#pose a risk to my ability to stay alive

[hikeyzz]

.

[whumpsday]

you got an ask about this like, a year ago (and absolutely feel free to ignore this if you want to) but could we get a drabble of jim holding human!kane's hand as he introduces him to the sun sometime?🥺

takes place after chapter 18 but before chapter 52

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: impossible "anon magic"-type AU, recovery, comfort, referenced past torture

-

No one could explain it. One day, Kane woke up as a human, and that was that.

Jim had expected Kane to freak out, and he did a little, of course. But overall, it was a relief to them both. Kane made no secret of how overjoyed he was at the development. Despite his shortened lifespan and decreased strength, Kane was all-too-pleased with his new species. Where Jim considered being human a vulnerability, Kane could only find safety.

No risk of future hostility from the hunters that had hurt him. Protection under human territory law. The ability to eat regular food. No danger from the sun. As Kane told it, he even considered the lack of immortality a boon, his ability to experience pain capped below where it was for a vampire–his new form would perish long before it could ever experience being burned alive for days on end.

Of course, he'd freed Kane immediately, now that he posed no danger, but Kane had nowhere to go. He couldn’t exactly return to vampire territory. So he'd just... stayed. That was alright, Jim supposed. He’d already gotten used to having him around, and he didn't even have to feed him his blood anymore. He couldn’t bear the thought of forcing him to navigate the world all on his own as a new human.

Plus, he had to admit that watching Kane's face light up whenever he tried a new food was endearing.

Kane never left the house. Not during the night, when Jim warned him to be extra-careful of the new danger of vampires now that he was human, and certainly not during the day. Despite his freshly human skin, Kane remained utterly terrified of the sun.

Months after the change, it was taking his toll. Jim knew what that was like, the fatigue he’d experienced after Kane kept him away from the sun for the five years of his captivity. Kane was human now, and had never had a drop of healthy sunlight in his entire life.

So, after weeks of gentle coaxing, here they were.

Kane stood petrified in the living room as Jim slowly opened the curtain, firmly in the shade as natural light flooded into the room.

"It's okay," Jim said softly, stepping into the sun himself, warm and pleasant on his skin.

Kane stared at him wide-eyed and frozen, like he'd rather stepped into a cloud of poison.

"Here.” Jim extended an ar out of the sunned area, offering it. “Take my hand. We’ll do it together. It’ll be okay.”

“What if– what if I burn anyway?” Kane asked, making no attempt to come nearer.

“We’ll go slow. Just a fingertip, and if you burn, you can go right back out again. No one’s gonna make you stay in the sun. I’m not gonna make you stay in the sun.” Jim kept his hand out, waiting. “C’mon. You can’t put it off forever, humans need sun. It’ll be okay. No hurting.”

Kane, to his credit, took a tiny step forward. “You won’t pull me?” he asked, his voice small. He looked so much more vulnerable as a human, and he’d already looked plenty vulnerable before.

“Swear on my life, man. No pulling. You set the pace.” Jim beckoned him closer. “C’mon. You’re doing great.”

The little bit of praise seemed to motivate him, and Kane stepped closer still. His eyes crept away from Jim, to the unshielded window, following the ray of sunshine across the room until he lost his nerve. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m sorry, no no no, please don’t make me, I can’t!”

“It’s okay.” Jim stepped out of the sunbeam, going to Kane and taking his hand in the shade. “Not gonna make you do anything. It’s all you, remember?”

Kane gripped his hand lightly, still used to moderating vampiric strength he no longer possessed. “I’m sorry for being so difficult.”

“Pssh. After what you’ve been through, I’d be surprised if this wasn’t difficult. You’re doing great just by trying. Promise,” Jim assured him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I was difficult too, doing stuff for the first time. Gave Liz a headache taking me to the doctor when I had to get my blood drawn. But look at me now, I was doing it every day for your breakfast before you got all human-y. You’ve got this.”

It was something Jim had often felt ashamed of. But now, seeing Kane struggle too��� maybe this stuff was just hard, and that’s fine.

Kane nodded slowly, taking his hand back. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got this. I–I’m going to do it.”

Breath held, he slowly closed the gap with one pointer finger outstretched. He finally touched the tip of his finger to the sun–and shrieked, pulling it back instantly and clutching it in his other hand.

“Shit! Are you hurt?” Jim asked. “For the life of me, I swear I totally thought it wouldn’t hurt you. You’re completely human in every other way. Oh my god, Kane, I–”

“It didn’t hurt,” Kane said softly, uncurling his hand to stare at his unharmed finger. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I thought it would hurt.”

Jim sighed with relief, giving Kane a pat on the shoulder. “Well, that’s good. Just nerves, then. You wanna try a little more?”

Kane hesitated, but nodded after a moment. “Alright. I’ll try.”

Jim walked back into the sun, holding his hand out into the shade. “Just come on over to me.”

With a deep breath, Kane took his hand. It was shaking, now, but Jim held it securely, hoping it’d make the guy feel a little safer. “I won’t pull you. You come to me.”

And he did. Inch by inch, his hand crept into the sun. There was no burst of pain, no burns blooming across his skin. The sun felt… pleasant, somehow, like a warm bath made of air. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Despite the terror, his body seemed to yearn for more, wanting to bask in it.

He stepped forward all at once, into Jim’s arms.

-

i'm back!! expect more writing soon!! ty to the anon who sent this ask and this anon who somehow shook me out of my slump

[paleontaxi]

   Keeping horses wasn’t exactly an easy task, with all of the disease in the air and dangers at every turn, but Jarod was a determined man.  He considered himself to be in possession of unfinished business in Krat.  Lola had been murdered, but with mass graves already piled high with petrified corpses, it was impossible to get anyone to give the mystery the time of day.  That left the investigation up to Jarod alone, and as long as he could not go down, that meant preserving all of himself, including his profession.

   Being a carriage driver was an excellent ruse, as it gave him an excuse to stay out in the streets, searching, and provided him access to the remainders of Krat’s population.  Someone had to have seen or heard something, to know somebody who knew somebody, or something of the like.  So, he kept picking people up in hopes of gaining more information.  Some days were more fruitful than others, and the past few had not been at all.  This was the first customer Jarod had had in days.

   At least, it didn’t put much strain on the horses to pull an empty carriage around, not like it might if they were carrying several families to and for every day.  But the streets were still not safe for them, and while Jarod had never been a bad shot with a pistol, he had been training his marksmanship further in his spare time, ensuring his ability to put holes in any being who saw fit to attack them.  They were not always effective against the metal bodies of the puppets, but they bought more time than nothing at all.  The crack of bullets also startled the horses into moving more quickly.

   The soft glow of the lantern accompanied by the voice let him know that he was taking on more than one passenger, but given that it was no extra weight on the wheels or horses, he was not going to charge them any more.  The spirit in the lantern warmed him somewhat.  It was not every day that he came across somebody who marveled so at his horses.  The dusty brown one flicked its ears back upon hearing the passengers board the carriage, and both of them stirred in anticipation for the trip.

   The hotel was a familiar place as it seemed most of Krat’s non-frenzied activity happened around there.  He had driven to and from it a handful of times, so he knew the way well and drove the horses forward in that direction.  The rain on the carriage’s cover and the clip-clopping of hooves might have created an almost hypnotic effect but for the fact that it was occasionally broken up by the wheel clunking and jolting against a broken piece of cobblestone.

   “You don’t talk much, do ya?” Jarod said, looking dead at the young man on the seat beside him.  “That’s all right.”  He had had plenty of quiet rides before.  Some people he picked up were too weary to do much talking, despite the questions he tried to pose to them.  He could not hold it against anyone, given the state of the world.  It did not breed happy, chattering people.

   The being in the lamp seemed more than pleased to converse, so Jarod faced the road again, resolved to direct all of his future questions to them.  “I imagine it has been an age since you’ve seen them.”  He nodded to the horses, unsure if the lamp spirit could even see the gesture.  “It’s been hell keepin’ these two alive, but they’re all I’ve got, so I make do.”  It was not as though he could venture out to a stable and purchase one or more if these ones expired.  It was certainly easier maintaining a carriage when there were more living animals around.

   “It is a risk keeping the flesh and blood ones, but no more than the mechanical ones.”  If anything, living horses were less of a liability than puppets, but not by much.

   “The hotel’s nice,” he said.  “Heard it used to be nicer, but I never saw much of it in its glory days.  I’ve got my own place in the country and just come into the city looking for work, so I never had a real reason to stay there.”  From his understanding, some people had taken up more permanent residence there, and it was no longer the sort of facility people used for holidays.

   He had been meaning to ask around the hotel more.  Anyone who knew anything about Lola had probably come through there, maybe even her murderer.  It was an impossibly minute chance, but Jarod still hoped that her killer was alive so that he could have the pleasure of disposing of them.  It would be just as well if they were dead.  He just wanted answers, to know what happened so that maybe he could know peace.

   “Have you two been there long?”  He was trying to keep his inquiries as close to small talk as he could.  “Got any friends?”  He could not just come out and ask them if they knew much about the other residents.  “Or do you prefer keepin’ to yourselves?”

The puppet was out on an evening stroll, taking out all of the puppets that he had left behind the last time he wandered the streets, as well as the ones that traveled here from different parts of the city. It's been a while since he had started doing so, and the more puppets he destroyed, the harder it got. All of these puppets had families at some point, now taken away from them by their own hands, although not by their own will. It was sad. They were victims as much as people were, and being a puppet himself, P couldn't help but feel bad about it all.

P was never at risk of getting infected with petrification disease and joining the frenzy was never an option for him. He was spared from both of the tragedies, but at what cost. All he got from it was being a witness. Witness of pain and misery, despair. The puppet stopped counting how many of his kind got destroyed by his sword, but he kept count of the number of people had to kill on his path. He never wanted to do so, but they left him no choice - when someone attacks him, he has no choice but to defend himself. All of those kills were weighing on him more with each passing day.

Spare for him, all the nearby streets were cleared out, leftover oil and rain streaming down into the street's gutter. P stared up at the sky, thinking. The rain won't stop anytime soon. He couldn't get sick from it, but it would make him heavier and in consequence, slower. Fighting wasn't an option anymore, it was too risky.

Then a sound, one that he couldn't recognize. P never heard the sound of horses, never saw one alive to begin with. All of the horses he had seen were lying in the streets, killed and broken. This was new. Gemini, although able to recognize the sound and sight of horses, was surprised as much as the other puppet. "I haven't seen one in ages!" he exclaimed, his tone betraying excitement. Perhaps it meant the city was slowly getting back to its normal self. They could only hope.

When the man stopped right next to him, P took a step back, seemingly distrustful of the horses. He sure liked animals, but the only one he knew and was familiar with was the Hotel's cat, Spring. P wasn't counting the mechanical dogs spread through the city, frenzied just like any other puppet. P listened to him, though his eyes were glued to the two strange creatures, stomping their hooves against the road.

"Yes, good sir! We would like to go back to the Krat Hotel, if you will!" Gemini replied for the both of them, visibly annoyed with the rain despite being locked inside a lamp. P looked at him shortly, confused, unaware that the man's job was to ride people around, taking them to their desired destinations. With a cue from Gemini, P carefully approached the carriage and slowly climbed it, eventually sitting down, albeit cautiously. The only carriages he had seen were broken or burnt.

All of it was completely new.

[writingtoforgetreality]

New World Order - TFATWS Rewrite Chapter One (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist], [TFATWS Rewrite-Masterlist]

Next Chapter

Summary: You were an Avenger. That was how the world viewed you. Nobody else knew about your past & it was for the better. After all, you had Sam. You had Bucky. That had to be enough. At least for now.

Words: 6,214

Warnings: language, sarcasm, expect some sort of slow burn, there are hints already, this is a Bucky fic, which means that it'll focus on his scenes more, spoilers for TFATWS, (Y/E/C) = your eye color

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

You were no superhero. At least, you would never say you were one. Your past was filled with actions you regretted. None of it was your fault. It was not your decision to be the child of the leader of a HYDRA base. It was not your decision to grow up like a warrior. Fighting. Killing.

Your father was the bad guy. You knew that now. As a child, you did not see through his facade. How could you? He was your dad. Someone who was supposed to love you endlessly. Those years had shaped you. Into the person you were today.

Deep down, you wished there was a way to make you forget. Forget about your past. Forget about the pain. Forget about it all. Hell, you were a laboratory experiment. Those powers did not come from nowhere. No. They came from tons of needles, pumping a toxic serum into you veins. You should not even be alive anymore. Not by what now flowed through your body. Apparently, it was for your own good. That was how your dad put it. Absolute bullshit. Growing up isolated from the world, being trained to fight, to kill, daily. Your own good my ass. If it did one thing, then it ruined your damn life.

But at least you had powers, right? Blue flames you could control. Those blue flames that were hotter than anything else in this world. It took an awful lot of time to fully have control. Truthfully, you hated that part of you with every fiber of your being. It had been the cause of one too many deaths. You had been the cause. But weakness was not in your nature. If you did not show strength you would be a disappointment. Something you really did not want to be.

Bucky was the reason you got out of this life. He was the one to rescue you out of this hell hole. He was the one to show you an entirely different part of this world. And for that, you could never thank him enough. If it were not for Bucky, you would have gone insane ages ago. Who knew if you were still here today?

The Avengers were aware of your past. Of you being a part of HYDRA back in the days. Yet, you had never elaborated this any further. If there was one thing you were good at, it was keeping things to yourself. No need to burden others with your struggles. And you did struggle. Every single day. Because your mind was filled with memories. Memories you had tried to burn. Memories you wanted to erase. Memories of you being the bad guy. Just like your dad had been.

Your life changed when you were introduced to the Avengers. They did not trust you. Not right away. But during the fight with Thanos, the one after the Blip, you proved yourself to be worthy of their trust. Especially Steve. He had been there for you. When everyone else failed to believe in you. He was gone now. And it hurt like hell. Giving up was never an option. And the universe did not plan on giving you a break anytime soon. For now, you had to bury your feelings as deep as possible. Your focus should solely be on the new threats of this world. Threats, that seemed to increase daily.

“Bucky is an asshole.” you were on the phone with Sam & the fact that the super soldier had been ignoring him for a while did not leave a good feeling inside his chest.

“What a revelation.” sarcastic comments were part of your life. It was your way of coping with everything. Frankly, it worked. More or less. “Give him some time.”

“More time? No.” sighing loudly. “I have other things to focus on.” he was referring to the mission he was about to perform.

“You sure you’ll be fine on your own?” it was not like you did not believe in his abilities. Just, life had not been the same ever since billions of people came back.

“When have I ever not been?” you could think of a few times but Sam ended the call before you even had the chance to answer. Typical.

Luckily, Sam usually told you about his missions. And you were proud of him. You really were. The situation you found yourself in? With Bucky & him? Well, it was everything but good. Bucky called you. You called Sam. Sam called you. You called Bucky. A circle you kept alive. And it sucked to be their only way of communication. For now, though, both of them were too stubborn to change anything about it.

“Enjoying the Tunisian sun I hope?” whenever Sam went on a mission, you had him call you after it. Simply because he knew you worried.

“You know it.” in the far background you could hear him working on something.

“Is everyone alright? That trainee of yours? What’s his name again?”

“Torres.” he sighed, frustrated by your question. You had asked him about a million times & apparently, you still had no clue. Truth was, you just liked messing with him. “Redwing is hurt.”

“Naaaw, poor baby.” giggling slightly. That man cared more for a piece of tech than he should.

“Shut up.” okay, better not mess with Wilson if it came to Redwing. Got it.

“When are you coming back?” your voice turned serious again. Having him gone for so long did not stick right with you. Obviously, you knew he was doing it for the greater good. But still. “I swear to all the Gods, if you say when we’re done here…” mumbling quietly but loud enough for him to hear.

“When we’re finished here.” a chuckle could be heard from his side. By the way it sounded, you assumed Torres was laughing as well. Rolling your eyes at his antics. He could be such a child sometimes.

“Oh, fuck off, Wilson.”

“Hey, language!” Sam had fun. Yeah, you were the one cracking jokes all of the time but he could deliver, too.

“Okay, you know what? Bye. Text me when you’re back.” now, it was you who did not give him enough time to respond. After all, he would have clapped back with another snarky remark & you were not in the mood for it. At all.

“Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered posing stoically.” everyone chuckled at Sam’s description. Of him. Steve. Rhodey was standing right next to you. In that suit of his. The one that made him look way more approachable than you. No need for people to approach you. They did not know who you were before. And they sure as hell did not need to. It would turn things complicated. Humans did not like complicated. You did not like it. “The world has been forever changed. A few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes. Ones suited for the times we’re in. Symbols are nothing without the women & men that give them meaning. And this thing…” he paused briefly, let out a short chuckle. The shield. “I don’t know if there’s ever been a greater symbol. But it’s more about the man who propped it up, & he’s gone. So, today we honor Steve’s legacy. But also, we look to the future. So, thank you, Captain America. But this belongs to you.” the crowd erupted into cheers. Applause was filling the room & you felt out of place. What was he doing? When Sam asked you to join him here today, he left out the fact that he wanted to give away the shield. The shield Steve had trusted him enough to own. And the people surrounding you? They…celebrated him for it? This entire speech was proof enough that Wilson was worthy of this job. So why the hell did he make that decision? Watching the shield being put into the showcase, you could hardly hold in the tears that formed at the corners of your (Y/E/C) eyes. Rhodey nudged you, sensing that something was wrong. Head hanging low, you ignored him, walking out of the room as fast as possible. If you stayed here any longer, Sam would have bruises for sure. Bruises caused by you. You would not risk that. Though, he kind of deserved it.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” Sam asked Rhodey when he finished with the press. You had told him you would wait here for him. There was no sign of you.

“Left a while ago.”

“What do you mean “Left a while ago.”? Did she say where she was heading?” why did you decide to leave? Had anything happened while he held his speech? All Rhodey could do was shrug. An explanation was not given by you. And he knew better than to ask.

“Take a walk?” Rhodey suggested, completely unaware to your weird behavior. The two of you were not that close. So he did not know you like Sam did. You were an adult, after all. If you wanted to go somewhere without asking someone first, then you were allowed to do that.

Disappointment was flooding through your body. Friends told each other stuff like that, right? So why did he keep it a secret that he planned on giving away the shield. With that action, he broke Steve’s trust & you were livid. If only Steve were here right now. You missed him. So much. Next time Sam met you, you could not promise anything. Because anger was all you felt. Anger & disappointment. Grief. But that one you could keep to yourself. At least for the time being. Shit. Bucky. One hundred percent did he watch Sam giving away the shield. Oh, he would be filled with hatred. Compared to that, you were only a small threat. Bucky was the one Wilson should keep an eye on. Well, he had been trying to get a hold of him. So far, without luck.

A gunshot blasting woke Bucky up from another night invaded by nightmares. His changed hair did not put his demons at bay. His look was different but there were some things he could never get rid of. His past. The past he dreaded as much as you did. Probably what you two had in common. Being part of HYDRA & all. His breathing was irregular & there was no way in hell he could go back to sleep. It was in the middle of the night & he hated himself for relying on someone else. But he would go insane if he did not call another person right now. If he did not call you. The only one who seemed to understand what he was going through. The only one who never judged him because of his nightmares. The only one who made him feel like he was a good person. Not the killer he once had been. When HYDRA controlled him. Back, when he was called “The Winter Soldier”. Would he ever move on from that? Grabbing his old phone, he did not overthink too long & dialed your number. One, he knew by heart. Because he had called you so many times. It stuck in his head.

“Buck? Is everything alright?” concern was present in your voice. Usually, when you got a call in the middle of the night, it was him. And you were fine with it. If he trusted you enough to help him with his demons, than you were more than happy to come to his aid. No matter the time.

“I-I…it’s just, ugh, I-“ still shaken up from his nightmare, you did not need him to finish his sentence. You had been in this exact situation so many times. You knew what he needed. Your presence. Your voice. Your comfort. You.

“I’ll be there in a few.” assuring him, you were already grabbing the stuff you needed & walked out of your apartment. Only one destination in mind. Him. “Do you need me to stay on the phone?” it was a simple question. A stupid one, too. Usually, he would not say a word until you were with him. But it felt right to ask him what he wanted you to do. Needed you to do. When he did not answer for a few moments, you guessed he only nodded, not realizing that you could not see his motions. Yet, he did not hang up. Neither did you. Your breathing was enough for him. At least until you were in his apartment.

Knocking softly, as to not wake his neighbors, the door opened almost immediately after. Squeaking ever so slightly. Taking in his appearance, you could tell that it had been a bad nightmare. No, not a nightmare. A memory. You knew that because it was the reason you woke up most nights as well. If it were not for him feeling miserable, you would have drooled by the sight of him. No shirt. Hair sticking around so beautifully. Eyes you could lose yourself in. But it was not the right timing. Besides, Bucky & you were just friends. That was it. Just friends. Though, you would lie if you said that you did not feel butterflies whenever he shot you one of his charming smiles. Whenever his body brushed against yours on accident. Yes, he did have that effect on you. Hell, that was not what he needed right now. Your feelings could be dealt with later on. Bucky was all who mattered now. There was no conversation. No words exchanged. It was enough for him if you were with him. A sign that he was not alone. That he still had you. Even after everything. Even after calling you, night after night, disturbing your own rest. Not that you got much to begin with but he did not need to know that. It had always been a mystery to him. Why you stuck around still. Though you had assured him thousands of times that you were in this for good. If he needed you, you were only one call away. And he appreciated you for it. More than he would ever like to admit. Friends. You were friends.

“So, Mr. Barnes, are you still having nightmares?” another session with Dr. Raynor. Another dreaded session. It was stupid to Bucky. But there was no way out of this. He had to. Seconds of silence went by before she spoke up again. “James, I asked you a question. Are you still having nightmares?” what kind of question was that? A stupid one. That was for sure.

“No.” simple, short. Sufficient. Not for his doctor, though.

“We’ve been doing this long enough that I can tell when you’re lying. Well, you seem a little off today. Did something happen recently?”

“No.” what an answer to move this session forward. Clearly, he was not in the mood to talk today. Not even you were able to get his mind off of things. Though, you definitely made his night easier.

“You’re a civilian now. With your history, the government needs to know that you’re not gonna…” her hand motioned stabbing. Awful action but who were you to judge? Bucky nodded with that look on his face that showed how completely done he was with this situation. Yet, she kept going. “It’s a condition of your pardon. So, tell me about your most recent nightmare.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.” well, it was worth a try. After taking a deep breath, she grabbed the pencil, ready to start writing into that notebook of hers again. “Oh, come on. Really? You’re gonna do the notebook thing? Why? It’s passive aggressive.” looked like the two of them were going back to the roots.

“You don’t talk. I write.” Bucky sighed at that. He knew he would not get out of this.

“Okay. Okay. I crossed a name off the list of my amends yesterday. Don’t worry. I used all your three rules. Senator Atwood. She was a HYDRA pawn for years. Helped her get into office when I was the Winter Soldier. And after HYDRA disbanded, she continued to abuse the power I gave her.”

“So, rule number one, you can’t do anything illegal.”

“All I did was give some intel to the aide to convict her. And I wasn’t involved in anything else.”

“Rule number two?”

“What was rule number two?” his gaze drifting off, showing he thought about it deeply. How ironic.

“Nobody gets hurt. It’s a big one.”

“Then why isn’t it rule number one?” he did have a point there. No room left for arguing about that. “I didn’t hurt anybody. I promise.”

“And what about rule number three?” Bucky’s mouth opened, yet, nothing came out. “The whole point of making amends is to fulfil rule number three.”

“You know, you’re a cynic, Doc. Of course, I completed rule number three. I am James Bucky Barnes & you’re part of my efforts to make amends.” words followed by that smile of his. That smile everyone could tell was fake. Almost creepy. But efforts, right? It was all about the efforts.

“So, you did it all right, but it didn’t help with the nightmares.”

“Well, like I said, I didn’t have any.” Bucky Barnes, everyone. Still trying to fool his doctor.

“Look, one day, you’re gonna have to open up & understand that some people really do want to help you & that they can be trusted. People like (Y/N).” the mention of your name made his eyes snap up.

“I trust more people than her.” it sounded more like he tried to convince himself more than anyone else.

“Yeah? Give me your phone.” an order. Grabbing it out of his pocket to hand it over. A short look was enough. “You don’t have ten phone numbers on this thing. Oh, & you’ve been ignoring the texts from Sam. Look, you gotta nurture friendships. I am the only person you have called all week. That is so sad…Oh, that’s not right. You called (Y/N) last night. Anything you wanna tell me about that?” closing the flip phone, she threw it over to Bucky which he caught with ease.

“What? Do I need to justify calling a friend?” chuckling & shaking his head slightly, he brushed his hands over his thighs.

“If you call that friend at 3 am, then yes. Because you should sleep at that time. Except if you had a nightmare which you claimed that you didn’t.”

“We just talked. That’s all.” he thought that brushing it off as if it were nothing was enough to get her to shut up. Hell, he had brought you up during his sessions way too many times. After all, he still wanted the situation between you guys to be subtle.

“You’re alone.”

“A minute ago, you said I had (Y/N).” he tried arguing but his attempts failed.

“You’re a hundred years old. You have no history, no family…” right, pouring salt in the wounds. That usually worked.

“Are you lashing out at me, Doc? Because that’s really unprofessional, you know? When did that start? Yelling at your clients?” she seemed to have enough & again went for the little book next to her. “Oh, the notebook. That’s great.” sighing deeply, he braced himself to take her more seriously. “All right, give me a break. I’m trying, okay? This isn’t…This is new for me. I didn’t have a moment to deal with anything, you know? I had a little…calm in Wakanda. And other than that, I just went from one fight to another for 90 years.”

“So, now that you’ve stopped fighting, what do you want?” he had an answer in mind right away. Never ever would he say it out loud. It took him a second to reply. Because what he was about to say came in union with his first thought.

“Peace.”

“That is utter bullshit.” what a nice way to bad talk his answer. Maybe she was expecting something else from him. Maybe she knew the answer just as much as he did. The real answer.

“You’re a terrible shrink.”

“I was an excellent soldier, so I saw a lot of dead bodies, & I know how that can shut you down. And if you are alone…”

“Which I’m not because I have (Y/N).”

“…that is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape. Look, I know that you have been through a lot, but you’ve got your mind back, you are being pardoned. I mean, these are good things. You’re free.”

“To do what?”

Wednesday. Bucky usually went to Izzy. Today, he asked you to join him & Yori. Why he wanted you there with them? No clue. But it was not often he asked you to go somewhere with him so you agreed on meeting them there.

“Take a look.” Yori was a cute, old man. Reading his newspaper like a good citizen. Bucky had yet to give you an explanation as to why you were here right now. But for now, you just sat next to him, quietly observing your surroundings. “Nobody made it past 90 this week.” it was funny, to see Bucky trying his hardest to sound interested. Like he understood.

“So young. Such a shame.” his words made you scoff. Apparently, once you hit the 100 mark, you turn into a sarcastic piece. If you were not one before. If you ever made it to 100? Only the Gods knew what would come after that. Most people called you a sarcastic asshole now. Could that be topped?

“You guys didn’t order the usual, huh? Feeling a little adventurous?” the woman behind the counter directed her words at the three of you.

“Um, actually, I’ve never been here before, so…” you chuckled to avoid the awkwardness that would sure as hell build if you kept quiet now.

“You should ask her out.” Yori leaned over to Bucky & you almost choked on your food at his words. Bucky asking her out? Her? Yeah, she was beautiful & all. But her? Really? Seemed like that Yori dude did not know Bucky as well as he claimed to. You, on the other hand, were aware that nothing good would come out if it. Besides, they would not even make a nice couple. Shit, were you jealous? Oh no. Glancing over at the man next to you, his face showed just how much he despised this idea. At least something.

“Mm-mmm…” shaking his head frantically, he shot you a quick look but before his eyes locked onto yours, your gaze fell down to your plate. Slightly embarrassed. Scared that, if he looked at you, he would notice something behind your look. Something more. Something, that you wanted to keep hidden. For everyone’s sake.

“He would like to take you out on a date.” oh fuck off, Yori. You had nothing against this man but he was pushing your buttons. Could he not see that Bucky was incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of going on a date? With her? “Maybe to bingo or a night of pinochle.” hiding your laugh behind one of your hands, you could not believe that he was serious. Bucky & bingo? Well, it was for old people so you guessed it fit quite well. Not with her, though. Oh no, you really were jealous.

“I’m really sorry about him.” Bucky apologized for his friend’s behavior. Yes, you were sorry for him, too.

“Why are you sorry?” of course, now the woman was flirting with him. It got better & better. Taking a deep breath, you tried to keep your emotions at bay. You could not lash out in the middle of this restaurant, after all. Even though you were this close to doing just that. Deep breaths, you got this. “I’m game.” sure she was.

“Wow.” really? Bucky was impressed? By this? Oh come on, why would he settle for less when he could have so, so much more. But it was not your decision. He was not yours. You did not own him. Neither did you make the decisions for him.

“Tomorrow night, then?” Yori leaned over the counter.

“Tomorrow night’s great.” she replied with a bright smile.

“Hey, I just remembered something.” you spoke up all of a sudden. Bucky’s eyes met yours now & he saw that you were uncomfortable. Though, he could not pinpoint why. “Um, I-I need to go. See you, Buck. Bye guys.” sprinting out of the restaurant, you hoped nobody would follow you. Not in the mood to deal with anyone right now. All you wanted was to be alone right now. Your mind the only one keeping you company. But your mind was not really the kindest to you. Not in this particular moment. So what? Bucky had a date. You knew that would happen sooner or later. He was a good looking man. More importantly, you just wanted him to be happy. Genuinely happy.

Fucking great. Who could you talk to? You still were not done being mad at Sam. And now you were mad at Bucky for something he did not even do. He sort of did. He could have said no. If he really did not want to, he could have said no. Bucky was enough of a man to speak his mind, you knew that. Maybe he did want to go on a date with her. What was her name again? Not that you cared too much. But still. Blinking away the tears that had formed at the corners of your eyes, you kept on walking. Without a real destination. You were stupid. Friends. Why could you not accept this? Usually, you would call Steve in such a situation. Or even Tony. But it was too late now. They were not here anymore. You had to deal with that sooner or later. Whether you liked it or not. Contemplating calling Sam, you eyed your phone carefully. One more button. But nope. The anger was bigger than the need to talk to someone. Stubborn you. Wilson could make you feel better. But you would most likely end up yelling at him. And you knew you would regret your words later on. So might as well stay silent for the time being. Until you calmed down enough.

It was 10 pm. Date time for Bucky. That same restaurant. Being the gentleman that we was, he even brought her flowers. Like it used to be back in the 40s.

“Well, if that’s not the most adorably old-fashioned thing anyone’s ever done.” Bucky felt lost. In her company. “Grab a seat, I’ll be done in a few.”

“Okay.” he could up & leave. It would not be too late. All he knew was that it felt wrong.

“So, have you dated much since half the fish in the sea came back?”

“Not really. I, um…tried the whole online dating thing. (Y/N), the girl who was here with me yesterday, she set up a profile for me because I didn’t understand a single thing.��� laughing at the memory, he thought back to when he called you to ask you for a favor. How you laughed at him for wanting to try this whole bullshit. “It’s pretty crazy. A lot of weird pictures.”

“What kind of weird?”

“I mean, tiger photos? Half the time I don’t even know what I’m looking at. It’s…It’s a lot. When I showed (Y/N), she simply said that this was what I signed up for.”

“You sound like my dad.” definitely something a man did not want to hear while on a date. On the other hand, he did not even want this to be a date. “Wait. How old are you?

“A hundred & six.” only he could make it sound so casually. Like it was the most normal thing on this planet. Both laughed at his words. Simply because it was so absurd.

“What’s up with your big gloves?” a sensitive topic she just touched.

“I, um, have, uh…poor circulation.” sure thing.

“Hmm…Hey, what is it about this (Y/N) girl & you?” his eyes widened at her question. What was she getting at?

“She’s my friend. Why?” his dumbfounded expression made her chuckle.

“A friend, huh?”

“Um, yeah.”

“You sure about that?” an eyebrow raised. A questioning stare was sent his way.

“Why does everyone think I don’t have friends?” throwing his head back in frustration, he let out a long sigh.

“It’s not that.” she stopped briefly, thinking about her next words carefully. “Just, you guys seem pretty close.”

“Well, we’ve known each other for years.” he reasoned, gesturing with his hands to bring his point across.

“Yeah? And the looks you’re shooting each other when the other one’s not looking?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You two aren’t really subtle about this, you know?” she wiped the counter & did not even look at Bucky. He, on the other hand, started sweating.

“Subtle about what?”

“Oh, come on. Who are you kidding? I don’t even know why you’re here right now.”

“Because Yori set you & me up on a date.”

“And why did you agree?” she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for an explanation from the man in front of her.

“I-I don’t know.” he responded truthfully. Because he thought it to be polite? Because Yori was the one who suggested it? Honestly, he was not sure.

“That’s what I thought. Look, you’re a nice guy & all but…just, listen to your heart from time to time. It’s late. You should head out. See you.” she turned around & walked further into the restaurant. Leaving Bucky alone with his thoughts. It was clear what she intended. Did not mean that it made this entire situation any easier. Bucky left without another word. Fresh air would help him think straight.

Your phone rang & you sighed when you checked who decided to annoy you. Bucky. Of course. But wait. Should he not be on his date right now? Did something go wrong? Not that you wanted it to but if you were entirely honest, you would not be mad about it either.

“Hi Buck. What’s up?”

“I need your help with something.” there was no hesitation in his voice. Just him being straight forward.

“Please don’t tell me you need help on how to get the girl.” it was your way to lighten the mood. You did that because you could tell that he was incredibly serious. Usually, this was never a good sign.

“Can I send you an address? Can you meet me there as soon as possible?” his voice was low, deep.

“Um, sure thing. But just to set things clear…I won’t join in on your fun, Buck. That’s between you & her.” again, sarcasm was your way of coping with emotions. Though, it was not the right time to use it right now. His next words were proof enough. You should not mess with him. Not in this moment.

“Can you be serious for a second?” he raised his voice a little. It was not much but it was enough to leave you confused. Bucky was not the person to yell at you. Especially not like this.

“I’m sorry…Um, yeah, tell me where & I’ll get there as fast as I can.” gulping down, you waited for him to give you more information.

Arriving at an unfamiliar building, you could make out Bucky’s form in front of it. Why would he want to meet you here? Where was his date?

“Buck?” your voice barely above a whisper. The night sky only illuminated by the moon that shone brightly. Providing just a tiny bit of light. Enough, to let you notice your surroundings.

“Thanks for coming.” you could tell that he was stressed, tough, you were not sure why.

“Is everything alright? Because I swear, if that woman did anyth-“

“No, she didn’t. Promise.” his warm smile was encouraging enough. It was clear that he was not lying to you. “Just…didn’t work out. But that’s not why you’re here.”

“Okay?”

“My last nightmare. Do you remember?” nodding for him to continue. “How I killed that innocent man?”

“It wasn’t you, Buck. You were being controlled.” touching his shoulder softly, squeezing it to reassure him.

“Whatever…That guy, it was Yori’s son. I want to, need to, apologize. Even though the apology comes way too late.” you nodded at him, your eyes meeting his briefly. Now you knew why he called you. He did not want to do this alone. No. He wanted you by his side. To support him through it. Entering the building together, Bucky led you to the apartment Yori lived in. His hand raised to knock on the door. Surprisingly, he did not waste any time. He wanted to get this over with. Understandingly so. No words were exchanged. You being here, with him, that was more than enough.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Yori opened the door, his face showed confusion by the appearance of you two. “How was the date?” you could not help but roll your eyes at the old man in front of you. Looking at Bucky, you were worried when you saw him having an internal conversation with himself. Mouth opening & closing again. No words coming out. Risking a look inside the apartment, you noticed a small picture frame with who you assumed to be his son. The one Bucky killed. No. The one the Winter Soldier killed.

“It was…It was good.” Bucky mumbled.

“Bullshit.” you followed after. None of them heard you, though. Luckily.

“Forgot I owed you for lunch.” Bucky handed him money. If you were not mistaken, this was not a form of apologizing. He had a hard time, though, that much was obvious. Afterwards, Bucky turned around & walked away without another word. Which left you alone with a confused looking Yori.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance, sir. Have a good night.” plastering on the sweetest smile you could offer, you followed Bucky outside. Jogging to keep up with the super soldier.

Back outside, you saw Bucky holding his little notebook in his hands. You knew about it. Because you were the only person he talked to when it came to his therapy sessions. A look over his shoulder could tell that his eyes were trained on the name being circled. His body was tense. That was not what he planned.

“It’s okay, Bucky.” your hand stroked over his lower back in a comforting way. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, hoping, that it would ease him a little. You could feel him calm down at your touch. “Give yourself some time.” you mumbled quietly, knowing he could hear you clearly due to the calm night. You just hoped that he would not beat himself up too much. Not more than he already did.

You were back in your own apartment. Still no words from Sam. But that was nothing new. Sometimes, he would go radio silent for a few days but after that, he would always check in with you. Maybe he figured that you were mad at him. For giving away the shield & all. And he probably was busy with work. The work he did with Torres. If he needed your help, he would call you for sure. Your TV got your attention again. Something told you to watch closely. So you did.

“Unrest, in the wake of recent events, has left us vulnerable. Every day Americans feel it. While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend Earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. We need a real person who embodies America’s greatest values. We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense & our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero. Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.” the crowd cheered loudly & someone walked through the door. You could not believe what was happening. Please, this had to be a bad dream. When would you wake up form this hell? A man, wearing his suit, holding his shield, greeted the people. Looking at your hands, you could see small, blue sparks forming at the tips of your fingers. That only ever happened when you had no control over your emotions. Right now, you were everything but in control. Of course he had to wink at the camera like the sick person he was.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” breathing out lowly, you put your head into your hands, completely ignoring the sparks there. You did not feel them anyway. If you ever met this son of a bitch it would not end well for him. And the next time you would meet Wilson? Fingers crossed he could deal with your angry & disappointed self. Because you were seething.

~to be continued~

Next Chapter

Published (04/02/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @taina-eny​, @tanyaherondale​, @cool-ultra-nerd​, @toribentleyva, @buckyandlokirunmylife​, @annadier​, @howlongtillidie​, @mizz-kraziii, @theetherealbloom​, @millenniumloki​, @marvelbros-oneshots​, @ajbwasnthere, @bilesxbilinskixlahey​, @mystictimetravelcolor​, @dbrees256​, @sxpxrnxturxl, @dreamydreamerwriting​, @dolllstyles​, @angelicastiel​, @prettysbliss, @infinitelyforgotten​, @sweetserendipity65​, @lilystilinskicullen​, @partypoisonsblog, @btdsprayberry, @sarai-ibn-la-ahad​, @deamus-liv​, @simplybarnes​, @sethcohenluvr (let me know if you wanna be tagged <3)

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hmmm I should probably wait another day to post part two of Finnick being there for Everlark / being their friend but I don’t wanna sooo. Here it is 🤗

-

I see my mother lead in a group of mobile patients, still wearing their hospital nightgowns and robes. Finnick stands among them, looking dazed but gorgeous. In his hands he holds a piece of thin rope, less than a foot in length, too short for even him to fashion into a usable noose. His fingers move rapidly, automatically tying and unraveling various knots as he gazes about. Probably part of his therapy. I cross to him and say, “Hey, Finnick.” He doesn’t seem to notice, so I nudge him to get his attention. “Finnick! How are you doing?”

“Katniss,” he says, gripping my hand. Relieved to see a familiar face, I think.

-

Finnick, who’s been wandering around the set for a few hours, comes up behind me and says with a hint of his old humor, “They’ll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.”

-

Just as the elevator arrives, Finnick appears in a state of agitation. “Katniss, they won’t let me go! I told them I’m fine, but they won’t even let me ride in the hovercraft!”

I take in Finnick — his bare legs showing between his hospital gown and slippers, his tangle of hair, the half-knotted rope twisted around his fingers, the wild look in his eyes — and know any plea on my part will be useless. Even I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring him. So I smack my hand on my forehead and say, “Oh, I forgot. It’s this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in Special Weaponry. He’s designed a new trident for you.”

At the word trident, it’s as if the old Finnick surfaces. “Really? What’s it do?”

“I don’t know. But if it’s anything like my bow and arrows, you’re going to love it,” I say. “You’ll need to train with it, though.”

“Right. Of course. I guess I better get down there,” he says.

“Finnick?” I say. “Maybe some pants?”

He looks down at his legs as if noticing his outfit for the first time. Then he whips off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. “Why? Do you find this”— he strikes a ridiculously provocative pose —“distracting?”

I can’t help laughing because it’s funny, and it’s extra funny because it makes Boggs look so uncomfortable, and I’m happy because Finnick actually sounds like the guy I met at the Quarter Quell.

“I’m only human, Odair.” I get in before the elevator doors close.

-

At dinner, Finnick brings his tray to my bed so we can watch the newest propo together on television. He was assigned quarters on my old floor, but he has so many mental relapses, he still basically lives in the hospital.

-

Finnick presses the button on the remote that kills the power. In a minute, people will be here to do damage control on Peeta’s condition and the words that came out of his mouth. I will need to repudiate them. But the truth is, I don’t trust the rebels or Plutarch or Coin. I’m not confident that they tell me the truth. I won’t be able to conceal this. Footsteps are approaching.

Finnick grips me hard by the arms. “We didn’t see it.”

“What?” I ask.

“We didn’t see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?” he asks. I nod. “Finish your dinner.”

-

“This is what they’re doing to you with Annie, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Well, they didn’t arrest her because they thought she’d be a wealth of rebel information,” he says. “They know I’d never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection.”

“Oh, Finnick. I’m so sorry,” I say.

“No, I’m sorry. That I didn’t warn you somehow,” he tells me.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. I’m strapped to my bed, mad with rage and grief after the rescue. Finnick is trying to console me about Peeta. “They’ll figure out he doesn’t know anything pretty fast. And they won’t kill him if they think they can use him against you.”

“You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they’d use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow,” I say.

“I shouldn’t have said even that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn’t warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should’ve shut up about how Snow operates.”

-

Finnick and I sit for a long time in silence, watching the knots bloom and vanish, before I can ask, “How do you bear it?”

Finnick looks at me in disbelief. “I don’t, Katniss! Obviously, I don’t. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there’s no relief in waking.” Something in my expression stops him. “Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart.”

Well, he must know. I take a deep breath, forcing myself back into one piece.

“The more you can distract yourself, the better,” he says. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll get you your own rope. Until then, take mine.”

-

The camera pulls back to include Peeta, off to one side in front of a projected map of Panem. He's sitting in an elevated chair, his shoes supported by a metal rung. The foot of his prosthetic leg taps out a strange irregular beat. Beads of sweat have broken through the layer of powder on his upper lip and forehead. But it's the look in his eyes--angry yet unfocused--that frightens me the most.

"He's worse," I whisper. Finnick grasps my hand, to give me an anchor, and I try to hang on.

-

“You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen’s military unit remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?”

“Can we have a coffee?” asks Finnick.

Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet.

Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. “Want a sugar cube?” he asks in his old seductive voice. That’s how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. “Here, it improves the taste,” he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup.

-

Haymitch’s footsteps are still echoing in the outer hall when I fumble my way through the slit in the dividing curtain to find Finnick sprawled out on his stomach, his hands twisted in his pillowcase. Although it’s cowardly — cruel even — to rouse him from the shadowy, muted drug land to stark reality, I go ahead and do it because I can’t stand to face this by myself.

As I explain our situation, his initial agitation mysteriously ebbs. “Don’t you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s . . . it’s more than we could hope for!”

Well, that’s a sunny view of our situation. And yet there’s something calming about the idea that this torment could come to an end.

-

I want to run, but Finnick’s acting so strange, as if he’s lost the ability to move, so I take his hand and lead him like a small child.

-

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

-

I'm unaware that my feet are moving to the table until I'm inches from the holograph. My hand reaches in and cups a rapidly blinking green light.

Someone joins me, his body tense. Finnick, of course. Because only a victor would see what I see so immediately. The arena. Laced with pods controlled by Gamemakers. Finnick's fingers caress a steady red glow over a doorway. "Ladies and gentlemen..."

His voice is quiet, but mine rings through the room. "Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!"

I laugh. Quickly. Before anyone has time to register what lies beneath the words I have just uttered. Before eyebrows are raised, objections are uttered, two and two are put together, and the solution is that I should be kept as far away from the Capitol as possible. Because an angry, independently thinking victor with a layer of psychological scar tissue too thick to penetrate is maybe the last person you want on your squad.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch," I say.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have," Finnick adds cockily.

"Do not think that fact escapes me," he says with an impatient wave. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

-

Boggs told Peeta to sleep out in full view where the rest of us could keep an eye on him. He isn't sleeping, though. Instead, he sits with his bag pulled up to his chest, clumsily trying to make knots in a short length of rope. I know it well. It's the one Finnick lent me that night in the bunker. Seeing it in his hands, it's like Finnick's echoing what Haymitch just said, that I've cast off Peeta.

-

He weaves the rope in and out of his fingers. "The problem is, I can't tell what's real anymore, and what's made up."

The cessation of rhythmic breathing suggests that either people have woken or have never really been asleep at all. I suspect the latter.

Finnick's voice rises from a bundle in the shadows. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does.”

-

Masks go on. Finnick adjusts Peeta's mask over his lifeless face.

-

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" shouts Peeta.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot," says Finnick, trying to calm him.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" Tears begin to run down Peeta's face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

“It's not your fault, Peeta," says Finnick.

-

I shout a warning to the others to stay with me. I plan for us to skirt around the corner and then detonate the Meat Grinder, but another unmarked pod lies in wait.

It happens silently. I would miss it entirely if Finnick didn't pull me to a stop. "Katniss!"

-

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

hey so I’m not trying to be gross but this genuinely something that I wonder about like how does mc survive on her period in a mansion full of vampires? Especially with a pure blood like Comte or Leonardo like can’t they sense it? sorry if this is weird I’m just genuinely interested In like pure blood and vampire lore and like what they pick up on especially comte as he’s a fave. I’d love to hear your thoughts as always I love your posts and I hope you’re doing well and staying safe and healthy 💛☺️

Haha, please don’t worry! 😂😂😂 I’ve often wondered about the very same thing, and while I don’t have any canon answers, I can offer the most likely scenario from my understanding of the game. Hope you’re doing well too, lovely, thank you! Stay safe out there~💛💛💛

Given what I know, and the fact that blood is only a small component of the discharge that comes with one’s period, I’d wager it poses a low risk generally speaking. I think the plan would be to make sure everyone’s on guard and has been keeping up with their usual doses of Blanc/Rouge (no waiting until you starve, Jeanne, yes that is a threat) but otherwise everyone proceeds as they normally would. I think it would be hardest on the vamps who are most sensitive to the presence of blood/have a harder time controlling their thirst, like Isaac and Arthur. 

Purebloods have been canonically established as having a much lower tendency to bloodlust by comparison to lesser/turned vampires, so I very much doubt Comte or Leonardo would react much. A blip on the screen for them, nothing more. (I often categorize Jeanne as the closest to pureblood level reactivity because his ability to control the thirst is exceptional; the only time he has ever come close to attacking MC was when he was at a point of intense starvation.) I think the only time her period could potentially become risky is if one of them was starving (and therefore reacting on the level of base instinct) or grievously injured. If they have feelings for her or she’s in a relationship with one of them, it may make them want to bite her more, but I don’t think they’d necessarily act on it. I’d assume most of them would be reluctant because MC is already losing blood as it is? Better to be safe than sorry, and all that.

As for whether or not they can anticipate it, I’m really not sure? It’s possible they might sense hormonal changes, but given I haven’t seen them react to anything so slight I can’t be sure. Purebloods I’d say it’s a coin toss; it’s very possible they can sense it before it comes--but I just have no way of knowing for sure. Lesser vampires, I very much doubt it. 

That being said, you bring up a very timely contention (for me) as of late. Which is to say: what are purebloods capable of sensing? I’ll be elaborating on a recent JPN collection story event that included Comte, as it had a very interesting tidbit that I’d like to share with y’all. It isn’t a huge spoiler as I’ll be focusing on the pureblood lore that was included, but for those who don’t want to see it I’ll be placing it under a cut. (Also some slight spoilers for Comte and Leo’s main story rt).

Mandatory spoiler warning:

So this last event featured MC and her suitor taking care of a child for a few days, in which they act like a pair of surrogate parents. Naturally, being a feral Comte stan, I got his story. In it, both he and MC are taking care of a young girl named Emma--the daughter of a fellow aristocrat (a friend of his). At some point during the story, MC accidentally loses sight of Emma while hanging up the laundry. MC searches the entire mansion but can’t find her anywhere, and she begins to panic when Comte encounters her. Alarmed, he gently asks her what’s wrong and she explains what happened. There’s a brief pause [”...”] and then he says “It’s okay, MC. Emma is–”. Comte then leads her to the gazebo where the little tyke is fast asleep, taking a midday nap in the shade. Naturally MC is relieved to see her safe, but also a little baffled as Comte led her directly to Emma. 

MC: “I’m so glad she’s okay. But…how did you know she’d be here?”

Comte: “Purebloods are good at sensing/detecting nearby human beings.”

And I ????? Granted it’s possible it got translated incorrectly but...I really don’t understand how else he would have known exactly where she was? If MC asked around and searched the entire place and still couldn’t find any trace of her, how would Comte have just known in an instant? Additionally, if he spotted her before he found MC panicking, then I doubt he would have just left her there without an adult/guardian nearby--he would have either stayed there or taken her with him. 

So this makes it plenty plausible that he really did just sense her presence in the vicinity. But........like..........howmst in the fuck. Is that even possible. I have no idea, but I find it a little shocking that I’ve only discovered this now? I mean maybe I missed it somewhere else where this tidbit of lore came up, but as far as I know they don’t discuss it much? The most I remember is Comte giving very clear indications that purebloods were able to sense each other, but I assumed that was restricted to purebloods only...

That being said I’ve been thinking about it and, well, there are at least three pretty strong instances in the game that could affirm his claim in this story. Namely: the beginning of the story itself (Comte’s POV of the prologue), the kidnapping incident in Comte’s main story, and the beginning of Leonardo’s main story.

I remember @a-maidens-dream asking about something very interesting in Comte’s POV story, and at the time I was a little unsure what to do with the information--it wasn’t aligning in a way that made sense. But I think this might help that tidbit fall into place? I think that Comte really hadn’t realized she followed him into the door until she was already in the mansion, and as such this ability to sense humans would explain why he knew she was there before Napoleon even told him anything. If purebloods can sense human people, then he would know a human being entered the house because of the species signature; the only human person living there otherwise was Sebastian. I’m not sure if the sixth sense is acute enough for him to be able to differentiate between human people. (My guess is that it’s not that specific, or if it is, the pureblood has to know the person very well to be sure.)

Building on that, this is a subtle distinction, but it still stood out for me. In his main story route, both MC and a fellow aristocrat (a woman she was friends with) are taken to these small cabin things in the middle of the woods. All Comte, Napoleon, and Jeanne have to go on is the general location of these hideouts. They decide to split up; Comte goes one way, Napoleon and Jeanne go another. I find this instance particularly interesting because Comte’s POV indicates a kind of loss of rational thought--he is 100% in a panic state, just moving to satisfy one objective: save MC before time runs out. This suggests that Comte very much could have been relying on that sense to pinpoint her and her assailants. We have no evidence to believe he was ever a soldier or somebody with extensive experience in tracking--or that knew the landscape well. But he only trusts she’s alive and unharmed for sure when he has her in his arms again, suggesting either that this sixth sense has its limits (in regards to specificity of the person being detected) or that his judgement in that moment was too compromised for it to be clear.

The last one, and perhaps the funniest possibility of the three, lies in the beginning of Leonardo’s main story route. Iirc, Leonardo spends much of that time hauling MC around the mansion to interact and properly situate herself in the mansion’s social dynamic. While this may just be a coincidence, MC notes that she actively tried to hide from him and make herself scarce, but whenever she tried no amount of stealth worked. One can certainly argue he just paid attention or asked other residents about where she was, but I do think it’s worth considering? I need to re-look at the chapters, but I seem to recall her trying to hide in a garden shed and he still found her immediately and just picked her up and walked right back out. 

Tl;dr: So does this mean Comte/Leo can sense when MC is on her period? I have no idea, but at this point I really can’t be sure what abilities they do and don’t have!

[luvvewan]

I'm so excited you are taking prompt again!!! For the hurt/comfort dialogue prompt #12, “You’re normally the tough guy. Today, let me be tough for the both of us.” From Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon. It doesn't have to be exact words, because I am honestly having trouble picturing Obi calling Qui a "tough guy"....

Thank you cass-rw for the prompt! I did change the dialogue up a little, as you suggested: “You have protected me more times than I can count, Master. This time, let me protect you.”

I’m still accepting prompts! This one got me good, wrote the whole thing this morning instead of doing any chores. It was glorious.

—

“No.”

Obi-Wan turned away, gathering a breath. The vastness of the dark forest beyond the small cave stared at him and he stared back, half in fear, half in wild, unearned hope. He knew from his research back on the ship, before all of this happened, before—he blinked and swallowed, shooing away the intrusive thoughts. He needed to be clear-headed. Focused. Alright, he could do that. On the ship, he had read about a small village somewhere in this forest.

People. Medicine, perhaps. Help.

“Padawan.”

The hand on his wrist tightened, though the pressure was still alarmingly weak. Obi-Wan looked down at his Master. “What else would I do? Leave you here to..” the words caught in his throat and he shook his head. “Master, you know I must do this.”

Qui-Gon’s blue eyes were clouded with pain, but they focused on Obi-Wan. Sweat gleamed on his too-pale skin. His long hair had come loose somewhere along the way and hung limply around his face. “You must…do as I say,” he managed to rasp.

Obi-Wan wiped the sweat from Qui-Gon’s brow with the edge of his sleeve. Heat blazed against his fingers where they brushed against his teacher’s forehead. “Let me look at it.”

Qui-Gon tensed where he was slouched against the rough cave wall. His hand crept over the wound. “There’s nothing to be done, young one. We called for help. They’ll…” he paused, trying to wet his dry lips, “Someone will come.”

With a careful touch, Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon’s hand away, so he could see the tiny tear in Qui-Gon’s tunic, rust-colored blood blooming around it.

Not very much blood, but then, it wasn’t blood loss Obi-Wan was worried about. It was the poison.

Qui-Gon must have noticed the change in his expression, despite Obi-Wan’s best efforts to appear calm, because he reached for Obi-Wan, patting his knee. “It seems to be slow-acting. I feel…okay, right now. We were lucky to find shelter.” A moan escaped him, and Obi-Wan helped him settle on the ground, quickly shedding his own robe and rolling it up under Qui-Gon’s head.

The cave was decent enough shelter, and the Force shields were added camouflage, well-worth the strain to Obi-Wan. Master Windu had said no skill was mastered until used in the field; certainly Obi-Wan had never maintained a Force shield for so long before. But he knew it would not be enough. The Noxii hunters that chased them were cunning and quick—able to land the poisoned dart in Qui-Gon’s flank before Obi-Wan even understood what was happening. There was no doubt in Obi-Wan’s mind that the Noxxi would catch up to them, despite the advantages the Force afforded them.

Which was why he needed to go for help. The Noxxi were outlaws, with very little support outside of the extreme fringes of society. He doubted the modest village was a haven for criminals, but they might be sympathetic to a young Jedi. The problem was he could not get through the dense forest fast enough with Qui-Gon in tow. If the Noxxi found them on their journey, Obi-Wan wasn’t sure he could defend himself and his Master from them all. Yes, he was sure he needed to make the trip alone. He would be infinitely faster. Once he reached the village, he could borrow a speeder, medical supplies…

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon called to him, softly, from the ground.

He had two water skins in his pack. He would leave them both with Qui-Gon, and just take a swig before he set off. If necessary, he knew how to coax water from the forest.

“Obi-Wan.”

He’d need to gently pull Qui-Gon further into the cave, as far into the concealment of the shadows as possible, and cover him with branches and moss, so the Noxxi might not notice him, if they passed through while Obi-Wan was gone. Qui-Gon would have his lightsaber if—

“PADAWAN.”

The harsh whisper cut through everything. Obi-Wan’s stomach flipped at the obvious rebuke in the word. He kneeled beside Qui-Gon, head bowed in acknowledgement. His raggedy braid slipped out from behind his shoulder and dangled between them.

Qui-Gon inhaled, as if gathering the strength merely to speak. “I told you, young one. I forbid this.”

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. “I cannot stay here and wait for you to die, Qui-Gon.”

An unexpected smile briefly brightened Qui-Gon’s eyes. He lifted his hand, and Obi-Wan ducked down to meet it. His mentor cradled Obi-Wan’s cheek in a wide, clammy palm. “I cannot let you leave when it might kill you, Padawan. You will not do this. Not for me.”

Obi-Wan blinked against the sudden prick of warm moisture in his eyes. He squeezed Qui-Gon’s hand and rocked a little, letting the wave of worry and fear crest within him before replacing it with the steadiness of resolve, duty, the Force. “You have protected me more times than I can count, Master. This time, let me protect you.”

Despite his growing fragility, Qui-Gon dragged him in closer, until their foreheads were nearly pressed together.

Obi-Wan could feel the sick-sour breath against his face. He was not an initiate, or even a child anymore, but something inside him wanted to curl into the comfort of his Master, someone older and wiser, and hope the threats around them just vanished into the cool night air.

Qui-Gon stroked the back of his head, smoothing down the nerftail. “It is my duty…” he coughed and moaned, his pain spiking through their Force connection. “My duty to protect you. Don’t take that from me.”

He had very rarely gone against Qui-Gon in their near-decade as master and apprentice. Obi-Wan knew it was the right thing to do in this instance, but it didn’t make it easier. He could be sanctioned by the Council, or worse, damage the bond between himself and the man who had raised him. Yet no conceivable consequence mattered when Qui-Gon’s life was at stake.

He would do what he must.

Obi-Wan shored up the guards around his thoughts while allowing Qui-Gon access to his general presence in the Force. He emanated frustration and dutiful acceptance, emotions of a loyal Padawan’s surrender. “Yes, Master,” he answered at last.

A relieved, shaky sigh. “Thank you.”

—

Qui-Gon came to the independent conclusion that they should settle in the depths of the cave. Obi-Wan was sweating and trembling a bit himself by the time it was done.

His Master apologized for his helplessness and insisted Obi-Wan drink from a water skin.

Obi-Wan helped Qui-Gon take a few slow sips before doing as he was told, just a swallow to soothe the dry burn in his throat. The night ripened outside the cave; he heard the drone of nocturnal insects, the rustle of a slight wind through the trees.

“Come here,” Qui-Gon tugged at his tabards and Obi-Wan turned, crawling over to him. The ceiling of the cave was much lower here, claustrophobic. He wasn’t sure how a man of Qui-Gon’s size had been able to fit, but Obi-Wan was neither tall nor broad, and squeezed in beside his teacher.

Qui-Gon was spread on his side, head still pillowed by Obi-Wan’s robe. Obi-Wan drew closer at Qui-Gon’s urging, until he was snug in the curve of his Master’s body, and a heavy arm rested over top of him.

“Help will come,” Qui-Gon murmured against his hair.

Obi-Wan watched the night-flies twinkle and wink at the mouth of the forest. He wondered how long it would be until someone received their message, way out here. He wasn’t so sure Qui-Gon would be alive when reinforcements finally arrived. “I can help you,” he tried again, this time using a different tactic. “Do you think I’m incapable?”

Obi-Wan felt immediately guilty for pretending to be offended, for questioning his Master at all in a dire time like this. A large hand laid on his chest, over his heart.

“There is nothing of which you are incapable,” Qui-Gon told him, his feeble voice somehow filling up the entire cave. “It is me. Obi-Wan. I..I am…incapable of losing you.”

Obi-Wan felt Qui-Gon’s lips press into his sweaty hair.

“Someone will come. Just stay here with me, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan found he couldn’t speak so he nodded, the forest suddenly blurring. He listened to Qui-Gon’s breathing slow down, though it did not find a healthy rhythm. He sensed the poison seeping through his Master’s aura, like a scum-squid’s fatal ink spreading in clear, clean water.

The dart was wrapped up in a cloth in one of his belt pouches. He wondered if a healer could at least vaguely identify the toxin from inspection of the dart. Qui-Gon’s symptoms were so common—fever, weakness, pain. How difficult would it be to narrow the options down?

He needed time. He couldn’t wait.

As if he could hear the direction of Obi-Wan’s thoughts, Qui-Gon pulled him tighter to his chest, inhaling fitfully in his sleep.

The dirt was surprisingly soft under Obi-Wan’s cheek. His adrenaline waned now that he was lying down and his own, slighter injuries made themselves known. He had some painful bruising on his back from a fall during their desperate, clumsy escape from the Noxxi ambush. Headache raged behind his temples. He wasn’t certain what hour it was, only moderately confident in the date, but it had been a long while since he’d eaten or slept.

Was Qui-Gon right? Would the travail to the village pose too great a risk? Obi-Wan shut his eyes, the headache pulsing harder. He wondered if he might be concussed. Perhaps he was overestimating his abilities. After all, he was not yet a senior Padawan, and his own Master, a devastatingly adept warrior, had been felled by these hunters.

He let the warmth of Qui-Gon’s arms settle in his bones. He knew the man’s plan had been exactly this, to keep Obi-Wan so close there was no way he could leave the cave without Qui-Gon knowing. Right now, Obi-Wan could not even roll over onto his other side and not awaken his Master.

He thought of Qui-Gon’s fear, a slash of silver in the black night. No fear for himself, of course.

I am incapable of losing you.

Obi-Wan understood what Qui-Gon had meant by those words, because Obi-Wan felt the same way. Losing his Master was not something he would survive. And he had not been taught to surrender in the face of mortal danger.

Resolved, his eyes flew open, and Obi-Wan steeled himself for what he needed to do next. He was no match for Qui-Gon, in Force strength or physical might, except the poison was stealing away his vitality with every passing moment. In their current circumstance, Obi-Wan might be able to nudge Qui-Gon deeper into sleep, maybe even a healing trance, and then he could extract himself from the protective embrace.

They had not covered Force suggestions among fellow Jedi before, not even at the Temple. Obi-Wan supposed it was a more advanced technique for a mid-level Padawan. Or Qui-Gon just didn’t want him to know how to do it because…well, because of situations such as the one they were in now.

Luckily, Qui-Gon was unshielded, and his unconscious Force presence floated out in the open. Obi-Wan sent calm sensations along the ties that held them together.

I am alright. I am here with you.

He repeated the messages, dispatching more and more, letting them carry Qui-Gon deeper into the soft, sheltering void of sleep.

Poison cannot touch you. You are of the Force. The Force cannot be poisoned. May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon Jinn.

He was not a healer, any more than he was a Jedi Master, but Obi-Wan wished fervently for a blessing, that his attempts at healing would do something to help Qui-Gon.

Obi-Wan waited a few minutes, until he sensed Qui-Gon sink well below the surface. Then he very carefully pulled back the arm that held him, and inched out, replacing it on the bed of powdery dirt.

His hand drifted to his belt, alighting on his saber, and touching the leather pouch where the deadly dart was stored, just to be sure. He set the water skins close to Qui-Gon and placed leaves, branches and tangled moss on top and around him. He spared a second to study his Master, just in case—

No. There was no just in case.

Only the Force.

Obi-Wan wanted to touch Qui-Gon’s bearded cheek, but worried it would wake him. His throat felt like it was closing. “Forgive me,” he whispered, and sneaked out of the cave, away from his wounded Master and into the night, towards help.

[itsclydebitches]

Hey, this is old question but why do you think Raven left Yang? We never get an explicit answer but why would Raven accept the bird powers from Ozpin, decide to have a baby with Taiyang but leave soon after? Especially when this is before Summer died and Ruby was born. Personally I feel like we should have seen Raven in V7-8 because Yang's arc with her just feels so unresolved.

Yeah, it does feel pretty unresolved right now. However, based on what we have gotten and what we know about Raven, I personally headcanon: 

She'd have accepted the powers no matter what, once they were offered. Raven, by her own admission, has a survival of the fittest mentality going on. The strong survive, the weak die, and therefore anything that has the potential to make her stronger is automatically something to grab hold of, no matter the cost (example: killing the Spring Maiden. Power equals worth taking a life). Whether Raven took the bird powers with an intention to use them for good, only to abandon that desire once she learned of Salem's immortality, or whether she always had one foot out the back door, ready to abandon Ozpin's cause at the slightest whiff of real danger, the result is still the same: hell yeah an ability that allows her to spy on others, escape bad situations easily, etc. She’ll take it. Personally, I lean towards the latter option. We learn that she and Qrow entered Beacon with the intention of killing huntsmen later and there's almost nothing, to my mind, to suggest that Raven turned away from those views as Qrow did. Not when she so passionately returned to the tribe and took up activities that, although indirectly via grimm, absolutely kill huntsmen. I think Raven played the part of a good little Beacon student, was a decent enough actor and fighter to become a member of Ozpin’s inner circle (benefited by Ozpin’s own tendency to trust/see the best in others, as well as being part of a team made up of Good Guys), happily accepted a HUGELY beneficial bit of magic, and then said, "So long, suckers" when things actually got tough. If Summer hadn't disappeared and Raven had never learned about Salem? Maybe she would have stayed long term, doing the work of a huntress with a few extra war missions on the side. But an immortal enemy who may have killed a teammate? Way too dangerous for Raven's liking. I think she cares about others to a certain extent - years of friendship, a relationship with Tai, and crying beside Yang all point to that - but I don't think that care has ever overridden her own self-interest. If it had, she wouldn't have allowed Vernal to take on the risk of being the Maiden instead of her. If it had, she wouldn't have allowed Yang to take on the risk of the Relic instead of her. If she had, she wouldn't have left not just Yang as her mother, but everyone once she realized how much danger they were all in. Raven puts herself first, always.

Which I think is the explanation for Yang too. We don't know that she decided to have a baby with Tai, we just know that she did have a baby. Accidental pregnancies happen, pregnancies where the father wants the child but the mother doesn't happen, pregnancies where the mother is chill with it at first but once the child is born decide this isn't for them happen... and in Remnant terms, pregnancies where the mother learns more about the war she’s in during those nine months and only then decides to bail could happen too. There are a lot of possibilities here. Personally, being pro-choice and all, I'm of the opinion that Raven is not a horrific person for leaving Yang, more-so due to... everything else she's done lol. Would it be great if life worked in a way where every mother was emotionally ready to parent a child and never ever had one unless they were? Of course! Is that realistic? Not by a longshot. Raven did the Remnant equivalent of giving her kid up for adoption, except actual adoption wasn't needed because the father was in the picture and quite obviously wanted to keep the kid. So Raven has Yang - carries the pregnancy to full term for whatever reason she and/or Tai may have had. Hell, we don’t even know if abortions exist in Remnant - and then wipes her hands of things. If I remember correctly (outside of the comics anyway) Raven really does keep completely out of Yang's life from then on. Summer is her mom. Raven was just the biological parent. For however horrible Raven is in other respects, she had the right to let Summer and Tai raise Yang instead. She stepped out of her life, seemingly unaware that Tai said little about her, resulting in a Yang who grew desperate to find out any scrap about her "real" mom, tracking Raven down despite Raven keeping her distance. But all of this is a long-winded way of saying that Raven never struck me as someone interested in motherhood. We don't know why she decided to have Yang, but once she did... what's a self-serving bandit going to do with a newborn? Unless Raven had decided to raise Yang as a totally loyal second or something, a baby is a danger. A liability. Children, until capable of defending themselves in Remnant, are grimm magnets who provide nothing except love which, as established, Raven doesn't prioritize. She cares about things that will keep her alive, not things that make that life emotionally rich. A child is a wonderful addition... provided you care about that bond more than you care about the effort and, in Remnant's case, the danger a child poses. Raven doesn't seem the type for me. 

So I imagine our timeline is something like:

Raven joins Beacon with an intent to learn how to kill huntsmen

Over four years Qrow changes his views. Maybe she does too, though not as much

Ozpin offers magic (magic!!) to help in this war and Raven grabs the chance to become more powerful with both hands

She has a relationship with Tai

Has Yang, for whatever reasons of her own

Goes back to run her tribe, perhaps already pulling out of the war, or perhaps with one foot still in the door. Either way, she’s not about being a mother 

At some point Summer disappears. This may have clued Raven even more into how dangerous this war is

Finds out about Salem, perhaps via the mysterious missing Jinn question (or others like the Spring Maiden and Lionheart found out from that and Raven learned second-hand)

Completely nopes out of the war from here on out, if she hadn’t 100% left already, because she's all about survival and you definitely don't survive by fighting an immortal enemy. This includes eliminating all contact with her team and family, outside of getting info from Qrow

Gets ahold of the Spring Maiden at some point, killing her to make herself even more powerful 

Is approached by her daughter for a portal and tries to talk some "sense" into her, much like she occasionally does with Qrow 

Joins up with the baddies in an effort to keep herself safe from Salem

Realizes the Relic is actually a danger, so let's Yang have it instead

Goes to Tai for either unknown reasons, or just escaping the vault via his portal, with no intention of stopping to say hi

But if she did, she no doubt had some reason that involved keeping herself safe

All of which is taken with a grain of salt given RWBY’s, uh... less than logical timeline lol 

[captainkurosolaire]

Heavy Ammunition

Undone from defeat the Ser now turned into a nightmarish knight of a chipped skull. Began moving his lower-extremities. All them prone and wheezing or unconscious. Silv’a stayed above. Like he always was anyway in his viewing beliefs. Glowering with resentment at Judas. Animosity laid with that one the most of all. If his older age and wisdom didn’t act on intuition his plan would all be foiled. By the most plain of the lot. Execution was being readied to be served up as the thawed bone’s arm began skeletal functioning between.

“Shalt have to disagree with you most unpleasantly. O’ dread, I beseech you to meet red-comet. Often fate can sting like a piercing hornet.” A lute played in string. Before a rocketing crimson-lance of bottom hilt flashfire swept over and sent the puppeted knight being attached and stuck to the wall from impalement. With such a terrifying might.

An obnoxious laughter of jolly a battle-thirstier. As a Roe came inbound following suit with thuds of heaviness. “It’s so difficult to watch my strength within this dinky little hole.” Even though the chamber’s were massive the building wouldn’t be able to contest with his fire which was unfortunately too risky to use with allies. The last squadron of the Crew showed up in a pair five. A lalafell brought in a beach chair and propped it down and sat down just drinking her juice. Now the reinforced firepower had arrived. Facepalming while enthusiastically screaming Silv’a “Really more?!!?! They just keep lining up to die!” Irritation was demonically being infused as his undoing. This Band of Gold was truly an annoying bunch. One falls another to take front and center. It actually benefited them that they were all distant apart and didn’t all arrive at once. The louder gallant voice of Roe heartily broke a shout, “Kid ya’ alive?” Captain mumbled between the floor. Gark quipped, “Kay.” He'd take that as enough. A viera hopped with a spiritedly step before leaping over and coming between the duo of Noble and Captain. “Sorry we’re late. Me-Me wanted a detour, she insisted… You know how it goes.” She bubbly said. The Lalafell kept slurping on her straw with the continent with a massive slurpee. That terrifying um, ‘little’ menace was quite possibly the most fearsome of all the mates. Don’t refer to her by any tiny stature or treat her as such. Captain just murmured <Mmm-hmm> trying to remind, of mortally bleeding out over here and in agony. The short Viera huffed her puffy cheeks before recognizing what she needed to do and began grabbing the duo by the wrists to drag into a corner away from the center again and get into obstruction. “I’ll have to decline you. Those sinners haven’t suffered enough. I’ve grown to want them to see me in succeeding with all this resistance, have a taste and join them would you!” An intense fire came hurling at the preoccupied bunny who’s pink hue sparked defenselessly. Water came raining and doused it effortlessly. Two prayer hands together came with a Sea-Maiden looking Roe woman now intervening. “Gark. I shall contend with the Caster, would you please rid the Knight?” A bone crackling thud of his own collar bone snapped out a muscle knot, “Gladly m’lady.” He’d chivalrously advance with clacks of chain-mail, draconic by the etching making. The material would make the most experienced blacksmith quite impressed. Right when Silv’a nearly cradled this end he foolishly met a dinging bell signaling this was still to begin. Among the Crew. There was a structure of power-hierarchy when it came to independence and also those who excelled better in support or team. Each matey held their own extreme weaknesses and flaws whether personality, or, ability. Some weren’t yet pushed or aware of them. Whilst others with their age nearly were incomprehensible with their battle prowess and room commandment. Far above even their own Captain escapades. Weak or strong it mattered little for the same course required all but the tentatively steer of all roles aboard that’s what ruled reign to spoil in all the hoards. Sheik Sphere jotted down this entertaining showdown for the records. Never losing his passion to share and kindle this with fellow passionate readers or to sing it among those of all. While he never combated harm. He had a unique unwavering charisma to avoid it personally remaining seen as too neutral. This was literature fascinating to savor! The matron Sea Wolf gingerly came advancing in against this most heinous. Her white-shark spectacles were softened with a brow. Almost showing pity for this demon. By some strange sensation she felt too eerily familiar as if something was buried beneath every depth of the surface. Trying to explore it would certainly risk drowning and being sunken to the bottomless sea. Her posing pray set him off, radiating apologies. His demonical outlook would handle this manner. One swift hand motion he’d unleash a wall of icy that rapidly drew forth her aspected water was meaningless to his mastery. While it may be true. Elastically watering the most manipulatively potent she stacked and built a tide large enough to withhold density and overly reach bigger heights than his initial walls. Closing her eyes. “Thine trencherman born salt to sea, I call upon thee, children of the deep!” Intense powerful glowering of her irises came as the ice and water connected, freezing at the surface and spreading rapidly. Before trident’s broke through as two conjured Sahagin Egi’s came bellowing out with their own glowing golden eyes.   Their flipper leave the containment, and puncture the demon from midair in the shoulder each. One more elementally made, while the other was scale made and naturally. “Ravage thou land-savages who bring equal pain throughout the sea.” Each of them growing empowered by her boisterous wishes. “He who hurts until one welts, deserves the tide’s sweeping without remorse.” They kept piercing the demonical wizard over and over unrelentingly with a feverishness. His immortality made quite resilient. Organs constantly being gushingly punctured like tarp bait flapping over a boat. Each erupting step of blood from his puncturing and mouth.

He found wherewithal to grapple their trident’s and conduct electricity attempting to fry the Sahagin from the link as the one who was more watery based let go and vaporized it was rapidly reformulating. The scale seemed null too as it didn’t let up. Before lifting up the kabob pierced the treacherous foe and let him go upstream into the ceiling from a non relenting geyser. Pinned he was struggling to contend with this might, unable to get his counter in. Her magic didn’t grow weaker, it was continuously building up and getting more vast. She fearsome conveyed as a magnificent threat he identified. Ever overpowering wrath he began trying to loosen it but he wasn’t finding success. To attempt to resist the current was a foul law he wouldn’t find. He brought upon his ice only for the temperature of the water to become steaming hot. The Inside and entire body was screeching in boiling water. A merging water induced egi found it’s regeneration and binding into the same waters only able to reformulate acidic properties, make the water start melting flesh. Reaching out his fingers he’d point outwardly in the distance before a humongous fallen column pillar broken in half came wedging between him and the hard place and then engulfing the geyser’s source using telekinesis. Which gave destruction to the combined aetherial Egi. Shaking completely before charging at the other Scaly-Egi before the other could pursue. Grappling it’s face and soaring himself with a push of heel electrical aether he’d return that favor of being dismantled against the wall. A trident once again snagged into him and linked the duo close. Regeneration was slow because of the acid as equally contesting the forces. His own palm began to get the same from grappling the jaws of this beastkin. Flame came out of SIlv’a as a response as they would wager against each other two destructiveness. The trident began again creating a vortex of water trying to push and repel him away from the wall or once again setting Silv’a back but his demoniacal fury became even more enlarged and massively maddened.                         (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Book Review: Breathing Lessons: A Doctor's Guide to Lung Health by MeiLan K. Han

Did you know the average person takes over 600 million breaths in their lifetime? Seeing as how respiration is a largely unconscious process that is regulated in the medulla oblongata, one of the most primitive parts of the brain, you probably didn't. The reason for that is because breathing with ease isn't something many people have to think about. It's a vital biological operation that occurs in the background without anyone having to focus on it, so people tend to take the seemingly "effortless" vitality of the lungs for granted as a result. That is...until they experience problems that effect their ability to breathe well themselves and panic. As someone who has lived with moderate asthma for much of my life, and has suffered from both chronic and acute lung exacerbations over the years, I've been there. It sucks. Nobody wants to know what it feels like to choke on air they can't seem to catch. To wheeze. To cough and cough and cough. To have their chest fill with sharp, restrictive fire every time their body encounters another allergen or sneaky little pathogen it doesn't like. No one wants to experience the physiological terrors that are involved in breathing difficulties, no one. Lung problems and disease are a lot more prevalent nationwide than we may know let alone realize, however. On the whole they remain poorly understood. They can be left undiagnosed or unrecognized until the late stages, too. One of the reasons for this is because doctor's offices don't measure lung function regularly like they do blood pressure or heart rate - which seems insane, almost negligent, when you consider that being able to breathe is imperative to staying alive, right? - and also because the money that is invested in lung research isn't proportionate to the number of patients who are living with lung disease. That means there isn't enough data out there yet to tell a cohesive story or pattern about those who already are or someday could be afflicted. There's so much more out there still to be discovered, studied, experimented, and used for treatment. I appreciated how this book provided insight into the importance of lung function, lung diagnostics, and overall lung health. It was informative and absorbing. Easily comprehensible for those of us who are neither medical practitioners nor pulmonologists. The author started off by taking readers through a brief overview of how the lungs work and why. Then she discussed how things like smoking, pollution, vaping, and viruses like influenza or Covid-19 can pose severe respiratory risks. After that, she offered practical suggestions for how to keep the lungs healthy (even if they're diseased) and proposed a kind social intervention that will make the preservation of lung health a priority in medicine. Breathing is vital to life, to living, so really...why isn't it one already? Better yet, how come it hasn't been one long before now? Asthma sufferer or not, I've never stopped to ask myself those questions before reading this book, but I'm asking them now. I'm encouraging you to ask them, too. What more can I say? I'm with Dr. Han, I think it's time we all knew more about the in's and out's of breathing. Thank you to NetGalley and W.W. Norton and Company for the ARC in exchange for my review.

4/5 stars

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[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, theydraggedmein!

For @theydraggedmein. I hope you like this story!

Fic inspired by Melsephant's Monster of the Week Comic, specifically Solidarity and by the freedom of creation from my Secret Santa giftee

Tags: Supernatural is somewhat known, Stiles is a Selkie, Alive Hales, Friends to Lovers, Quickburn, Workplace Setting, Light/Background Angst, Communication

Read On AO3

*****

Selkie Solidarity

Stiles’ alarm doesn’t go off when it’s supposed to and he wakes up about two hours late for work.

Thankfully, he has an understanding boss with even more understanding bosses, so when he calls in, they just tell him to get himself there safely and don’t worry about it.

Stiles hops in and out of the shower so fast his suit doesn’t even have time to dry before he stuffs his clothing into a waterproof bag, chucks his phone and wallet in too, and leaps off his balcony to do a perfect seal dive into the water below.

He makes good time swimming, but nothing changes the fact that he’s late and he and his office mate were supposed to be running expense reports all day today.The final step before the merge negotiations happening next week.Thankfully they got most of it done this past week, but still, Stiles feels bad about slacking when his office mate is such a good sport. Without him there, Derek’s probably gone a little grumpy around the edges, the way he always does whenever Stiles is inevitably late.

Stiles passes a delicatessen and backtracks. He’s already late, so a few minutes more isn’t a huge deal, and Derek does love everything bagels.

Stiles climbs out of the water, ducks behind some brush, and sheds his suit. He tugs on his clothes, checks his phone for messages—none—and grabs a twenty out of his wallet.

Then, bag slung across his back, he troops into the deli and orders three everything bagels, two for Derek and one for him because he hasn’t had breakfast yet.

Then, it’s an exchange of his clothes for his suit, making sure the bag with the bagels is secured in his bag, and then leaping back into the river to finish his commute.

He’s already apologizing when he races into his and Derek’s office.

“Dude, I know I’m so, so late, but, look, I got us bagels!”

He stops short at the sight of Derek, shifted into his full werewolf form, hunched over his computer and poking at his keyboard.

He looks miserable, his snout long and dripping with saliva where his teeth are too big to retract anymore. His claws keep catching on the keys and he stares at them sadly before huffing out a sigh and starting again.

Stiles digs out the bagels and plops the bag onto Derek’s desk. Comically, Derek’s nose twitches. He looks at Stiles with his baleful eyes before gently opening the top of the bag and with far more care than Stiles is used to seeing from Shifted-Derek, he plucks out a bagel and pops it whole into his mouth.

As Derek chews with the power of a ravenous wolf, Stiles glances at the little calendar Derek keeps pinned to his side of the office.

“Oh man,” Stiles remarks, tracing the outline of the day. “Full moon? That’s rough, buddy. I’m sorry.”

Derek shrugs and picks out his second bagel. “s’okay,” he mumbles, spraying saliva and crumbs everywhere. “T’nks for bagels.”

His over large teeth and flopping tongue make his words nearunintelligible and kind of fascinating. Stiles wishes Derek would talk more during his shifts, but he also knows that Derek doesn’t like making messes even though he’s good at cleaning them up, so he tries not to make messes. And talking with his shifted mouth is about the messiest Derek can be. Second only to eating while shifted.

Stiles takes his bagel and sits down to boot up his computer. Derek hasn’t eaten his second bagel, and instead seems to be waiting for Stiles to start eating his. A quick bite confirms this, and Stiles smiles at Derek.

“So, shall we get those expense reports done?”

No argument from Derek, who seems to be trying to savor his second bagel.

Whatever. It’s cute. That’s why Stiles got them for him. He likes doing things like that for Derek, even when he isn’t almost two and a half hours late.

After a few more minutes of Derek struggling to type with his claws, Stiles turns to him. “Should I shift too?” he asks, gently. Derek barely moves his head, but Stiles feels stared at all the same. “I mean, if you’re stuck in your form, wouldn’t it be less awkward for me to be shifted too?”

“Work?”

Stiles shrugs. “I was late today. How productive am I really going to be?”

Derek looks at his keyboard. It isn’t really functional, and he’ll probably just keep tapping at it and then replace it on Monday when he can shift back. “Broken?”

Stiles waves his hands. “They’re flippers, dude. I don’t think they can do that much damage.”

Derek tilts his head while he thinks about it. It’s such a cute pose that Stiles has to physically turn back to his computer and enter his password before he accidentally squees out loud or something equally embarrassing.

“Okay,” Derek finally says. “T’nks.”

“Be right back!” Stiles grabs his bag and skips off to the bathroom where he exchanges his clothes for his suit and then happily bounces back to his and Derek’s shared office.

Derek straightens for a few minutes when Stiles gets back. At first, he thinks it’s because Derek is laughing at him. Stiles isn’t the most graceful in his human form, but in his seal form, he’s simultaneously better and worse at moving. If the office were water, he’d be grand.

Derek huffs a few times before slowly stepping off his chair and motioning Stiles to his chair. And, whoops, yeah, Stiles forgot that he’d have to climb all the way up there.

He gives Derek a hopeful bark and Derek nods. Together, mostly because of Derek’s brute strength, they get Stiles situated in his chair and ready to do as much work as his flippers can manage on his keyboard.

Surprisingly, despite Derek’s general malaise of being a werewolf in the midst of an uncontrolled shift, and Stiles’ selkie solidarity, they get a lot of work done. And surprisingly, Derek just holds half of the second bagel in his mouth for a long time before it disintegrates into mush and he swallows it.

Their boss pokes his head and shoulders in around lunchtime, some request dying on his invisible lips.

Stiles gives him a happy bark, and Derek follows it up with a less-pained wuff than he’s been giving lately.

“I just wanted to see how those reports were coming along, but I guess never mind.” Kindly, he adds, “If you ever need time off something like this, just let us know. We have a secondary set of time off for supernatural afflictions.”

Derek growls lowly before nodding. He stands up, hands his ruined keyboard to their boss, and walks out.

Stiles waits a few seconds to see if Derek will come back. It’s insulting to call their supernatural abilities afflictions, but Stiles can kind of see where their boss gets it from. He is invisible after all. There’s so many things he can’t do anymore because he inherently gets called a creep. In fact, he has to wear clothes on top of his invisible clothes constantly or risk being called out for being naked.

To him, being invisible is an affliction. To Derek, being a werewolf is like being human: natural.

Same with Stiles and his selkie side. He doesn’t even think of it as an affliction.

Derek doesn’t return, and Stiles decides that he might as well shift back and actually get something done, so he bounces off to the bathroom, tucks his suit away, and walks back to his office.

He finds Derek’s sister Laura standing by his desk. She has a note in hand and a tray of coffees. Stiles doesn’t think he was gone that long.

“Derek wanted to apologize for running off,” Laura says, thrusting the coffee tray at Stiles. One cup is already missing.

She hands him the note after he selects a mocha cappuccino. Then she installs a new keyboard at Derek’s computer and heads out.

Stiles opens the note. It’s a shaky apology written by Derek. Stiles flips it over and, avoiding the tears made from Derek’s claws, writes an acceptance of the apology and leaves it on the brand new keyboard. He’s not insulted by Derek needing time off. This full moon seems rougher than normal.

If Stiles really thinks about it, Derek’s tolerance and control during the full moons has been getting less for a long time. Almost six months. Something to think about.

He decides that he’ll bake Derek some of his prize winning double chocolate chip cookies when he sees him again.

It’s Friday today, so that means that Stiles won’t see him until Monday, and they have a meeting, so maybe he should do the cookies thing on Tuesday?

For now, he focuses on his computer and manages to complete all the expense reports they had planned.

5:00 rolls around and Stiles all but dances into the bathroom, switches into his suit, slides his bag on, and bounces out into the river for his commute home.

~ * ~

All weekend, Stiles does his normal routine, which involves staying up way too late and playing online games with friends halfway across the world. Then, he takes a quick, two hour break to make his apology-accepted-sorry-your-full-moons-suck cookies, because why not?, and clean his apartment.

Monday, he makes sure he has everything, including an actual suit for the meeting with their new clients, the ones he and Derek were doing expense reports for, slides into his suit, and speeds off to work.

He barely gets to greet Derek with the tin of cookies before they both have to change into their suits for the meeting. Stiles slings his bag on his back. He doesn’t like leaving it out of sight for too long, his mom and dad impressing upon him at a young age that selkies can’t trust people with their suits when they’re not in them. In fact, Stiles has a cousin who only just got away from her abusive partner that kept her suit locked away the whole time they were married.

Their boss is standing at the door to the conference room. He is made up to look as if he’s got an actual face for once. He’s wearing gloves and is dressed fully in the required suit. It’s a little uncanny valley, but has the desired effect of making all of him visible.

“Sorry, Stiles, you need to leave your bag somewhere secure.”

“What? Why?”

One of Derek’s ears twitches as he squeezes past them and sits next to Laura, who in addition to being Derek’s sister, is the head of their IT department.

“The clients. They’re human. We’re presenting as human today. I’m sorry, but you have to leave your bag off for this meeting.”

Stiles wants to bite out something about discrimination, but he knows how hard the supernatural world has worked for this. Their firm is the first human-supernatural merger, and if it goes well, there will be others.

“Isn’t this the meeting we reveal ourselves?” Stiles asks. That was the rumor around the water cooler a few weeks back.

“No.” His boss shakes his head. “We merge. Business goes on as usual. Another, more visible, supernatural business merges with another human business. The humans are told at that merger, and if there are any uprisings, we represent cases of discrimination.”

“What if our partners end up being discriminatory against us?” one of the more timid department heads asks. Stiles thinks his name is Boyd. He’s a werewolf, like Derek. It’s a good question, and it’s good coming from Boyd. He was rescued from a hunter farm where they bred and-slash-or forced werewolf creation so that they could “find out what makes them tick.”

Thank fuck that had been shut down right quick.

That’s what these mergers are all about: eliminating the humans’ natural instinct of being afraid of or hurting their supernatural counterparts.

“This firm has been heavily vetted. There can be no room for error here,” Stiles’ boss says. “Unfortunately that means that, for the press release, there can be no evidence of supernatural. Stiles, I am so sorry, you have to leave your bag somewhere. You will be compensated for your time without it.”

Stiles scoffs. “You think you can name a price and buy off my anxiety about my suit?” He looks at Derek, who looks murderous, at Laura, frowning, one hand on Derek’s arm, like she’s restraining him, at Boyd, who looks terrified. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll go hide my bag. But,” he adds, vehemently, “only because not doing so would endanger more than myself.”

“Hurry back,” his boss says. “The meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”

Stiles mutters a curse under his breath as he heads back to his and Derek’s office. There’s no place here at work that he feels safe enough to hide his suit, and there’s not enough time to call his dad to guard it for him.

Then he thinks about the file cabinet. It’s kept locked all the time. Paper copies of all the files he and Derek work on. He and Derek have keys, as does their boss. If he locks it in there, it should be safe for the meeting.

And he can check on it at lunch to make sure it’s still safe and sound. Stiles unlocks the top drawer, shoves the bag as deep as it can go, and heads back to the conference room, pausing to sneeze as some scent tickles his nose a little much. He slinks to his seat next to Derek and sits down.

Derek pats his arm, whispering, “I’m sorry,” without moving his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, turns to watch as the merging firm marches in, and the meeting begins.

~ * ~

Four hours later, Stiles heads back to his office under the guise of a quick refresher break.

When he gets to the room, he stares in shock at the destruction he sees there.

His and Derek’s computers have been knocked over, the towers scratched and smashed. Thank goodness for external servers. At least their work won’t be too disrupted while it’s fixed.

He turns to survey the rest of the room and his heart freezes in his chest.The file cabinet is leaning against the wall, all the drawers jimmied open, their contents spilled everywhere. Derek’s meticulous filing system ruined in a few moments.

But most heart-stopping of all is the fact that Stiles’ bag is gone.

It’s not anywhere in the mess and it isn’t still in the drawer he left it in.

Stiles runs around, digging frantically, in case he missed it. He also sneezes again and again, and finally pauses. He’s been gone too long. He’ll be missed at lunch, which they’re having catered in the conference room.

No. This is too important. Stiles isn’t hungry. He feels rather sick and on the verge of a panic attack.

He knows his nose is good, better than a human’s, but he knows better noses. He remembers when he first met Derek, and Derek was an awkward co-worker who claimed that Stiles stunk of the river even though, at that time, Stiles only went swimming on the weekend and used regular transport like his less aquatically-inclined counterparts.

Stiles hurries back to the conference room, grabs Derek’s arm, and drags him out, muttering something about a number or some shit.

Derek reverses their grip, holding onto Stiles as he leads him back to their office. Derek stares at the mess.

“What happened?” He doesn’t sound like he’s asking Stiles, so Stiles doesn’t bother to answer. He just goes to the file cabinet and points at the drawer where he’d stashed his bag.

Derek nods sharply, inhales deeply, and then points back out to the hallway. Stiles follows him as he goes through the building until they’re out on the street.

Lunch is probably being served now, but Stiles can’t find it in himself to worry about it. He and Derek already presented their expense reports. They’re clear for the rest of the day. It’s just that the firm wanted representation from all departments to be there for the whole of the negotiations. And lunch is also negotiations for some reason.

“Here,” Derek says suddenly, jerking Stiles into a coffee shop down the block from their building.

There’s a few customers in line and they all jump, muttering angrily as Derek budges.

He stops in front of the barista, a woman in her twenties, with long brown hair pulled into a requisite ponytail, green visor “protecting” her eyes.

“Sir, the line starts back there,” she says, bored.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Derek asks.

Stiles frowns at him. Girlfriend? He leans closer, catches a whiff of something spicy on her. It tickles his nose, and he stifles a sneeze into Derek’s back. Oh hell. They’re both still wearing their suits. It makes a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. Derek pats at him clumsily but comfortingly.

The barista blinks. “My girlfriend is none of your business,” she snaps.

“She is when she steals something from my boyfriend,” Derek snaps back.

Stiles chokes on his spit. Boyfriend?News to him.

Derek gives him a quick, apologetic glance, before turning back to glare at the barista.

She caves rather quickly then. “Sorry. She’s in the back. What did she take?”

“A green bag, waterproof. Everything that was in it had better be in it when you get it back. My boyfriend will confirm.”

“I’m sorry about this. I thought she’d gotten over it.”

Derek just points to the back.

Behind him, the line takes a collective step back, some of the people mutter about being late, but for the most part, they all look too intrigued to leave. Shame.Stiles really doesn’t want to reveal to a whole roomful of people that he’s a selkie.

Derek grips his elbow and steers him to the far side of the counter so that they’re no longer in the line’s way. Another barista steps up and things start flowing again. No one leaves even after they get their orders. Crap. It’s like daytime TV, so hilariously bad as to be completely riveting. Stiles could do without the starring role though.

The first barista comes back, leading a pinkish-tinged woman with bright pink hair and cat ears headband by the hand.Stiles sneezes as soon as he catches her scent, the same spicy one on the barista, and definitely the same one in his and Derek’s office.

The pink woman has Stiles’ bag clutched tightly in one hand, the other is still being held by the barista.

“She’s sorry about taking your bag,” the barista says. She squeezes her girlfriend’s hand, and wordlessly, she offers Stiles his bag. Stiles grabs it, digging through to see that everything he’d left in there is still in there, including his suit. He strokes it before hugging the bag to his chest.

The pink woman nods at him. “Soft,” she says, voice low, sweet.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the barista says. “It’s just, she’s a pixie, y’know? She has compulsions.”

“Soft,” the woman says again.

“Yes,” Derek agrees. “It is soft. But it’s his.” He draws his eyebrows down, but it’s not his mad face. Stiles has become quite the expert on Derek’s faces after a year as office mates.

He knows they’re friends now because Derek doesn’t make his I-hate-you-and-want-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teethface anymore, but he hadn’t known Derek thought they were dating. They haven’t gone on any dates. It’s an oversight Stiles will have to correct, and soon.Unless, a stray thought mocks, Derek only said that to get the bag back quicker. Stiles’ stomach drops. They’re still friends, so whatever direction Derek decides to go in after today, Stiles will respect his choice, even if it doesn’t include him.

“Soft,” the pixie repeats, making a gimme motion with her free hand.

“I’m so sorry,” the barista says again. “I used to have a coat like that, but it got lost.”

Derek’s brow furrows. “Where did it ‘get lost’?” he asks. Stiles leans closer. Derek has his I’m-going-to-solve-this-even-if-it-means-an-international-incident face on. Stiles has seen that face exactly once: when he ousted a hunter cell that was operating near their firm. Derek’s mother, high level ambassador in the supernatural-human merges, had come down swiftly and kept other hunter groups from retaliating. Stiles surreptitiously slides out his phone and picks out Laura’s number. He doesn’t dial quite yet though.

Derek’s faces, while always a clear sign of what Derek is going to do, are not always indicative of the trouble they may or may not cause. Mostly, it depends on the other parties’ reaction to 200 pounds of pissed off werewolf suddenly appearing in their faces.

The barista makes a face. “My ex-boyfriend stole it one night. And I couldn’t exactly tell the cops what it was, so he’s still got it. I’m unharmed for the most part. Sometimes,though, I can feel him stroking it.”

“That’s good that he hasn’t hurt you through it,” Stiles says. He hasn’t really gotten into dating specifically because of the horror stories from his mom and dad. From the look on Derek’s face, this ex-boyfriend is going to be dead when they meet him.

“What’s his name? Where does he live?”

Derek is speaking lowly, but even the pixie draws back, a look of fear on her face.

Stiles pats at Derek’s arm. “The full moon was just yesterday,” he explains. “He’s really good with control, but it might still be affecting him.” He shows the barista his phone. “This is his sister. His whole family will help you get your coat back.”

She covers her mouth, tears already running down her face. The pixie turns to her and starts swiping at them, making little distressed noises.

“No, no. they’re happy tears. They’re going to help us get my soft back.”

“Soft?” The pixie gives both Stiles and Derek a long, assessing look before nodding fiercely. “Friends.”

They get more information from the barista before she checks her watch, flinches, and says, “I have to get back to work. Thank you for doing this. Bye.”

Stiles checks his own watch. They’ve used up all their lunch break and if they don’t leave right now, they’ll be late for the other half of their meeting.

Derek seems to realize it too, because he deflates a little. “I’ll call my mom. She and my uncle can go get her suit back.”

“Coat,” Stiles corrects. “I call mine a suit. She calls hers a coat.”

Derek smiles then. “Remind me that I have to tell you something when all this is over.”

“What?”

Before Stiles can attempt to get it out of him now, Derek starts running, and Stiles has to run to keep up with him. As much as Stiles knows Derek, Derek knows Stiles too. It’s frustrating sometimes, like now, when they’re running half a block back to their firm.

When they get back to the conference room, their boss, looking a little less visible with some of his makeup worn off, ushers them into the room. Derek fakes needing the restroom, promises to be back in two minutes, and runs off. Stiles sits down and pretends to pay attention.

Derek comes back in the promised two minutes, sits next to Stiles, and together they just listen as the finer details of the merge are finalized and suddenly, they’ve doubled in size.

Derek and Laura both get a call as soon as the workday ends, and before Stiles can ask what’s up or what Derek needs to tell him, they’re both shifted and gone.

Stiles sighs. There’s always tomorrow.

He changes into his suit, glad to have it back, and swims home.

~ * ~

Tuesday dawns bright and early without sun and with a dripping wet werewolf sitting on the end of Stiles’ bed.

Stiles screams and throws the first thing he can grab—his alarm clock—at the werewolf, and Derek tumbles to the floor with a muted oof.

Stiles flicks on the light and points at Derek. “Explain,” he says. “Why did you try to give me a heart attack in the middle of the night?”

Derek rolls his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “’snot the middle of the night,” he mutters, pettily.

Stiles points at his clock. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I had to use my timepiece as an improvised weapon.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to—” Derek spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. Stiles can’t read it. He’d gotten so good at reading Derek’s facial expressions and tones but he forgot to learn his body language as well.Mostly because Derek doesn’t use body language. He sits still and doesn’t give clues. Stiles takes a metaphoric step back, studies Derek for a long, solemn moment, and then offers his hand to pull him up on the bed.

“Why are you wet?” he asks, more gently.

Derek rolls his shoulders again, like he’s trying to work out a kink, but it’s probably embarrassment that’s pinching his nerves.

“I wanted to update you on the pixie and the selkie,” he says, eyes fixed on his lap. “I only know you smell like the river a lot, so I followed it up.” A flush creeps up his neck, and he ducks his head down more. “I fell in,” he says miserably.

Stiles can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but the damage is done. Derek shakes his head once, and moves to get up. Stiles grabs his wrist.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you—well maybe a little. I mean, you’re a werewolf and you fell in the river?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Derek says.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Derek says, and then mumbles the next part too low for even Stiles’ selkie ears to hear.

“What was that?”

Derek repeats himself louder and faster. It’s still just a jumbled mess of syllables that mean nothing to Stiles.

“Couldn’t catch that, dear, repeat again please. And enunciate.”

Derek lifts his head, determination burning in his eyes. “I said,” he speaks slowly, more, Stiles gets the feeling, to get the words out, than through annoyance at having to repeat himself for a third time, “that I fell in because I caught your scent and got distracted.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to that, because, aside from the pretend-to-be-boyfriends to get Stiles’ suit back, Derek has expressed zero interest in Stiles like that. So why would he fall in the river after catching Stiles’ scent?

Stiles decides it’s too early and goes with a less confusing topic of conversation. “You said you wanted to update me on the pixie and the barista?”

Derek nods, grabbing the offered opportunity gratefully. “My mom and uncle found the ex-boyfriend easily. And because werewolves, they were able to locate and secure the coat quickly. Turns out he’s just a regular human obsessed with selkie lore and just wanted to have control over her.”

“Is he in jail?”

Derek shakes his head. “How can we arrest him? Humans aren’t exactly aware of the supernatural yet. My mom is going to keep an eye on him, and my uncle promised to put the fear of Peter into him.”

“‘The fear of Peter’?”Stiles raises an eyebrow. “That’s awfully cocky of your uncle Peter.” He gets a quirked smile in response. Stiles has met Peter once, and that was enough for Stiles to realize that Peter, if he didn’t like you, could make your life miserable.

Thankfully, Peter seemed to like Stiles, and he hasn’t been subjected to more of his particular brand of Peter-ness.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, “I wanted to tell you that Ari got her coat back, and Livie is sorry for taking yours.”

“I get it. She probably thought it was Ari’s.”

“Yeah, and one more thing: I think I love you.”

Stiles blinks at the confession. Blood rushes in his ears and it’s a little difficult to breathe.

“What?” he manages to whisper.

Derek makes eye contact with the wall past Stiles’ head. Choked, he says, “I think I’m in love with you. It’s why my full moons have been getting worse. My anchor is shifting. It’s you.”

“What?” Stiles repeats. Derek’s head drops, his shoulders droop. Confused, Stiles just stares at him.

“My anchor isn’t what it was before. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s too much. I’m sorry.”

He stands up almost too fast for Stiles to grab him again. “No!”

Derek looks at where Stiles is gripping his wrist. “No?” he asks, and it sounds so, so hopeful.

“No,” Stiles says, settling back, tugging Derek gently until he’s back on the bed. “Don’t go. Tell me more about your anchor. Tell me more about you. ‘Cause, Derek, you’re not the only one who thinks they’re in love.”

Derek’s eyes go to Stiles’ chest—his heartbeat. “I love you,” Stiles says, and the skip in his heartbeat isn’t from a lie. It’s because he’s realizing the truth. He may have been able to reason with himself at the coffee shop yesterday, and even explain away all the little anomalies of being attracted to his officemate as being friends, but he knows with certainty, he wants to be actual boyfriends with Derek.

He wants Derek here, in his space, wants to help him get his wolf back in control during the full moons, wants to get him bagels every morning, wants, wants, wants, so steady, it’s like his heartbeat.

And when Derek leans in, asks, “May I?” so gently and carefully before kissing Stiles’ like he’s the most precious thing in the world, Stiles knows, Derek wants too.

Warmth surges in his veins and he deepens the kiss, holding it like a breath, kissing like their lives depend on it, and trying to climb into the space in Derek’s heart that is already calling his name.

~ End ~

[rachetmath]

Optimistic Realism: Support Character Purpose

This may be my last rant about this show. As usually it’s my opinion and if you agree then like or reblog, your choice. If you want to add on to this or have a question then comment. If you disagree, fine, but afraid to leave a comment.  Read this at your own will and time.

I know I been talking about RWBY a lot, mainly about Jaune Arc, however I am going for a new approach. I am going to discuss what I feel should have been implied in the show between team RWBY and JRN from the beginning and how it should have played in volume seven. And that is with in the title, Optimistic Realism. It’s basically a combination of optimism with realism. But, before we discuss this, let us first know what they mean individually and see who fits in with that definition.

Optimism as stated on the internet, "Is believing no matter how bad things get there will always be a bright future ahead." Basically, staying positive. Team RWBY fits this definition considering each of them are based on characters with these traits. We have seen that in volume one through three on their missions and during the fall. They always go with the flow and stay positive even when things seem impossible. Even in volume four and five they had to regain some of their courage in order to continue forward but to win the battle at Heaven. In volume six, even put their positivity to test, considering what they learned about their world and Salem. Knowing that information crippled them allowing the Apathy to take over, and them barely making it out alive.

Now for realism. Basically "Having to deal with a situation at hand, to the best of your ability." Team JNR fits this well because their based-on warriors. Warriors in order to get stronger they must train, and gain experience while going through hardship. In volume one to three Jaune had to get stronger because of world he chose inhabit. Pyrrha had to deal with being outcasted by her peers and teachers. Ren and Nora do to the fact that they have no home to return to, being hunters was the only thing they had going for them. When the fall happened Pyrrha died leaving team JNR broken. In volume four, Jaune mourns over Pyrrha just like Ren with his home. In volume five, team JNR were ready to fight Oscar the moment he mentions Ruby’s name and Jaune still attacked Cinder, all for realistic reasons. And in volume six, team JRN like team RWBY were upset with the information they were given, and in order to continue, they realistically have no choice because one; Pyrrha died for this. Two; they came to far to fail. And three; might as well not let the next generation have to deal to with Salem. Even volume seven they act real. Jaune and Nora may have stated facts about James’s actions but due to the situation at hand they still followed orders.

Now before I continue let me explain what I believe a support character's job is. Support characters do not just heal or defend the main character. The support characters help the main characters by being stronger, smarter, or have a better since of their emotions than they do. They do not have to be cool or invincible. Zoro, from One Piece, is Luffy’s second in command because he asserts authority. And Nami is third because she can make a plan for the crew to follow. Luffy is too carefree to do any of that. Edward, from Full Metal Alchemist, has Scar, Winry and Mustang. Scar because he knows more about alchemy than Ed does. Mustang considering, he is a soldier of the military, knows more about the complications of city affairs and knows when to take necessary action over being pacifistic. And both are more powerful than Ed and Al are. Winry despite not doing much continues to encourage Ed to get stronger, to see his goal through, and goes anywhere Edward may be to help repair his arm and leg. Basically, the support character's job is not just to be some cheerleader, but serve as guidance and guardians, people who act in the main characters best interest even when he or she may not know it yet. Or if it is mixed in with their own.

Now with that out the way, let us discuss how optimism and realism could affect their actions in volume seven. Yes, James was acting like a nice guy, however it ran the risk of us hating our main characters for their actions. To me, volume seven was like Clover said, "The right choice is the hardest to make." However, his words hold no weight when we the audience had no choice but to side with James because the other two factions were doing nothing but stealing and lying in his face. So here is how I would in some levels re write volume seven.

In volume seven, let us keep half of everything the same. The group become professional hunters, Penny is framed, Jacque still wins the election, Robyn goes criminal and Yang still tells her everything. Instead of team RWBY and JNRO thus far doing nothing, they should have been more active. Now after Yang tells Robyn the truth and lies to the Ace-ops about her getting away, returns to Atlas to their dorms, only to have everyone waiting for them. Ruby decides to talk somewhere private where James or anyone outside their group could not hear them. Truth of the matter is Ruby and the others were already suspected of Yang and Blake, since one, Yang never backs down from a fight and two, Blake has a history of rebellion. The two know they cannot hide, so they admitted to what they done. This led to an argument amongst them with Weiss and Oscar taking Yang's side and Ren and Nora, not so much, until Ruby and Jaune silence them, demanding they return to their dorms and discuss the matter tomorrow.

The next day, early in the morning, Ruby and Jaune decided to talk about the matter themselves. This led to them arguing with each other. Jaune using levels of facts while Ruby uses levels of reasoning and opinion. Both continued to yell at each other until they reach a conclusion. Ruby and Jaune both agreed what Robyn is doing is wrong, but they cannot deny James recent actions to be affective either. So, they made an idea to mix their teams together with Jaune going after Robyn and Ruby staying in Atlas trying to talk with James. Jaune teams up with Nora, Yang and Blake considering all three of them want to help Mantle. Ruby gets Ren, Weiss and Oscar, since Weiss knows Atlas, Ren sides with James and James will not let Oscar out of his sight. Now the real fun begins.

Jaune and his new team JNBY, goes around the streets of Mantle along with Penny to fight grimm and come up with a strategy to capture Robyn and the happy huntresses. However, Jaune wanted to be clear that he is not trying to arrest her but persuade her to surrender and go talk to James. He tells them while Ruby and Oscar tries to reason with James and investigate Weiss's father, they will be watching for Tyrian while chasing down Robyn. Basically, they are trying to make two factions come together and fight against a common enemy. Jaune and his team later manages to capture Robyn only for the citizens to shame them and demand they let her go. Jaune does release them out of their cuffs, however, remember, Jaune is representing realism, so while the crowd is cheering and Robyn celebrates her victory, Jaune makes it clear to her on what is happening. Jaune using facts, expressing his experience and asking questions in which Robyn could not answer, made her think for moment that something big is coming and she will not be able to protect the people from it. Basically, Robyn was sorrowing up in the air, only for Jaune to slam her back into reality and making her choose a realistic approach to solving a matter, even if the people may not agree with her. Putting her in James’s shoes.

Ruby and her new team RWRO, goes on missions to defend and find resources for the new tower. Oscar would continue trying to talk to James but also trains. Weiss tries to figure out if her father had cheated the votes only for Jacque to stop her at every turn. Ren was still being true to James, reports to him but keeps their secret about Jinn and Salem from him. At first, Ren was about to squeal but when James heard what team JNBY were doing, he became skeptical about it and order his men to keep an eye on them. Even willing to fight them if they pose a threat. When Ren heard this, he started believing James may not be as noble as he thought he was. So, he kept his mouth shut and informs Ruby on what is going on. Ruby then informs Jaune in return that way James's soldiers do not get in their way. Finally, when she hears team JNBY captured Robyn and persuaded her to talk to James, she was happy but after the links James went through, because of his suspicions, she decided to tell him the truth. Once he heard everything, he was furious and more importantly scared. However, Oscar using his words persuaded him to see things through. James accepts the truth and was willing to talk to Robyn. Good timing too because team JNBY were about to fight the Ace-ops.

This is when we can consider James a villian or an anti-hero. James turns from being a reasonable man to an unreasonable dictator when him and Robyn meet face to face. Robyn agreed to his demands to return all the stuff she stole as long as James continues to protect Mantle. However she still wanted the wall to be repaired, and the security to be moderate as Atlas so no one can gain control very easily as they did at the rally. James refuses, believing it to be a waste of time. This is where Ruby and Jaune get angry. Jaune tells James what was on his mind about Robyn, believing what Robyn states is fair considering half of the soldiers down in Mantle are robots, and she was willing to return what she stole and maybe assist them in capturing Tyrian. But James believing in his military might does not listen. He then told his Ace-ops to take Robyn away, only her to pull off one last trick up her sleeves. She fired a heavy flash arrow grenade, blinding everyone and escapes.

After that, Ruby and others were in the training room, trying to practice, only to feel apathetic. They felt defeated. Qrow and Maria tried to cheer them up but decided to let them be. Ruby apologized, thinking she never should have told James anything, only for Yang to say the opposite, stating at least he knows what’s at stake. Jaune questions her statement based on what they already saw so far, feels James has no clue at all, only for Oscar to calm him down before he goes too far. Weiss asked what they are going to do now. Nora suggested they just leave and go to Vacuo, Ren suggested maybe stay in Mantle and try to keep it safe, only for Ruby to tell everyone to be prepared for the worst. The gang were surprised and turns to Jaune, only for him to nod his head in agreement. Jaune stated facts, if they turn on James, they will be wanted national criminals. If they go about recklessly it could makes things worse than they already are. And if they do not know what Salem could be planning then they might as well be setting Atlas up to be destroyed. Everyone despite how cruel they feel, understood and decided to keep training and prepare for the next day.

And that is all. Salem never shows up, James still wants to continue with the new tower, Robyn is relevant and RWBY and JNRO are now fully active. Basically, what I hated about the seventh volume is it was completely one sided. James was the only good guy, the main characters were not active but reactive to their situations, and Robyn was just some nobody who could have served a purpose in story. Nobody but James was given any sort of character. And those who did get some character, did not deserve it. Like Yang, who was supposed to have more of a problem with keeping secrets especially from James.

So, what do I want out of all this? Simply, give everyone a role to play other than the main characters. The main characters do not have to do everything. If team JNRO can relate to or handle a situation better than team RWBY can, then let them do their jobs. Team RWBY can still be stronger than them but they cannot always be wiser or more decisive than everyone else. They can be reckless but give a group like Jaune, Ren, Oscar and Nora an ability to grab them by their hairs or the collar of their shirts and know when to tell them; Jaune to Yang: "Calm down and think."; Ren to Blake: "Focus."; Nora to Weiss: "It's okay."; and Oscar to Ruby: "Slow down and listen." Team JNRO unlike team RWBY suffered the most out all the characters. Jaune lost Pyrrha because she was stupid to go back to fight Cinder. Ren and Nora lost their homes and families because hunters were never there. And Oscar literally had to leave his home behind and may never see his aunt and uncle again, since he could die or fade from existence. What I am saying is give support characters room to breathe and grow so they can continue to do their jobs. Which is to act in the main characters best interest.

[bangtansfavwriter]

🌷hobi having a crush on you 🌷

-hobi and you were inseparable, and when I say inseparable I mean it

-he introduced you to all of his friends and everyone knew you guys became a package deal

- he loooves spending time with you , which would already be a dead giveaway bc hobi's a really social guy, so him choosing to spend his time with you so often would already say a lot

-very playful and spontaneous, looots of laughter together

-you guys' favourite thing to do together would be karaoke and the two of you would put some singers to shame bc singing - check - dancing - audience wildin' and partying to you two - check bc the whole neighbourhood knew you by now and people would leave their own booth at the bar to come and watch you two (which would turn to spontaneous parties that would be absolutely legendary (and the place would be so packed that even dispatch would be like fuck no we ain't goin in))

-you'd come to watch bts' dance practices sometimes and just sit there and watch this completely different side of hobi come out

- he dances with such a passion that you can't do anything but watch him in awe, completely enthralled by the way he moves

-this was also something that made you fall for him slowly, you loved the fact that he was absolutely passionate about everything he does and puts his energy in

-and you admired him so much, bc he was still humble about his talent & also this innate ability to light up every room he walks in

- you almost felt like icarus trying to bask in the sun and sometimes felt like your feelings for him may get you too close and you would get hurt

-and whenever you would get into that mood, it would be hobi himself to snap you out of it, unknowingly

"hobi, there's no reason for me to come to the christmas party, you guys are like family, why would i be there?"

"nonsense, you're family, too. i want you to be there." ---and that's it, that's how he handled your moods, he always made you feel cherished and most importantly loved--

- he would play with your hair a lot and would be very touchy in general, the supreme method to shut down hobi.exe would be playing with his hair, he'd legit lay down and and go quiet, but chances are he's gonna fall asleep (and boy would he get cranky when you wake him up)

- he'd love to make you laugh and sing lil songs and do lil dances for you when you would make tea or something ("look it's y/n, making tea for mee, hobiii~, this sure looks like chamomile, chamomile is just my style, my legs are so sore, I'm gonna go lay on the floor..."*his voice fades* - "u ok there hobi?" - *weak* "no..") [btw chamomile tea helps with sore muscles ☺️]

- his spontaneous dances would be the best, he'd drop it to maluma and lowkey get emotional when you'd turn on some flamenco songs ("y/n, i should be a flamenco dancer, this music speaks to my soul" - "whatever you say, horacio" )

- he would sometimes give you very obvious signals:

"oh we're both wearing jean jackets, almost like a couple look hmmm~~~"

"you cooked for me ?? caring for me, like we're a couple hmmm~~~"

"look at us sharing our drinks like we're a couple hmmm~~~"

-and tbh, you guys would be the couple that has no idea that they're a couple bc you never truly established something along that lines

-but you truly liked him, after all, he's mr sunshine, with the most generous heart and boy's got the prettiest side profile you've ever seen (you knew you were whipped when you went for drinks with a friend and ended up being an emotional drunk who gushed about hobi's lil nose)

-hobi always gets shy when u praise him and you're like "BOI I CAN DO THIS ALL DAY LONG" and he'd go "noooo stop" and backflip to the other side of the room bc he got shy again but he secretly loves it (honestly, it would lift his entire mood, to a hyper extent.... one day you didn't have the time to stay for their dance practices and met hobi shortly before they started, to say bye and such, and you encouraged him to be strong, bc you knew how tough the new choreography was, and told him "you, horacio, dancing king of my heart, can do this, now go prove your title or I won't make you any pancakes for a week" and he SCREAMED in joy & spun you around like 3 times and sprinted to the practice room, you got one (1) single text from jin at 02.17 am, which you opened, confused at hell, it just said: "idk what you said to hobi before practice but you owe me a spa weekend for the muscle pain i have rn")

-but hobi is only human too, he also gets into low moods, which you help him through by simply not going anywhere even when he detaches himself from you and everyone else for that matter

-you knew he had to recharge and gave him some space without entirely distancing yourself from him ofc, you guys would still text tho from time to time

-you knew that he had practice again and one day you stopped by with some food you prepared for him and gave it to a staff member to pass it to hobi, bc you didn't want to intrude, and hobi would text you back a pic of the empty lunch boxes you packed for him with a caption like this: "👼🏻👼🏻👼🏻👼🏻💗💖💝💓💞💕🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️" (hobi talk for "you are and angeeeel, i loooove you & thank youuu") and you were happy with yourself and happy for hobi bc you knew this would cheer him up

-he came over to yours like 2 days later and your heart ached a little bc he was obviously exhausted but still shot you a smile when you opened the door

- you pulled him inside and hugged him, neither of you spoke a word, hobi just sighed and buried his face in your neck

- he came inside and you made tea for the two of you and prepared some snacks too and you caught him looking at you a few times, but his gaze was different... you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was and just thought that's it's probably just random and that he's tired, since he also didn't speak a lot that evening.. anyway you chilled in front of the tv and had a night in, which he gladly accepted because his legs were so sore he wasn't even sure if he could leave your place in first place

-so you spread out on one sofa, while hobi layed down on to the other one

-whenever you weren't looking, hobi stared at you with the most smitten look on his face, especially when you'd giggle about some scene in the movie you were watching, and unable to contain his feelings for himself, he'd flat out tell you:

"you know, if there wouldn't be a risk of me face-planting onto the floor, I'd be on that couch and kiss you"

- he couldn't quite tell if his words made your face go red or if it was bc of your near-death experience after choking on your nachos when korea's dancing king told u he wants to smooch

(-"you ok now ?"

"yeah, alive and kicking"

"good bc- don't eat that now- I have plans for us 👀"

"maybe I do too 👀👀"

" 👀👀👀")

however, you decided you should talk this out when both of you were less tired

- but you didn't... bc hobi was busy again

- days had passed and hobi didn't say a word which was really disheartening for you bc after that kiss-statement you really thought you would finally clarify what was going on between you two and talk about dating and stuff, so you mustered all your courage and texted him: "hey, i know ur busy and all, which is why im gonna keep it as short as possible.... hoseok, i wanna talk about what you said to me the other day and i know this could potentially change our friendship forever, but i liked you for a while now and I wanna now if you were just joking around back then or if u actually were serious"

-the next hours would be absolutely agonizing for you bc deep down you truly feared that this may ruin your friendship with him, but you needed clarity, even though it was really clear that he liked you, but you weren't sure how and asked yourself if you may have read too much into his actions and words.... you threw your phone on your bed and tried keeping yourself busy with something that would keep you from looking at your phone. you failed miserably tbh and you were contemplating deleting the text the entire time... "this is so stupid, I can't risk this..." you thought and were about to open the messenger to delete your text, when you saw that he texted back....: "you never call me hoseok" (you had to took deep breaths to calm yourself down or you would probably have stormed into bighit and throw your phone at him)

- you: "this is really all you have to say ???? "

and he texted back shortly after and you were like oohhh, im gonna grill jung hoseok now

him: "well you never call me hoseok, so I guess this is very serious to you"

you: "yeah NO SHIT sherlock, i confessed my feelings for you and this is how you answer me ?????

him: "im serious too, don't be like that!"

you: "well how tf should i know if you're serious or not??"

him: "you could open your door and find out"

-to use the word "dumbfounded" for how you felt the second you read that would be the understatement of the century, you threw your phone away and bolted to the door

-and there he was.. standing there and smiling at you as radiantly as ever

- he held a plush in one hand and playfully waved at you with the other the other, in which he was holding his phone. he gave you the plush and laughed at you bc you still were completely baffled, but you started laughing too

- you: mang beats any flower anyways.. (you took the mang plush and put it on a rack by the door)

him: yup! and why buy flowers when you have me? *does the flower pose*

- you: you're unbelievable, jung hoseok

him: ohh full name now, it's getting very serious ~

you: stop teasing!!

-you felt that you were blushing and turned away from him, still unable to hide your smile. hobi laughed while he quickly stepped through the doorway, just in time to grab your wrist and make you face him again. "look at us, y/n, playfully bickering like a couple hmm~~", he said and gave you a smirk that made your knees weak, but you'd be damned if you'd show him that. So you looked him straight into his eyes with a cocky smile and asked: "anything you wanna ask me, jung hoseok?"

"you don't even know what you do to me with that smile of yours, sweetheart..."

"answer the question, jung hoseok."

"look at us us, flirting like a couple hmm~~"

(you didn't even notice how close you two were standing until there were only a few inches between your lips and his)

"I'm waiting", you whispered.

"i really think... ", he began and gently cupped your face meanwhile... "i really think that we should be a couple" he said and finally closed the little space which had remained between your lips.

[writtenbyvenus]

What We Do In The Shadows

Chapter 3: I Love You, I Love You Not

Werewolves and vampires: two species that are mortal enemies. But in a small town in Upstate New York, they seemed to find a way to co-exist by staying out of each other's way and minding one's business. However, the dynamics of the local pack of werewolves and coven of vampires would change when a certain pair got too close for comfort. Alfred is an over seventy-year old werewolf posing as local law enforcement, while Ivan is a centuries old vampire working at a blood bank. Both try to get through the struggles of being immortal creatures, who find themselves in a cultural and family struggle when they fall for each other. Between an anti-vampire pack leader, suspicious in-laws, and a death that could nearly tear two families apart, the pair questions if a relationship is a reality, or if they carry too much baggage. 

( Warning, this is in RP format, but has been edited and proof read for grammar/flow. A change between writers and/or perspective with both characters is symbolized by a bold first letter. )

‘The life of an immortal is lonely, you suffer as the entire world changes while you stay stagnate. Unable to do the most natural thing all humans do: change.’

But Alfred didn’t want to suffer anymore. 

Perhaps he would branch out. He didn’t want to have one night stands forever, it hurt his soul to say goodbye to someone he could see spending an eternity with. And the man was too scared to turn someone into a wolf, he felt like it was a curse he couldn’t bear turning someone he loved into it. It weighed too heavy, that choice. Sighing, he kept his eyes closed, enjoying every touch offered by Ivan. The man was right, he was cocky and proud. Even if he partly hated being a werewolf, there was still a piece of pride in it. He thought it was semi-cute that Ivan offered to lick up his wounds, but he was unsure if he’d take Ivan up on that offer. While adorable, weirdly, seemed too risky. What if he couldn’t control himself? Then he’d have to fight Ivan and was the last thing on his mind. He chuckled hearing how Ivan got his meals, it was just funny. But he was happy the man found a non-lethal way to get his blood. He would rather have him steal people’s blood and keep them alive. Humming, he grinned when he got a kiss on his forehead. Was he winning him over? “Okay. I’ll come over. Next time you work, I’ll be there. Better have snacks for me.” He teased, nuzzling his cheek into his lap again. “If you are bloodthirsty, we could hunt right now....” Alfred offered, but understanding if he said no. 

Ivan was a reclusive individual so there wasn't much he had to cope with when he was forced to keep out of the sunshine or risk burning his skin. There wasn't much sun to fight against where he first turned anyway. Even New York was a frosty, shady place that kept him frozen. He could feel the chill, the heat. It was almost painful. With Alfred curled up on his lap, he was warmed up thoroughly. He just wished to keep the puppy for a moment longer, scratch his head, and squeeze him tight. With the number of nights he's seen the man stay out, he didn't dare pursue him. He didn't enjoy awkward moments between his neighbors if there was a miscommunication on their relationship. Over the hundreds of years, he had plenty of money to help him sit pretty so he could jump up and leave at any time. Bad endings hardly were ever a reason to flee, but after all the information he just admitted to Alfred. There may be a problem. As he sits and plays with Alfred's hair, he'd take the moment for what it was and love on his neighbor. Friendly, but not too friendly. "You asked me- no, you begged me to come over and watch a show with you and your eyes have been more closed than open the entire time I'm here." Teasing the other and his persistence, he carefully wedged Alfred up from his lap for a moment to readjust his legs. The blood in his body wasn't his own. It was a liquid patchwork gushing through his body and cutting off at his legs. Even the wolf's cute puppy eyes couldn't take away the uncomfortable amount of weight on his thighs.

He mentally rejoiced when he heard Alfred finally accept his offer. His fangs prodded and extended out of his gums just thinking about the blood slithering through the tube and out of Alfred's arm. He pulled a hand quickly over his mouth as he tried to calm his appetite. He was giddy over a simple dribble, it was near lustful and he despised the feeling because it distracted him when he was out in public. A small whiff of blood would send him prowling around someone like they were just prey to him. It was instinctive and it infected his code, but he's trained himself to control it significantly better. Living, breathing people, that's what he's killed and it hung over his head. Most of the people he stalked down, he had no idea if they were innocent or immoral. He tried not to mull over it too heavily. Thankful he had a new outlet to take the burden off his shoulders. Given the opportunity to turn back to the meat of it all and nestle his teeth onto some rapist's neck, he might have to give in and spend time with Alfred. It certainly sounded fun to him at the very least. "That depends on what you mean by hunting... You don't-" Letting go of his now presentable mouth, Ivan gestured, with his hands, a set of teeth opening and closing. "eat humans, right?" He questioned because deer blood was downright nasty to him. If prepared right, it was tolerable. "I always thought werewolves ate small animals."

Alfred snickered when he was made fun of for closing his eyes. It was easy to do it around Ivan, his soothing voice made him relaxed. No need to stare at the T.V. when Ivan was the entertainment he needed. Getting pushed off Ivan’s legs, he sat up lazily, missing his body. Sitting up straight, he let the man adjust his legs as he wondered how Ivan would feel on his lap.... His thighs were squishy, did the back feel the same way? Dirty thoughts, but he was only an animal inside. Humming, he saw in the corner of his eyes how excited Ivan got. Wow- so the man did want his blood? He wasn’t sure if it was a turn on or off, either way, it interested him. Ivan could get a small taste if it meant if he’d get more hang out time with Ivan. He was a tad bit mean, so he might only give Ivan a small thing of blood. Use the rest as bribery. With a thirsty vampire-like Ivan, he could probably convince the man to do a few things. “Yeah, I’ll stop by. If I’ll donate blood, we’ll see. Depends on my mood.” He teased, not letting Ivan know if he’d really hand over his arm and let him be drained. Teasing was all in good fun, wasn’t it? Raising a brow, Alfred shook his head at the question of eating humans. “Nope, only animals. Do... vampires, do you guys like animal blood? Can y’all live off of it?” He asked, wondering if it was similar to Twilight. Vegetarian vampires were an interesting concept.

Missing the contact he had with Ivan, he decided to be bold. Being bold was the only thing he could do now. He liked Ivan, and they were getting closer. Wanting to let the man know he liked the vampire, he decided to tease back about his first comment. “You know, you are right. We should pay more attention to the T.V....” Grabbing Ivan’s waist, he brought the man down with him as he laid back. It caused Ivan to lay across his chest. Holding the man tight, he enjoyed locking Ivan in his arms, keeping his head on top of his chest. Kissing the top of his forehead, he faced the T.V. His fingers played with the vampire's hair, taking pleasure how soft it felt in his fingertips. Ivan felt softer than he thought... he always imagined vampires were rock hard, tense, and dead. But Ivan was still alive, in some weird way. Just like him...

Ivan's excitement faded at the change of heart. It would require more reeling in before he could get what he wanted from Alfred. Two cups are all he could wish for and just a little bit of the man's time. Letting the talk of donating go, he shrugged his shoulders. The blood type wasn't hard to acquire, one in three people had O-positive so he wasn't going to jump on Alfred about it. Even if it was Alfred's blood. Something about the fact made it ten times more unattainable and sought after to him. He drummed his fingers across the couch when the other voice piped up. There were dozens of animals he hasn't sampled yet, so he couldn't judge the palette completely, but by the number of deer and bears he has tried, he found that animal blood wasn't for him. His body rejected it and wouldn't cooperate with it as if he was only designed to cater to his own lost species. He envied Alfred and his ability to not cannibalize the people around him, werewolves didn't have the problem of accidentally eyeing down someone too long to the point where they're uncomfortable. "Technically... yes. I can survive off animal blood, but it's grainy and almost stale- it makes me sick." He explained, distracting himself with the television

There wasn't much between him and ending Alfred with his big sweet smiling eyes when he was cradled down into his arms. At first, he considered snapping at the abrupt and out of line action, but he wasn't hurt by it so he didn't see the use in upsetting Alfred. Allowing himself the luxury, he rested his head against the chest and ran his fingers through Alfred's hair once more. Doing his best to ignore the flashing intimacy on the screen, he closed his eyes. "You're coming on a little strong, Alfred." Tugging slightly at the strands between his fingers as a warning, he turned his nose away from the awaiting pulses he could hear in the werewolf's neck. He couldn't tell if Alfred was ignorant or if he was asking for trouble. Steadying his heart, his thumbs brushed along the American's eyebrows. With a near millennium of experience under his belt, he didn't hold back his tongue when he was uncomfortable. Passionate moments were even more difficult to have him swooning over, but he still had fun playing with someone. He's learned his lesson in giving cold rejections. However, he was pleased to feel warm hands wrapped around him and a burning chest against his cheek. Alfred was someone he wanted to trust, someone he didn't want to bite, but still someone he wanted to taste. "Do you get this close to every vampire you meet?... I might have to keep my family away from you if that's the case." Poking fun, he relaxed and smiled at the strokes to his head while giving his share back to Alfred's. "Do you have family or friends other than Allen?"

Alfred was blessed that Ivan didn’t react negatively. Instead of biting or pulling away, Ivan laid on his chest. The wolf was a cuddly man, he adored nothing more than to snuggle up close to someone. Wrap his arms and legs around them, nuzzle his face into their neck, and fall asleep. His hot body always kept someone warm. And with Ivan’s colder temperature, it was a great balance. Closing his eyes too, he smiled when his eyebrows and hair were played with. He knew he was coming off strong, but he was an alpha puppy at heart. He knew what he wanted, and would put effort into getting it. Ivan was the untouchable prize; he’d fight for it. “Mm.... No, I don’t. Don’t sweat it, I won’t try to talk to your sisters. I only got room for one vampire right now.” He teased, meaning it. One of his hands went to Ivan’s lower back, stroking it back and forth. He attempted to be relaxing and soothing, letting the man untangle in his arms. He didn’t want Ivan to tense up and panic, that was the last thing. The more at peace Ivan was, the better. He wanted to see if he could convince the vampire to a sleepover. He wasn’t asking for sex, just a night of cuddling and watching T.V., but he’d have to find a way to propose this to Ivan without coming off as a slime ball. He just wanted to cuddle.... sure, if more happened, he wouldn’t complain, but he wasn’t going to try anything. Simple cuddling under his handmade silver fox blanket. Resting his chin on Ivan’s head, he started to think about his pack members. “My parents are dead, my brother is alive though. And so are his wife and kids. I only talk to my brother, his wife and kids think I died a long time ago. He’s the only person who knows the truth. I follow his kids on Instagram and stuff to keep up with them since they are my nieces and nephews... But I stay at a distance. It sucks, but it has to be like that...”

Ivan wouldn’t be able to see the hurt in his eyes, but he’d be able to hear it in his voice. It hurt Alfred not to be involved with his own family. He wanted to be the uncle everyone loved, that came around and spent time with the kids. Took them out for trips, shopping, helped them with homework, and gave life advice. In all honesty, he wanted that life for himself with his own children, but that would never happen. It was all taken away. That was the curse of immortality in Alfred’s eyes, the purpose of life was to create more, and he couldn’t. Alfred would always be... idling in life, never getting old but never growing, always at a plato. “My pack members... There’s a lot of them. They are all guys, for some reason I swear other werewolves only want to scratch dudes. Or maybe girls are immune to it... I’ve heard some werewolves say that most females are- but anyway. There’s a lot of us, but I would rather not say the names. It’s their secret, not my right to share it. I shouldn’t have mentioned Allen’s name anyway.” He didn’t feel comfortable naming all his pack members. Privacy and their oath to it was an important virtue in their culture, and he wouldn’t risk it to swoon over an alluring vampire. Only if they got really closer. “I already know who’s a vampire in this town. I can smell them. So you don’t have to tell me about your vampire sisters. I know. It’s just something us dogs can sniff out.” He joked, kissing Ivan’s forehead softly again.

Letting out a sigh, Alfred reviewed the interactions between him and Ivan in the past hour. The fact that the pair went from making slight threats to each other to now getting cozy on his sofa was a mixture of odd and not. The past two months of bonding doing chores grew a feeling of attraction, plus a yearning for trust. The pair wanted to get close, but fears of each other's powers and species kept them from opening up. Then again, Alfred is the type to move relationships and intimacy fast, it was usual for him. However, his vampire crush appeared to be more cautious and closed off; so he questioned Ivan’s acceptance of the change in their dynamic. “So, how did we go from not mentioning that we are immortals, to cuddling on my couch? Not complaining, by the way…” he asked, his voice calm but friendly. 

Ivan snorted, agreeing with the oddness of the situation. He stayed quiet for a moment as he contemplated his behavior. Living so many lifetimes, he became used to the usual formula of getting close to someone. However, those were nearly all humans. Finding a fellow immortal that he found attractive and worthwhile to keep around made him want to cling and never let go. Jumping with both feet, as one would say. The reality that he could be making a mistake did stay in the back of his mind, but he wanted to keep it there. “I believe… us both opening up helped… You answered many questions I have been thinking about since we first met, and I could probably say the same for you…” He took a deep breath, one that matched Alfred’s. The relaxation from Alfred’s touches was foreign, it has had been a while since someone’s fingers had such an effect on him. “I’ve been attracted to you since I met you…” 

Ivan never considered being close with someone a part feral dog. With his hands still cradling Alfred's head, it was uncouth behavior for himself. There was no result he had to lead the werewolf into a state of vulnerability and break that trust. It was never as if he pulled that trick often, but he could already feel the relationship ending terribly. So far, Alfred had been good to him and he wanted to keep that light in the puppy's heart. He figured that Alfred had a few years to explore his identity and form bonds with others of his kind, but something about locking Alfred down didn't feel humane to him. With every inch of Alfred's personality, he could read it. While there would be some tug and pull over whether he was right, he knew that Alfred didn't know what he wanted. The man was alone and deeply aching and he smelt it. 

Seeing as Alfred was desperate for comfort and affection, he'd be softer on him. There wouldn't be any nail digging when he deemed a reach to be lower than standard. Instead, he patted the dirty blond hair and stretched out one of his legs to situate the hand higher up on his back. Their hips weren't overlapping so could relax without any potentially fatal movements when he got comfortable. Alfred wasn't much of his to hold onto, but those sorts of displays of affection restricted to particular facets of platonic and romantic love weren't his to decide. He was having a pleasant time, so he'd worry about his real emotions later. As for the moment, he was more concerned with Alfred's own feelings in his unsteady words. Attempting some consolation, he straightened up the head of hair in slow-paced layers. "Not everyone can be as lucky as me, but I understand and I really do hate how pitiful you sound over it-... Watching someone you love to grow old without you is hurtful, isn't it?" He sympathized, plenty of the same scenarios rattled off from family friends and even lovers.

After mindlessly opening his eyes to watch the show and rub more gentle touches through the stiff strands, he decided to ask. "Have you turned anyone into a werewolf?... I bet you never even attacked anyone, have you? You don't have the heart for it." He wasn't mocking or teasing Alfred about his tenderness veiled by aggressive bluffs; it was something he admired. Something about werewolves always led them to be huffy or extremely playful and friendly. The fact that struck him interesting was the exclusion of females. Now that he considered it, he didn't encounter very many female werewolves. Vampires were more diverse, a blended mix of all demographics. They were a hidden subhuman society of subhuman that bred and carried on wreaking havoc across the globe. He, in particular, wasn't knit in with community life. His friends were few and far between. It had been a few years since he's spoken to his old close friend, the distance made it hard to keep in contact and it didn't help that he had a falling out with the now German vampire. Gilbert was one of the first vampires he met; he could never forget the distinctive odor the pale man carried, pungent. Alfred's fluffy puppy smell was much more pleasant, the blood perfumed, and blended with the werewolf olfactory calling card. He could nuzzle even closer to Alfred and take in more of it, but rushing that along wasn't a priority of his. "Do all werewolf names start with Al?... It might explain the lack of women if you ask me." Joking along, Ivan sat up and settled back into his seat. Taking Alfred's feet into his lap, he began running the tips of his fingers up the soles. "You seem tired. Maybe you should turn this off and lay down?"

Alfred didn’t want to spend to much time on the topic of romance and mortality. Staying young as the other grew old, it was a painful reminder that he was different. Unchanging, forever, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it. There was no cute to this curse, and Alfred was stuck being like this until the day someone buried his body. Keeping his eyes closed, he relished in each touch and careful act by the man. Ivan displayed a human side to him, one that was gentle and loving. Alfred took interest in that, locking it away in his brain and saving it for a time to give back to Ivan. Hearing the man bring up the painful topic of mortality, he nodded as he squeezed him tighter. “Yeah... It is.” He said, his voice low, lacking the usual gusto and life. Someone had sucked the joy out of it. Gulping, he squeezed Ivan again as his fingers rubbed circles on his back. Slow, gentle circles, his way of being non threatening and relaxing to his vampy crush. He mocked the loving behavior Ivan displayed when he got his hair pulled, showing that he did care about Ivan’s comfort. “No... I never have. Never will. I don’t want to give anyone the power of immortality, good person or not. I think someone might abuse it. And I don’t want to be that cause...” he confessed, sighing as he thought about the men who he'd killed. Many weren’t men who deserved to be alive, let alone given the chance of immortality. The chance of harming people, and getting away with it! They didn’t deserve that pleasure, and Alfred would never be responsible for it. He’d never bite or scratch a man who he did not want to kill. End of story. He didn’t play games, if he attacked a human, it was a good reason. He saved his human-hunting for the vilest of men, and those shouldn’t get the opportunity to have more victims.

He’d come to whine when Ivan pulled away and sat up. He found pleasure in having the vampire lay down on him. He was even getting used to the smell. He was quite smart with how they cuddled, letting his neck and shoulders rub all over it. That was the point, as his main scenting glands were there. The more he rubbed on Ivan from those spots; the harder and harder his scent was to remove. He did want Ivan reeking like a werewolf covered vampire all day? Yes. That’s how people would know to stay back, that’s Alfred’s. Due to being ticklish, he pulled his feet out of Ivan’s lap. He opened his arms, stretching them out as he cracked his back. “Yeah... I should lay down. You’ll stay over the night... right? My room is always really hot, and you cool me down. It’s super comfortable... Please?” Alfred asked, in the most begging, sugary sweet voice. His eyes even matched, begging with his voice. He sat up, his face going near Ivan’s own, working a pout. He wanted a cuddle buddy, the puppy was lonely and needy. And the vampire’s squishy, but cold body, was the perfect match for the needy, but a burning werewolf. Alfred was going to be good of course, keep his hands in the right place. No touching anything below the belt; only back rubs and cheek kisses.

The welcoming tightness was given a few tender scratches back to the blond locks. Ivan could sense the troubled and uneasy flex to Alfred's tongue. Something about the werewolf made him less pressured around him, he could rip himself away if he had to. The chipper American seemed to be a more even match, but he was sure if something terrible were to happen, he could slip off without a chunk of wood in his heart. He didn't want to square off with his close friend and end up hurt. If Alfred was specist and wanted to kill a vampire for sport, he knew that he would have been long snapped at and buried by now. There was no reason for him to feel unsound- he wasn't, but he didn't wish Alfred to see his serenity. Being hooked on a werewolf-like Alfred was a stab to his own ego. Ivan had time to sleep around, touch on a few mortals and immortals. Yet, he didn't seek out a good time like Alfred. It wasn't as if he was shallow or hardheaded, he just didn't find satisfaction in giving someone what they wanted so easily. He liked shows, he enjoyed watching Alfred bend over backward, but he knew it wasn't a one-sided attention endeavor. A whining pup wasn't a happy one; he liked earning a smile and getting to smile. He adored being touched, but he was sure that the pleasure was universal. With how open and clingy Alfred laid himself out to be, he assumed the feeling was nothing but mutual. He planned to pull and smooch on Alfred until his fur even had bruise marks where his lips have been.

His mouth sneered as he regretted pulling away so soon. He didn't even have Alfred's warm feet in his lap to keep him company. Hearing that he could stay for the night, he practically got scratched by a werewolf himself and grew a wagging tail. It didn't show significantly on his calm appearance that he was doing small cheers in his mind, but it was clear that he was content with the question. The begging and desperate pouts did have a way of convincing him and putting a faint smile on his face after all. Watching the American stretch, he rubbed a thumb to his chin and leaned back into the couch. "You want me to sleep in your bed?... Aren't you a little too old for sleepovers?" Fond of having someone to tease, he closed his eyes. Alfred was special to him, an experiment of sorts, a wandering curiosity that he could have fulfilled, but mostly a fuzzy sweet boy he found warm inside and out. If he was able to wrap himself around him without ending up a walking werewolf cologne bottle, he would. Cracking open his eyes, he gradually sat up from his spot. A few lingering puppy rubs to his skin would be alright with him. He closed the gap between him and Alfred, ghosting his lips over the other pair. "You're really lucky that you're so cute... I guess the puppy dog eyes are just a bonus feature that makes you harder to crush." Pulling away, he stood up from the couch and dragged Alfred up by his wrists along with him. Knowing the same layout of his apartment, he walked with Alfred over to his room. "Maybe you can go ahead and take off your clothes so I can see if you were bluffing?... I don't believe that you can change into a wolf at will." He just wanted an excuse to watch Alfred strip and blush before him. It was a pleasant atmosphere, but he wasn't surprised to note the pelts scattered across a werewolf's bed.

Alfred could feel his face getting red once Ivan closed in the space between their faces and agreed to spend the night. Pleased to see that his begging worked, he smirked, still rocking a cocky grin with red cheeks. Standing up with Ivan, he let the man lead him, even if it was his own house. “So you are finally admitting that I’m cute? Thank god, you have standards.” He teased, taking the chance to check out Ivan from behind. He seemed to check the boxes in Alfred’s departments of what he looked for in a man. Even if Ivan was a vampire, he could see himself spending a long period with the man. He just has to get over the smell... But he was already starting to forget about it. Once in the room, Alfred went with Ivan’s request to see him take off his clothes. He wasn’t shy, not at all. “I usually sleep naked, but since I have company, I’ll keep on my boxers.” He commented, throwing his shirt on the floor and kicking off his sweatpants. Mostly muscular, with a slight sun-kissed tan, his body had a few scar marks, the most noticeable over his heart. A deep slash was there, a symbol of what made him turn every full moon. To anyone who asked, Alfred made up some story about being attacked by a bear one-night hunting, and that wasn’t far from the truth. He was attacked by something, just a creature more dangerous and horrible than an average bear.

Hoping into the bed, he half covered himself with the silver fox blanket, letting his chest be exposed. Tapping the area next to him, he attempted to convince Ivan to get undressed. “Since I’m only in my underwear, don’t you think it’s only fair for you to be too? Don’t worry, I’m not a creep. I won’t grope you.” He teased, taking the remote and turning on the T.V., he let The Office playing in the background, thinking the comedy would be good background noise to let Ivan relax. Then he could put on something more romantic, put on a classic, something sexy but still, heartfelt. Alfred wasn’t fully a creep, he did and would respect Ivan’s boundaries. He was mainly looking for someone to cuddle and nuzzle against during the night. Only cuddles, rubs, and if he’s lucky, a few smooches. 

"I should start calling you Narcissus because I've never seen such a short little man have so much ego." Ivan wasn't blind, he knew Alfred had some height, but he couldn't let people shorter than he forget about their sheer petiteness. A wicked grin jumped to his face when he caught Alfred with a red tint. There was no doubt in his mind that werewolves had the same blood that they were born with, but he wasn't positive if Alfred could show surprise. Catching someone blush was always gratifying; he found that it beat having to watch someone be sucked of any color.

In many ways, Alfred fits his outer crust. With the attention to the physique, he saw that the man truly cared about himself. His measly golf tee sized scars on his neck, they fell in comparison to the gash across Alfred's chest. Between puncture wounds with a burning aftertaste and a deep tissue scratch, he wasn't entirely sure which one he'd rather have to endure. That hadn't been his decision and it was a complaint, but he was used to his powers by now. Laughing at Alfred for neglecting the whole point of wanting him to strip, he pushed off his loafers. "Do you have short term memory loss or did you just stop listening to me when I told you to take off your clothes?" He ignored the request to follow in the other's footsteps and simply observed how Alfred prepared to lay down. It disappointed him when he didn't get to see Alfred pace around in circles and flop down. From the way it was described to him, he shouldn't worry too much if he spots a wolf walking around the apartment complex. It was simply Alfred, but a puppy edition. "Oh? Or is it that you were just talking earlier? You really can't change at will... too proud to take back what you said, I see." Slipping into bed away from Alfred, he shot a disturbing glare to the flashing television. There was a reason why bats were heavily associated with his kind. Dark, cold, and even damp environments were the most familiar ways for him to sleep. Sometimes he'd hang upside down if he felt so inclined. He wondered if Alfred curled up into a little compact ball and twitched when he had nightmares. Smiling upon the mangy yapper, he slipped his fingers behind Alfred's ear and gently scratched at the patch of skin and hair.

He eventually gave in to what was comfortable and unbuckled himself before shrugging off his pants beneath the covers. Sleeping with furs wasn't entirely foreign to him, but he forgot how outrageously warm they made him. He noticed that even Alfred wouldn't completely wrap himself up in the pelt. Tossing his turtleneck down along with his pants to the floor in a pile, he shuffled a short centimeter toward the blond. "Just so you know, I'm not asking for you to grope me." Warning the other, he stretched out his legs and adjusted his pillow. His fingers found the fur between them, pinching and petting the lifeless edges. He wasn't the biggest fan of hunting for sport, but he figured that it wasn't much sport to an animal and in a way, Alfred was an abounding pup. First keeping his distance for a moment, he ultimately moved closer to Alfred and squeezed his frame into his hold. "Ah... we forgot our clothes downstairs. Should we go get them before we become too comfortable?" He reminded and questioned himself even if he had no intent on leaving Alfred's side.

“Hey, I’m not short. You are just... freakishly tall!” He joked, not taking offense to his humor. Even though he was five-eleven himself, standing next to Ivan did make him seem smaller than he was. Seeing Ivan lose some clothes as well kept the grin on his face. He didn’t think vampires could be so... sexy, and his over sugar smell was starting to turn good. He couldn’t describe how, but Ivan went from smelling like burnt, over-processed sugar, to honey and flowers. Perhaps it was all in Alfred’s head, his crush on Ivan made his senses turn something gross into something good. Or maybe, due to him being a vampire, he subconsciously thought they all smelled bad, even if they didn’t. Whatever reason, he became more comfortable breathing through his nose around Ivan, as his scent didn’t bother him. He wished he could lean in to sniff him more, a wolf habit he had gained. He laughed again about the comment with his clothes, as he had no modesty, and he’d strip nude if asked. “I mean... I can take off the underwear if you want. I don’t mind being naked. But you gotta get naked too, only fair...” He teased, grabbing Ivan’s thigh and wrapping it around his waist. His hands stroked the man’s thigh, taking advantage of the free skin. It was cold, but soft at the same time. He imagined vampires being cold and hard, but Ivan wasn’t. He was squishy, had fat on his body. He did squeeze the thigh a few times, his hands enjoying the sensation of cold, yet soft. With Alfred’s body temperature being a few degrees hotter than the average human, cooler temperatures were soothing. Ivan’s body was like a nice fan on a hot summer day, cooling down the burning hot man.

“You being cold feels pretty nice…” He yawned, his face going into Ivan’s neck. While he wanted to kiss it, he kept to his promise and only nuzzled it. He purred when Ivan scratched his head, pleading with the sensations. “I can change on will, I just rather do it another time. Don’t want to scare you... and if the T.V. is bothering you, I can turn it off.” He mentioned, noticing how Ivan gave the light a dirty look. He pulled Ivan a tad bit closer, loving the cold Ivan provided. “Just forget about it, I’ll get them in the morning. This bed and you are comfortable... I’m not letting go anytime soon...” He said, giving in and placing one single peck on Ivan’s cheek. Only one, and then he returned to nuzzling his neck. The puppy was needy for the affection of any kind. Sweet words, rubs, kisses, his hands kept stroking back and forth on Ivan’s thigh. It wrapped around his waist made him more comfortable and feel safe. Having someone around you was the best way to sleep in Alfred’s eyes. Especially if the said person checked every box in appearances, and was starting to in personality. He was funny, flirtatious, but still held his ground. Alfred pulled towards strong personalities, it was who he was. So it was what he wanted.

The heat produced by Alfred drew Ivan in. He felt as if he was already holding onto some sort of animal, the fur blanket creating the illusion. It was like he was wrapped up in a fresh clean blanket from the dryer. Not as harsh as the sun that cooked into him, but the pleasant warmth of a cat curled up on his stomach. It made it difficult for him to keep his distance and his hands to himself. Assuming the rule would be the same for Alfred, he would respect the other body just as much as he wanted to be left without groping. Even if he wanted to run a finger over Alfred's scar and squeeze at his chest, he wouldn't go that far. He had to play it smart, he didn't want to give Alfred the wrong idea. The smell didn't have to emit off of the werewolf for him to understand that he wasn't his to keep. It wasn't clear to him whether his neighbor was taken or was someone who didn't like to be tied down to someone else. Either way, he knew better than to give in to his own desires and royally destroy the pleasant conversations he had with Alfred. To keep up the act and hold himself captive in the relationship he already had with the American, he didn't let his thumb linger too long over the smirking lips on Alfred's face. His eyes rolled at the comment, still not entirely sure if he was being teased. "I'd like it much more if you kept your boxers on... It will take a pint or more for you to convince me to lay naked with you." It was part joke and part genuine offer. A few times over, he has led bothersome individuals to an old cheap hotel room and bit into them. It wasn't his proudest way of maintaining himself, but it wasn't the bitterest thing he's gone through with. He was just happy to have some leverage on his kill count these days. In truth, he might have turned Alfred into a meal if he wasn't a hunting machine. If the man had been more of an intolerable creep, he would have considered it, but Alfred was sweet. It would be a tragedy for him to kill someone so beautiful.

"For someone who promises not to touch me too heavily... you're sure grabbing me a lot." He teased, not entirely upset. There were parts of him that still craved to be held, but he knew not to beg Alfred about it because the answer wouldn't be no. He adored Alfred, he wanted to play with his hair and kiss love into his ear, but he was patient. His rubs to Alfred's locks and down behind his neck were slow, dragging. "You don't have to sleep with it on, do you? I can just go back to my own bed and lay down instead. It's okay." He assured, avoiding the flash of the screen by taking his hand off of Alfred and shielding his eyes. "And- for your information, I've seen werewolves before. I'm not scared of them." Laughing, his fangs slipped down as he flashed his own grin at Alfred. "They should be scared of me." Referencing the conversation they had earlier, he nudged his forehead against Alfred's and gently grabbed at his side, bringing the body closer. Drawing his teeth up, he gave the small kiss back into his cheek. "Not you though, you shouldn't be scared of me... you're too much of a good puppy for me to hurt." He hummed, going back to pet at Alfred's hair. Everything about the werewolf was peculiar, he didn't understand his attraction to him, but it broke his heart to even consider hurting him. He wanted to keep Alfred safe.

Alfred took the remote and turned off the T.V., as he didn’t want any reason for the vampire to go up and leave. If that meant the room as to be dark and quiet, so be it. He opened his eyes and laughed when Ivan showed off his fangs, only going to squeeze his upper thigh. “You’re cute, even when you try to be scary...” More focusing on Ivan’s body and presence. Alfred took the chance and started to rub his neck on Ivan’s face, spreading his scent on the man. His hands and wrist were already doing work on Ivan’s legs currently. Scent marking was a big thing with werewolf’s, it was a great way to tell other wolves that someone was theirs and that they should stay away if they were smart. Werewolves in their human and wolf form had scent glands on their neck and wrist, as rubbing would brush their smell on the mate. It would only last a couple of days, but there was one way to make the scent-marking last weeks. Peeing or coming on a person, there was something about semen and urine that once on another person’s skin, would leave them smelling like the werewolf for weeks. Humans wouldn’t be able to detect it at all, their noses weren’t strong enough. But other werewolves would. All the werewolves would know not to touch Ivan, and to let him be. For now, he’d scent him more temporarily. He rubbed his neck on Ivan’s shoulder, his wrist going up to Ivan’s waist. Scenting his hips, he was happy with his work. He sniffed Ivan: Yup, he smelled like him! Grinning big and wide, he laid down with Ivan, placing the man’s head on his chest. Laying his head back in the pillow, he closed his eyes. “Wow. All I have to do is give blood for you to get naked for me? Noted... I’ll see you tomorrow then..” He teased, thinking that Ivan might be more willing to be playful back if he had an O-positive snack.

Feeling the cylinder of airways and muscle jump and bounce down his face, Ivan grunted. Heavy petting was generally fine with him, but having a neck smother his face was odd. He's seen and experienced some eccentric preferences, but being rubbed like that was new. It may have been that he read Alfred wrong and he wasn't some feverish little go-getter like he thought he was. Cuddling up with Alfred was a lot more unique and nearly awkward than he imagined. The idea of masking his own scent didn't even come to strike him, he just assumed that Alfred was unusual. He was at least grateful to be given peaceful darkness, bright lights irritated him to no end. His vision was catered to cutting through and seeing things when it was pitch black, but he could feel Alfred more than he could see him. He didn't fight back against the skin covering his body, instead, he leaned into the touches and soaked up the affection. His own fingers rubbed up and down Alfred's back and gingerly scratched at his chin. With his head pressed to the chest, he was tempted to lean in and kiss along the nasty gash across his heart. He knew it may be taken as a threat; if the was a faster way to suck someone dry than a neck, it would be the heart. It wouldn't take him but two seconds to kill Alfred off that way, but the werewolf would surely fight back. That's why necks were more optimal. They closed off the air supply. It took him a while to catch onto what Alfred was doing. The strange sniffing pointed in his direction being a key piece to bring the strange mannerisms together. "Who said I was yours to claim?" He would give the near slumbering pup a hard time about it because he had some fun hearing nervous excuses. There were enough werewolves in the area for him to awkwardly make eye contact with while the clingy mutt rubbed up on someone that was their lover. He even got growled at by some cretin for staring too long. It was hard not to stare at PDA when it was so obnoxious.

A glare burned into his closed eyes when he felt another teasing grab at his thigh laced with pleasing words. It was a guilty pleasure of his, to be fondled and groped, but he liked taking his time with Alfred for now. "You rub up on me as if you know me so well... and squeeze on me when I asked you not too." He hummed sarcastically, a faint smile leftover from Alfred's comment on donating. "That's fine." His lips guided themselves along the divide of the chest and up to Alfred's collarbone. Attempting to keep the werewolf calm and at peace, he continued to alternate between big and small circles being rubbed into his back. He was quite tired himself, his movements becoming slower as he put a kiss closer to Alfred's neck. The warmth was too soothing and beckoning. He wondered if Alfred was warmer as a sweet cuddly wolf. It was something he'd have to wait to pry out of his neighbor. A glimpse was all he asked for. Finally letting his arm lazily hook around Alfred's waist, he eventually joined him in slumber. He didn't move very much in his sleep, it was as if he was lifeless. It took a whole parade of a racket to stir him awake or else he would stay in a state of short hibernation and wake up a few days later. He was built to look and feel dead.

A

lfred knew that Ivan was going to give him a hard time about scent marking him, but Alfred just shrugged it off. “Mm... Me, that’s who...” He said in a tired voice. The man smelled like him, that was all that mattered. He smiled, snuggling up to him more when he was called a puppy. He was a puppy, indeed. He loved to cuddle, play fight, and scent whoever he adored. After scent-marking Ivan, perhaps in the morning he might pin Ivan down and play fight with him. It was fun to wrestle! To roll around in bedsheets, and see who was the strongest. He believed he could pin Ivan down easily and make him beg to be let go, and that it would be easily done. Then later they could cuddle, and Alfred could rub his scent glands on Ivan more. “My big alpha wolf inside of me sometimes is just a playful puppy. I think the same can be said about you... You seem like you can be somewhat innocent when you want to be...” He teased, giving a peck to Ivan’s forehead. “You smell good....” he said, yawning as he started to doze off.

His mind got hazy, especially with Ivan’s soothing rubbing. A lazy smile grew on Alfred’s face, wishing he could pinch Ivan to tease him for the backtalk. He knew not to take Ivan so seriously, as the man attempted to keep him calm and relaxed as well. He wasn’t pulling away or leaving the bed, so he mustn’t hate it that much. Whispering a few taunts back, he joined Ivan in falling fast asleep. Like Ivan, he was a deep sleeper too, who’s loud alarm was the only thing that would wake him up. With him always working the night shift, he usually slept all morning and into the afternoon. He did shift a couple of times but always seemed to pull Ivan close. He was a clingy sleeper, no matter what time it was, he’d find a way to touch whoever was cuddling him. There was one point at night where he had Ivan locked in his hold on top of him. But towards the morning, he was spooning Ivan, his arm and leg wrapped around him. His face in Ivan’s neck, he snoozed away, not wanting to wake up any time soon. He only got up sometime in the morning to pee, making an annoying sound as he pulled away from Ivan to use the toilet. Once he was finished, he flushed and returned to his warm bed and cold crush. He pulled Ivan close, laying on his back as he made Ivan lay on his chest. Enjoying the sensation of the Russian’s head on his chest, he let the man rest there, his hand stroking the leg wrapped around him. He felt safe like this, with someone wrapped around him. The cooling comfort of Ivan made it all worthwhile, and thoughts of donating some blood to see if his crush would loosen up a bit.

Ivan used to be a morning person, but his issues sleeping seemed to vanish once he was infected so he couldn't hate being a vampire if he could get his rest. Hardly did he toss and turn until his main source of warmth was stripped away from him. His fingers coiled and grabbed the sheets repetitively until he found Alfred again. He was in pure unbothered bliss. The only thing to take him away from his sinfully cozy spot around Alfred was the outrageously loud beeping of his phone. His eyes slowly drifted open as he assessed the situation. Jolting up from beneath the covers, he scrambled away from the heater of a body. If he lost his current job, he would lose his ability to provide for his sisters and himself. Unfortunately for him, blood banks opened early, but at least they were easy pickings. As cliche as it was, he used his time to gather a few degrees here and there. So, he was a certified nurse just so he could secure a position sticking a needle into some poor soul's arm. He adored his job and planned on keeping it. Getting to the floor, he searched his pants for his phone and quickly shut down his alarm. He religiously used multiple sounds to go off at once and he was, frankly, shocked to find his single alarm stirred him awake. Feeling bad for exposing Alfred to such a loud dominating ring, he dragged his pants over to the bed and tucked Alfred in. "I know it's loud, I'm sorry." His voice was low as he brushed a few complimentary strokes into the dirty blond hair. "I'm heading off to work, okay?... Will do me a big favor-" He sugarcoated his words, leaning closer to his face as he scratched behind Alfred's ear. "and bring my clothes up? You don't have to get up right now, but just make sure someone doesn't throw them away." It was something he was willing to do for a neighbor and he hoped Alfred wasn't too far gone to not be able to hear him. Shrugging on a pant leg, he put a kiss to each of Alfred's cheeks.

As he made his way towards the door, he pulled his pants over his hips and buttoned them up. He'd have to change into his scrubs once he made it back to his own apartment, but he wasn't going to risk walking out without any clothes on. At the doorway, he pulled his sweater over his head and turned to smile at Alfred. Out of habit, he chirped out what he usually left his sisters with. "I love you-" His mouth instantly snapped shut before quickly barking back open to try and correct himself. "No, I don't." Feeling as if he couldn't have said anything worse, he gave a simple wave to his crush. A mortified look staining his face as he stepped out of the room. A complete Freudian slip that had the potential to destroy his whole relationship with Alfred spat out of his mouth in one split second, of course, he was blushing with humiliation. He liked Alfred and he wanted to get closer to him, but he knew it was way too early to say anything close to I love you. It was too personal and he just said it out loud as if he was dating Alfred. He was burning again. Making it out of the apartment, he took a moment to hold his heart and get over himself. It wasn't long until he perked back up and hurried along to his own door to get ready with the awkward moment replaying in his head.

[ Link to Ao3, thank you if you read ! ]

[duscarasheddinnswriting]

Claw Game Team bio

Names: Xeno, Plopper, Taterman, Rexy,  Pingyuwin

Role: Complete set of prizes from the Toy Claw; toys in the Williams house neutral to the battle royale

Age: Manufactured during or after 2005 (I haven’t decided when Action Figure Battle Royale takes place)

Height: Less than a foot each

Species: Living toy (all of them; Xeno and Pingyuwin are squeaky toys of a little green man and a penguin, respectively, Plopper is a piggy bank, Taterman is, well, a Taterman toy, and Rexy is a plastic T. Rex)

Personality: Due to all being won from the same Toy Claw, which was at a Rolly’s that the Williams family frequents, all five of them feel a special kinship towards each other. They did not form this while all in the crane, as they were each won during different visits, and none of them were in the claw machine at the same time. They have quite different personalities from the ones on the big screen.

Abilities: All five of them can become inanimate or animate at will, and they choose the former out of instinct when a human knows they’re there.

Xeno is a squeaky toy, so he can be squeezed without feeling pain. In fact, he likes it.

Plopper is a piggy bank, so he is hollow on the inside and can store coins, though getting them out is hard on purpose. Due to the nature of his toy functions, his head can unscrew, though both his head and body are still alive and can reattach easily.

Taterman can move his plastic potato body by rolling it, and he can choose to either move an individual part of him or coordinate them for normal movement. Each Toy Claw Taterman was manufactured as a potato body and matching accessories, so the single soul that is each Taterman can control each one, the potato body, and even the accessories that aren’t attached to him independently and always knows the location of every part. In the Toy Claw, each Taterman has all of his parts stored inside his Potatush storage compartment. This is so that winning them has less risk of losing parts in the process. The eyes, ears, nose, and mouth can see, hear, smell, and taste, respectively, and they function even if taken off. Taterman’s arms aren’t molded in a pose.

Rexy has a strong bite, though due to natural laws, he physically cannot harm a human with it. His arms, though small, are very powerful to compensate, and unlike a real T. Rex, they have three fingers.

Pingyuwin is another squeaky toy and can be squeezed without feeling pain, and it too feels good to him. Unlike what he is based on, his squeaker works.

Toy Claw Info: A Toy Claw is a claw machine in the shape of a rocket. They are popular enough that every arcade chain in the US has at least one in at least one location. They are not as rigged as most claw machines, but the trouble lies in the weight of several of the prizes. They debuted in arcades in 2005, though they were made as a tie-in to a 1995 movie, the world’s first feature-length film rendered in 100% CGI and the debut of Mixar Animation Studios, which later became a division of Dipney, who helped with Mixar’s films before then. They were made for the tenth anniversary of that movie. Here is the breakdown of what a fully stocked Space Crane has for its prizes:

Little green men (what Xeno is): 50%

Piggy bank (what Plopper is): 12.5%

Taterman (movie design): 12.5%

Green T. Rex toy (What Rexy is): 12.5%

Penguin squeaky toy (What Pingyuwin is): 12.5%

The Williams family has two Tatermen. The one they won from the Toy Claw is single, while the other one, bought in a Bullseye, is married to a Taterwoman also bought in that same Bullseye. That Taterwoman is not designed like the one from the movie.

Out of universe, they are a reference to “The Claw!” game included on Disc 2 of the Toy Story 10th Anniversary Edition 2005 DVD. I have that specific DVD, and I admit that I spent way more time on that game as a kid than I probably should have. Disc 2 is the bonus disc, and in that claw game, you can get an Alien, Hamm, Mr. Potato Head, Rex, and Wheezy. Buzz and Woody are not there because the former is a high-end toy (at least in universe) and the latter is an extremely rare collectible from the 1950s (as revealed in Toy Story 2), neither of which are likely to be found in a claw machine because of those reasons.

Xeno is supposed to be one of the Aliens from Pizza Planet. The ones in the Toy Claw, including him, are based on the Toy Story Signature Collection Aliens. However, the ones in the Toy Claw all have squeakers.

Plopper is supposed to be Hamm, and I based him off of a Disney Store toy that was quite accurate, but was discontinued because it was fragile, being made of porcelain. The toy model in my story has the same mold, but is made out of hard plastic that is far more durable. I got the name Plopper from The Simpsons Movie, where Homer calls the pig he takes home with him “Harry Plopper” at one point after having referred to him as “Spider Pig” earlier on because he helped the pig walk on the ceiling.

The specific Taterman that these Toy Claws keep in stock, including the one the Williams family owns, all use the Toy Story design of Mr. Potato Head. I based him off of a custom one that is quite authentic to the movie, having eyes and shoes that go in separate holes, detailed ear molds, and eyebrows molded into each eye. They look quite good, but as the separate parts could be dangerous to kids under 4 years old, there is a warning molded on the Potatush saying not to give it to anyone that young.

Rexy is supposed to be Rex, mostly resembling the Toy Story Collection real-world toy of him. However, mine has no electronic components nor a voice box, so he does not take batteries. This also makes him less impressive, but cheaper to mass produce. The head, arms, and tail can be moved freely but stay in place when not touched.

Pingyuwin is supposed to be Wheezy. I based mine off of a custom one made by kop378454505. I know there is an official one, but the custom one has a louder squeaker, so I went with that. Their squeakers also all work by default, which I know is less authentic to the one in the movie, but I don’t think kids would understand that, so they would be disappointed when their squeaky penguins didn’t work. I named him after the way Dr. Blowhole from the Dreamworks TV series The Penguins of Madagascar says the word “penguin.”

I decided that the kids of the Williams family named their toys differently from the ones in the movie because they were too young at the time to understand their real names. After years of being referred to by the wrong names, they all accepted it.

Read the only story to have these toys in it, Action Figure Battle Royale, with these links:

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30466935/chapters/75127953

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/duscara/gallery/74952731/action-figure-battle-royale

Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/264799683-action-figure-battle-royale

FictionPress: https://www.fictionpress.com/s/3355621/1/Action-Figure-Battle-Royale

[ma-gic-gay]

Just as Michael's about to answer their question, Jason's phone goes off. "Perfect timing," he mutters before going outside to take the call. "Jason Morgan."

"Mr. Morgan, it appears Mr. Renault is at the office demanding to speak with you. What should I do?" One of his employees informs him.

"Cyrus has my number. If he would like to schedule a meeting, tell him he can call me and we'll have one."

"I've already told him that and he won't agree to it."

Dammit. Peace in this town is fragile enough; the last thing they need is an angry Cyrus. He's been unstable as of late, not agreeing to this could lead to a gunfight. Well, that's actually to be expected. "We'll meet at the office in twenty minutes then. Tell him to call off his men, including Brando. Look around the perimeter and have the rest of the guards check to make sure that there's no one on the premises or within range of hitting someone."

"Yes sir," the employee agrees, hanging up the phone.

"Business stuff?" Willow asks cautiously. After all, this is the first time she's been in this situation.

"Yeah," Michael answers, sensing from the businesslike stance he's taken in their kitchen. "Let's go check on the kids."

They leave the room and instantly Carly asks, "What did he do?"

"Demanded we meet. I don't know why or what this is about, so please tell me you didn't do anything stupid that could cost the truce to be undone."

"I haven't done anything. I've considered it, but I haven't done anything yet," she tells him. "How long til the meeting?"

"I've gotta get going. You have to stay here, this doesn't concern you. Cyrus is looking for a fight and you'll give him one. He's looking for any reason to violate the truce and take me out," Jason informs her. "I mean it. No showing up."

"Is it a solo meeting?"

"Yes."

"You want me to sit here and list out the times he's tried to kill you this past year and a half? Jason, you can't got to a meeting alone. You'll get killed!" Carly exclaims.

"No I won't, Carly. I've got it handled, I told you," he says, glancing at his watch.

"Yes you will! You need to stop agreeing to these one on one meetings because one of these days he's going to get you killed and I won't be able to survive that!"

"I told you, I'm not getting killed!"

"Can you predict the future? No, you can't! I know you might want to go and have this meeting but you can't do it alone!"

"I'm going to the meeting, Carly. You are going to stay here with your kids, grandkids, and Willow," he says, voice unbudging. She's not going to win.

"Promise me you'll come back."

"Carly-"

"Promise me, Jason, or you're not going!"

"I promise."

"Fine, you can go," she surrenders, hugging him. "But be safe."

"As safe as I can be, meeting with him," he agrees.

"Alright, well you better go now or you're not going to be able to say goodbye to the kids."

He bids them all goodbye, hugs Carly again, and leaves for the meeting. His gun is on him, as is his cell phone. Though the usefulness of a cell phone is to be questioned when it's a mob meeting he's having. Not like he can exactly call the police if anything happens, they'd arrest him.

Arriving at the office, he senses that today's going to be a long day.

"Hey Harry, is it clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright, thanks," he says before walking into the office. "Cyrus. What's so urgent?"

"Well, Sonny's been gone a year now. I was hoping we could revisit us joining together for a way to continue the peace in this town," Cyrus answers.

"Like I told you the day you found out he was missing, that isn't happening. You're not going to run your product through this town and ruin it. This was Sonny's territory and if he's not dead and comes back, it'll be his again. We both agreed no drugs. It's not happening. Is that all?" Jason asks, bored.

"No, actually. I was wondering how Mrs. Corinthos is holding up. Given that this is the anniversary of losing her husband, I'd presume not well."

"None of your damn business."

"No need to get so defensive, I'm merely posing a question. Trying to make conversation."

"If you don't have anything related to business to discuss, my men will escort you out."

"Oh, but I doubt you will," Cyrus says, laughing evilly. "You'll be too dead to even have the chance to get me out of this room." He takes his gun from his pocket rather dramatically for Jason's taste and aims for him.

Drawing his gun himself, the now mob boss ducks, narrowly missing the bullet before firing his own, missing the other mobster by only a few inches. That was on purpose; a warning shot of sorts. "It never occurred to me," the ponytail clad man continues unaffected, "that you'd be so easy to take out. I mean, really. Your reputation is that you're businesslike and directly to the point, but then you've agreed to several meetings with me alone. I was planning on having some fairly difficult plans to kill you, but you've simply fallen into my lap. I do suppose I feel a bit bad, however, that Mrs. Corinthos will have to deal with you being dead as well."

There's a line you just don't cross in business, and that's been crossed. He remembers his promise to not die and snaps into action. "Fire that gun again and I hit you right between the eyes," Jason warns, setting himself up for his shot.

"I sense I've hit a nerve," Cyrus smiles, "mentioning her like that. Tell me, Mr. Morgan, has it ever occurred to you that you're the reason she even knows about this business? With you gone, I suppose she'll be taking it over. Though I don't doubt her, I do doubt her ability to properly run this business. It's doubtful that she'll even make it a few weeks before she's ki-"

Another warning shot goes from Jason's gun, this one only barely above his head. "Last warning, Cyrus. This isn't a game. She's barely involved in this business and you have no right to bring her up when this fight is between us. So drop the gun and get on the ground."

Chuckling as though he doesn't even really believe that he's about to be taken out, Cyrus stupidly continues, "I'll probably send one of my men to kill her, you know. Try to make it painless out of respect for her."

"Talking about me?" Carly asks, walking in with armed guards. She's got the worst timing.

"Yes I was, Mrs. Corinthos. How are you?"

"I'd be better if you were in a casket six feet under," she answers calmly. "Now, put your gun down before I kill you with my bare hands."

Where the fuck did she learn how to do that? He didn't teach her, neither did Sonny. Who did? Not the point, Carly isn't supposed to be here. She's now got the chance to be shot. That would kill him faster than the bullet wound he feels he could get.

"You heard her," Jason says. "Gun down, on the ground."

Turns out that's what needed to be done. The guards with guns pointed at his head doesn't hurt either, he's sure, but Cyrus finally gets on the ground and drops his gun.

"Good. Get Mrs. Corinthos out of here, now," he orders, to her complaints. "Carly, just go."

"I, personally, have nothing against her being here," Cyrus voices.

"You have no say." When Carly leaves, Jason calmly continues, "You mention her name again in front of me and I'll kill you. Talk about your plan to take me out again and you'll be dead. Nothing is changing. This is your last warning. Next time you try to kill me or someone I care about, you'll be dead quicker than you can even move from the scene. Get out."

Angrily, the ponytail clad man leaves, escorted by the guards. Jason then makes sure everyone knows to make sure there's no evidence of what happened, and that there's especially none Carly was ever there before he joins her in her car.

It's a quiet ride, with him firing off orders for his men and her pouting.

"I was right! He wanted you dead! You fell right into his trap!" She exclaimed when they walked into the living room of her house.

"No I didn't! Carly, I had it all under control!"

"Gun pointed at you, Jason! I walked in and there was a gun pointed at you!"

"I had mine pointed at him too! You can't walk into a gunfight!"

"Oh, but you can start one? You can get shot, I can't? Is that how this works?"

"The only reason you'd be shot in general is because of me, Carly! I introduced you to the business, I'm the reason you and Sonny got together, and I'm the reason you're still apart of it. I can deal with getting myself shot, I've survived other bullets before, but I can't deal with you getting shot!"

"I didn't!"

"Yeah, because I kicked you out of there!"

"I brought the guards, I was safe!"

"You walked into a gunfight when I told you it was the stupid thing to do! I told you not to go but you couldn't help yourself, could you, and you went to the meeting."

"You want me to tell you I was wrong and apologize? I'm not gonna do that! You could've been killed! God knows what Sonny's livelihood status is, but yours is alive. Alive, Jason! I'm not risking you dying, alright?"

"I've survived bullets before, I'd survive this one!"

"How do you know that? I need you to stay alive, so I don't care what your feelings are on the subject and I'm not apologizing! If I had to do it again and it was the only option, I'd go unarmed and alone. I would've been shot if it meant saving you from that! Cyrus wants you dead!"

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you died because of me! Your kids need their mother! Cyrus wants you dead too and I'll be damned if I let it happen."

"So what, Jason, you'll do the noble thing and die instead of me? That'll kill me. I couldn't breathe when we thought you were dead last time. Imagine how I'd be if I knew I was the one who caused it!"

"You're not dying!" He shouts back, but there's no edge to his tone anymore. He's less pissed. "Not when it's preventable. You're not getting shot either Carly. If I cause your death, I'll hate myself."

"And you think I won't hate myself if I cause yours?"

To be continued after midnight bc I have thing to add to my blog

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