being such a fool.

As she slipped between the sheets though, Faith stiffened and cried out: “Wait a minute…what do you mean by court?”

It had taken some time for his words to sink in, but again, all her fatigue evaded her within a second.

“Well, courting gifts, braids, walking around with your hand in mine…more intrusive questions by my nephews, more teasing by my sister…” He enumerated and ticked off the fingers of his hand.

Marriage, Faith thought, that was what it all led up to. Courting led to weddings, in general, and she would not marry Thorin Oakenshield, king of the Longbeards, not if the almighty creator himself did not come down and grant her a life long enough to honour the bond she would enter into, and a blood worthy of his. Falling back hard into her pillow, she resisted the urge of burying her head in it and asphyxiating herself out of pure impatience and annoyance with the situation.

Then again, the idea of having his nephews and his sister, and ultimately of course him, around until her forever came, held such a sweet seduction that it tore her heart apart. The intensity of her longing made it very clear to her that she was reaching for forbidden fruit indeed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling that started to swim and swirl in front of her eyes.

“Sleep, sweet one, tomorrow is another day. There will be time for you to decide if that is something you’d want.”

Oh, naturally, he would be a perfectly honourable man about that as well, Faith thought with something akin to disdain almost; while she fretted and fussed, he would offer his courtship and she would have the right to deny it.

Would he understand her reasons when she finally did reject his promise of tender and respectful advances? Or would he feel as miserably unsatisfied as she did now?

Again, she tried to remind herself of the fact that he did not care for her in that way. She had promised him her body and he was looking to find some justification for taking it; a man such as him would not simply despoil a woman because he felt like it, no, he would create the pretence of a mock courtship to explain why he had taken what he could never give back.

Time would tell. Time, her constant enemy, the shadow gnawing mercilessly on her hours in the sun, would decide if she ever got an answer to those questions.

“You can tell me sooner of course.” Thorin mumbled and she sat up in bed, her blanket a tangled mess around her legs.

“It is a discussion for another day, surely.” She replied calmly, falling back to hide her face and its expression from him.

“Are you very cross with me, Faith?” He asked then.

“Not in the least, Thorin.” She decided against a title, knowing that it would make him believe that she was indeed angry when, really, she was confused and considerably hurt by everything that had happened tonight and by the fears that swirled in her head and heart without surcease. “Good, I couldn’t bear to disappoint you as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, she shot up to stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. “I will do right by all of you.” He vowed anew and Faith wondered if he always took his own trespasses so seriously; of course, he would.

“Good night, Master Dwarf. I care for you, and you are beautiful.” She repeated the most important things of the evening, swallowing her rejection of his courtship and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly disturbed by her body that was as taut as a twisted piece of wire. Every time her thighs touched, a spark of pure agony shot through her limbs, a feeling she knew would subside but that made her intensely miserable, nonetheless.

“How’s the little lady?” Dwalin clunked down the corridor and was forced to sneak the last stretch so as not to awaken Faith.

Thorin loved his friend, but he would not tell him how he had spent the last hours listening to Faith mumble and moan in her sleep; more than once, she had whimpered his name and he had been sorely tempted to take off his clothes again and slip between the covers with her.

Somewhere between her body and the mattress lay heaven, he knew, and her soft groaning had worn out his soul and chafed his skin raw with desire.

“She’s not a little lady.” Thorin grumbled. No, Faith was fearless when it came to actual danger; despite her innate subservience and her sweet temper, she was a fierce woman he was honoured and happy to call his friend.

“You’re thinking about courting her, aren’t you?” – “If she’ll have me.” Thorin didn’t even try denying it.

Dwalin had his doubts about that; Faith seemed fond enough of their mutual friend, of their common king, but could she find that kind of love inside herself for someone who was not of her own race? Friendships were indiscriminate; they were based on mutual respect and understanding, but marriage followed a set of rules much stricter and more severe.

It was also probable that she’d die before him, but he was not exactly a young dwarf and they had years ahead of them that could be spent in happy union; if he lived, if she agreed. Did she know that? Would she want that?

“She’s very…kind.” Dwalin said carefully, for she had been nothing but nice to him despite the fact that even dwarrowdams had told him before that he looked like a raincloud pickled in vinegar and left to dry on a stony cliff. “She is.” Thorin agreed.

“What is with the door?” Dwalin then asked and nodded at the huddled form in the bed he could make out in the penumbra. “She can’t open it on her own.” Thorin explained and then, the epiphany hit him: he would not wait for his return or her joining him; he would start his tentative courting with the very basic gift of an appropriate door.

“I…I have something to do. Please do not turn around under any circumstance and tell Mistress Faith that I’ll find her as soon as I’m done.” Thorin spluttered hastily and, boots in hand, almost ran down the corridor in search of a carpenter.

He would have a door made that she could easily open and close herself, but he would make sure that it was sturdy, fashioning and applying the bolts himself. Would that this blasted wizard was around to help imbue the very slab of wood with spells for her protection. Yes, he would convince her of his deep affection for her in the only way he knew: hard work and presents.

Faith woke up to the broad back of Master Dwalin completely obscuring the doorframe.

“The king is…doing something and he’ll find you as soon as he has finished…doing whatever he is doing.” The dwarrow grunted as a reply to her cheery greeting.

Slipping back into her simple shift, Faith approached the stolid figure and tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you be so good as to let me out?” He shifted aside and let her pass, but as she took a step, he followed her.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.” He muttered, a low, rumbling sound that she very much enjoyed. “You are a dear man, Master Dwalin.” She chirped and nodded slowly.

“Hmmm, me? Hmmm, thank you, Mistress Faith.”

If she had been a braver woman when it came to social conventions, Faith might have asked to hug him, but as it was, she didn’t dare presume. “You’re a funny little creature as well.” He chuckled after a moment which made her turn around in surprise.

“Where are we going?” He cocked his head. “First to get you some breakfast and then to the river, if that is agreeable to you.” She replied gently. As he was intent on shadowing her, she had to think of his well-being as much as he seemed to worry about hers; so, off to the kitchens they went in search of a fortifying meal for the big warrior.

While Dwalin was still munching noisily on his breakfast, Faith was already kneeling beside the river, digging her hands deep into the soil, and filtering out the clay in meticulous steps until she had a sizeable ball. Her guardian watched her work tirelessly, fascinated by her steady, soft movements. Thorin was right, he thought, she was a creature of mud.

Even though the king himself was, in this moment, hammering steel with ringing force, there was a parallel to be drawn between the rhythmic, almost dance-like movements both of them were performing to create something new. For one another, if Dwalin wasn’t very much mistaken.

“I’d ask the kitchens if you can use one of their ovens rather than the open fire of the furnace.” He commented when Faith started moulding and twisting her ball of clay into shapes. “It will be quicker and gentler on your creations.”

Faith nodded when a glint in the water caught her eye. A beautiful, iridescent pebble, smooth and shiny was sitting right next to a single coin. She knew not if it had been caught in the folds of her dress or if someone else had lost it in the river, but she took it to be a good omen for her sacrifice to find things so beautiful to add to her offering.

“Off to the kitchens we go again then, Master Dwalin.” She smiled, heaping her work into his broad palms and chuckling to herself as she watched him hold them carefully in his hands while he walked gingerly ahead of her. He was a dear fellow…and another soul to miss bitterly.

“Come quick, uncle.” Thorin looked up from the bolt he had been fitting on the wooden door meant for Faith’s room in surprise. “You have to see that.” Fíli, his nephew, his heir, was waving him along urgently and so he followed without taking the time to cross-examine the lad on the motivation for his peculiar behaviour.

As soon as they arrived at the side of his dear sister, Thorin could understand where the excitement came from. Faith was kneeling in front of a tree hugging the mountainside, laying out the earthen dishes she had made with her own hands this morning.

“Uncle.” Kíli yelped, just arriving, upon seeing Faith pull out a knife and slashing open her arm once again, letting her blood drip into one of the shallow vessels slowly. “Let her be.” Thorin muttered, closing his hand around his nephew’s wrist to restrain him.

“I come to you, oh great creator, guide of my steps, in prayer.” Faith started, touching her forehead to the ground.

“But, I come not for myself. I come to pray for the safe passage and blessed return of Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Again, she bowed down, then lifting her bloodied hands to the sky and pleading:

“You who have many faces, allow me to address those I have known all my life without ever speaking their name. I have been told that the one Thorin calls Mahal and we may call “crafting face of the creator” has hewn the dwarrows from stone. Oh, father of all, remember those you gave life to and show them mercy once again. Oh, stone remember who you once cradled and mellow your bosom for them. May their steps tread safely on you and may you open your womb once again to give them refuge.”

Faith touched one of her dishes in which a single coin and an iridescent river pebble lay.

“Let not the fashioner of evil unmake your gift of strength and beauty to this world. For this, I pray.”

She turned to the second dish, containing seeds and herbs she had picked, offerings covered in mud and earth still.

“Oh, great creator, I cry to the part of you that is warm and motherly, to the face Thorin calls Yavanna under his breath. They are not made of stone; they are born, and they grow. May the protection of the mother fall upon them, the defence of all things that grow and thrive. Let the world I have cherished welcome them freely, oh great creator, oh manyfold God. May the rivers run smooth, and the trees grant them shade. Oh, earth you who have been my mother, hide their steps from foes and bear fruit to sustain them. I beg for this as a friend of all things living, may they be recognised by bird and beast, by heart and soul alive, for what they are: living, breathing, feeling creatures of this earth. Do not let them walk alone. For this, I pray.”

Finally, she lifted her own blood and poured it onto the soil in front of her.

“I am but a measly creature, a single life, but I understand that whatever blessing I might have known has had a purpose. I am a vessel and here, I surrender the mercy I have been granted to this greatest of kings. Take this blood into your bosom and see the flaws within it! May my life and the life of my kin be a cenotaph to guilt that spans over generations!”

She touched her forehead to the ground again before going on:

“Oh, great creator, carry the wisdom I have paid in blood and tears forth; may there be a gracious and brave child for every stubborn, unhospitable father, may the sons and daughters save their elders by their generous deeds. For this, I pray.”

Faith stood up again, bowing to her offerings thrice before lifting the knife to her throat.

This time, even Thorin jerked, but she merely cut off a strand of her hair to let it fall in the blood-stained dish.

“As for myself, I vow service, as I have before. I shall work tirelessly; I shall dig my hands bloody in search of fertile earth and I shall make plants thrive in your honour. From the day their feet fall into the first step of this most perilous of journeys until the day I shall gaze upon your blessed people again, oh great creator, I shall walk and pray in devout industry, only ever lifting my eyes to the sky to check if I am called forth. I yield whatever grace was placed upon and within me to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and whoever goes with him; I offer whatever strength I have to please you, oh great creator, in all your glory.”

Faith was about to turn away when she fell onto her knees again, her head pressed against the blood-drenched soil, sobbing in a low voice: “Oh, I plead with you, oh glorious, almighty, many-faced one, protect the one I call friend, the one who promised more than his body to me, bring him home safely even if I never get to see him again. Do not cut short the life of princes so valiant and honourable either. Take home the weary bones of old warriors and give fertile soil to the young ones to thrive. You are the maker of all things, of things that never change and of things that never stand still; honour their steadfast courage, eternal as the mountain, and their beating hearts, ever-changing as the seasons.”

Remembering the excellent hearing of the dwarrows, Faith lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished: “For I love them, dearly, desperately, endlessly. May the love of a mere mortal be guide, shield, and sword to them. I ask for nothing for myself, not an ounce of comfort, not a single blessing, heed my love for it is my only need in this life! I beg of you, I’d give everything for you to hear me…for this I pray.”

She bowed one last time, pulled down her sleeve and turned around to see Thorin staring at her with unfathomable eyes.

And then, the pain engulfed her, and she collapsed at the same time as Thorin broke into an impressive sprint for a boulder.

[tracybirds]

I can officially switch the status of Being Known from “stuck” to “WIP” again :) It’s been over a year since the last update for various reasons but I’m very excited to go back to this one and provide a new chapter!

For those new to the story, this was prompted by @kenzie-running-free in March 2020 and slightly got out of hand 😅 I’ve never stopped thinking about it and I bit the bullet and deleted the entirety of Chapter Four a few days ago and let myself rewrite it from scratch.... and it WORKED!!! (use technique with caution... scariest thing I’ve ever done.....)

Anyway...

A ‘what-if’ story based on “The Man From TB5” where the Hood recognized John in the scene when he makes himself known (instead of John stuttering).... and then he gets kidnapped :)

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3]

-----------

Darkness bled into John’s line of vision and he scrubbed desperately at his aching eyes. Time collapsed around him as he worked, the abruptly extinguished bulb the only hint of night. And every new day seemed to bring new weariness as he jolted awake by the sudden onslaught of light which interrupted the deepest part of sleep.

Just another tactic to keep him from gathering his wits together.

This morning, if it was morning, the brightly burning bulb was coupled with the scraping sound of a breakfast tray being shoved through the small slot that had been crudely and hastily carved in the door after he’d lain in wait and brought the tray down over one of the guard’s head. He’d left the man stunned on the floor and made it all the way to the end of the corridor before another guard had grabbed him from behind and thrown him bodily back into the room.

He’d woken to security footage of a fire ravaging a building, his own family on screen.

“They’re not looking for you,” sneered the Hood as he swept from the room.

No guards came in anymore.

Two days later, he’d been savagely poked in the eye when he’d tried to look through the new slot that had been hastily added to his door.

He spent hours every day, searching for a way to send out a message, or even create another receiver. Any link to the outside world would do. But it soon became apparent that the Hood had done one thing right in giving him access to an isolated system, keeping the holomonitor he’d been provided with separate even from his own devices.

One thing right among many.

John peered at the screen with his good eye, wincing at the torn skin that pulled over bruised muscle. His head spun as he stared at the endless commands, trying to replicate the spark of life no-one had ever found before EOS.

Not even him.

And that was the rub of it all.

John didn’t know, not after all his time studying EOS and her abilities, just how she’d been born of code and logical absolutes. How she could grow and change and evaluate her own mind in a way that not only seemed human, but was unquestionably so.

He glanced at the clock he’d created from scratch, counting the oscillations in the electrical current and spitting back a digital time at him. This ‘morning’ truly did correspond with the morning, and that meant the Hood would be paying him a visit for an update.

He wasn’t sure how much more time he could stall for until things got truly desperate.

How much time he had until he had to conclude that he was truly on his own.

*                            *                            *

“Scott, the floor’s unstable there!”

“I know what I’m doing, Alan.”

“Yes, but I have the numbers,” Alan replied, his voice cracking as he spoke. He spun the holo in his hands, checking and double checking the analysis that was running under his fingertips.

“Then the numbers are wrong.”

“They can’t be!”

“Alan,” said Scott, patiently. “I need you to check the parameters over again. I’m seeing two trapped vehicles, with no sign of ground stress, both much larger than me and more importantly containing passengers. I need to get them out of there.”

“Yes, but hang on–”

“There’s no time!”

Alan watched in horror as his big brother barrelled forwards. He crouched low as he ran, grabbing at nearby pylons for support. The ground heaved beneath his feet, but still Scott moved forwards steady and sure. Always with his eyes on the scared little boy in the back seat and a gentle smile on his face.

An alert ticked over into the red.

“Jump, Scott!” he yelled, watching the model floor cave in a split second before a real sinkhole opened beneath Scott’s feet.

“Alan, what’s happening up there?” came Virgil’s urgent voice, bound for home with Gordon from their own rescue.

Alan flipped the channel, realising in his hurry he’d accidentally broadcast his message to everyone.

“He’s fine,” he said, eyes still wide as he watched Scott shakily stand on the other side of the chasm. “The floor went.”

“What?”

“He’s fine, he’s fine!”

“Didn’t you run the simulation?”

“I did,” said Alan, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Silence fell over the space station.

“Hey Alan, can you pilot Thunderbird One over to us? Got my hands full here.”

Scott’s voice rang out loud and clear. Five clear thermal images were standing around him, including one in his arms.

Alan fumbled for the call button.

“F.A.B. Scott.”

“I’ll talk to him, Alan,” said Virgil. His eyes were focused beyond him, but Alan could read the quiet fury beneath the clear focus on his own piloting.

“I can’t do it, Virgil,” whispered Alan. “I must have done something wrong, there must have been something he could see that I couldn’t.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” interrupted Virgil.

“He never would have done this to…”

Alan’s voice failed him.

Twenty-two thousand miles below, Virgil choked back his own distress. Gordon was chewing at his lip, staring anxiously at Alan. He leaned forward so he was in view of the holo.

“Hey, Allie,” he said. “John’s gonna be okay. And he’ll be giving Scott hell for ignoring the modelling like that soon enough.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Absolutely, I do,” said Gordon, cracking a grin. “No way, John would let Scott get away with that crap. Not even if he had to haunt him for the rest of his life in ghostly fury to do it.”

“Is he wrapping up now?” asked Virgil, eyes still pinched.

Alan looked down at the display.

“Yeah, he’s on his way home.”

“Right. EOS?”

“Virgil?” Her quiet voice was sullen and more than a little distracted.

“Got room in your processors for another task?”

EOS’s lights flashed suddenly, and Alan’s blood ran cold at the sight. Three weeks he’d been stationed on board Thunderbird Five and he still found himself walking on eggshells around EOS. Her frustration at turning up nothing in the holonet that could lead them closer to John morphed quickly from long, silent sulks to short outbursts of flying bagels and spinning gravity rings. He’d never forgotten the sight of John floating limply like a rag doll that had been torn apart one too many times by a playful, thoughtless, destructive child.

An angry EOS felt too close to losing his brother for good.

“Will it help, John?”

“It’ll keep his brother alive, and that will make it more likely for us to find him.”

“What can I do?”

“Lock Scott out of his controls, Order TB2-5711FR. Make sure Alan gets to Tracy Island before him. Redirect all calls to local authorities in the first instance, follow Protocol 24.”

“I’m not leaving,” argued Alan. “Don’t pull me from duty, I can do better.”

“No arguments.”

Alan wilted, knowing he had no choice but to follow Virgil’s instructions.

“This is done, Virgil,” said EOS, blankly.

“Thank you, EOS,” said Virgil, his manner still stiff and terse. He shifted his gaze from the open ocean in front of him to Alan, his expression softening. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Alan. If Scott takes his life into his own hands, that’s not on you. But we can’t have him in the field like that, cutting corners to get back to finding John. So, we need you down here in his place.”

“You can’t pull Scott,” said Alan, his eyes wide. “What would… well, what would Scott say?”

“We’re doing him a favour,” remarked Gordon with a sarcastic twist of his lips that made a mockery of his usual grin. “He wants to find John, we all do, but if he’s willing to risk lives and rescues to do it then he should put his energy into searching and we shouldn’t stop him.”

Alan swallowed, his eyes filling with tears that he angrily swiped away.

“Does he think we’re not looking just as hard?” he asked. “We haven’t forgotten him. Have we?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alan,” said Virgil, firmly. “John would have our heads before we put the possibility of finding him above the certainty of ignoring people who need our help.”

“So, we keep going out there,” agreed Gordon. “And when, when Allie, Kayo and Lady P and Parker find something, and they will, we’ll be right there without a moment to lose.”

“I just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten him.”

“John’s too smart for that,” said Gordon. “Promise you, Allie.”

*                            *                            *

He’d worked it out. Every time he did something to anger the Hood, innocent people paid for it in blood. There was no point in harming him directly, not when what the Hood wanted was inside his mind, ripe for extraction. But his heart and spirit could be broken, as a video feed periodically forced itself over his work to make him watch. Earthquakes, landslides, tidal waves, anything that would get International Rescue on the scene and off his scent.

Senseless destruction and despair epidemic across the world because he couldn’t make an AI fast enough.

But senseless destruction that he could use.

There was no doubt in his mind that his family knew the natural disasters were anything but, he could see it in the determined fury in Scott’s face, in the tense draw of Virgil’s shoulders, in the sardonic mockery in Gordon’s smile as he quietly pocketed yet another piece of equipment.

He didn’t see Alan, and he thought of his baby brother up in space often. None of his brothers had any real idea of the full extent of his contribution, no matter how grateful they were for his guidance, and he hated to know Alan would be forced into that knowledge.

He also suspected that when Alan did spill the beans, he’d find his own rotations scrutinised with a lot more care.

Still, the limited glimpses of his brothers did nothing to discourage him, and he found himself contemplating a plan of escape well into the long, cold nights.

He needed more information.

He needed access to an external holonet connection. And the only way he’d get near one was with a working AI.

Or something that could pass for a few minutes as one.

[reversecreek]

ziggy strutting up to me like this gif as i hold up a crucifix n say begone begone vile beast BEGONE from my vicinity i will NOT buy u a happy meal wretched little boy...... some live action rp to start this off..... and SCENE. takes my bow. his pinterest is here n his playlist is here.

* dylan minnette, cis male + he/him  | you know ziggy benson, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of his life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole glitching televisions impaled by remotes, nonchalantly texting the babes as a stove fire ravages your kitchen & cartoons turned up so loud it fries your eardrums thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 24th, so they’re a sagittarius, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY;

from the second ziggy ws born he didnt stop screaming. within the first hours of his life he gave his father an ear splitting headache tht prompted him to say “that uncooked chicken’s fucking demonic” n joke abt popping “it” in the oven to roast. when this understandably received disgusted glances frm the nursing staff he ws all like “jeez alright alright i’m kiddin i’m kiddin can’t a guy have a joke around here?” n i feel like that sets up their dynamic so nice n sweetly <3 (sarcasm) (lips pursed)

frm day one he ws just honestly a rly hyperactive child. when he laughed he’d shriek it out at the absolute top of his lungs bc he’d just get this huge giddy surge of energy all the way to the very tips of his toes n it’d hit him like a shock from a fork in a plug socket. their parenting style ws rly just lazy tbh.... they didn’t have much time for disciplining him. ziggy’s mum wld halfheartedly be like “ziggy quiet now....” n then go bk to nuking whatever vegetables she’d defrosted until they tasted like dinosaur bones..... this wld not make any difference in ziggy’s behaviour

his father rly just took the stance that it ws ziggy’s mum’s job to discipline him or raise him in general which is. 🔪 please enter the 20th century sir.... get ur noggin sorted..... needless to say he wsn’t much involved in ziggy’s life n honestly generally jst didn’t like him. ziggy was a responsibility he didn’t want (accidental prregnancy) n in his literal words once said (blatantly while ziggy ws watching cartoons on the sofa) tht ziggy just “harshes my fucking vibe a lil bit”. 

he wound up leaving when ziggy was six ish.... ziggy watched thru a crack in the blinds as his mum tried to grab at his jacket to make him stay as he lugged out his suitcase..... she even tried to physically cling onto him so he cldn’t get in his ride bt the door wound up slamming n she sat on her knees watching the lights pull out the drive n even long after they were gone. ziggy didn’t rly kno what to do abt this (emotions hd never been smthn he particularly understood, his own or how to handle other people’s) so after watching her fr 5 minutes he went out n gently shook her shoulder n was like. mom come inside u look weird out here. FKGHSFHGSFHKGFHKSGSFGHK. this was him trying to show love <3

ziggy’s mum is like.... rly relationship dependent. she gets all her self worth n validation frm whtever man she’s dating.... so she went on this like.... wild rampage of jst. dating a very large string of men. they ranged frm dreadfully boring to downright awful n were always below her standards. ziggy quite literally hated. all of them. every last one. even one that tried to b nice to him by offering to help him do his math homework when he ws 13 (bc ziggy was struggling a lot w this) n in response ziggy loudly barked until the man gt scared n stumbled backwards into a dining chair on his way out of the room. KGHFHKSJHFJGSHKFG

while him n his mum hv a kind of strained situation (there’s a great deal of resentment from her end n kind of. blaming him fr “driving his father away” n it’s never spoken abt bt it’s very much Present in their relationship n honestly ziggy kind of resents her too fr bringing some of the men into their lives tht she did) there is. love there...... sometimes she’ll like. reach out to cup the back of his head n he’ll duck his head away n be like wtf are u doing checking me for lice? n she’ll jst smile like :)...... knowing that’s how he loves. KHSFGKJGHKSFGFHKGSHF. ugh we love men who know how to process their emotions yesssss king give us nothing <3

(abuse n violence tw) idk i won’t go into it too much bt even tho ziggy’s constantly like 🙄 when his mum shows him affection he wld quite literally. kill fr her n almost did one time.......... narrowly avoided getting charged w assault when one of her bfs was drunk n evil n he went into protective mode.... idk he. has gone thru a lot n seen a lot n so has his mum. they look after each other the best they kno how despite the negatives in their relationship.... it’s complex <3

literally got in trouble so. often. at school. he ws always hyperactive (undiagnosed adhd n also probably not helped by the fact he ws jst allowed to eat sm junk food w 459729457952 sugar percentage all hours of the day) bt when his dad left n like. dealing w acting out so severely at home where his mum’s bfs were concerned it rly escalated..... i jst think he ws like. literally a terror. probably got suspended so many times. maybe even was permanently expelled before he cld get his diploma honestly. set off a firework in school hallway. smthn absolutely reckless n stupid.

hs hd a bunch of jobs mostly in the service industry...... usually ends up getting fired.... worked at mcdonald’s fr a while n then one day he went in rly high n ate three cheeseburgers in front of a weeping child who hd ordered one.... promptly gt fired bt he ws like yo fuck this place i’m quitting n threw off his apron n was like who’s with me??? who’s joining the union??????? to the rest of the staff n they were all mostly like >_> <_< before security approached to forcibly remove him n he grabbed a cookie n crammed it into his mouth in rebellion mid frantic n frankly possessed escape.....

in terms of wht’s going on to this day w his living situation i honestly think he still lives w his mum. i can just see this. KHGFSKGHSFGKSFGH. in like. a ramshackle bungalow in delphinus heights.... having said tht she probably isn’t. there tht often nw she’s dating her latest man (jonas, somehow always sweaty no matter the weather, wears too many gold rings n smells like shoe cleaner) who owns a car dealership n thinks he’s a kingpin for it. still home sometimes tho.

PERSONALITY:

ziggy spends his days working shifts at an ice cream parlour (one he got fired from once bc he broke in high n ate sm ice cream he was lay on the floor in the bk pants unbuttoned stomach bulging sm calling himself garfield saying he had too much lasagna. they hired him bk tho bc he has a harem of middle aged women who lust after him n it brings customers....) or like. cruising parties...... setting off fireworks.... skateboarding...... breaking into abandoned buildings.... filming stupid jackass type tricks....... playing guitar hero...... getting drunk at the arcade..... sometimes busking fr cash in a tossed dwn hat (very badly) (thinks he’s sick at it however)........ or alternatively...... fucking chicks aha...... fuck.......... not exclusive to chicks tho just had to sound despicable bt :smirk: he’s bi Baby.... 

i won’t lie he’s kind of an asshole................ never rly was taught properly how to empathise with ppl so like he struggles w that....... sometimes he’ll say smthn tht’s genuinely just quite mean n doesn’t need to be said but he doesn’t rly realise it’s like bad. n he’s like. what’s the deal haha why are u mad...... 

fuckboy. genuinely jst. rly summarises it well. insatiable. sleeps around wildly. will say he’ll call u back n then will not call u back. lies like oh babe i’m moving to france tomorrow fuckkkkkkkkk sucks so bad that we can only have one night but let’s make it special yeah? tits? n then they’ll see him casually skating past them on the street a week later n be like well clearly he’s not in france. ziggy doesn’t care.

calls himself a “genius inventor” bc he once gutted a vintage analog television n made it into a fish tank. it literally leaked water a bit. still convinced he is a literal visionary never seen before never done again. he’s like i’m on the brink of greatness. i’m the next einstein.

has a bit of a god complex where he thinks he’s the sexiest person in any given room n it’s kind of funny bc like dylan minnette’s sexy to me bt tht isn’t a widespread opinion n ur being a bit bold ziggy...... regardless has confidence thru the roof tht isn’t rly deterred by anything or anyone.....

dyes his hair 49729572459752 colours every colour under the sun. sometimes all at once jst different patches. wears lots of tie dye tshirts n basketball shorts even tho he doesn’t play basketball. rly colourful sneakers. just lots of loud colours tbh. often wears a paper clip in his ear as an earring. pierced it himself. someone probably recorded him doing it fr his insta story. probably was drunk.

drives a vespa around tht is baby blue with pastel yellow polka dots. it has lots of tin cans attached to the back by string like on those cars when u just got married. he did not just get married. u can hear him arriving frm over a street away.

almost never pays fr anything bt is always like “yo it’s my treat” n then either dine n dashes or u have to pay

his idea of romance is nuking a hot pocket as breakfast in bed n then complaining he’s hungry n eating half

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

fuckboy antics: he’s insatiable. rabid. notorious. mayb they fkd n he didn’t call........ jst completely ghosted........ mayb they were genuinely into him n he honestly built up kind of false pretences abt them having a connection n then jst dipped..... cld  b good fr angst n drama <3 someone please egg his house he deserves it <3

high skl heathens: locals tht were equally chaotic in hs..... just picture him having this group of misfits tht were like so loud n always getting up to no good doing god knows what god knows where.... probably gt arrested together breaking into an old abandoned hospital one time........... rly just doing the absolute most at all times............. probably so loud........... drinking n smoking far too much.....

an attempted teenage relationship: i’m like. tentative to even put this one bc i just feel like ziggy wld be a shit bf. KJHGFSHGFHGSFHGFKGHFKSG. but. maybe it ended in drama.....i’d say this wld probably be a girl bc in hs he probably ws less open w his sexuality... maybe ziggy cheated on her or she cheated on him................ angst........ strife.... we love it we love it........ i crash my car into the bridge... i don’t care... i love it... sudden icona pop moment me stood on stage singing karaoke.... it’s just gone 7am as i write this so i apologise if this is losing any. coherency. smiles so sexy....

last adolescent plot i swear: i picture when ziggy was expelled he somehow amassed a large group to protest w signs outside the school fr him to be accepted back. it didn’t work. he threw a party when he received news he hadn’t got back in anyway. maybe ur muse was involved or helped organise this or was violently opposed.

enemies: ppl who just. don’t like ziggy bc like honestly that’s so fair n valid. KJHGFKGHKSFGHSGKHSFHG..... mayb he like. exploded their mailbox one time when they were younger. mayb he skated over their toes. mayb he fucked their bitch aha fuck................. (joking btw) (don’t condone misogyny) (hashtag feminism). cld be fun to play around w

fwb: probably hs a few of these......... mayb they’re cool w things being no strings attached n lax n at ease w ziggy being the mess tht he is in general..... mayb they want more bt ziggy cannot provide...... mayb they literally don’t get on at all n this is their only mutual ground n they keep coming bk to each other.... :smirk:..... whatever u Farncy....

maybe ziggy’s mum dated ur muse’s dad at one point???? we can discuss this if u think it fits..... cld be fun to play around w............

coworkers: past or present r fun..... mayb they were like WTFFF is this guy fking ONNN at a past job (he’s had a few in the food service industry so pretty open in tht area)... mayb they work w him at the ice cream parlour now..... cn discuss the dynamic probably wld be dependent on the muse involved fr like. how he’d act n stuff.... :yum:

[marmolady]

A Ride to Remember (Estela x MC)

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Endless Ending.  As Estela continues to help Taylor along her road to recovery after freeing Vaanu's essence, she shares with her a bittersweet part of her life in San Trobida.

Word Count: 3255

Chronology: carries on from ‘The New Taylor’, precedes ‘Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove 

“Okay, sit naturally, with your back straight, and I’ll adjust the stirrups to the right length.”

Taylor shifted her position on a small, grey horse until she was comfortable. “Well, I’m up, and I haven’t fallen off yet, so I guess that’s a good start.”

Estela chuckled as she fiddled with the saddle. “We’ll take it slow. It’s good for your core strength and your balance, which will be really important for you. I read that it’s actually helpful for your circulation and for relaxing . The movements should sort of gently work your joints and muscles, and I think your spine too. As low-impact exercise, it’s pretty hard to beat-- unless you fall off.”

“I’ll just… try and avoid that, then.” Taylor patted the horse’s neck, swallowing her nerves. She’d ridden a freaking yeti; this should be a piece of cake. “Pepper here is the friendly one, right?”

“Ha. Right. Better him than this asshole,” Estela said, while, as if on cue, the dark bay horse she was beside made to take a chunk out of her. Reflexively, she moved out of the way. “They call this one ‘Miel’. It means ‘honey’, which is exactly what she’s not.”

“You know, I’m seeing that. I’m guessing she’s the one who threw you back when you were a kid?”

“Of course. I’m sure it’s a memory she treasures.”

A little laugh made Taylor relax into her seat. This outing had been coming for a few days; her physical recovery had been going well, thanks in a large part to her very attentive and encouraging personal trainer. Taylor could feel the progress taking place within her body; something that she’d not long ago feared had stalled. There was a way to go yet, but… the climb to get there no longer felt insurmountable. Putting the focus on complete relaxation and actually getting some undisturbed sleep had done wonders.

Estela clicked her tongue, and as Miel moved forward, Taylor gave Pepper a little squeeze.

“Okay, buddy. I’ve got this.”

The movement beneath her took a little getting used to, but as Taylor sat straight, she realised that her core really had been strengthened in those past weeks. No doubt she’d be tired by the end of the ride, but for someone who just a couple of months ago couldn’t even sit up by herself, this was an achievement.

Estela grinned. “If you do fall off, I’ll try and throw some ninja moves so I can jump down and catch you.”

“Hahaha. You are absolutely hilarious. This is a cakewalk.” Let’s just keep it at a walk though. To be safe.

“I know. Nothing you can’t handle.” Estela brought her horse so she was walking parallel with Taylor’s. It was wonderfully weird to see her wife out here in the San Trobidan countryside even after all these weeks. But now, it could never be home if Taylor wasn’t there. “There are a few different tracks I used to take from here; we’ll probably get around to a couple more before we head back to La Huerta, but I figured the shortest trail is probably our best bet for now. There’s a really nice lookout spot in this one as well, so you can take a break if you need it.”

The trail meandered through thick primary forest, the shade of canopy bringing a drop in temperature that could be felt in an instant. All was quiet but for the calls of birds and the steady plodding of hoofbeats. That this could exist in a place so war-ravaged was startling to Taylor, and she could quite imagine how such a slither of peace could become a lifeline.

“You used to come out riding here a lot?”

“Yes,” Estela said. “It was one of the few useful things I could do when I was a kid. Seňor Ruiz loved these horses, but when he became involved in the war, he didn’t have as much time for them. When I was about twelve, and then… pretty much until Mom died, I kept the horses exercised and groomed, and Tio would get me off his back. Mom was quite friendly with Seňor Ruiz as well; she used to do this with me whenever she had the time. Obviously, with everything that was going on, I mostly felt like I was trapped. Riding was freeing. There were trails off the beach and up into the hills; I could disappear for hours. Sometimes I needed that. To just take those hours away from a world that seemed to be falling down around me.”

“I’ll bet. It must have felt like a whole different world out here. Has it changed a lot? Everything else seems to have changed so much for you… this place looks like it’s never been touched.”

“It’s the same. I could probably take another shot at jumping that log if I was so inclined.”

“So you didn’t stubbornly come back and try again?”

Estela’s eyes sparkled at the tease. She shrugged her shoulders. “It was a way off where I usually ride. But, yeah, I did jump it later. Not on Miel, though-- on Pepper. I’m stubborn, not an idiot.”

Taylor laughed. This wasn’t so hard. She had a distinct feeling that her butt and thighs would be killing her the next day, but it was enjoyable. At the slow pace, her body relaxed into it.

“But, no. This part hasn’t changed a bit. It’s stupid, but it makes me feel sad. Everything is as it should be, except my mother isn’t in the picture. This was her thing. What she did to unwind.”

The mood changed, taking a turn for melancholy. Estela winced apologetically. It wasn’t fair on Taylor; this was supposed to be about her recovery, not looking backwards.

“I’m… guessing you haven’t done this… since your mom died?”

“No. No, I couldn’t. To begin with, it would have been too painful. Then I’d managed to push myself into rebellion, and if I wasn’t helping-- really helping, this time--, I was training my mind and body so that I could take my revenge on Rourke.” She looked back at Taylor with a bittersweet smile, sorrow still lingering behind her eyes. “I didn’t realise how much I’ve actually missed doing this.

“Thank you for sharing it with me. It really means a lot. I feel like, slowly, I’m being woven into the tapestry of the real world… and it’s because of you; what you’ve given me. I know so much of it is painful, but you’ve not held back from me--”

“I want to feel your touch over every part of me. You know that, right?” Estela flushed a little, but didn’t avert her eye contact. Taylor’s gaze was full of love, and she returned it. “It makes it all easier to bear. And this kind of intimacy helps you, then… it’s important.”

“Yeah, I know. Just… I appreciate you letting me be that person.”

Estela’s lips curved to a smile. She didn’t need to be thanked, not for that. “I love you, Taylor.”

“I love you too.”

 Coming out at the other end of the thickest part of the forest, the sun was blinding. A downed tree had cleared all that stood in its wake, and now made for an easy post to which the horses could be tied. Having offered both horses a piece of apple, Estela helped Taylor join her atop the vast log so they could enjoy the view over the jungle-fringed coastline.

“Wow. It really is beautiful.”

“It is,” Estela said wistfully, staring out into a hauntingly familiar horizon. “It’s kind of a miracle it is still as untouched as it is. Around a lot of the edges of the forest, it’s all been destroyed. Of course, people would go into the forest to hide-- I know my mother and I did. When people are scared for their lives, why should they care about protecting a few trees? But a lot of it’s still okay. Us and the jungles. We’ll rebuild and get stronger.”

She frowned. Maybe something could be done to help. The resources available to Aleister through Rourke International could do a world of good here. It was difficult to bring up. Something would be asked for in return, something Estela was adamant she wouldn’t-- couldn’t-- give. As much as she fought it, though, she felt the burden of responsibility. If it could be as simple as taking Aleister and Grace out here and showing them why her home was special…. That time was coming soon.

“It’s weird to think, in just a few days we’re going to have Aleister and Grace here. Worlds colliding all over again.”

It wouldn’t be just a friendly visit. She’d had Aleister badgering her far too long for that to be the case. She knew. He had a burden to force upon her, as if sharing it would somehow distance himself from Rourke. As if cold, unfeeling money could in any way ease the suffering that had been caused. Aleister could take guidance about righting his father’s wrongs without tethering Estela to that name. After all that company had taken, it owed her that much.

“Hey,” Taylor said soothingly, her voice as gentle as the expression in her blue eyes. “They care about us, about you. Whatever conversations anyone might want to have, no one can force your hand. Only an incredibly stupid person would try, and that’s neither of them. They just want to be here for you.”

Only because of my blood. As soon as the thought came to her, Estela pushed it away stubbornly. However she thought about Aleister’s intentions for Rourke International and that blasted fortune, she did know that both he and Grace cared for her. And they cared for Taylor. And Jake. They must do, for it would take a brave person indeed to be in Aleister’s shoes and face an introduction to one Nicolas Montoya.

“I’ll have to tell Tio some more nice stories before then. I don’t know if my ‘warts and all’ approach to sharing our experiences on La Huerta have painted my poor half-brother in the best light.”

At that, Taylor chuckled darkly. Meeting the approval of Tio Nicolas had been a mighty intimidating feat to take on, albeit worth it a thousand times over. “Aleister did so much to keep you safe in the fallout, even under threat of your wrath. I think Tio of all people could appreciate what a challenge that must have been.”

“I’m lucky to have so many people looking out for me,” Estela said quietly. Then, as if she had no control over it, her tone became harsh, defensive. “But I don’t need looking after. Not with anything from Rourke.”

Taylor looked at Estela with aching affection, and saw it returned, the storm clouds clearing under a tender gaze.

“I’m doing it again,” Estela said sheepishly.

“Yeah. And it’s okay.” Taylor took her wife’s arm and held her. There was a whole lot Estela was working through right now, and she would not have her do it alone. “Maybe you could use a date with that old punching bag.”

Estela exhaled heavily. “That thing’ll be a pile of frayed string by the time I’m done with it.” She leaned closer, touching her forehead to Taylor’s, closing her eyes. It’s okay. You’re in this together. Look how far you’ve both come already? “You are amazing, you know? Taylor. You really are.”

“On a good day,” Taylor chuckled. Her whole life had been an erratic ride of peaks and troughs, of glorious highs and despairing lows. It hadn’t suddenly become easy once the world was restored and she was home with her soulmate.

“On a bad day, you’re even more,” Estela said solemnly. “You never give in.” She blushed slightly. “It’s one of the things I loved about you first.”

Taylor came away so she could press a gentle kiss to Estela’s nose. “And you still loved me when I could barely leave my bed. When I had no freaking control over my bladder,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t have sex without falling asleep after five minutes. It’s… starting to feel like we’ve made it. It’s like our future is actually possible. I don’t have a damn clue what it’s gonna be, but it’s gonna be us.”

“Yes. You and me, forever.” Estela took Taylor’s face in her hands, and brought her in for a deep and lingering kiss. God, Taylor; I’d go through every heartache a thousand times over for a day with you, a day like this. “Come on, mi amor,” she said airily as she came away, riding that wonderful high. “It’s about time those old horses got some real exercise. Let’s take them down into the sea.”

“Oh god, why do I feel like I’m about to get really wet?”

Estela smirked. “You better hold on tight, then.”

 _________________________

 2011

 The bay horse, Miel, flicked her ears back, responding to the tension feeding from the young woman atop her back.

“You expect me to want to leave… to just turn my back on everything that’s happening here. What if I refuse?”

“You’re a minor, Estela. You could dig your heels in and refuse to leave, but your uncle won’t make a revolutionary out of a fifteen year old girl. Nicolas wants you out of here as much as I do.”

Estela bit back a retort. No, he doesn’t. He would let me be useful. “I thought you cared about this place… these people.”

“Don’t.” That tone of voice didn’t come out very often, but even Estela knew better than to argue with it. “My child being killed in this war won’t make things better. You are bright, and determined, and compassionate. I won’t have your light snuffed out before it even has a chance to shine.” Olivia shook her head. “You are too precious. To me, and to all you care about. You finish your education, you grow and you learn, and then you will have more to offer. Then, it will be your choice. But while you are a child in my care, I need you have faith in my judgement.”

How, when it’s taking you away from me? Estela chewed on her lower lip,fighting to keep her tears at bay. Who would make you smile when you had the whole world in your shoulders?

Olivia must have felt the emotion in her daughter, for her voice trembled when she spoke. “The thought of being away from you is… torture. I don’t know how I’m even going to breathe knowing you’re so far away, knowing that the violence here could escalate at any time. But I have to do this, mija. I would not put us through this if it wasn’t desperate. But it is, and I am. If working on Rourke’s island for a year means that you come through this all, alive, there is no question.”

“I’ll miss you, Mami.”

“I know, Estelita. Mi preciosa. But we’ll get through this. One week at a time, and I won’t ever let you forget that my heart is home with you.”

Choking on the lump in her throat, Estela spluttered a sob, and roughly wiped tears from her eyes. “We’ll get through this,” she murmured weakly. This will pass. She had to believe it, she had to try,for it was all that would keep aching loneliness from taking root in her heart. For everything her tio was fighting for, she’d be strong. For her mother, she’d be even stronger.

“Come now, my star.” Olivia reached and stroked her daughter’s face, tenderly caressing away the tear-tracks that Estela’s harsh brushing had left behind. She cupped her cheeks and chin, adoring her. “If these are the memories I’m taking away with me, I’m going to need to see your beautiful smile.”

What is there to smile about--?

“Mija, this is our time. You and me, holding on together. So, I’m going to race you. One end of Cala Paraisa to the other. I’m not going anywhere with you under the delusion that your mother can’t leave you in the dust.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry you’re gonna be stuck on that island, stewing in the knowledge that I kicked your ass out here.”

Olivia scoffed exaggeratedly. There it was; there was her smile. “Fighting words!” She petted the grey horse’s neck. “What do you think, Pepper? We can take them?”

With a roll of her eyes, Estela clicked her tongue, encouraging Miel to walk forwards. This hurt. This really hurt. But her mother was right; they couldn’t let this time be taken from them. This was theirs.

“I think you and your horse are dreaming. We start at that driftwood-- are you ready?”

The still of the quiet cove gave way to the pounding of hooves and the whoops and hollers of mother and daughter at play. One last time.

[supersoldiersruined-me]

Sinful Dance

A/N: This is my very belated challenge entry for @siren-kitten-his 2k followers challenge! Congrats again love! My prompt was the Lust sin. I took a different approach to my normal writing. The whole text is the same story, but cut into the five senses. Every other part changes pov between Bucky and reader.  Warnings: Pining? Dirty talk, swearing, implied sexual situations Word count: 3.7k Additional prompt: “Your lips are getting really close to mine.” from an ask.

Main Masterlist | Challenge Entries Masterlist

- Sight -

A squeaky door slides in front of him, indicating his arrival, fifteen minutes late to the monthly meeting. He grunts as he takes his place between Steve and Nat. A grumpy Tony sits at the end of the oval table, flipping through his binder, not paying any mind to the impatient crew around him. Neither Steve’s pen tapping nor Pepper’s shoulder nudge take him out of his focus. Focus that has the cold room feeling even more tense, and the people in it even more fed up of the eventful week behind them.

It’s a shy Peter Parker who breaks the silence, “Guys, I just really want to, um…”

“Queens, don’t sweat it.” With a captainesque smile, Steve proceeds to reassure him.

“We always have your back,” adds Carol over the hologram.

After a shared laugh over the poor boy’s mishap, the meeting goes on accordingly without too many interruptions. Notes over the new weapons and tech are handed, along with old-men jokes from Nat towards Steve and Bucky’s ever-so-astonished faces. The plans and maps from their regular intel seem to satisfy everyone; Bucky is the first up, ready to leave for a much needed shower and sleep. He stops short before Pepper can even begin to introduce what has a cold shiver running up his spine.

Standing there behind the glass doors, a young woman clothed of the prettiest silk blouse, tucked in a pencil skirt waits for her cue. She walks in, keeping her eyes on the ground as she takes a deep breath. He looks at her, at the way her hair waves over her shoulders. Preppy glasses frame her face and he’s ashamed to admit he wants to paint them with arousal. Weak in the knees, he retreats to his seat, the room suddenly closing on itself, becoming warmer by the second. Her shaking hands set a pile of paperwork in front of Tony for him to sign, then she straightens herself, hopeful eyes finally daring to look around the room. His insides shake; he wishes someone would strap him to the chair because he’s not sure how long he can handle himself before he’s gotta get his mouth on her. It’s grotesque. It’s new. He has no clue what took hold of him.

“This here is Y/N Y/L/N. Thank you, miss.” Tony nods her way as he flicks his pen open, his gaze running through the contracts. “If you have any orders to make for outfits, gear, what ever really, you go through her. And no funky shenanigans, please.” She smiles shyly and scans the room, brushing her nerves aside to make a good first impression. Bucky watches her wipe the palm of her hands over the jersey material of the skirt that’s so tightly hugging her bubbly behind. He wants them on his chest, his stomach, his thighs. He wants them around his d-

“James Barnes!” Nat whisper-screams into his ear, eyes shooting arrows at him. He has the nerve to look at her in wonder. Not concerned by the nature of her accusation. A chuckle on his left, the usual that comes before a snarky remark, finally has him realising something is genuinely wrong. 

“Thought your arm was the stiffest thing you owned. But dude,” Sam jokes around, his hand on his teammate’s shoulder as he slowly exits the room, saluting the young lady with a military wave.

Her eyes meet Bucky’s then, and she lets them fall down his features, until they grow wide at the bulge in his sweats. He’s ashamed, caught red handed as he flattens himself the best he can. He wants to run. But there’s a rope tying them together he just doesn’t know how to rip; doesn’t want to anyway. So he stays there in his chair, rolling so he’s at least facing the other way, and waits for everyone to leave before he can make a move.

- Smell -

The sun is down, enabling Y/N to relax and get ready for bed. She was given her room before they had finished renovating it, so apart from her bed sitting in a corner, she has to use the common facilities for another week or two. She walks out in nothing but a thick robe - a neat embroidery of her name sits over her left breast - and heads towards the gym’s bathroom with her toiletry bag. Her sleepiness has her walking through the wrong door and into the men’s room, which she only notices once she walks by the row of urinals against the left wall. She shrugs with a soft sigh, but proceeds. It’s late and who’d be around anyway?

The stalls are made of tall, expensive ceramic walls that even the supersoldiers can’t top. They have actual doors rather than cheap curtains. The only thing joining them is the small gap on the ground where the water runs to a single drain, and another about a foot down from the ceiling to allow the steam to dissipate. 

She turns the water on from the separate cubicle before taking off the robe and stepping in, letting the warmth soothe her tense muscles; she hadn’t thought this day would be as stressful as it has. She’s halfway through rinsing her hair when the door slams shut behind hurried footsteps. Her breath hitches in her throat. She freezes. It’s quiet for a minute until the water from the neighbour stall starts running. She stays under the stream, not saying a word and hopes she doesn’t get in trouble.

“Lavender?” His voice is deep and raspy. She’s not sure she heard this one yet. “Guess you forgot your stuff and had to take the samples, huh.” He adds a chuckle to his remark. She scuffs, thinking it would give her away if she laughed with him. 

The cap of his shampoo bottle snaps, and slowly the scent rushes through the room, through her senses, to finish its journey between her legs. It’s rich and spicy. A hint of teakwood lets her know this isn’t regular drugstore shampoo. He had it made for him. To fit his needs, to smell like the woods with a faint vintage charm. Only one man in the room earlier could enjoy such details.

Bucky. The man she had read about and researched. Twisted things about him she never understood seemed to be what fed her hunger. He had a je-ne-sais-quoi that drew her in. She’d managed to put it aside; closing books and web browsers was an easy task. Unlike her current situation.

Her body trembles at the scent. Her slick fingers begin to knead into her skin with a mighty need. He’d be the death of her if she didn’t leave the room quickly, but with her head resting on the wall between them, she lets her hand succumb to the craving. She focuses on the sound of his hands rubbing over his hard body. Of the soft hum of satisfaction when he passes over a sore spot. The image of his hard cock in his sweats surfaces. She had never seen something so big, never owned a toy that looked like him in the least. He’d be a new sensation she’d have to have once in her boring life.

She has to bite her cheek to stifle the moans that threaten to give her sinful actions away. Her fingers - now clean - squeeze into her core, pumping in sync with the motions of his hand on his dick that she pictures in her mind. She’s quickly building her orgasm; the inevitable cry of betrayal turning her on even more. She holds on as he turns the water off. As he ambles out of the room and she swears he’s trailing on purpose. When her thumb flicks over her clit just right, Bucky walks out (finally) and she falls to her knees, sitting on her feet with her forearm on the cold wall - her head rests on top of it as she bites down her climax. The soap makes it hard for her weak legs to keep steady as she attempts to get back up. Her hand reaches for the robe, too out of this world to care about drying first. She brings the thick material to her face, hiding her blush from herself as if it was going to erase what had just happened. She wouldn’t handle this much longer. What ever had her feeling this way needed to stop. Or did it?

- Hearing -

His heavy body drops to his bed, making the headboard smash onto the wall. A rather thin wall he shares with Steve - the poor boy. His mind fails to recall the last time he kept his friend from sleeping. Too long, he thinks. Much too long. Y/N comes to his mind then; her soft features and the faint darkening of her eyes at the sight of his appendage. The way her hair would feel between his fingers, bunched up as he had his way with her until they matted on her face. He knows he’ll never get a second chance with her. He’d blown it. So it’s him and his imagination against the odds, but tonight exhaustion has the best of him before he can venture his hand down his pants. He’d have a hard time rushing his blood to where he needs it anyway.

He’s up in a heartbeat the next morning, refreshed and feeling dapper. He walks out of his room covered in nothing but another pair of sinful sweatpants - commando, of course - and one of his tight sparring t-shirts. The smell of fresh coffee and burnt toast welcomes him into the kitchen area, where everyone seems to have settled for brunch. As usual, he’s the last to show up, but his serving along with his double mimosa wait in front of his assigned seat. Placed on its right is another flute of liquid sunshine, a small plate with a half-eaten croissant and a notebook stretched to its limit with notes and clippings and whatnot. He steps towards the table and sits. Y/N fills the seat beside him a minute later, acting casual with a little nod hello.

From the corner of his eye, Bucky notices the oversized white t-shirt she most likely wore to bed. He’s sure she’s wearing shorts but most of them are covered by her top, leaving her smooth legs on display. He’s salivating, and it has nothing to do with the thought of ravaging the pile of bacon. He dares turn around slightly. Just enough so to see her licking the excess chocolate that’s dribbling from the croissant onto her fingers. He forces his eyes shut, his fingers soon digging holes into the fabric of the chair. Then when he thinks he’s gained control, a whisper of a moan escapes her lips when the sweetness hits her tongue, proving once more his infuriating vulnerability. He grabs his plate and he’s up in a flash before his body betrays him again, almost knocking Wanda to the ground as he shuffles around the island. With a lamentable excuse, he disappears into the hall towards the living quarters.

The smell of barbeque lingers in the air as he steps onto the rooftop a couple hours later. He sets the yoga mat down by Bruce’s experimental garden; he had grown fond of this hideout over his healing process. He’s slowly winding down, breathing in and out like Nat had taught him. With a new draft of wind comes the scent of the flower pots that bathe in the sun next to him. He remembers the sweet smell of the flowers his mom kept around the yard; magnolia, lilac, lavender… Lavender?

His eyes scan the surroundings. Lavender doesn’t grow in pots, he reminds himself. He has a look around the yard, as if he didn’t know the place like the back of his hand. Curiosity has him on his feet and roaming around to find the source. He feels a pang to his guts when his sight falls onto Y/N. She’s sitting on a lounge chair, alone. Over the back of the chair he sees one of her legs folded over the armrest, the other is bent at the knee towards her chest. The same white shirt covers her top but her hair is now loose from the messy bun she sported earlier. He watches it dance as the wind carries through. He closes his eyes and it hits him; she was the mysterious man in the shower the night before.

His mind runs wild at the thought of her naked body. At the water running over her skin, tickling her every inch. Or the fact that she must have heard him relieve himself, the squishing of his movements unusually fast for someone who’s cleaning up. 

“Fuck,” he hears her clear as day; she just moaned the word out in the open. He’d walk closer if he didn’t have enhanced hearing. There’s another soft moan following and he’s going wild.

“B-Bu,” he shivers. “James, ah, please!” He stands there unable to move as he listens to her calling out his name. Her head falls back onto the chair and her other leg spreads out, mirroring the other. He curses himself because he can hear just how wet she is. He has to bite his lip to prevent his own begs from spilling out.

“So good,” she continues. Another finger slides by the others. He could tell she’s pumping fast with his eyes closed if he wanted, but seeing her shoulder bounce seems to prove he’s not so wicked after all. There is no mirage here and he’s on the verge of snapping his restraint. His sweats allow him extra room for his arousal but there’s no hiding it. His back rests on the brick wall of the staircase now. It’s cold and he needs it. Bad.

“I’m gonna,” No. Please don’t. “I’m gonna come Bucky,” she whimpers. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want her to. He also doesn’t want this to end. Until one of them makes the jump, they’d be dancing this agonizing dance and those little moments are all he’s going to get. She’s right there though, he hears her gush. He rushes into the stairwell. He doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to break the perfect bubble he’s put around her. There’s one way he’d let himself hear that and it’s if he’d be the cause of it. Literally.

- Touch -

She pulls her leggings up, hips swaying with the music on her TV. It’s late and she needs the extra motivation to get her ass to the gym. So she struts down the hall, waits for the elevator and makes her way to the basement. The gym’s door is ajar when she gets there, a stripe of light colours the linoleum floor at her feet. She shrugs it off; she made it this far, might as well go through with it. 

A tall, square figure gets up from a bench on the far end of the room. Hair well sorted in a bun. White tank-top snug against his back. He turns around and their eyes meet. Her hand reaches for the handle on her way to desertion; a reflex she would have later regretted.

But, “Wait!” He calls after her. The muscles in her arm become frail making her hand fall to her side. She looks at him again, taking longer this time. Allowing herself to indulge and he’s letting her. He wants to take a step forward but she waves him off.

“Bucky, I can’t…” Her words are weak.

“It’s okay. I’m not sure I can either,” he confesses. They sigh in sync. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She watches his expression of defeat and swallows the lump in her throat. She walks over to the mirror, keeping a safe distance between them. Her eyes meet themselves as she scans her face. They close with another sigh - her forehead leans against the mirror. Fists clench.

“I don’t know either, Bucky. All I know is whatever happens next scares the shit out of me. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat. Open the box. Taste the fruit, and you’ll know. But there’s an outcome I don’t want to face...” She hears Bucky’s shuffle. He’s right by her when she opens her eyes, startling her. She looks at his reflection now. Both of them silent as they go through each other’s doubled features. A wave of spice hits her nose just as she manages to steady her breathing. She bites her lip, eyes looking at his in the mirror. Her finger lifts until it reaches the image of his bicep. She slides it down, the soft squeak of her fingertip against the hard surface makes them shiver. He mimics her action and draws along the line of her hip. He’s bending so low she can feel his breath on her shoulder.

She grants herself to turn around, tired of faking. Tired of hiding her desire and whatever comes with it. He’s right there and accessible and she’s spiraling down a panic attack until he steps up and breaks the tension. His warm hands grab onto her forearms, effortlessly pulling her close to his chest. She’s putty. She’s everything but the confident and sexy woman she wants to be right at this moment. The speed of his heartbeat under her palm lets her know he’s not at his best either. The depth of his eyes sucks her in and heat travels through her, blushing her cheeks.

“Your lips are getting really close to mine,” he says with a cocky grin. It would be impossible to slide a sheet of paper between them. 

“Bucky, please,” she whimpers albeit the uncertainty of the moment. She smiles when the weight of her words makes him shiver.

“It’ll change everything.” His hands are on her cheeks now, ready.

“I damn well hope so.”

- Taste -

“I’m sorry Mr. Barnes. Mr. Stark has asked me to inform you that public facilities of the compound are secured with cameras. High definition cameras.” The AI blurts out through the intercom, and it’s as if it, too, doesn’t want to see the following scene unfold.

“Fucking kidding me,” Bucky grunts, eyes shooting to the ceiling.

He feels her giggle onto his chest. The proximity should be firing up his arousal, but the cute gesture hits a whole other cord. Maybe this is what she meant by ‘unbearable outcome’, he thinks. He shakes the thought away, not wanting to break his one and only chance.

“You know, there is one public place that definitely isn’t monitored,” she mentions, wiggling her brows at him. His furrow for a second before he catches her intention. He picks up an elastic band from the rack in the gym before they amble down the hall and back up into the living quarters. He’s first to peek around the corner that leads towards the bathrooms, her body following with a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once the coast is clear, he finds the back of her thighs and picks her up. With a sharp kick, the door opens before them, and to their benefit, the room seems deserted. He sets her down before securing the doors with the elastic; an extra security measure that he knows isn’t the strongest, but it eases his mind nonetheless.

“Go start the showers on the left, I’ll take care of the lights,” he asks. When he turns back around, she’s standing at the other end of the room, five meters or so, but it feels like the world. He looks at her. The tight material of her leggings against her legs. How it delicately rises into her lips. The tank top she sports lets him see the bumps of her breasts perfectly. He palms himself through his sweats, bead of precum already setting a visible round spot at the tip. She’s biting her lip and he wishes he had mind reading abilities. He’d know what she wanted. How she wanted it. He damn well knows what he wants, and he feels nauseous at the idea of finally obtaining it.

“What’s with the staring,” she jokes. He grunts and she smirks.

“You’ve had control over me ever since I laid eyes on you. This has never happened. You’re so fucking hot and I don’t want to ruin this,” he admits.

“Talking will get you nowhere, Barnes.” There’s a wink, followed by her hands reaching for the hem of her tank top - it’s on the ground as fast as Bucky can blink. He takes his own top off, the movement of his muscles making her whimper and he quivers through the steam that’s slowly filling the room. She takes her bra off as he begins to walk closer, only spurring his intentions.

“Jump,” he commands when he’s within reach, grabbing her legs and pushing her against the cold wall. Her legs fit perfectly around him, her short arms hold her steady onto his neck. Her moan when their groans grind together almost has him finishing in his pants.

“God the things you do to me,” he adds between pants. His eyes roam her face and land on her parted lips. He catches her doing the same when his eyes look into hers before giving in. They crash lips in a passionate kiss, making the world stop around them. The showers become distant waterfalls and the steam is nothing but a tropical weather. It’s as if he had just bitten into the sweetest peach. Soft and subtle. Her lips dance with his and it’s the best thing he’s ever lived. They part shortly, only to allow him to take her carefully into a stall.

“Bucky, our clothes,” she whines.

“Don’t fucking care sweetheart.” His lips are back on hers and she’s safely stuck between his broad chest and another ceramic wall. The stream of water glides over his body, matting his chest hair and making his skin glimmer. His tongue travels onto her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. It’s salty from her ever lasting arousal and he hums at the contrast. 

Before she can even understand the new dynamic, he’s got his fingers on her pussy through her leggings. It clings deliciously to her body and he needs it. Needs the taste, needs the feel. He has to hear the soft cries he can pull from her.

“You’re a sin, baby. You know that?” he adds in a growl.

[kheta]

The One Where Kuroko Died

Hiiii! So I have a ton of fics I’m probably never gonna finish and I’m sick of them taking up space in my notes/drafts/drive so I’m just gonna dump em here! Expect to see more if you care about my writing lol. Here’s the first one. Drug-use reference and semi-explicit depictions of death mentioned, jsyk.

Kagami was angry. Blind, hot anger spreading through his veins like venom injected into his body.

The ball he'd bounced in his fingers slipped from his grip as he looked at the new comer.

Blue hit his vision, the colours of the sky and all Kagami heard was a whispered "I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The damningly sweet voice had plagued his life since that summer before the first year of high-school. Since that horrifying night Kagami's already iffy mental-stability had crashed and burned violently.

Before right now, Winter-Cup third round preliminaries, he'd been fortunate enough to have not met any of the Miracles. He'd skipped out on basketball last year, too damaged from that night on the Tokyo bridge; Midorima was sick during the second round preliminaries and they hadn't fought him. Kise and Akashi were in different brackets and Murasakibara's group already in the quarterfinals due to their first placing during the Interhigh. He hadn't known what was to happen as he'd met them, didn't know to expect the anger and guilt and blame and vindication he felt.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The voice had lessened in the past few months, with Ogiwara and Kiyoshi having managed to get him to play basketball again. But here, with one of them on the court the voice ravaged him.

Seirin didn't matter, Winter-Cup didn't matter, because all he wanted to do was punch Aomine. To his side, Ogiwara had tensed. Kagami wondered briefly how he managed to control himself from hurting these guys this past year and a half, since Kagami couldn't even last the five minutes since Aomine had entered the game.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

Kuroko's voice was stuck in Kagami's head and he hated it. Even after all these months, Kagami was still traumatised by that horrible night. Kagami could still remember the wild glint in Kuroko's eye from some drug he'd been slipped, the hysterical note in his laughter and the look of his body sinking deeper into the ocean, Kagami's fingers feeling the ghost of his clothing.

Growling, Kagami kicked a chair over, body about to tear Touo's ace to pieces. Only Ogiwara held him in place, his eyes hateful and angry.

"You have no right to screw this up Kagami, you cost us this game and I will kill you. "

Everyone's eyes widened, Ogiwara spoke very rarely, his joyful expressions answering most questions. His lengthy and crude threat was a surprise to everyone, even the seniors who had long suspected the animosity Ogiwara felt towards the Generation of Miracles.

"How the fuck can you stand looking at the motherfucker when he didn't go? None of those fuckers cared about Kuroko, but you're letting them off scot free, when they get to live and he doesn't! That's bullshit."

Before them a referee stands, prepped to stop any argument, but the words of death left him unable to move. Feeling suddenly awkward, the ref allows the team to continue their talk, in spite of the rapidly approaching end to the third quarter break.

"Kagami you don't know them, I don't know them. And I'm not letting your teenage angst ruin this game, Kuroko wouldn't want a fight started for him, but he would have wanted us to fight for him, with basketball."

To emphasise his words, Ogiwara throws the practice ball to Kagami's unsteady palms. A whine leaves his throat and he can still only see blue. With tears biting his eyes, he throws the ball down and sits at the bench, he couldn't play their last quarter like this.

Twenty minutes in, 107-98, Kagami finally calms down and subs out Tsuchida-senpai. He fouls left, right and centre, his game wild and untamed and angry. He scores fifteen points in the last half of the last quarter and glares coldly down at Aomine when the buzzer sounds. Ogiwara lays a hand on his shoulder but with the game finished, Kagami can no longer hold his anger back, not when Aomine's intrigued smile made Kuroko's voice stream in his head endlessly.

Without really thinking Kagami slams Aomine against the court, both their teams rushing forward to placate the roaring teen. Ogiwara can't move, not when he didn't understand. Sure, Kuroko was his best friend, but Kagami was the one with him in his last moments. Kagami was the one who couldn't stop Kuroko in the end, he might not have known Kuroko from a bar of soap, but their one and only meeting had ripped Kagami's life apart. Ogiwara had no right to interfere now.

"What the hell? What is your problem?" Aomine's smile had morphed into rage.

"Where the fuck were you!?" Kagami screamed suddenly, his voice loud even with the cacophony behind them.

Aomine has no time to answer before Kagami lays a knuckle bruising punch to the floor beside his face.

"Weren't you his friend? His partner? Didn't you feel anything when he died!? Where the fuck were you Miracles that night? Why weren't you with him? Why couldn't you stop him? Why couldn't I? Why couldn't he have fucking flied?"

Kagami's questions are hollow, yet loud. Aomine continues to stare in growing confusion.

"Get the hell off me you psycho, I don't know what you're on about but you'll regret it if you don't let me go soon."

A scream, scary and shrill sounds from Kagami and this time he aims properly, fist meeting Aomine's flesh. Kiyoshi, Izuki and Hyuga rip him off Aomine before more damage could be done.

"I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun. I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun. I'm going to fly, Kagami-kun."

The words kept ringing until finally Ogiwara's voice broke through the hazy anger, leaving a torrent of confusion.

"They don't know Kagami," red eyes meet amber in disbelief, but his eyes are honest,"None of them know, I was in the exact same position with Kise last year, none of them even realised he's dead."

The crowd quiet somewhat as Kagami falls limp, processing this information and suddenly tears of frustration fall down his face.

"I've been having nightmares for a year and eight months, I've had anxiety attacks, I can't even cross a bridge or swim without panicking and- they don't even fucking know."

His voice is hushed and broken, angry and from behind the crowd Momoi steps forward. Not to help Aomine like expected, but to listen closely to what Kagami was saying because a very sickening picture was forming in her head.

She'd heard Miracles and dead and partners and friends. The chances were slim but she kept thinking it had been two years since Tetsu-kun had talked with her. Kept remembering that his name wasn't on any of the Japanese Basketball teams and that Ogiwara had started a fight with Kise last year and no one was sure why, just that he kept screaming "you have no right to say his name. "

Kagami looks up and confirms her worst fears.

"I've had Kuroko's dead figure haunting my dreams and these fuckers don't know!? Their supposed friend died right before my fucking eyes and the only ones in this whole goddamn tournament who know are me and you!?"

Momoi falls and even in his surprised stupor Aomine manages to catch her.

"Tetsu-kun...Is dead? You're lying. You have to be lying." She refuses to believe it, murmur low. Suddenly the pieces Aomine had been struggling to fit together connected.

"Is this some fucked up joke? We mess around with your teams scores in Middle School so you think saying Tetsu is dead is an appropriate joke!" Aomine looks to Ogiwara in unadulterated fury.

Kagami, unable to handle the overload of emotions scrambles to his teams bench, everyone's eyes on him. Touo and Seirin are left so utterly confused and the officials and spectators who'd jumped down to see the fuss look around awkwardly. None of this seemed appropriate right now.

Ogiwara clenches his fist and looks down with cold disregard at Aomine.

"You know, his parents tried ringing you guys before they buried him. They called your cells and your home phones, no one answered. All of twenty people were at his funeral, his family, Kagami and I, my family and two guys we knew as kids. Kuroko died and you bastards, people he told me were some of his favourite people, didn't even bother finding out whether or not he was okay, much less whether he was alive. So don't talk as if you care now, not when he's been dead for a year and none of you Kiseki no Sedai shitheads knew that. "

Aomine shakes- arms, legs, head all shaking vigorously. He wouldn't believe it. Kuroko was only seventeen, he couldn't just die. Not like that. Not now, not for atleast seventy more years.

Ogiwara looks at Aomine, eyes sad and desolate. It had been nearly two years, he'd long since given up his anger. He was still bitter and could not associate with the Miracles without being reminded that Kuroko was forever gone, but times had numbed the pain, made it more scar than wound.

[atlaswinter-moved]

Burning White

Self-indulgent AU where Winter is the Winter Maiden and was never told what she was.

Warning for character death.

No one would tell her what she is, and now, at the end, she would never know.

It's almost enough to break her.

What, exactly, was something worth dying for?

Plenty of things. Ideals. People. A myriad of concepts and comforts to think of, knowing that to see them die would be more painful than death itself. That’s what Winter tells herself as she throws herself into the throng of Grimm, hearing Weiss shrieking behind her.

In the grand scheme of things, she never really was that important, she muses as her sword penetrates where the heart of a Beowolf would be, if these creatures had hearts to begin with. Her sword is out of the carcass and stabbing through another before the first creature disintegrates. No one told her much. Proving herself had proved an impossible endeavour, one that required more than just time and effort, but luck, being at the right place at the right time, connections...

At this point, she didn’t have any of those things.

Winter conjures a glyph, still warming up. She raises herself above the land-based Grimm, with some Lancers flying up to chase her. A spin, an array of harsh strikes, and the Lancers are nothing she needs to worry about… at least until the next swarm arrives.

The sea of Grimm is endless. Winter knows that this is a suicide mission, but she also knows that she’s expendable. She knows the least. Everyone else is following a plan she never fit into.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

Winter dashes to an empty patch of ground, summoning a swarm of Death Stalkers to keep the other Grimm at bay while she concentrates. She feels it, in her core, white like snow and burning like ice. White hot, in its own way. It bursts forth, and Winter feels this abnormal power burn her from the inside out. She feels it flow through her eyes, like a blast of cold air painting her eyelashes with ice crystals.

Ironwood never told her what she was. Winter wonders if he ever knew to begin with.

Just how low on the ladder was she?

As she throws herself back into the fray, a distraction, an obstacle, something to keep everyone else safe for just a little longer, she hears the voices. It’s Weiss. It’s Weiss’ teammates and friends. It’s Qrow. It’s the young man who is also an old man and the old lady. They sound shocked. Confused.

Did they know what she is?

Did they really know everything she had been working so hard to find out about?

Winter takes out her fury at this revelation on a Boarbatusk. It sounds like it’s screaming and Winter relishes the noise.

Some Grimm are making it past her, pushing forward to the people in the know, and for a moment Winter entertains the idea of letting them die, just out of spite for keeping her at the bottom of the ladder, but she doesn’t. She never could. Winter is a soldier, through and through, and she knows her place. She needs to make sure they survive.

This strange power that she has, a power that she got some time ago and was told to conceal with no explanations, helps her dart and dash much faster than usual. The Grimm trying to slip by don’t stand a chance, but Winter remains outnumbered. She’ll keep fighting until they’re all safe and far away, and even past that. She’ll fight until there are so few Grimm to ravage the surrounding area that they can be picked off.

She’ll make sure Weiss lives.

A wall of ice juts upward to the sky, out of nowhere, and any remaining Grimm trying to get the best of her are trapped. For now. Winter knows that it’s only a matter of time. Even as she fights, destroying every monster that comes into her path, she’s still wrapping her head around the fact that she’s about to die.

Weiss’ screams are growing fainter. She hears Qrow yelling and wonders if he’s the one taking her away.

She hopes he’s not laying a dirty, disgusting, booze-stained finger on her little sister, even if it saves her.

Winter lets more of her power out; Grimm around her are falling like dominoes, and it seems so easy, but she knows that it’s still hopeless. She doesn’t know how to control this power, and the white hot energy is pushing her past limits she never thought she could reach.

It’s a race. A race to see if this power or the Grimm kill her first.

Winter fights. Winter fights and fights and fights and she thinks.

She thinks of Weiss. She thinks of Weiss’ team, of sweet and kind Ruby who is the sort of person Weiss always needed in her life, of the blonde girl named Yang who seemed ready to take a bullet for anyone in her team, of the Faunus… Weiss had said her name was Blake.

A Faunus. Weiss seemed ready to defend her from anyone. Even from herself. From Winter.

Winter realises, far too late in her life and far too close to her death, that maybe Faunus really were people as well, and it leaves a cold pit in the middle of the painful heat as she realises just how much her father and mother and kingdom had influenced her into believing that some people were truly secondary.

Her name is Blake, and even though the thought is still foreign and is against everything she's ever known, she will be the first and last Faunus that Winter will ever be able to protect.

A claw tears at her leg, and Winter feels pain and blood and fear.

Her death today would be a tragedy. It would be a scar that would never truly heal in Weiss’ life, like the one crossing her eye, though this one would go deeper, beneath the skin where no one could see it. Yet in the grand scheme of things, Winter Schnee would just be a name in the list of fallen soldiers.

What a lonely, cold thought. It’s so empty and makes her life seem like such an insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Missed by only one person.

Winter’s vision blurs and a small hot streak runs down her face and she’s crying for the first time since she was a teenager. She stumbles and that one mistake is enough for the Grimm to swarm around her. Winter knows she’s beaten.

She thinks of Qrow. What had caused him to be the way he was? And why was he given everything she always worked for but never received? Too little too late, once again, Winter realises just how closed off she had been from learning more about the world around her. She knew nothing about the people leading Weiss, her most important person, into a war she wouldn’t be able to see the end of.

She thinks of Ozpin. She thinks of Oscar. Just who was he? Either of them? Would he have told her anything?

Some limb of some sort knocks into her gut, winding her and Winter falls to the ground, her sword knocked out of her reach and then blocked by a massive Grimm that she can’t quite see because her vision is blurring, no longer only from tears.

She thinks of the knight and the loud girl and the quiet boy and wonder what roles they play in everything.

She wonders what role she even played.

She feels another tear, in her arm, and screams, feeling power seep out, like she’s about to explode and take everything with her.

She thinks of her useless drunk mother. Of her cold, cruel father. Of her pampered snot of a brother. Were they always irredeemable?

Was she irredeemable as well?

Winter can’t see anymore. Everything is white and she feels Grimm darting forward and being pushed back and she can’t tell what’s happening anymore.

Did she kill enough? Did they escape?

Winter thinks of Weiss one more time.

I’m sorry… I’m sorry for all the pain I’ll cause you.

Winter feels a chill, strong and shocking, her name personified, and one last surge of power. She hears the sound of bodies falling and not coming back up.

Everything is white.

Far away from the battlefield, Weiss screams as a new power enters her body. Everyone knows.

[ofdragonsdeep]

31 (Buckle)

Surprise extra ffxivwrite day! You get my cat being a stubborn teenager. This is technically another quick prompt from the Bookclub, and again is. Significantly more than 100 words, though we're not at "Star" levels of ridiculous this time.

Neither he nor Thancred held up well to scrutiny.

(m!WoLxHaurchefant)

The hum and bustle of the Rising Stones was quiet as the evening gloom settled over Mor Dhona. All but a small few of the Crystal Braves were otherwise engaged, and the remaining Scions spread out over the space. It did not quite feel empty, but it was far from full.

In the back room, which had but a few moons prior been converted to something akin to a training area, Ar’telan was stood opposite Hoary Boulder and Coultenet, grimoire in one hand, the other held out to better command the egi he had summoned. A small group of Domans had gathered around them, watching with awe and interest as Coultenet did a few minor feats of thaumaturgy to test its endurance. The robes that the Sons of Saint Coinach had recovered from their dig site did not fit as well as they might, but the aetheric threads woven throughout the fabric were still more than enough for Ar’telan to feel the difference.

“These constructs are truly fascinating,” Coultenet remarked as the egi dispersed with a burst of heat and light. “To be so similar to the primals from which they are drawn, but safe and contained… A fascinating art to revive.”

“Assuming people want to get close enough to a primal to try,” Hoary added, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“I think I would avoid it given the chance,” he agreed, returning the grimoire to its bag, clipped onto the belt of his new jacket. “Thank you for the tests.”

“Any time, my friend!” Coultenet replied, and Ar’telan offered a slight smile as payment for their time.

F’lhaminn nodded at him as he passed the little bar, Moenbryda and Thancred clearly making use of it in a table off to one side.Thancred was far worse for wear than Moenbryda was, which was impressive given the constitution Ar’telan knew Thancred had for drink, but a sideways glance at Moenbryda’s half of the table also suggested she had not exactly been keeping pace with him.

“Oh, are those the summoner robes?” Y’shtola remarked, looking up from the documents she was staring at. Ar’telan nodded, and she got to her feet, examining the outfit with a nod of appreciation. “Y’mhitra has told me a little of what you have been doing. I hadn’t realised it had come so far.”

“It was luck more than anything else,” Ar’telan replied. “The Sons found some coffers in their site by the Crystal Tower.” Y’shtola nodded again, one hand raised to her chin in thought.

“Considering where they found the soul crystals, that is unsurprising,” she said. “Have you not the horn?” Ar’telan cringed, fishing the bright red contraption out of one of the jacket’s many pockets.

“It looks a little silly.” he said, but Y’shtola motioned to him to put it on, so he fastened the straps around the back of his head, adjusting the front until it sat on his forehead in a way that passed for comfortable. The horn channeled aetheric energies, he knew that much, but the vibrant red creation made him look like a particularly well-dressed unicorn.

“Fascinating. I have read a few studies on the subject of summoning, though nothing like as many as my sister,” Y’shtola said, reaching up to help Ar’telan adjust the horn. “They never did find anything quite so adept at focussing primal aether than these creations, though as I understand it a number of potential designs existed.”

“What on earth is that on your head?” Moenbryda said, leaning back in her chair to get a better view of the allagan miscreation.

“An evoker’s horn,” Ar’telan replied, feeling embarrassment sink into every fibre of his being.

“It is an Allagan artifact of immense power,” Y’shtola clarified, not that she had seen his response. “It aids in amplifying the primal energies that summoners call upon to command their egis.” Thancred squinted. Ar’telan wasn’t sure if it was to focus, or just because of the alcohol.

“Y’know what it looks like,” he started, and Moenbryda rolled her eyes.

“An ancient. And powerful. Artifact?” Y’shtola offered, her voice terse. Thancred made a noise that might once have been amusement, but just sounded like a sideways cackle.

“Could prob’ly’ve got one cheaper in th’ right alley in Limsa,” he slurred, Moenbryda gently confiscating the bottle he reached for lest he make the situation worse. Ar’telan reached up, but Y’shtola put one hand gently on top of his arm to stop him from just pulling the horn from his head.

“Thank you for your contribution, Thancred,” she said, shaking her head at his antics. “You are fine, Ar’telan. Perhaps if it bothers you a glamour prism may assist?”

“Y’mhitra said that might interfere with the aetheric signatures,” Ar’telan said. “Something about the weave having its own-”

“Gotta have somethin’ worth takin’ t’... th’ ‘lezen you’re after,” Thancred said, and Ar’telan tensed. He could feel Y’shtola try to pull him away, but he turned back around regardless.

“We are not-”

“Wha’, he’sh a slut f’any advent’rer in, in Eorzea, but not f’you?” Thancred said. Moenbryda grimaced. “M’be you need a bigger ‘horn’.”

The silence carried the same tension that it always did when he and Thancred argued now. Y’shtola had told him not to rise to the beat, that Thancred would regret what he said when he sobered up, to be the bigger man. But it stung. Stung that he hadn’t been good enough to repair things after Lahabrea’s meddling, that Thancred would rather trade jipes and drink himself into unconsciousness than try.

“Haurchefant doesn’t-” Ar’telan started, but Thancred waved a dismissive hand at him and looked away from his attempts to sign a defence.

“Thancred, I think you have had quite enough to drink,” Y’shtola said, hands on her hips, disapproval colouring every syllable of her word. Thancred snorted.

“Y’ know ‘m right. Goin’ up to Coerthas ev’ry hour he can. Might’s well kneel at ‘is desk an’-”

Ar’telan pulled the evoker’s horn from his head and threw it across the room. It hit the table in front of Thancred, scattering the remains of bottles that rested there in pitiful emptiness, startling Moenbryda.

“Maybe they are more welcoming than my ‘friends’ here,” Ar’telan said, jaw clenched, and turned and walked from the Rising Stones. The door slammed behind him on the cacophony of noises that his swift departure started, from Y’shtola calling after him to Moenbryda attempting to salvage the situation with Thancred.

He didn’t care. He was tired of it. Over and over again they tried to reassure him, but for all they talked, none of them could ever stop Thancred when he was deep in his cups. Maybe Lahabrea had been right. Maybe he was just another tool to them, a primal-killing weapon, a convenient servant, content to smile and nod at every job they gave him, no matter how grim.

The crowd in Mor Dhona parted around him as he stomped through Revenant’s Toll, the workers on their breaks from building the walls to the refugees to the House of Splendors vendors all aware from the lines of tension on his face that he was not in the mood for talking. He took the north exit, the purple-tinged gloom of the Toll giving way quickly to the sharp cold of Coerthas.

Was he proving them right? Gods, maybe he was. His linkpearl chimed in his ear, and he ripped it out and stuck it in one of the pockets that the ancient robe had so many of. He had stood against primals, mastered the trails of aether they had left indelibly on his soul in their wake, torn tiny pieces of them from the aether, and his reward was crude jokes and the reminder that he did not matter beyond what he could give them.

—

The night had set in quickly, and Ar’telan was too far down the road to turn back by the time the cool air cleared his senses a little. The snow crunched under his feet, his passage leaving deeper marks in what was left of the trail than he was used to, and the wind was howling at a wicked clip. He didn’t want to go back to the Rising Stones, even though he anticipated that Thancred would be out cold, because Y’shtola would have that look on her face that spoke of despair at his childishness. Alphinaud wouldn’t even know what the issue was, just tut at his outbursts. He could go on to Dragonhead - they were not expecting him, but Haurchefant would always find room for him regardless. He had his grimoire, but he hadn’t intended to wear the old robes for long, and had basically nothing else. Not even enough gil to get to the aetheryte. Well, if he walked he would at least make it by morning.

The snow drove itself with a wicked sharpness into Ar’telan’s face, the collar of the coat doing little to protect him from its ravages. The knights of Ishgard had long since given up on lighting the trail, probably glad for the inhospitality keeping out the nosy outsiders who might try to weasel their way in. The glimmer of the aetheric core of Ice Sprites took Ar’telan from the path more than once, hoping it was the distant glow of the Observatorium’s tower, or even the one at the border, but with the deepening snow he was not even sure where the path was.

In short, he was lost.

With a huff of effort and a poorly-concealed shiver, Ar’telan picked a direction and walked in it. He could barely see in front of his face in the snow, so he pried the tome from his side with stiff fingers and invoked fire. It was not enough to warm him, but the glow inherent to Ifrit-egi’s being would serve the twin purposes of letting him not fall into a chasm and keeping away hungry beasts who thought to brave the cold for a quick meal.

After more trudging through thick snow than Ar’telan had even wanted to do in his life, he found - not civilisation, far from it, but an outcropping of rock, shielded from the worst of the storm. He ensconced himself within it, calling the egi close to him to try and get some of the warmth back into his fingers. Piling the snow up around his sides kept it from becoming a slurry of water wherever the egi hovered, but he was still freezing. Allag’s summoners had fought in warm places, he supposed - Meracydia was warmer than this, and surely it must also have been before the Calamity that had devastated so much of it. Maybe they hadn’t thought of how to fend off the snow.

He was tired. Everything felt heavy after his hours of walking, and now the tension was gone there was an ache in every muscle that had stiffened in misplaced anger. Huddled in a miserable heap with the feeling leeching out of every extremity, he wondered if it would matter if he closed his eyes, just for a moment. He pulled the coat from his back and put it over his head, to stop the wind from sneaking in. The egi would keep him safe. The beasts wouldn’t be out in this weather. If he closed his eyes for just a moment, the snow would stop…

—

It felt like breathing through slurry. He could hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words. With more effort than he had ever thought to put into something so simple, he forced his eyes open, and everything was blurred and out of focus.

He couldn’t see his egi, nor feel its presence in his aether. Couldn’t feel his fingers either, for that matter, or indeed most of his limbs. He heard the voices stop as he managed something akin to a groan - a distant cousin, perhaps, a whispered sound from what was left of his throat. Most of the figures left, but one walked up to him.

“Master Qin. Can you hear me?” The curt tones and painfully Ishgardian accent of Camp Dragonhead’s lead Chirurgeon. Ar’telan had worked with him more than once, helping to heal the wounded knights brought in from defending Ishgard from her many enemies.

Ar’telan tried to raised his hands to agree, and found them unresponsive, so he made a vague noise of assent and nodded his head. The chirurgeon sighed, and a little blinking brought his face into something resembling focus.

“They found you out on the road to the Observatorium. You were lucky-”

“Ar’telan!”

Haurchefant’s voice cut the chirurgeon off mid-sentence, and with a flurry of sound and movement the elezen was beside him. He could feel, just about, Haurchefant’s hands taking one of his, but it was still heavy and bitterly cold.

“When they brought you in we thought you dead. What possessed you to do something so foolish?” Haurchefant said, worry lining every word. “Out in a blizzard with nothing but a coat - you could have teleported to the aetheryte, something-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” the chirurgeon said, and Haurchefant shook his head, attempting to regain his composure and failing most utterly. He did not look like a man who had done much sleeping recently. With effort, Ar’telan willed his hands to respond, and signed something that came close to sorry.

“I know. Don’t try to move too much,” Haurchefant said. “They said they found you before the frostbite could set in properly, but it was a near thing. By the Fury, have you any idea how worried I- how worried we were?” Ar’telan managed a weak, pathetic little smile. He wanted to explain - wished it was so easy as speaking, though even that would have been difficult even if his throat was not damaged. Felt very foolish for needing to explain something so embarrassing as the sequence of events that had led him to this shameful state.

“We have contacted your friends in the Scions,” the chirurgeon added, making Ar’telan grimace. “The runner should be reaching them presently, assuming they were not waylaid by heretics, as seems to be the flavour of the moon.” Haurchefant made a weary noise, a harried look on his face at the reminder.

“It will take you a few days until you can move about properly again,” he said, looking as though it pained him to say it. “Though the chirurgeons will stay with you, of course. Just… promise me you will never do something so foolish again.” Ar’telan tried to flex his fingers, and Haurchefant took his hand again, the warmth of him radiating through every digit, though not quite enough to stir them to action.

He nodded his head, and hoped that it conveyed a promise more than a yes.

[scribblesandimaginings]

Obviously

Hi, can request a Kraglin/reader where Kraglin has a crush on this new alien who joined the Ravagers, but struggles to get her notice him and make her understand he likes her, because her species is quite oblivious of courting, getting crushes etc. and so she doesn't know how to handle the thing? Hoping you're having a wonderful day 🍀

Featuring Yondu and Peter as wingmen of sorts

-----

Kraglin had had eyes for you since the captain introduced you to the crew of his ship. You were a mercenary and a bounty hunter, but during a recent job, you’d gotten injured, loosing the sight in one eye. You thought it was time that you found a group, a team - there wasn’t much point in endangering yourself on jobs by your own, and you’d be alone for so long now. The Ravager ship was the perfect place for you.

You fit in well. You were muscular, scarred and battle worn. You could easily stand your ground amongst the men on board. Kraglin loved that. He loved the scars on your face, your blind eye, the way you moved and how you worked - how it seemed that you fought effortlessly, despite your new found weakness. You were adaptable, strong, intelligent. And also a little oblivious, so he’d found out.

While the other Ravagers were loud and obscene as they tried to get you into bed with them, Kraglin had a different approach. He may be a Ravager, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a gentleman... well, at least a gentleman of sorts.

You’d turned down every other man that had come near you looking for anything more than conversation. Kraglin had watched them; they were vile, they were sexist and objectifying and they thought that they had you (stars know how they thought that) right up until you so eloquently kicked their ass. You liked to get on with your work; you did not like these idiots wasting your time.

Kraglin flirted with you the way he’d flirted with any woman in the past. He laid it on thick with compliments and selfless offers of nights out, or drinks on him, or to cover your shift or help you out. You hadn’t noticed though. He was being kind. He was Yondu’s second in command - surely he was doing his job and helping you get settled in.

It went on for months, and it was getting to the point where he was ready to pull his hair out. Yes, you went out for drinks with him, yes, you spent time with him when he offered - but it was very evident that his interest in you wasn’t getting noticed. At all.

You’d come to pass on information to Yondu. You did so with efficiency that would put a robot to shame, the only moment that wasn’t 100% professional, was when you’d smiled and nodded to Kraglin on your way back out.

Kraglin watched you go with a sigh.

Yondu frowned at him. “Wha’s the matter w’ you?”

“Nothing Cap’n”

“Bullshit”

Kraglin faltered under Yondu’s stare, “It, uh... just... Never mind” he mumbled, staring down at the floor.

But Yondu chuckled, “Ya got a thing for Y/N then?”

Immediately he looked back up, “What? How’d ya know?”

“Yer as obvious as the blue on ma face” the captain laughed.

Kraglin awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, “Clearly not obvious enough”

Yondu shook his head, “She don’t know, does she?”

“No - don’t matter what I do, she ain’t getting it” Yondu laughed loudly. “What?” Kraglin frowned.

“Boy, she ain’t gonna get anythin’ ‘less ya sit down an’ say it straight! Her kind ain’t like that - don’t do subtle well. She ain’t got a clue coz that’s her DNA. Ha! Boy, i thought you was smarter than that”

“...wait, you knew?”

“Yeah”

“For how long?”

“Since day 1, idiot. Just thought ya might have used that brain of yours and figured it out” he was still chuckling at his first mate’s expense.

Kraglin sighed, running a hand over his face. For all the stars...

MEANWHILE:

You walked back through the ship to your quarters. Yondu had been kind enough to give you a space away from the crew’s ‘puppy pile’ as Quill called it. You considered Peter Quill to be your friend, despite his youth.

You sat on the edge of you bed and sighed, and as if on cue, Peter appeared, “What’s up?”

“Nothing” you said, instantly, not really wanting to talk about it.

Peter came into your room and sat back on the bed beside you, “Nah, it’s something - you just don’t want to tell me. I know when people are lying”

“Of course you do” you sighed. Peter had insisted on the fact almost since you met him.

“Sooo, what is it?”

“I doubt you would be helpful in this situation”

“Try me”

Again, you sighed, “I am fully aware of what’s happening, I just don’t know how to deal with it appropriately” you told him, trying to make things a little more plain.

“Well? What’s happening?”

“I... I seem to have developed a crush on... someone”

 “Ohh!” You frowned at the Terran, for his apparent enthusiasm at your problem. “Who is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you that”

“If I don’t know who it is then how am I meant to help?” he whined.

“No.” He huffed. “What does someone usually do, if they...” you gestured vaguely, “have a crush on someone?”

“It depends who it is!”

“No, Peter”

He sighed, exasperated. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

“... that question doesn’t help me”

“I mean, do you want to go out with them or do you want to.. you know” he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

You frowned. “I don’t know”

“No wonder you don’t know what to do” Peter rolled his eyes. “On your planet, what would someone normally do if they wanted to date someone?”

“They would tell them”

“Like, they’d just go up to you and say ‘I want to date you’“

“Yes”

“Really? Wow. Uh Okay, yeah, no-one else really does that”

“I had figured that out”

“Do you think they like you too, whoever this mysterious person is?”

You shook your head, “I don’t think so”

- - - - -

That evening the Eclector landed on Contraxia. Kraglin showed up at your door, knocked politely, “Y/N?”

“Hello Kraglin” you smiled.

“You wanna go out for a drink?”

“Yes, please”

You walked side by side off of the ship, finding your way to a quieter drinking establishment, away from where the other Ravagers would be found. Peter was still on the ship, being too young for Yondu to allow him out onto the planet. But he watched out a window, at you and Kraglin as you walked away. He frowned, then as he continued to watch his eyes slowly widened, and his jaw dropped as realisation dawned on him.

You’d found a quiet bar, and Kraglin had bought you a drink. You were both sitting now in a booth in the corner, watching out at the quiet, but fairly well filled bar.

You two were talking casually, about other Ravagers, the captain, the jobs you’d been on, what you’d been doing through the day. Kraglin watched you attentively, slightly less nervous to do so now that he knew you genuinely wouldn’t catch on.

Nearby a couple were making out. You rolled your eyes at them, and once he saw what you’d been reacting to Kraglin laughed. “You not interested in any of that?” he asked, disguising the seriousness of his question behind a laugh.

“It’s not that I’m not interested, I’d just rather not see it in public. Surely that should be kept for when you’re in private” you shook your head.

“Oh? Alright then. That’s just the done thing elsewheres, ya know?”

“Yes, I know. But I guess I’m still not used to these foreign ideas” you laughed, playing on a long running in joke you two had.

Kraglin laughed. He smiled at you as he sipped his drink. You’d tied your hair back, showing off the scars on your face; he thought you were beautiful. You drank too, watching him over the rim of your glass, eyeing his scars fondly.

Nervously, he bit at the edge of his lip as he ran through in his head what he wanted to say to you. “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I- if I ask you a question?”

“Not at all, what is it?”

His could hear his own heart beating hard, “... Do you like me?”

“Yes, you’re my friend” you frowned, confused.

“No, I- I didn’t mean like that. I mean... I...”

“Kraglin?”

“I want to date you” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened, “Oh”

Kraglin looked away, embarrassed, “Sorry. You don’t like me like that. I get it. You’re not interested. I’m just going to go” he started to get up.

You grabbed his arm, “No. Stay... please?” he sat back down, confusion all over his face. “I do like you like that. I... I just didn’t think that you were interested in me”

Kraglin laughed, he grinned and he couldn’t keep his laughter down. He nodded, grinning. “Okay. Yeah, good - that’s good” In his mind he was cursing Yondu; damn bastard could have told me months ago, asshole.

“What... What do we do now?” you asked, now a little nervous yourself, not wanting to get mixed up with more unfamiliar traditions.

“Uh, well, after we finish our drinks, we could go back to the ship”

“But I thought we were going to have a night out?”

“We could, but I figure you’d rather go somewhere private”

[bodelevy-lindqvist]

de luctus || anaya & bode

anayadolmen​:

[If Anaya was in any more sour of a mood, she might take the criticism of her humour to heart, but today, she chuckles it off with a simple shrug. Her humour hasn’t quite recovered from spending several years stranded in space with only one Romanian man, she’s aware. She doesn’t make an enormous effort to change that, clearly, with the way she avoids any new friendships within the Colony.

She doesn’t think much of seeing him approach her from the corner of her vision until he’s grabbing her wrist. She’s not all that used to having strangers standing this close, let alone grabbing her, so she startles at the touch and feels her muscles stiffen.] I’m not nervous, I just make a lot of noise a lot of the time, [she answers, something petulant in her tone. It’s not the great comeback she thinks it is – it’s just the truth. Even when she’s trying to be quiet and go under the radar, there’s a tendency to make more noise than she intends. She likes to blame it on gravity, and getting used to it again, just for the sake of blaming something else.

His answer about needing some peace and quiet softens Anaya’s expression, though, and she quickly nods.] Makes sense. Well. [She motions around, at the greenhouse, her own safe haven.] This place is always open. [She’s been meaning to bring more purpose to this space anyway, to do something good now that she has a sliver of power within these walls.]

That’s a good metaphor, yeah. [Her voice is quiet, lips pursing in thought for a brief moment. She hadn’t even realised that she felt like that, not wanting to slow down, but feeling guilty for moving faster than everyone else in their grief, it seemed. There wasn’t much one could do, at least not one like Anaya, who barely had a grip on her own emotions, let along being able to handle others’.] All we can do is give our best, I guess. Not interfere with their mourning. Keep out of the way. [She shrugs. A lot of her behaviour naturally boils down to staying out of the way, so she’s biased.] I’m no good with words of encouragement, so I’m not the best person to answer that, but that’s my guess. [A pause, and then,] Also, you should get some actual meds for your headache, once you go back in there. These things can be a bitch. Maybe tell them you wish the greenhouse had some feverfew while you’re at it. [She might as well shoot her shot making an Elite ask for more things, maybe other officials would hear him.] 

.

Miss Anaya, I don’t mean to be rude [Sure he does.] but exactly how is the greenhouse supposed to be a quiet oasis when you’re in here clattering around? Unless we set days I’m here and you aren’t, like a schedule. [He smiles at the small woman, leaning in close as if they are conspiring some devious plan.] Would you prefer Fridays or Mondays? Unless you prefer Wednesdays? I’m a Thursday man myself.

[This is easier, the teasing, this part he can play well. It’s the grief, the waves of sadness and puckered faces he can’t stand. It might not be as quiet as he hoped but this place was proving to be more comforting than the rest of Belvedere. For now, even if only for an hour or two, he could put the fear of community collapse on pause. Instead he pulls focus on the woman in front of him. He smiles at her again, this time he lifts a hand to swipe at a bit of dirt on her cheek.]

I find it interesting that an astronaut doesn’t know what to say in the face of death. Accepting space travel is accepting one's mortality, isn’t it? Or is it the type of acceptance that you delay until actually faced with its consequences? [He monitors Anaya’s expressive brow for a reaction, her face often colored with whatever emotion she was feeling. She was right, she’s an incredibly loud person even when laying perfectly still. He wondered how people lived like this, their hearts on their sleeves for anyone to ravage. He wondered if it made her braver than him or a fool.]

[‘Maybe tell them you wish the greenhouse had some feverfew while you’re at it. Bode sighs, a heavy thing as he pulls back, hands grasping the cabinet behind him. He takes in her slight form as he thinks what to say next.] If you wanted something from me, Anaya, all you had to do was ask. [He looks at her as if disappointed.] You don’t strike me as the type of woman who hides behind another man’s wishes.

If you want something, ask me for it.

[vankoya]

Work In Progress Tag.

I was tagged by my sweetest @dailydoseofdia so thank you very much, my honey! Now, I am going to explicitly expose all of my WIPs, some of which are not known about or displayed on my story schedule as I have no hecking clue in the slightest as to when I will finish writing all of them. Rest in peace, me. (I really went on a spree with the previews.)

I am going to tag: @tayegi / @versigny / @inktae / @trbld-writer!

The Devil Skates On Thin Ice | Twoshot, Part Two

→ Rivalry & Sports AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: First priority. 6K words currently written. Twenty-five percent complete.

Preview: The number ’31’ is salient in large, bold white lettering at the centre of the hockey jersey. Though it is most certainly not as prominent as the ‘MIN’ that stands out inches above it, the three letters setting off screeching alarm bells within your mind that have you bolting upright on the mattress in a state of suffocating panic, cracking your elbow against the sill of the window in the process.

“Shit!” You yelp, cringing from the sharp pain that shoots up your arm, cradling it to your chest as you keel over your knees and dramatically collapse back onto the bed like the world just could not help but dig your hell hole of a situation all the deeper.

You are in Yoongi’s room. Of all the fucking people it could have been, it had to be him.

Amidst the anguish, a succession of thumping footsteps steadily becomes apparent as they grow louder, nearer, almost as though they are jogging. Then, the door is histrionically thrown open and a wide-eyed, flustered Yoongi comes into view within the frame, panting a little like he had ran from the other side of the apartment at the voicing of your distress. Honestly, you surprise yourself by holding back the lurching urge to hurl up the contents of last night at the sheer sight of him.

An Oath For Sinners | Series, Part Three

→ Vampire & Escort AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: 10K words currently written. Fifty percent complete.

Preview: There are two and a half hours remaining until she is supposed to be knocking at his front door, and Yoongi is still holed up in his office, signing a stack of papers inked with paragraphs of information that he is barely processing due to the simple fact that he has caved to the torment of hardly restrained lechery. For all he knows, he could be signing his life over to the devil since the sole thought that he cannot tear his disgracefully crude attention from is what divine facial expression she is going to pull the moment his dick slides into her dripping cunt.

At that, his mind blanks completely, eyes glazing over and muddling the page before him into a blur of white smeared with black, the nib of the pen drooling an expanding spot of ink on the paper where he distractedly presses it. Shit. Yoongi’s lips part to create an airless sound, his imagination ravaging his sanity as he pieces together the image of her underneath him in completely nude glory, her warm, mundane skin glittering with a sheen of perspiration, wide eyes crazed with ferocious desire, the pupils blown like dark moons, always watching him. She looks excited, afraid, utterly ravishing. 

The Heart’s Variable | Oneshot

→ Hacker AU • Kim Taehyung & Reader

Status: 2K words currently written. Ten percent complete.

Preview: Roommates tend to walk in on a lot of shit that they would much rather have scrubbed from their field of vision by a wire sponge, but such visual torment is an unspoken given when it comes to share-housing. Most especially when one of the aforementioned roommates is the one and only Kim Taehyung. So when Park Jimin, a law student of baby soft features that no courtroom can ever take seriously because he somewhat appears like an irritated child when he is trying to defend his case, knocks on Taehyung’s bedroom door at ten in the morning and is given the sole response of dead silence, he, without thinking, twists the handle and thrusts it open with a determination to give the guy the grandest, loudest wake-up call possible. 

At least, that was Jimin’s plan until his gaze fell upon Taehyung slouched facedown over his keyboard, surrounding monitors dulled to sleep just as he is. Except, unlike him, the computer does not have its soft dick nestled on unadulterated display in its lap like a lifeless, pink sea cucumber, sweatpants uselessly shoved halfway down the defined curve of its ass.

A Ticket To The Sun | Series, Part Three

→ Dystopia AU • Min Yoongi & Reader

Status: 5.5K words currently written. Twenty percent complete.

Preview: The countdown is in full swing. Seventeen days until doom reaches his doorstep, until the truth will be revealed and Yoongi will be framed as a goddamn coward for never telling her from the very start. He deserves to die like that, at least, with shame stuffed in his pockets, with a knife of regret slicing through his back. Horrible, truly such a gruesome excuse of a human being, he is.

I could tell her right now, he blankly considers, but knows he never would. It is close to two in the morning, and she is swaying gently, making an order at the diner counter with a blurred smile, eyes glazed. I could tell her right now and make pancakes taste like my death, make vanilla cling like my blood to the back of her throat. I could do it, I could do it.

She, with wobbly grace, turns on her heel to face him. Her drooping gaze lands on the divot between his collarbones that kisses the collar of his navy shirt before it lazily trails up, up, up to meet his own eyes, a grin lighting up on her lips as if caught redhanded staring where she should not. The breathtaking culprit to their exceptional crime.

Yoongi could never do it. 

Paroxysm of Repulsion | Oneshot

→ Single Dad / Teacher AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Kim Taehyung

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 1.7K words currently written.

Preview: The guy of long honey limbs and deftly mussed hair wears an expression fit for murder, which would have been entirely convincing if he was not wearing the most repulsive sweater to ever have the misfortune of existing on this very earth. Traffic cone orange and fluorescent violet striped, like Halloween just threw up on his chest and this is the mouldy aftermath a week later. Jeongguk decides the guy deserved such an insult for wearing an atrocity to mankind.

“Uh,” he cannot even form a coherent sentence, it is that disgusting. 

“Uh?” The Serial Killer In The Ugliest Sweater To Exist offers brusquely, face unchanging. “That’s all you have to say? Uh?”

Jeongguk gulps. “Uh–“

“Is that the only word in your vocabulary?”

“Well–“

“Amazing! He knows more than one word!” He throws his hands enthusiastically in the air, slatted eyes still fresh with intent to kill. Before Jeongguk can stammer out another vocalisation of unintelligence forced by sheer repugnance, the guy accusingly jabs a finger at him. “Kids need to learn manners at an early stage in life if they want to grow up to be good adults. Get on that fuckin’ shit, man.”

Fight Blood With Blood | ATM Drabble

→ Witch Hunter AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Reader

Status: 3.8K words currently written. Eighty-five percent complete.

Preview: Jeongguk wants to ask more, wishes to pick apart her bones and search the marrow for the answers, more truths, to learn of the genuine honesty about herself and who she is. But whatever he wishes to say becomes lodged in his mouth when he watches her bring the blade to her palm and cut a clean slice through the flesh, crimson that looks like liquid black beneath the moonless sky instantly bubbling to the surface and spilling into the clear patch of dirt that the very same knife carved out.

The witch stays quiet and calm, dropping the now tarnished blade to the snow and dipping her fingertips into the sticky, red mess accumulating in her other palm. They come away dripping, soaked in the colour of her very own coat, and Jeongguk observes with his lips parted, shoulders rigid while she draws nonsensical script into the frozen surface of the dirt she has cleared. Witch language, looking twisted and evil, like it is going to reach out and bite him if he dares to look away.

Gateway to Gehenna | Oneshot

→ Witch / Demon AU • Kim Taehyung & Reader

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 2K words currently written. Ten percent complete.

Preview: For the first twenty years, the door is avoided at all costs. 

Nestled between the library and the living quarters, it is alike any other door within the cottage. A thick slab of mahogany lacquered in rich syrup that still holds its woodsy scent beyond decades since its construction, a brass handle which glints in the afternoon sunlight that manages to trickle down the hallway, much less worn or touched than any other knob. It finds its differences in the dense carvings that are inscribed on the surface, a variation of symbols and words as old as time itself, not even belonging to history, for the language has surpassed such limitations.

They start at the centre of the door and bloom in an enormous wooden rose, the petals fanning out to the very edges where the inscriptions become smaller, near frantic, as though the incantations were bordering incomplete yet the space was quick to be eaten up; desperation embedding urgency into the grain. Because if there was not enough room to finish, all efforts would have been entirely fruitless. The plan would be torn to shreds, the earth would be brought to ruin.

You see, it is not the door itself that is necessarily the problem. It merely keeps it contained. Instead, it is what is held within that should be feared.

Rather he who should not be released.

There’s A Rainbow (Always, After The Rain) | Oneshot

→ Soulmate AU • Jeon Jeongguk & Kim Taehyung

Status: 1.3K words currently written. Fifteen percent complete.

Preview: The barista, as if realising what he has just done, clamps a palm over his mouth, eyes still remaining to roundly stare at Jeongguk like he has just stripped naked in the middle of the cafe. On the other hand, Jeongguk is about ready to turn on his heel and flee, or fold his body like origami until he can fit into the linoleum cracks beneath his feet. Instead, by sheer force of will and his ferocious desire to have a double shot long mac after The Worst Day of His Existence, Jeongguk stands statuesque until the barista seems to get his shit together and drops his hand away from his face.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the barista, who’s name tag reads Jimin babbles, baby cheeks flaring with muted fuchsia. “I-I didn’t mean to react that way, I swear! It’s just that– Holy shit, how long– When did it change like that?” The colour of his face ripens. “Oh– Or maybe, did you do that yourself–“

“Does it look like I would have done this–“ Jeongguk aggressively points at the rainbow monstrosity sprouting from his roots, biting down on his urge to scream the words, rather than hiss them under his breath– “To myself? Why the fuck?”

Lips of Divinity | Oneshot

→ Daitengu AU • Min Yoongi & Jeon Jeongguk

Status: Still drafting and plotting. 780 words currently written.

Preview: there is purpose behind this trek, not just a measly, careless adventure into the unknown of a forest deemed dangerous by the town at its feet. jeongguk absently wonders, if he were to trip over an unforeseen rock or jutted stick, whether the fall would have him tumbling down to the very base, crashing him back upon square one that he last stood upon just before midday.

but the boy should not think so soon, his eyesight is getting worse with every stretch that night begins to make across the daylight, almost as if it wishes to put his theory to the test.

he whistles a tune unheard of, one that bounds through the trees, echoing on and on. to set the pace of his tread, to fend off the eerie quiet that otherwise lulls the mountain. the birds are no longer near to pick it up, to carry on the sound in their own chirp, flourish it into something entirely different that belongs to them, and them only; started by a boy who never listens.

[kassandra-lorelei]

Niles takes C.C. hiking as one of their first dates. - Prompt

Here we are, my friend! :-) Enjoy!

@holomoriarty and @missbabcocks1

“Come on, Babs,” Niles called out from further up the trail.“It isn’t much further!”

That was easy enough for him to say, C.C. could only thinkto herself. After taking so many family trips with the Sheffields, he must haveexperienced his fair share of hikes by now.

But she was definitely more of a city person – all flatsurfaces, with occasional subway stairs and dips in the sidewalk. When thebutler had suggested using their day off (which, oddly enough, Maxwell hadallowed them to take on the same day) to go take in some nature, she thought atmost they’d be heading to Central Park!

She didn’t realise they’d be taking the car out of the cityand end up trekking in the woods and hills in the middle of absolute nowhere!All apparently for some surprise that he wanted to show her.

But once they’d gotten to where they’d had to leave the car,and after some original complaining, Niles had insisted that she’dlike it and told her to trust him. He’d then inferred that maybe she was justafraid of being athletically outmatched on this thing by him. So, that settledit; they were going. If he’d said anything like that that before they’d decidedto try this new phase in their relationship, she would’ve refused to get out ofthe car and said that he could go ahead and do the hike himself, she didn’tcare.

But that was all in the past, and him saying stuff  like she’d “likeit if she’d allow herself to trust him” had actually let her experience somereally quite delightful things already…

The day was nice enough, and the trees were giving themenough shade so it wasn’t too hot, either, but she just wanted to know what hewanted to show her already! In truth, she was getting tired – they’d beenwalking practically non-stop for at least an hour, pausing only momentarilyoccasionally for water, and it was about time they got wherever they weresupposed to be going. Not that she was going to complain aloud anymore; shewasn’t going to show any kind of weakness that he could exploit in order to usefor more zingers.

But it seemed that ship had long sailed. Niles had stoppedjust ahead of her, a gentle smile on his face, and he held out his hand whenshe was in reach in order to take hers. Before she could say a word, he beganto pull her up the crest of the hill, so they were eventually walking side byside.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she attempted disguising the factthat she was out of breath from that last steep stretch.

“I don’t mind,” Niles squeezed her hand but didn’t let go. “I’mused to helping the elderly cross the street – uphill isn’t so different.”

C.C. stopped where she was, looking unimpressed, “If I’melderly, what does that make you?”

He thought about it for a moment – she swore she could seethe glint in his eyes when he’d made his decision about how to answer.

“Your home healthcare worker, doing my bit by taking you ona nice long walk today.”

C.C.’s expression didn’t change, and she huffed out a quietsigh. She really didn’t get out and manage to exercise as much as perhaps sheshould. And any kind of reminder of that, or even of the fact that she wasn’tparticularly good at it (intentional or not), reminded her of that weight gainshe’d had. The weight gain that had happened in the run-up to her breakdown.

Perhaps she was being overdramatic, but it made her wonderwhether she was going down a bad path again.

Perhaps concerned, Niles released her hand, and wound hisarms around her, giving her head a slight nudge with his own.

“Luckily for the both of us, my favourite thing is takingcare of you,” he said softly. “It really is just a little further – you’rereally doing wonderfully for someone who doesn’t do this much.”

She cast her eyes over to him, still upset but finding these new words soothing, “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he moved his hands up to her shoulders, andstarted to rub them. “Anyone else would’ve given up further back on the trail,but we both know that’s not like you. If it’s not too much to say so, I am veryproud.”

That warmed C.C. inside more than she would dare to admit. Butit did make a difference. She didn’t know what it was, but having hisreassurance helped. She knew he hadn’t meant to upset her with his comment;zingers were their preferred method of communication. But maybe she’d had amoment of doubt in her head, and it had all added up with the banter he’d triedto start all at once.

Anxiety really was a son of a bitch. But it wasn’t Niles’fault. He deserved to know that much.

She angled her head to peck him on the lips.

“If you get any sappier, you might as well turn into one ofthese trees,” she murmured, clutching at his hand and pressing her lips to hisonce more for good measure. “Is your surprise in sight?”

“Not yet,” he released her, but kept one arm around hershoulders as they began walking again. “We have to go off the trail now, though– it isn’t steep, but be careful. And we’ll take it easier this time; I think Imight have been a little eager to get where we’re going.”

So they turned off to one side, and kept walking. Truthfulto his word, Niles made sure they were slower this time; snapping fallen twigsand branches, rustling through occasional leaves, and down a smaller slope,until Niles directed them to stop.

“Here we are,” he announced, gesturing to the sight in frontof them.

And even C.C. couldn’t bring herself to think of it asanything but gorgeous; it was a small grove, covered in wildflowers. It had apond in the middle, seemingly fed out of an underground stream which had madeits way through a bed of rock.

She let him tug her down towards the water’s edge, makingsure they didn’t tread on the flowers. Right by the edge of the pond, there wasa felled tree, apparently downed by lightning at least a few years ago.

As they both took a seat on the trunk, thankful for theopportunity to take a break, C.C. stared around in wonder, “Niles, this placeis beautiful! How did you find it?”

Niles let out one single breath. It sounded almost like achuckle.

“When I last had to accompany the Sheffields on a day hike,I needed some time to myself,” he explained. “I decided to slip away, and foundmyself here. It was so quiet, I must have stayed for hours. It was peaceful,and nice to not have to worry about the outside world or anything in it for alittle while. The family thought I’d been mauled by a bear or some such, so Iwas greeted with no small amount of relief when I eventually went back. But beingalone in the quiet for that time, no one telling me what I should be doing, wasrejuvenating.”

C.C. cocked her head slightly to one side, “So, this is yoursecret outdoor spot?”

“Almost entirely secret,” he replied, swallowing a little ashe leaned in towards her. “And, um…it’s not mine. It’s ours.”

Theirs.

The concept wasn’t new or really that frightening to her –the phrase “our secret” had been banded around their relationship enough. Butit felt…unique, in this sense. Separate from not telling other people that theywere going to bed together at night.

It was intimacy, still. But it was a gentler intimacy.

One she never thought she’d have with anyone, let alone the manshe was now sliding along the trunk towards, so they could sit close together.

“Why did you decide to share it with me?”

“Because I think that you, more than anyone I know, deservea place to come and not have to worry about the world,” he answered. She couldtell when he was being completely truthful, and this was like he had his heartright there on his sleeve. “And I wanted to share one that I’d found with you.”

She couldn’t help the slightly breathless chuckle that lefther throat at that. She was too touched to fully hide it. She was perfectlywilling to accept that offer.

But she was going to make it known their way.

“You know I said about that sap thing, back on the trail? Itstill applies,” she left a second between her words and giving him a small kisson the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Instead of replying, Niles simply kissed her back – fully onthe lips. Soon their exchanged kisses became deeper, and more passionate; sheopened her mouth to let his tongue slip in, and they wrapped their arms aroundeach other to bring themselves closer.

“You want to go back to the car before this goes anyfurther?” Niles pulled away to ask, teasing at her neck with his lips. “We’regoing to be very dirty and ache tremendously otherwise.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to be sure to take an extra-longshower when we get back, won’t we?” she managed to gasp out as he brushed apatch of sensitive skin. She clutched harder at his shoulders, and nipped athis earlobe, causing him to moan.

It must have made him rethink his plan.

“Hm…alright,” he pulled away again, this time leaning hisforehead on hers. “Though before we start, I must make it clear that I didn’tbring you all the way out here with the intent of ravaging you in the woods.”

C.C. laughed. Well, the way things started out didn’t necessarilymean they were going to end that way. She had started her day thinking theywere going to be in a park in the middle of the city. She’d started this hikethinking that she was going to just have a walk through a forest. She’d startedher moment of anxiety, thinking that maybe she wasn’t any better from how she’dbeen before.

But she’d forgotten that, even if she wasn’t, Niles wouldn’tlet her go through it alone.

And even if he had done this purely so they could have thatkind of alone time, she wouldn’t have cared.

Because whenever it was just the two of them alone, anywherein the world could be their quiet place.

Instead of a verbal reply, she pulled him back to her foranother kiss.

She’d feel right at home, as long as she had him.

[charlinert]

5x22 Drabble

Okay so I don't normally do this, but this has been flooding my brain since I read the 5x22 synopsis. This is my take on what should happen in 5x22 during the party. I really hope you like it xxx

*************************

After catching Chase Oliver seemed a bit more relaxed, in his own Oliver kind of way, but she figured that after all the terrible things they all had suffered this past year, having something cheerful and positive to celebrate was just what they needed as a team. Oliver’s birthday seemed to be the perfect excuse and if she was really honest with herself she also wanted to do something special for him.

Turns out that arranging a surprise party for someone whose second name could have been Sherlock proved to be trickier than she initially figured. Since she and Oliver were in a much better place with their relationship, him looking over her shoulder happened more frequently, which made planning everything with him in the room almost impossible. Luckily with the help of some very bad people, being on the loose thanks to Chase, and Curtis next to her to help out whenever they were in the field, the party was arranged in no time and all she could hope for was that until they yell “surprise” he wouldn’t figure out what was going on.

The plan was in motion. Thea was in charge of setting up the decorations, Curtis was on ‘cake-pick-up’ duty and everyone else was helping to get all the final touches in place. All that was needed was the birthday boy and she hoped that her cryptic text wasn’t going to blow up in her face.

The tracker on his phone notified her he was heading their way. They put off the lights and kept quiet, listening to his footsteps as he headed for the front door. He opened the door stepping inside and just when they were ready with their “surprise” he spotted Curtis in the corner of his eye and put him down on the floor ready to punch the hell out of him.

He looked up at everyone standing around him and that’s when he saw the banner ‘Happy Birthday Oliver’. He let Curtis go and she could swear she saw a bit of a blush on his cheeks when Quentin not so subtly made known that he told them a surprise party was a bad idea.

Everyone laughed it off and in a moment everything was forgotten and all anyone could concentrate on was the food and champagne.

Laughter and smiles was something they didn’t often get to see with this specific group of people. The change in pace was welcome as she looked around the room inspecting the people that have become her family, some old and some new, but they were her real family none the less.

She missed the face she really wanted to see in the room, but then she spotted him. He was standing out on the balcony. She always thought of the balcony as ‘their spot’. Even when they were not together she went out there alone or to meet Oliver when he conveniently ‘forgot’ the loft had a front door.

Familiar butterflies formed in her stomach the closer she got to the balcony. He was leaning over the railing, looking over the twinkling lights of the city. The memories of a simpler time flooded her mind, but things were different now. So much had happened between them.

“I’ve been looking for you.” she said stepping outside, but he kept his eyes fixed on the view in front of him. The corner of his mouth twitched up, giving a small smile at the sound of her voice.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just…I needed some air.” he answered, his voice low.

She stopped next to him, placing her hands on the railing. She looked out in front of him admiring the view, but trying to get her breathing under control. Ever since they got trapped in the bunker something shifted between them. Things between them were lighter, easy again like it was before and even though it was hard to fight their attraction since their little ‘slip up’, it was even harder to fight the sexual tension now.

“Was it too much too soon? I’m sorry I didn’t even think that it might have been too overwhelm…”

“No…it’s perfect.” he cut her off, looking at her for the first time since they were alone. The heat of his hand linked with hers immediately filled her whole body and she had to fight the urge to kiss him right then. “Thank you for this. I…this was so thoughtful and I lo…I really appreciate it.” he added as he looked at her, swallowing thickly for what she can only assume was almost a slip of the tongue. He didn’t keep her gaze for long when he turned and looked back over the city, but his hand remained linked to hers.

“So what’s up then? Is there something wrong?” she asked cautiously. She didn’t want to risk pushing him into telling her something that might push them back to a place where they were distant again.

“For almost a decade I either didn’t know when my birthday was or it just didn’t feel like celebrating, with the exception of course when we were on the road trip and you went out of your way with the sparkles and ice cream….” he chuckled shaking his head.

“Yeah, that was an interesting experience.” she laughed too, blush forming on her cheeks as she thought back to their time away.

“But even then…let’s just say that to me celebrating my birthday was celebrating my life and looking back at my life there was just nothing worth celebrating…I wasn’t worth celebrating.”

“Oliver…” she started, placing her hand on his arm, looking at him, getting herself ready for another pep talk, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“For ten years Felicity I have looked at myself in the mirror. I have looked at the man I am and every time I look at myself every scar, everything that I’ve done is reflected back at me in that mirror and that was a reflection of someone who didn’t deserve a birthday cake or candles or a song, it was the reflection of a damaged, broken man.”

He looked sad, but there was something different in the way he looked at her right now.

“I was so convinced after all these years that I wasn’t worthy and you were right, I kept on hanging on to the past, I kept on reverting back to who I was because I thought that I had to live up to my father’s legacy, I had to right his wrongs, but after everything that happened with my father recently, I realised you were right again…”

“Shocker.” she teased lightly bumping him with her shoulder and the sadness in his eyes changed into something lighter.

“I know I made mistakes, but I know that I can’t continue to hold on to a legacy that’s not mine. I have to be my own man and create a life where I can leave a legacy for William….and hopefully more children to come.”

“I promised you that I would never lie to you again and I know that right now might not be the right time to say anything, but I can’t keep this from you any longer. I’ve made mistakes Felicity and I can’t promise you that I will never make mistakes again, but I’m trying every day to make a choice to be me, to discover who I am….and who I want to be. Felicity I love you and that’s never changed. I tried moving on, I tried seeing where other paths would lead me but every path I’ve taken has led me right back to you.”

She sucked in a breath hearing the words. Her heart swelled with so much love and emotion she had for this man standing in front of her.

“I told you before that the way you make me feel is the best part of my life, Felicity and I meant it then and I mean it now. I don’t know where you are right now where we are concerned and I need you to know that me saying this is in no way pressuring you to act on it, but if I’m going to be honest with myself and honest with you I can’t keep running circles around my feelings for you….”

She leaned up and pressed her lips against his, swallowing whatever words were supposed to come next. It was gentle at first, but after almost a year of ignoring what was between them, he responded immediately and he deepened the kiss. His tongue begging for entrance and she opened up for him in an instant. She draped her arms around his neck and in kind he pulled her closer to him wrapping his arms around her waist. Their closeness and tasting each other after so long just fuelled the fire that’s been simmering inside of them, but she knew they were not alone and even though she would love nothing more than to get lost in each other right now, they had to stop.

She slowed the kiss, and he understood exactly where she was going. He pecked her lips a few times and ended with their lips lingering, breathing the same air as they tried to find their footing back to reality.

“I love you too.” she whispered, looking up into his eyes opening slowly after hearing the words.

Curtis was right. Even after everything they’ve gone through one thing hasn’t changed and that was the way that he looked at her. His eyes were flooded with so much love and even though she knew there were going to be challenges in their future, she wanted him to look at her like that for the rest of her life.

“What do you say you get these people out of here then, so I can ravage you.” he said with a smirk on his face.

She immediately left their cocoon and stepped inside the loft.

“Okay everyone!” she announced, “thank you for coming, but this party is over.”

Tagging: @aguscha333 // @alemap74 // @almondblossomme // @angelalafan // @angelicmisskitty // @aussieforgood // @bluemorgana // @ccdimples88 // @cinfos // @coal000 // @diggo26 // @dontyou-forgetaboutme89 // @fandomlove130 // @felicity-said--yes // @foggydefendorgiver // @geneshaven // @georgiakblog // @ghostfoxlovely // @hope-for-olicity // @hopeful-warrior // @jaspertown // @jcc04220 // @kajunblueyes // @kebarr // @karenanderson32 // @laurabelle2930 // @lesanchea // @lgtwinkie99 // @lou-lou26 // @love2luvyyou // @lovejesusarrowavengersblog // @lucymtz16 // @lynaye1993 // @marytagus // @mel-loves-all // @miriam1779 // @missafairy // @nalla-madness // @olicity4ever01 // @oliverfel4 // @pimsiepim // @puddintan3 // @quiveringbunny // @scu11y22  // @smkkbert // @storyteller0311 // @tdgal1 // @thegirlandthegrounder // @tinaday3w // @to-dwellondreams // @turnupthemusicandscream // @victoriapolicity // @yolandi-l // @yourebeautifuleverylilpiecelove // @yryssss

[itinerantscribe-blog]

Day 11 of 56

Exhaustion. I don’t recall it attaining this level before. So tired was I on retirement last night that even before I could instruct Alexa to deny further life to Radio 5, I was atop the gentle wave of a slumber filled sea. Intermittent and throughout the night, virtual and remote voices puncture the structure of my tiny vessel, I try to rouse myself and man the bilges but I have no strength, I am powerless against the current that carries me away from the source of the disturbance. Helplessly I drift back off into a dark laden emptiness, the pattern repeating the night long until finally the sea that has held me captive unfetters its chains and sets me free once more. It is late, the dawn chorus so effective as my natural and normal call to arms has been unable to rally my company to its side. I swing my legs out over the side of my bed. I don't feel rested at all and yet, the elation of total sobriety lingers on, albeit subdued in some measure by the fatigue that invades and occupies every pore of my being. I yawn in a gaping motion, drinking in oxygen and soaking up energy. I am so tired. I never experience this kind of tiredness in drinking mode, the poison sees to that. It is 8 o'clock. This is a lie in for me.

 I am aware that I am meeting my young friend at 9.30. I have agreed to show her the fundamentals of squash, introduce her to what will hopefully become an invaluable friend, exercise. As true a friend as a friend can be, the panacea for all things unwholesome, a honey coated remedy for all things distasteful. Squash was one of my few true loves, an unforced hobby, not manufactured for hobby sake, but one that genuinely provided me with enormous pleasure for many years. Then my affliction seized dominion and paralysed me with an immovable yoke about my neck. I abandoned my love, I had no choice, and for more than 15 years, I was a stranger to the white backed court which I once strode with confidence and delight with a not indecent dollop of skill on top. In recent years, with an ever increasing comprehension of my condition and a moderation of the things that aggravated it whilst purporting to offer a beneficial and curative contribution, I have renewed the affair to some degree. Like a typical spurned lover however, squash has never truly forgiven me, and now and then she will remind me of my abandonment with a stab to my Achilles or a sharp and sudden reminder in the elbow. Squash has not truly forgiven me.

The environment of a squash court lends not itself easily to my affliction. Its open space, bright and shiny, visibility from above, such things the least conducive imaginable for a soul ravaged by the elements under discussion. But it is bearable once more, only because I now realise, I now know that the environment also offers the opportunity, ideal in fact, for frenetic movement, high intensity activity, the very things that dispel and dilute said condition. What a paradox! Friend and foe housed within a single entity. However, despite that dual faced existence, if my state is very bad I simply don’t even attempt to present myself at such an establishment. But day 11 and my state is improving, even though I am only existing currently within a 200 metre radius and not risking a more  challenging range of movement, a more hostile terrain to test the strength of my recovery. No point in tempting situations that might lead to collapse of resolution at this stage.

So we played. She is a complete beginner, never played before ever. It wasn’t a match, it was  a coaching session but I did indeed, as was my intent, show her just how big a squash court can be. By the time we concluded the skipping (courtesy of a telephone cord, we work out to work out, not promote some aesthetic appeal),  her cheeks were afire with a candescent ruby flame. Squash is a great outlet for a younger self-version of you, you can release your inner child on a court and watch it run and run and run, in no time so absorbed by the action that all and any trappings and attachment to man made adult themes like work and prestige and image are discarded, forgotten and trampled under foot with the contempt such artificial contrivances deserve. She had fun. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rWdxb2U88U

Of course, our respective demons were waiting for us on the outside. Well of course they were, like limpets they won’t let go lightly. The coffee house on site was where they re-appeared.

‘I can’t carry the drinks,’ say I.

‘I can,’ says she. 

‘I have to have a hand free in case my chest twitches,’ say I.

‘I just need to be away from these people as fast as possible,’ says she.

This raises an interesting area of anxiety and public discomfort. For me, it is the physical environment. I know this because I have on occasion put it to the test early morning or late evening when humanity is absent from the locale. My twitchiness is still in evidence, however, I am free to act aberrantly to combat its presence without the additional burden of extraneous observation. So for me, it is the physical composition. For her, it is the human presence not the location. Hence her ability to enter shops, to drive on motorways, to do essentially, most of the things that I cannot. But in a queue we have parity, her because a queue by definition involves people, for me because it delays my exit from the environment.

This made me think further, about the probability of the numbers suffering similar issues, about the manifestation of said issues in such varying formats, about many things. And then it made me reconsider the Daleks. The dalek comprises two composite components, a brain, and a metallic casing which executes at the bidding of the brain the functionality of a body without the organic infrastructure.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8URr3uhh3I

Essentially, a dalek is a brain, a brain which controls its inanimate housing. My young friend has a feeling of discomfort amongst people, I have it in certain physical environments, some people have it in enclosed areas, others in wide open spaces etc... but regardless of the location or environment, regardless of the manifestation of the ailment, the source is identical, the provenance the same. The issue emanates, emerges and originates from that small mechanism, that small but omnipotent mechanism we call the brain. It doesn’t matter how or where the condition declares itself, it doesn’t matter how fast we attempt to outrun it, none of any of this matters since the overriding communality is the point of the origin. Our brains.It is the brain where the problem arises, it is the brain where the problem can be resolved. It is the only place where it can be solved.  Imagine a dalek proceeding along the road. Imagine the brain within afflicted from an anxiety condition without any visible or tangible cause. Imagine its progress along the street. Quiet road, no people, no tall buildings, nothing threatening or anxiety inducing at first, that brain can trundle along on its metallic wheels in a state of blissful indifference. Then imagine it merging onto the main road. People, wide pavements, tall buildings, shiny floors. Imagine this brain suddenly assaulted by its affliction for no obvious or visible reason, at once anxious and panicky and sending out orders to its metallic container to start acting irrationally, to thresh about its metal limbs, to act like some mad man on the rampage.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipfcH1fxCg4

Then imagine the ‘danger’ spot passed, next phase of our dalek’s trek without threat, perceived or otherwise. The machine desists from further frenetic behaviour and calmly moves forward. Then the next phase, no rhyme nor reason the anxiety re-emerges, more of the same thrashing and threshing about, all the while the brain in complete control of the metallic responses. We are no different. I know we are organic, I understand the holistic mind and body argument, yes, yes I get that. But there is a hierarchy of importance, there is an undeniable hierarchy. The body can do without an arm. But without a brain? Have a go and get back to me on that. It is our brains. We have to re-wire our brains, reconfigure them. Imagine yourself as a brain in a machine. Do you think my panic attacks would be less if I were in a wheel chair being pushed along the same road that can excite such anxious responses from me? Do you think I could enter St Paul’s Cathedral and look up at the dome with any less discomfort if I were pushed in on wheels? It is the mind that has betrayed or misled those who are assailed and assaulted by these kind of afflictions. We have educated our minds, our minds have been educated by others too, we need to go back to school and re-educate them...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fsIb5L0_pGY

Let’s begin school tomorrow....

[pundemic-thinks-he-can-write]

Ground Zero

Short Story, Horror

Despite the clear crisp Autumn afternoon, Albert saw a sky of black and red over the college in the valley below. Uniformed men to his left and right fidgeted and murmured uneasiness to one-another. Zachary nudged him with a water canteen.

"Huh?"

"I said what do you think the rain from a cloud like that looks like?"

"I don't think it's a cloud."

"'Course it's a cloud, what else makes the sky look like that? Must be full of, I don't know, fumes from their science experiments or something. Hey, Command wouldn't send us in there unless they know it's safe to breathe that stuff, right?"

He didn't reply, his attention back on the mass of roiling, blackened hellfire. As he watched new colours billowed out from the centre, bright electric blue and pink. The low voices around him rose to a clamour. Moments later, a much louder one brought a hush down on them.

"We're moving out! On your feet, now! Move, move, move!"

Men scrambled into motion, unsettlingly quiet. They were winning, their enemies beaten back over countless engagements and now cornered in these remote lands. Despite this, none of them had wanted to grant any reality to the idea of venturing down into that valley. It wasn't that they knew what they would find there. It was that, based on the stories from those few who had been there before and returned, no one had any idea.

~ * ~

Gunfire had dulled to a continual staccato thudding in Albert's ears. He sat numb against the trench wall, staring as Zachary gazed past him with an expression of perplexed alarm. Red trickled from an ugly gunshot wound torn through the upper right-hand side of the young man's head. His hair was matted and filthy.    

That's just how it is, some distant part of him mused. You start off and end up that way. It's the part in-between that's the bizarre exception. Why the hell would anyone spend any of that miraculous time doing what he was doing right now?

An explosion shook dirt loose around him, a shockwave blasting over his head and whipping his hair forward. The world came back into focus, in all its dirty, blood-smeared glory. Maybe he could find some worth in it. Maybe, in all this death, he could live. He peeked up over the lip of the trench, relishing the feeling of precipitous peril it gave him and blocking out everything else.  

There, not too far off now, was Wrentham College.

He didn't see many of his fellow combatants. Most of them were either lagging apprehensively behind or charging ahead, and most of the latter had probably ended up like Zachary already. Or worse.

Dirt burst in Albert's face sending him diving back into the trench. But he had seen the shooter, his eye drawn by the resounding crack of a rifle; brown uniform, purple armband. He drowned primal terror with a deep breath, gripped his own rifle, allowed himself to realise that just as that man could shoot, so could he.

Shoulder. Aim. Fire. He sent three rounds across the ravaged battleground, and one found its target. The figure went down.

Before throwing himself back into cover, Albert cast a wild glance behind. A friendly squad advanced, cautiously but steadily. Hope. Salvation. With renewed vigour he turned back to the College just in time to see a ghastly green light flare from the uppermost rooms of the tallest spire, its huge ornate windows unbelievably bright.

And the sound.

It was a tearing, shrieking cacophony, which triggered something far deeper in his woefully simple mind than the panic of combat had, something he couldn't possibly understand. The light in the tower grew brighter, too bright to look at. Albert turned away.

And behind him yawned a void. The very earth had fallen away to absolute nothingness - miles of unfathomable black space where hundreds of men had been moments before. As maddening as that was, what came next was worse.

Things began to rise from the void. Immense, malevolent, impossible things. But only for a moment. With a blink they were gone, leaving empty space growing vaster every second as the ground continued to crumble.  

Albert ran, heedless of the bullets ahead. They didn't scare him anymore. No room remained in his mind for such ordinary fear. He didn't look back again.

~ * ~      

He had been shot twice and thrown shrapnel-torn to the ground by a landmine, but somehow Albert now stood before the old structure, its walls red-brown like dried blood. Nearly a dozen enemy troops lay dead in his wake. Upon seeing them up close he had realised they weren't quite human. They once had been, perhaps, but now their faces and hands looked alien, grotesquely elongated, their tongues dangling like eels from unhinged jaws, their eyes bulging, clouded, and utterly insane.  

And yet Albert had never felt so free. Not as a child climbing the trees and seaside cliffs near his home. Not as a student flaunting exams in favor of music and parties. Not as a newlywed falling blissfully into the arms of his lover. Something had snapped in his mind, and suddenly the possibilities were endless and terrifying and wonderful.

His rifle was empty, magazines all spent, so he absently discarded it and drew his pistol. Flat against the building he crept around towards the main entrance. As he approached a pair of heavy wooden double doors, he saw that the void stopped just short of the grand black iron gates that marked the entrance to Wrentham College grounds. Two of the uniformed not-humans stood guard there. Albert was unnoticed. A barrage of pistol shots swiftly ended them.

The huge doors, barred and impenetrable, still stood between him and whatever waited inside. That was all he could think about now, and he tried not to do much thinking even about that. It didn't matter what he might do about it, what might happen to him, how many more people he might have to kill. All the mattered was that he chose to pit his will and body against this horrific, unknowable force, and that maybe that would be enough to make a difference.

He began to climb. The building's ostentatious pillars, awnings, and ledges proved helpful, and even injured and exhausted Albert made good progress. The less of whatever was inside he had to deal with, the better, so he aimed to get as close as possible to his goal before making an entrance. That goal, of course, was the topmost room from which had shone that unearthly green light. Craning his neck in an attempt to make out his path, he saw the swirling miasma in the sky above in its full glory.

The last stretch of the climb was a sheer tower sprouting up alone from the sweeping rooftops. Albert clung to the meager hand and foot-holds above a several-hundred foot drop. It would have been heart-stopping had he not been so focused, his mind not brimming with mad clarity. Finally he reached the turret chamber. His aching fingers gripped the ledge outside the window, and a too-wide smile spread across his face.

Dangling by one hand he drew his pistol and fired blindly at the window. Shattered glass rained down on him, slashing at his hands and face. He swore as his gun tumbled from his grip; it would be several long moments before it smashed against the ground below. Albert heaved his bloodied body up and into the chamber.    

Directly beneath a gaping hole ripped through the ceiling, a woman stood, arms stretched heavenward. Robed, hooded figures surrounded her, heads bowed, hands clasped. Low chanting reverberated. Albert couldn't see the figures' faces, but their hands were visible at the ends of their baggy, dark purple sleeves. Those hands were not the hands of normal men.

The woman, however, was startlingly human. Gold glasses perched on her hooked nose, and her long grey-streaked hair was bound in simple braids. A great tome lay open on a podium before her. The only things about her to suggest anything unnatural were her eyes. But they were more than enough. They glowed with that same bright green light from somewhere deep inside her, almost as if from far away. Those eyes were fixed on Albert.

"Your lives are unimportant. The ritual must not be interrupted," she said, calmly but with such intensity as Albert had never heard even from his strictest drill sergeants. As she stared at him, Albert saw a shadow move across her face. No, not a shadow. A shape. Something moving beneath her skin. Trying to get out.  

"Wait! No more fighting. We can talk. Explain this to me, I don't understand," he said, voice choked and edged with hysteria. But it was no use.

The nearest robed figure spun about and lunged for him. As they did so the other figures hunched and cringed momentarily, as though taking a painful weight upon their shoulders. But Albert didn't notice. His arms went up to catch his assailant's clawing hands, but the real danger came lashing out from beneath the creature's hood - a long, slender, mottled tongue. It slapped against his face and snaked its way inside one of his nostrils. Crying out, sputtering, recoiling in revulsion, Albert fell beneath the monstrosity.

Somehow he managed to draw his combat knife before his back and head slammed painfully against the ground. He slashed out frantically again and again, feeling the blade bite into rubbery flesh. He sliced off that grotesque tongue, opened up the creature's neck, and pushed the spasming body off him. He stood and groped at his face, hand slick with inhuman blood. The feeling as he yanked the dismembered tongue from his nose sent him into a fit of shuddering.  

Another two hooded figures broke away and advanced. Albert brandished his blade but lost ground fast, backing off until he was pressed against the wall.

The chanting died as the rest of the figures buckled one by one. They collapsed, began to writhe, green light spewing from inside their hoods, screeching horrendously. The two who had broken away abruptly clutched their heads and moaned. The woman in the centre dropped to one knee. She stared at Albert with the purest hatred he had ever known.  

Then she noticed something, as though hearing a faint sound that no one else could. A different kind of gleam appeared in those blazing green eyes. She smiled at Albert, teeth perfect and white.  

"It's done."  

Albert launched himself at her, channeling all the pain and fear and desperation of the last few hours into that single motion. He toppled the podium, shoved the woman hard, sent her sprawling back across the floor. At that moment a tremendous thunderclap, no, a thunderclap's nightmare, rent the air. In its ear-ringing wake Albert could faintly hear the woman screaming in denial.

He was awash in crackling purple light that descended on him through the hole in the roof, from the chromatic sky above. It flooded through him, infusing him, changing his form, pouring immeasurable energy into his very essence. That which defined him, body and mind, began to dissipate. This was death. Or at least something so close to it that there was no meaningful distinction.  

His last thoughts were of his new family waiting for him back home. Of how he didn't regret leaving them, didn't mind that he would never see them again. Of how, secretly, the conscription had been a relief, had freed him. Of how maybe, if what people said was true, death would free him as well. He smiled as the purple light filled his vision completely, overwhelmed all his senses, drowned out his mind. Then Albert was gone.