#ripping the parallels to shreds with my teeth

[innocentartery]

green lantern (1960) #30/#150

[separatist-apologist]

What do you think about the theory that Rhysand was never supposed to be the main love interest? I can kind of see it, but was curious about your thoughts.

I disagree vehemently, and I would argue that there were a million obvious hints in ACOTAR that show Feyre was always going to end up with Rhysand. I think two things can be true: that she loved him and he was always going to be her first love AND that Rhysand was always meant to be her last love.

But just to back it up:

As early as page 15, the infamous:

I slung off my outer clothes onto the sagging dresser- frowning at the violets and roses I'd painted around the knobs of Elain's drawer, the crackling flames I'd painted around Nesta's, and the night sky-whorls of yellow stars standing in for white- around mine.



And then again, on page 31 when discussing why she'd chosen Isaac as a lover:

Relatively handsome, soft-spoken and reserved, but with a sort of darkness running beneath it all that had drawn us to each other, that shared understanding of how wretches our lives were and would always be.

When Lucien pays Feyre his backhanded compliment on page 53, he uses familiar night imagery often used to describe Feyre:

Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.

Here, on page 87, an amusing bit of foreshadowing about Feyre's future:

Prythian was ruled by seven High Lords- perhaps this she was whoever governed this territory; if not a High Lord, then a High Lady. If that was even possible.

When Feyre is faced with the Bogge and wants to look, she soothes herself (pg. 90):

I stared at the coarse trunk of a distant elm, thinking of pleasant things. Like hot bread and full bellies....A starry, unclouded night sky, peaceful and glittering and endless.

On 116, when Feyre finds the map of Pyrthian of all 7 territories, only one is spared any detail outside of the place she currently resides:

The other six courts of Prythian occupied a patchwork of territories. Autumn, Summer, and Winter were easy to pick out. Then above them, two glowing courts: the southernmost one a softer, redder palate the Dawn Court; above, in bright gold and yellow and blue, the Day Court. And above that, perched in a frozen mountainous spread of darkness and stars, the sprawling, massive territory of the Night Court. There were things in the shadows between those mountains- little eyes, gleaming teeth. A land of lethal beauty.

On 125, Feyre considers what she might want if she were immortal:

Did Tamlin or Lucien ever grow tired of day after day of eternal spring, or ever venture into the other territories, if only to experience a different season? I wouldn't have minded endless, mild spring while looking after my family- winter brought us dangerously close too death every year- but if I were immortal, I might want a little variation to pass the time. I'd probably want to do more than lurk about a manor house, too.

The first time Feyre really starts to relax around Tamlin and find joy in Prythian and her circumstances is at the pool made of starlight, which is such a long passage I'm just glossing over. Tamlin does comment she makes TWO jokes that day, and I'm choosing to draw a parallel between this moment and in ACOMAF when Feyre smiles for the first time after her ordeal under the mountain during Starfall. Feyre feels most at peace surrounded by starlight. [pg 159ish]

On 169, when Feyre thinks of her nightmares:

And though my dreams continued to be plagued by the deaths I'd witnessed, the deaths I'd caused, and the horrible, pale woman ripping me to shreds- all watched over by a shadow I could never quite glimpse-I slowly stopped being so afraid.

When Feyre can't stay away on Calanmai / mating bond language that SJM loves (pg. 183):

There was a string- a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear the faerie drums...

And then obviously this, on page 188:

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen

Like Feyre, Rhys is couched in Night imagery (pg. 189):

As if he'd been molded from the night itself I could have sworn tendrils of star-kissed night railed in his wake (190)

On 235, when Rhys goes to visit Tamlin, he alludes to the fact that he has his reasons for aligning with Amarantha, which are later explained in ACOMAF:

Her whore I might be, but not without my reasons

Also Feyre describing Rhys through the entirety of the scene in the Spring Court dining room is like...a brick to the face (starting page 234): 

Rhysand smiled- heartbreaking in its beauty.

His voice dropped to a whisper- an erotic caress of sound that brought heat to my cheeks

Rhysand laughed- a lovers laugh, low and soft and intimate

And from the way darkness seemed to ripple off him, from those violet eyes that burned like stars...

No- I would never dare to pain that dark, immortal grace-

Rhysand, when he realizes Feyre (who he is beginning to suspect might be his mate) is there (pg. 237):

A flicker of excitement- perhaps even disbelief- flashed across his features

Again, described in the same night imagery:

The sunlight didn't gleam on the metallic threads of his tunic, as if i balked from the darkness pulsing from him

on 310, when Amarantha demands Rhys explain the mix-up with humans, she thinks this when he lies:

Humans all look alike...I didn't believe him for a second. Rhysand knew exactly how I looked- he'd recognized me that day at the manor.

On 312, once again hating Rhys but thinking this about him:

She must have allowed him more power than the others, then, if he could still inflict such harm while leashed to her. Or else his power before she'd stolen it had been...extraordinary, for this to be considered the basest remains.

The obvious on 328:

"Yes, I'd say almost my entire court bet on you dying within the firs minute; some said you'd last five, and"- she urned over the paper- "and just one person said you would win."

Amarantha frowned at her list, and she waved a hand. "Take her away. I tire of her mundane face. " She clenched the arms of her throne hard enough that the whites of her knuckles showed. "Rhysand, come here."

The bargain of chapter 37, too numerous to detail (this is already so long)

The entire scene of Feyre in his bedroom, but especially this on page 342:

Indeed, it was still Rhysand's face, his powerful male body, but flaring out behind him were massive black, membraneous wings- like a bat's, like the Attor's. He tucked them in neatly behind him, but the single claw at the apex of each peeked over his broad shoulders. Horrific, stunning- the face of a thousand nightmares and dreams. That again-useless part of me stirred at the sight, the way the candlelight shone through the wings, illuminating the veins, the way it bounced off his talons.

344:

They grabbed for me, but he bared his teeth in a mile that was anything but friendly- and they halted. "No more household chores, no more tasks," he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. "Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell. And don't touch her. If you do, you're to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?

When Rhys is trying to get a rise out of both Amarantha AND Tamlin on 349:

The Faerie Queen straightened a little bit- even Jurian's eye seemed fixated on me, on Rhysand. For the rest of my life- he said it as if it were going to be a long, long while. He thought I was going to beat her tasks.

Page 355, when they're talking (more mating bond foreshadowing):

Sadness flickered in those violet eyes. I wouldn't have noticed it had I had not...felt it-deep inside me.

His help in the second task, but especially this pep talk when she's breaking down over the thought of nearly dying on 366:

Don't let her see you cry. Put your hands a your sides and stand up. Stand. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing you break. Good. Stare her down- no tears. wait until you're back in your cell. Count to ten. Don't look at Tamlin. Just stare at her. Good girl. Now walk away. Turn on your heel- good. Walk toward the door. Keep your chin high. Let the crowd part. One step after another.

369, this feels blatant:

It took me a long while too realize that Rhysand, whether he knew it or not, had effectively kept me from shattering completely.

Rhys visiting Feyre after that kiss and explaining why he's been making her dance, and what he hopes to accomplish on page 384:

Regardless of his motives or his methods, Rhysand was keeping me alive. And had done so even before I set foot Under the Mountain.

-and-

"When you healed my arm...You didn't need to bargain with me. You could have demanded every single week of the year." My brows knit together as he turned, already half-consumed by the dark. "Every single week, and I would have said yes. " It wasn't entirely a question, but I needed the answer.

A half smile appeared on his sensuous lips. "I know," he said, and vanished.

390:

Darkness rippled near the throne, and then Rhysand was here, arms crossed- as if he'd moved to better see. His face was a mask of disinterest, but my hand tingled. Do it, the tingling said.

394, Feyre once again drawing our attention to Rhysand during this horrible moment:

Rhysand's face had gone pale- so, so pale.

399, obvious foreshadowing:

Rhysand yelled my name again- yelled it as though he cared

400-401, more mating bond language:

Rhys's arms buckled as he fought to rise, and blood dripped from his nose, splattering on the marble. His eyes met mine. The bond between us went taut. I flashed between my body and his, seeing myself through his eyes, bleeding and broken and sobbing.

Chapter 45, when Feyre is dead but tethered to Rhys's soul, like COME ON.

412, more mating bond language as Feyre goes to Rhys:

I was pulled from sleep by something tugging at my middle, a thread deep inside.

414-415, two final scenes:

"You never told me you loved the wings- or the flying." No, he'd made his shape shifting seem...base, useless, boring.

He shrugged. Everything I love has always had a tendency to be taken from me. I tell very few about the winds. Or the flying."

-and then-

His eyes locked on mine, wide and wild, and his nostrils flared. Shock- pure shock flashed across his features at whatever he saw on my face, and he stumbled back a step. Actually stumbled.

Sorry this was so long. It escaped me BUT Feysand was always right there from the beginning. They were always going to be together, from book 1. SJM is a fated mates writer, and I think it's a blatant misrepresentation of the book she wrote to say ACOMAF is a retcon, and Feysand was never going to happen. People are free to disagree with me, of course, and say I'm wrong (but I'm not).

[curufiin]

Plz tell me more things about your Elves I crave parallels like mineral

i had to get a good night’s sleep before i answered this ask and now i’m awake so. >:) here we go

SO. THE ELVES. it’s time for more fanon dissection and what not except it’ll read way less clearly than my last elf analysis post 😔😔

it’s just very interesting to me that kit and elton’s dynamic of who’s the more composed and (whatever other word my vocab has been reduced to shreds) changes in the ring, whereas if you juxtapose that with fanon c+c, their attitudes follow them into combat.

fanon celegorm tends to be portrayed as more energetic, ‘dominant’ if you will (i got an ask on my old blog that was like ‘who’s the real leader between them’ and it was super fun to analyze but alas :( idk if i can find it now but anyway), and generally he’s like. the guy who does things. he killed a whole army of orcs, he was the one who spoke out against finrod first, he started the second kinslaying. and especially in tense or combat situations, i feel like he gets portrayed as like… pretty feral LMAO almost bloodthirsty even!

and that is absolutely a fair interpretation because in an early draft of Silm, Finrod didn’t exist and Celegorm took his role. and since Finrod’s death at Sauron’s werewolf is like… uncharacteristically violent (you’re telling me the son of ‘oh i don’t want to go to beleriand anymore’, known for being kind and gentle and loves wandering and generally tries to be a good person. is capable of killing a werewolf by his bare hands? nah i don’t believe you), it makes a LOT more sense when you remember that was supposed to be Celegorm. aka trained under god of hunting, has a dog, and is probably strong enough to break your spine— of course he could rip at a werewolf with his teeth. it checks out.

whereas curufin, despite the fact the shibboleth of feanor says he “alone showed in some degree the same temper and talents”, in fics tend to be the colder and more calculated between them, almost like they’re a brain and brawn duo where curvo is the brain (not my favorite take bc i think celegorm can also be absolutely vicious when it comes to plots but it works LOL). he’s also like. the most evil of the seven bros? to the point hwere jirt had to tone him down bc he felt like c+c was too much of a villain and so he wrote the scene between curvo and eol. there was a note in the lays of beleriand (i think) where it says that “it was curufin who put evil into celegorm’s heart” and i think that’s SO INTERESTING

also, in the usurping of nargothrond and the kidnapping of luthien which is where c+c most prominently features, we get a lot of this dynamic of celegorm speaking first and curufin speaking second. in published silm after celegorm finishes his tirade, curufin speaks “more softly but with no less power”, and instead of talking about oh if you steal the silmaril we’ll kill you, he actually conjures images of terrible wars and the destruction of nargothrond.

and in the lay of leithian, when c+c go out to hunt and meet luthien, curufin is literally Completely in control it’s actually kind of scary. he is the one to suggest that they go to ride out and hunt so they can kill some of sauron’s wolves, but also secretly find out if finrod is alive or dead. specifically these two words from the lay “Celegorm listened.” Drives me absolutely NUTS and it completely changes the question of like. who really holds power between them!! okay anyway

they meet luthien and they learn finrod is dead, and curufin (not celegorm unlike canon silm!!) falls in love with luthien. but the way his falling in love is described feels a little. idk. wrong?

“Long did Curufin look and stare. / The perfume of her flower-twined hair, / her lissom limbs, her elvish face, / smote to his heart, and in that place /enchained he stood.”

it almost sounds like he was spelled rather than just fell in love because this is exactly what happened to thingol. but that’s another thing for later

so celegorm chats up luthien for a bit and then the next line says

“To Celegorm said Curufin / apart and low:”

TO CELEGORM!! SAID CURUFIN!!!!!!! i know some people aren’t that into curufin’s fanon portrayal as this scheming manipulative asshole but like… that’s literally what he does!!! AHH!!

hopefully this still makes sense LMFAO god i love talking about these two. i think having them reflect kit and elton’s in ring dynamic would also be Super interesting though because there’s got to be Something that can make curufin snap to the point where he can only see blood (hint hint there is and i might write it)

[daisycraft]

daisy. daisy. daisy. you should've seen me in discord i was losing my mind. big beautiful brown eyes i'm ripping him to shreds with my teeth. why is he so obsessed. rendog be like 'i'm retired from reaping' when offered a kill for anyone else but someone offers a kill for bdubs and all of a sudden he's dropping everything to do it. why is he like this. the double life flashbacks were so real. i'm not normal in the slightest. hope this helps <3

rendog will literally be like is annyyyyoneeee gonna bring up how killable bdubs is and also how annoyingly infuriatingly handsome he is. i can see it in his big beautiful brown eyes im lost in them forever and they are saying that he both hates and respects me. your parallels go crazy and you're so right forever and ever

[and-you-are-love]

You don't understand she THREW furniture everywhere she slammed the broom on my baby on my friend she sprayed her with chemicals she opened the fucking living room just bcuz she didn't want to deal with her anymore.

She liked the idea of being a cat owner again. She wanted another fucking doll to make her smile every once in a while.

But she never not once fucking cared about her.

Oh Mother thought it nice to add another poor poor stray kitty to her life but she forgot the last ones stayed outside and died.

She left them behind.

And the worst part isn't the direct parallels to us her own kids she spits out about the "taming of rowdy ones" it's that I still can't fucking do anything.

I'm this tall child. Who still cries at the world even when my teeth are ripping it to shreds.

I hate myself and I hate her

I hope I get to see the others one more time before eternal punishment

I lost my friend

I couldn't save her I couldn't protect her I'm sorry I'm so sorry my baby I love you i love u so much with all my heart I'm sorry im so sorry

I don't want to do this anymore I want to go home please let me go

[softinkshadows]

battlefield encounters  (gojo, nanami, geto, sukuna) (part 1)

Some short vignettes of jjk men x female reader imagined scenarios, where reader meets them for the first time in the middle of a fight (all taking place within the same world and timeline of the manga/anime, although as parallel storylines). 

Gojo Satoru 

The gun cocks. You aim it at the man standing in front of you. He pleads pathetically with a look of despair, his face coated in cold sweat as he mumbles words begging for forgiveness, promising riches. It’s always the same. You scoff, then pull the trigger - once, twice, three times. The sound of the shots echo throughout the empty abandoned warehouse. You watch as the man slumps to the ground in a lifeless heap, joining the other scattered bodies around him. 

“Well, that’s the last of them,” you mutter to yourself, sheathing the gun back in your belt. The Inozuka syndicate had been overstepping their boundaries in the city recently, creating unnecessary pressure on the Matsuba faction, which long held control over the city’s largest district. And of all people, they had chosen to attack you in this dank warehouse as a bargaining chip for more territory, thinking you were an easy target because you were a woman. When in fact you remain one of the strongest upper-management leaders of the Matsuba syndicate. You gaze down coldly on the pile of bodies at your feet, some distorted, bloodied, eyes half-open in death, and the familiar hollow feeling creeps into your chest before you can suppress it. Killing, again and again and again. Is this my life now? Resigned, you turn on your heels, preparing to leave.

A sudden cold wave hits you from behind without warning, a wave so suffocating your mind spins, and your chest tightens as if dozens of clammy hands are gripping your throat. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face. As you spin around, your hand instinctively reaches for your gun at your waist, but what you see makes you halt in terror.

Four protruding eyes sit atop its grotesque head, its large set of teeth pitch black and spread wide in an unnerving smile. An overpowering aura emanates from its body, all four limbs streaked with giddying patterns of black and white, and your eyes glance downwards at its incredibly sharp claws, feeling a lump gather in your throat. There’s no mistaking it. You had always been able to see curses ever since you were young, those small annoying fly heads and larger clumsy monstrosities, but this... this is different. It’s as if you're staring at death in the face.

The cool handle of your gun against your fingertips propels you back to reality. Don’t think! You raise your weapon only to feel yourself flying across the open room, slamming into discarded storage boxes with a loud crash. Limbs faltering, you struggle to get up from underneath the debris. A terrifying gleeful screech resounds as the curse leaps towards you, and you move the best your instincts allow, diving out of the way and firing a few useless shots.

You’re only aware after the fact of a sudden throbbing pain in your left arm, and a growing wetness that trails down your skin to your wrist. You examine it briefly, gritting your teeth in pain. Your exposed flesh is ripped up like paper, with large stinging claw marks running across your arm. There’s a stabbing feeling in your ribs and one of your legs isn’t moving like you would wish it to. 

“Shit,” you mutter as you drag yourself towards the concrete wall, propping yourself up against it. Unharmed, the curse licks your blood from its claws, mocking your helpless state. You feel the fabric of your pants getting gradually soaked in warm pooling liquid, along with the onset of dizziness from the blood loss. Shit. After all these years of fighting, surviving, killing... I guess this is how I’m going to go out, huh. In a dingy-ass warehouse. Chewed to scraps by a damn curse. 

“Fucking hell,” you chuckle flatly, lifting your gun again in a last burst of dignity and taking aim. Then it lunges.

You prepare yourself to meet your end, awaiting the heavy, pulpy crush of your skull against the wall, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, the warehouse warps before you. 

“Wha-” your voice falls away as you’re moved away from the line of attack in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, you’re staring at the ground from above, your limbs dangling beneath you. You hear the loud crack of crumbling cement from the curse’s impact where you stood a mere second ago. A firm hand holds you by the waist. A different energy, deeper, much stronger this time, radiates fiercely from beside you like the blooming of plum blossoms in snow.

“Who in the hell ar-” you cough out, both wary and mesmerized, struggling to look up over your shoulder.

“Now, now, don’t get too excited,” a voice teases, “I promise to pay proper attention to you in just a while.” A man with a tacky-looking blindfold looks down at you with a smug, annoying grin. Although somehow, even with the dark cloth securely over his eyes, his distant gaze is strangely piercing. The next thing you notice is his striking white hair, a shocking colour accentuated by his dark clothes, giving him an air of otherworldly elegance. But hell, something about his tone grates at you - is this guy actually being cocky at a time like this?

Before you can protest, he lifts his hand towards the approaching curse. You feel yourself gape in awe as the space before him curls wildly, pulling in and amassing a good deal of energy. Within seconds the curse is shredded horribly, twisting and screaming as it burns out with a bright blue flame. You heart thuds and you feel your hair stand on end. This curse could have snapped you in half at any moment. Yet this man takes it out with a single wave of his finger.

"You can see it, right?" His voice jolts you from your stupor. He is standing on the ground now, still carrying you rather expertly in a way that avoids pressing down on your injuries. He looks at you intently with a curious expression. You don’t realize he has taken interest in the surprising lack of cursed energy dwelling in your body. It reminds him of someone he met a few years ago, someone who nearly killed him...

"Yeah, so what? It's not like I haven’t seen them before. And you can put me down now,” you’re growing cautious of this stranger, but retort rather weakly as the effect of your wounds start to set in.

"Hmm, interesting~" He casually ignores your last statement, strolling over to pick up what appears to be a blackened, wrinkled finger on the floor, stringing you along like you weigh absolutely nothing. You hear him mutter to himself something about finding a fifth finger, and handing it over to some shitty higher-ups. 

Tutting in annoyance, you raise your voice, moving to pry his strong fingers from around you. "Hey, blindfold, I don't know who you are but you can let me go now, I’m good-" You speak too soon as the searing pain in your arm returns, making you wince. “Sure you are,” he chortles doubtfully, stifling a laugh at your awkward, impossible efforts. Oh, you’d love to hit him right now. But his hands say something else, pulling your struggling arms apart, gentle and serious, as if determined to not let you hurt yourself further. Gojo ponders thoughtfully for a moment. Looks like I’ve found something interesting. And a troublesome one, too. He lapses into a smug grin again. “Let’s get you taken care of, shall we?” Speaking in a lighthearted singsong voice, as if to a child, he smirks a little, before tapping two fingers against your forehead. Immediately, your vision darkens, and the last thing you are vaguely aware of is a faint scent of fresh pear, and a strong arm hooking under your knees, lifting you to lean against someone’s chest as a warm feeling of enveloping safety lulls you to sleep.  ------ My writing got a little long for Gojo’s so i’m going to split the post into several parts over the next few days! I’m trying to keep it such that Reader has different identities in these different storylines, to perhaps propel your own imagination to take the story further from there. Hope you liked this one~ :)  --- Taglist (っ˘ω˘ς ) : @encrytpta @wilddreamer98

[starryevermore]

long story short: the fight (13) ✧ sam and colby

long story short ✧a parallel universe snc au | ao3

disclaimer: i do not own any aspect of the karate kid universe. does not *totally* follow the karate kid canon (i’ve taken a few creative liberties). 

summary: the cobras chase down daniel and colby. 

word count: 1,871

warning(s): violence, bullying

Sam wrinkled his nose as Arden applied the paint to his face. There was nothing about this that he didn’t like. The stupid face paint that he wanted desperately to scratch off? Hated it. The stupid tight costume he was being forced to wear? Hated it. The fact that his best friend in all the universes was going to be beaten half to death by the end of the night? Hated it. And the fact that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it? Fucking hated it. 

But, Jesus Christ, if he had to deal with that absolute heartbreak, couldn’t he be in a more comfortable costume? Or, at the very least, couldn’t the MTD provide some sort of magic balm that made it look like he had on skull face paint but it was really just his face? Like how they had that magic paste that made Colby’s tattoos invisible? Why didn’t he ever get the good shit? 

And he grumbled as much to Arden about it. 

She only snorted. “Sorry, sugar, but it don’t work like that. I’ve already made things as comfortable as the MTD would allow. If I asked for one more thing, they’d probably just send back my head on a spike, and then you and Brock would really be screwed.” 

“Better your heard than Colby’s,” Sam muttered. 

Arden paused, her paint brush halfway in the air as she stared at him, both her eyebrows raised. “You wanna say that again, bitch?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Better. Your. Head. Than. Colby’s.” 

She ground her teeth together. “Now, listen, I know I ain’t your most favorite person in all the universes. I don’t expect to be. I’m makin’ you and Brock do a lot of real uncomfortable shit to get through this. And I don’t want you to like. But I do expect you to respect me ‘cause, at the end of the day, I’m what’s standing between you and your ability to go back to your home universe. I’m makin’ this process as quick and as painless as possible, but some eggs need to be cracked to make an omelette. Understand?”

“I guess.” 

Arden grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look her in the eyes. “No. I want a real answer. Do you understand? Or is there something else goin’ on that we need to talk about before the dance?” 

Sam almost felt like crying when she let go of the grip she had on his face. He was so fucking exhausted. He hated this. He hated everything about this stupid fucking universe now that he was in it. He hated that he had to practice karate, that he had to train and train and train his ass off at the Cobra Kai dojo and then he’d have to do the exact same thing when he got back to the apartment. He hated that he had to pretend to be a black belt in karate when he didn’t have the first clue what he was doing, just so he could compete in that stupid fucking All Valley Tournament. He hated the lies. He hated the pain. But, most of all, he hated that he knew Colby had it so much worse. All Sam ever wanted to do was shield Colby from the pain and the hurt of the world. And he did a damn good job of it, back in their home universe. He distracted Colby from outright hurtful comments, from the ones that oversexualized him first and treated him like a real person last, from the ones that ripped any woman Colby hung out with to shreds for simply existing in the same time and place as him. He did so much back home, but here? He couldn’t do that. No, instead, he had to directly contribute to the pain and the torment, and he didn’t know how much more of it he could take. 

“I just…I don’t want Colby to be hurt tonight,” Sam said. But, then, he quickly added, “And I know that it has to happen. Colby has to have reason to learn karate from Mr. Miyagi so that he can make sure everything is still going according to plan. I get that. But, he’s my best friend. And I hate to see shit like this happen to him.”

Arden sighed, and set the paint brush down. “I get that. Really, I do. I had to watch so many videos of the two of you before I took this assignment so that I could be best prepared to go about this whole operation. And I know how close you two are, how you’re practically the same person at times. And I know it really hurts to have to do this, and be told that it’s necessary to hurt your best friend. But, believe me when I tell you that I’m tryin’ to make this as easy as possible. The MTD wanted Brock to be more bulled than he is, they wanted him to be on the same level of torment as Daniel. But I knew that could never work, ‘cause I know that neither you nor him could handle it. I’ve done so much, but there’s only so much I can do. If it was up to me, I would’ve had you pulled right after the soccer tryouts. But I still have a boss to answer to, and they just…we don’t see eye to eye on it.” 

“I know. It just, it hurts.” He looked at her, hope in his eyes, as he asked, “Is there any chance I don’t have to take part tonight?” 

Arden shook her head. “I wish I could let that happen. But the MTD has made themselves clear on this. You have to be one of the Cobras tonight. But…Maybe, if it helps, you could be like Bobby? Try and stop Johnny, and never lay a hand on Brock personally?”

“But Colby will still be hurt.” 

“Sam…”

“I know, I know. It has to be done.” 

“If it helps, most of the aggression will be focused on Daniel.” 

“It doesn’t help.” He looked in the mirror, at the half-finished paint job on his face. “Let’s just finish this up and get it over with already.”

When Daniel ran straight into the Cobras as he came out of the bathroom, Sam knew it was all over. He hadn’t had much fun at the dance—he had to watch as his best friend played lone wolf for the night and couldn’t do anything about it, and he knew just how the night would end: with a blood bath. But he couldn’t let his unease reveal itself, so he plastered on a fake smile and pretended to be excited about smoking with the Cobras and doing dumb teenager shit. But, when Johnny came running out of the bathroom after Colby and Daniel, Sam knew it was all over. 

As they chased Colby and Daniel threw the streets of the Valley, it took everything Sam had to fall behind in the group. Sam was a good runner, and he knew it. One of his greatest accomplishments was beating his record in track, and then running a six minute mile nearly six years later. He was damn good runner, but today? He couldn’t be. He refused to get in the zone, to lead the group to his best friend. He was not going to participate in this anymore than he had to. 

So, he stayed the back as Daniel and Colby scaled fences and ran across fields to get to the South Seas apartment complex. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan of showing weakness, of showing his emotions and wearing his heart on sleeve, but tonight might have to be one of those exceptions. 

And, for a second, Sam forgot about the events of the movie, and he thought that Daniel and Colby might be in the clear as they scaled the final fence between them and their respective apartments. But, alas, that was not one of the things that changed when Colby got them into this predicament. Nope, Johnny still grabbed Daniel off the fence, hissing, “You ain’t going nowhere.” The only difference? Dutch was pulling Colby off the fence, too. 

“You little wimp!” one of them taunted—Sam didn’t care enough to differentiate who was who. 

One of the Cobras, Jimmy, Sam was pretty sure that was Jimmy, help a squirming Colby by the arms while Johnny held onto Daniel, hissing, “You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, little twerp? No, you had to push it. Well, now you're gonna pay!”

Johnny punched Daniel in the stomach, and he toppled over. As Daniel heaved, he turned to Colby, and hissed, “And you just had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong, didn’t ya?” 

And before Sam could even process what was happening, Johnny hit Colby square in the nose. Daniel, in the mean time, made the move to leave, but ran straight into Dutch’s arms, who pushed him back and taunted, “Where are you going, sweetheart?”

Johnny kicked Daniel in the face, and he fell straight to the ground. Johnny turned his attention to Colby, next, and kicked in the stomach, and he collapsed to the ground. He delivered another kick to the face, this time, and Sam was sure that Colby had been knocked out cold.

“How about a front kick, Johnny?” Tommy suggested as Daniel was pulled back up, and Johnny was more than happy to oblige.

“Get him up!” Johnny shouted when Daniel fell to the ground again.

  “Leave him alone, man, he’s had enough!” Bobby said. 

“Shut up, Bobby!” Dutch said as he supported Daniel’s deadweight.

“Look at him, Dutch! He can't even stand up!” Bobby said. 

“So what?”

“That don't mean squat!” Dutch snapped. 

Rage flashed in Bobby’s eyes as he turned and stormed up to Johnny. He pointed a finger in the blond’s face and shouted, “Leave him alone, man, he’s had enough!”

“I'll decide when he's had enough!” 

“He can’t even stand!” Sam added, stomping up to Johnny. “And you already knocked the other one out!”

Bobby shot Sam a brief but grateful look, before zeroing in on the blond again. “What is wrong with you, Johnny?!”

“An enemy deserves no mercy!” Johnny shouted. 

“Right!” Dutch agreed. 

“Right?” 

“Right!”

“You're crazy, man!” Bobby shouted as Johnny charged at Daniel again. 

But, before he could strike the kid again, Mr. Miyagi jumped down from the top of the fence, pushing Daniel out of the way and making Johnny kick the fence. There was a brief hesitation before Johnny shouted, “Tommy, Bobby, get him!”

Before Sam could blink, Mr. Miyagi had already taken them out before he turned to him and Jimmy. And he could barely even process the fighting stance he had fallen into before he was flipped by the small men, hitting his head back on the cold ground and groaning lowly. 

Fuck, Sam thought as he heard Dutch and Johnny be taken out too. But, he thought, at least he knew that Colby was being taken to safety. And that gave him enough peace to rest his eyes and succumb to the pain.

[tiedyexuxi]

Black Mamba | Seo Taewook

Black Mamba | Seo Taewook x Fem!Reader

NSFW, I honestly fried my brain while writing this. This monstrosity was 10 pages in a doc. Also related to the song of the same name by aespa. I also really like Taewook’s tattoos in some of his cards (I’m a die-hard sucker for men with tattoos) so that was the inspiration for this. I guess I’d call this semi-canon compliant but only to an extent, so you aren’t spoiled with something you don’t already know. I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always appreciated. Requests are OPEN.

THE CURIOSITY HAD TO BE EATING her alive. Taewook could see it in the way she would send him curious, side-eyed looks when he was present for her shoots; the way she would edge to the corner of an elevator they shared so she could have a parallel view of both him and the door; the way she became blatantly unafraid of him when her mind was running a million miles a minute, eyes fixated on what she could make out of his eyes and then the tattoo peeking out above the collar of his crisp dress shirt.

She had been doing it for quite some time and he was certain she wasn’t aware she had been caught just yet. He found it highly entertaining to just watch her out of the corner of his eye while she stared: she had the most fascinating tics when she was thinking too hard. It usually started out with a furrow between her brows, the elegantly plucked hairs pulling down only slightly to express the thoughts running rampant in her head; then, it would slowly morph into the slightest gnawing of her cheek or lip depending on which road those thoughts had taken; the real hook was when she had almost decided on something and drew her lip into her mouth, holding it between her teeth until it was sore, deliciously red and bereft of the lipstick she had worn that morning.

It was almost like a game between them--albeit one with an undecided outcome. Taewook had long ago decided that playing the long version would be far more satisfying than anything he could have done in pressuring her to consider him as an option. The goblins who clung to her like their very existence depended on it had certainly thrown a wrench in his plans; after all, they recognized him for what he was: a threat. [Name], skittishness and slightly confrontational behavior aside, did not. It was laughable how in the dark they kept her by their own volition, or at least from Taehee’s side of things. When she came to him--and there was no if, he had made sure of that--Taewook had no intention of hiding it from her. After all, even if she didn’t come to him when her curiosity finally broke her, it would be interesting to drive a wedge between the five of them and watch as the show played out.

But, of course, he had to wait for that. [Name]’s debut was coming up and so all of the attention she had focused on him had been temporarily diverted to the public’s view of her and the occasional scathing review posted in an attempt to ruin the girl’s morale. Taewook, of course, had gotten his hands on the worst of the lot before they had been run. They now sat in a harddrive in a hidden compartment of his desk where no one would ever find it unless he wanted them to. Even still, he had to let some criticism past his tight security to keep up appearances--even if it kept [Name] up all night wondering what was wrong with her to make people hate her so much.

And then, as silent as a tsunami, it was time for [Name] to debut her first serial photos as an official model. Taewook had decided beforehand, on the decision of the board, to secure a small facility where they would invite reporters, high end magazine owners, and even news outlets to survey the model’s skills for themselves. Himself, [Name], several other investors, and a skeleton crew would be housed in the hotel across the street before the event; then, when it was over, they would retreat to a small banquet, and afterwards, retire for the night and wait for the articles to be posted.

It was a perfect plan. It was only fitting that [Name] herself ruin it in a glorious shower of sparks and a climax worthy of the ages.

TAEWOOK WAS DRIVING YOU INSANE. Only figuratively, of that you were certain, but you couldn’t drown your curiosity no matter how hard you tried. Thoughts of Taehee, Yooha, Biho, or Hansol did nothing to sway your wandering mind from Taewook. He was like a permanent, foreboding figure standing in the midst of your brain, domineering every single muse that darted past his greedy fingers. He would snatch them up and hold them in his hands like the leash of a particularly disobedient dog, then rip them to shreds and replace them with something of him, something that became a fixation even in your dreams.

All because of that gorgeous black ink crawling up the side of his neck.

You couldn’t help the way your brain had fixated on his tattoo the moment you noticed it. It had almost been an accident, really, when you became aware of it--like ‘oh, that’s really nice’ had escalated steadily into ‘I wonder if it hurt’ and most recently ‘how far down does it go?’. You had buckled down on your thoughts more after that, almost horrified at the turn they had taken, but you couldn’t stop your dreams no matter how hard you tried.

In the months you had been working for Taewook it had only gotten worse. It went from an innocent curiosity about his tattoo to deliberately admiring his eyes from a side profile, of which you could admit without any shame that it was a good one. Other women had parroted the same thing and so you could persuade yourself you were only repeating what they said back at him, as futile as it ended up being. Even in your meetings, with other people there, you couldn’t really tear your eyes away from him even if someone else was speaking.

Honestly, you were surprised he hadn’t caught you yet. But a niggling feeling in the back of your brain told you that he had noticed--you just didn’t know what to do about that and so you wiped it from your mind entirely, but the idea lingered and morphed into something else, something as equally as disturbing: he had noticed, but why wasn’t he saying anything about it?

You didn’t share your thoughts with the goblins. They were, after all, vehemently opposed to Taewook even being in your general vicinity. You almost wished you had a female friend to gush to about your issues, but before you could even find a reason to wonder why, your debut was already upon you.

You were thrown into a whirlwind of photoshoots, interviews, and even ad campaigns. Taewook, throughout all of it, remained on the sidelines, content to just watch--observe?--and let you make a mess of everything yourself. At least, that was what you assumed he was doing; Taewook’s motivations were still a mystery to you. He was like an itch you just couldn’t scratch no matter how hard you tried. He was, in short, an enigma, and that made your curiosity even more fixated on him, consequences be damned.

But your mind just wouldn’t let go of him, not even while Taehee occupied you during the banquet, wondering if you were going to come home with them or stay and mingle among the masses a little longer. You knew it didn’t sit well with him to leave you alone with Taewook in the same room, but you had assured him you would be fine and that if it came to it, you would have a room in the hotel with a lock on it. He didn’t seem all too pleased, but Hansol had pulled him away and they had left with excited farewells to you. You weren’t sure what had been so urgent to pull them away; Yooha hadn’t been very interested in the banquet, only you, but you had been monopolized for the better part of the night and he had been getting tired the more people came up to him to ask for his name and modeling agency.

And so you were alone for the better part of the night until everything was quietly wrapped up around one in the morning. Not once did Taewook approach you in the six hours it took to let everyone get what they wanted and you weren’t sure if that disappointed you more than the goblins had left so early.

“You must be dying in those heels,” one of the staff told you as you walked across the street with her to your hotel. There was no way you were riding a bus home in a thirty thousand dollar dress dripping with diamonds and swarovski crystals, much less in the killer heels they had put you in for the night. “How did you survive?”

“Barely,” you joked, but you knew it was because your mind had been elsewhere. Namely, on Taewook.

He had dressed to impress in a sharp suit with a tie designed to match your dress. How much of that had been forethought and simple coincidence escaped you; but you couldn’t help but notice him whenever he socialized with other high society people, smiling politely although it never reached his eyes. You had thought, almost smugly, that whenever he did smile at you, it did at least reach his eyes--and he had a nice smile, that much you could appreciate.

You were on a downward spiral the entire walk to your hotel room. You didn’t even have the energy to ridicule yourself for the thoughts you were having, or even blame Taewook’s magic--this was all you, and that was a fact you couldn’t deny.

You found your room easily enough. The skeleton crew had put your name on the door hook, but as you fished for the key in your purse, you eyes strayed to the other doors in the hallway. There were only two others but both were suites like your own, and only one had a name on it: Taewook. There were little lights on the locks that indicated the room was occupied, and his was lit up with green. You had to physically stop yourself from walking to the door with a quick pinch to your arm.

With a relieved sigh, you opened your door and kicked off your heels. Your toes sunk into the plush carpet, feeling oddly off balance, and you wormed your way out of the expensive dress and took the first struggle free breath you’d had for the night. You put the dress back in its cellophane bag and began wiping off the makeup, taking off the jewelry, and taking a quick shower so that you felt like yourself again.

You took a few minutes to post your pictures of the night on Wannabe, almost cringing at the likes that popped up the second you posted them. In a few of them, Taewook was in the background, but oddly enough his eyes were focused on you in every single one. You hadn’t even noticed he had been looking at you; he was always around other people and speaking to them.

“Huh,” you mumbled to yourself, bringing a lacquered nail between your teeth as you scrolled through the rest of the pictures in your camera roll. Sure enough he was looking at you in each one, almost peculiarly in a position where he was able to see you clearly over the heads of the people he was talking to. You hadn’t even realized he was that tall; but then again, you were never that close to him to find out. “Weird.”

You turned off your phone for the night and plugged it up to replenish the depleted battery. You thought about watching television, but the moment you laid down on the hotel bed you were hit with the image of Taewook’s face--and it wouldn’t go away. You screwed your eyes shut as hard as you were able until you were seeing fuzzy stars, but it wouldn’t go away. Your cheeks flushed hot with blood when you sat up, hair slightly disheveled, and stared into the mirror of a vanity. You just knew if you went to sleep you’d dream of him, and you couldn’t take that tonight.

So you took matters into your own hands.

You were knocking on his door before your brain had time to catch up with you. You didn’t even care that he was about to see you in your pajamas, plain as they were--you wanted him to stop bothering you in your dreams and every waking moment so you could actually get some rest for once.

When he opened the door, all of your irritation left you in a rush as your eyes darted over his face. He had probably just had a shower, judging by the way his hair was slightly damp, but he didn’t seem as remotely as tired as you were. In fact, he looked almost like he was alive, his eyes taking on an interesting glint as he took you in, standing at his door in your t-shirt and almost indecently skimpy shorts. You almost wanted the floor to swallow you up because all of your words had left you.

“[Name],” he said, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. You almost forgot how deep it was and it rattled you down to your core. “I would have thought you were asleep by now.”

What came out of your mouth made you want to cry out of embarrassment. “I want to see your tattoo.”

Taewook blinked at you for an almost infinite amount of time, staring you down--out of shock or bewilderment you didn’t know--and then visibly relaxing right in front of you. He leaned against the door frame and propped the door open with his foot, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You know, I was wondering when you would ask.” You had to swallow the spit that flooded your mouth when his lips quirked up in a half smile. “You certainly seemed interested in it.”

“Can I see it or not?” You demanded hotly. You couldn’t let yourself back out now. Your pride wouldn’t let you.

That little half smile turned into a smirk. “Testy.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside, jerking his chin towards the darkness of his room. You watched his throat bob with the movement. “Come in. I can’t very well show you in the hall.”

You walked inside without giving much thought to it. You honestly really should have, but your embarrassment was fueling your bravado, and no matter how hard your brain was trying to press the issue that you were, in fact, entering the proverbial lion’s den, you couldn’t ignore how hyper aware you were of him as he shut the door and followed you deeper into his hotel room.

His was a perfect mimicry of yours, except most of his lights had been cut off and a desk was situated against a floor to ceiling window that had a breathtaking view of Seoul and the moon above. You made your way to the window without realizing, staring up at the sky with a look of wonder. You didn’t even hear Taewook slip into his desk chair and turn to face you.

“Why do you have a nice view and I don’t?” You asked, mostly to yourself, but hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud.

“The workers chose the rooms. Not me.” His voice was unusually soft. “Do you like the view?”

You shrugged and turned to him, cupping your elbows in your palms. “It’s nice. So, the tattoo?”

He laughed, then, an addicting sound. It was almost… pleasant. Taehee’s warnings were ringing around in your head, but you didn’t have the courage to face them right now.

Taewook tugged at the buttons of his silk night shirt. Your stomach dropped as each button fell away and the fabric parted to reveal strong shoulders, defined pectorals, and well kept abdominal muscles that tapered down into a powerful ‘v’ between his hips. He shrugged off the article of fabric and tossed it on the desk and with it out of the way, you could see how far the tattoo went.

It was an intricate design of roses, or what you had seen poking out of his shirt, but beneath there was a snake coiling around the stems and accented with falling petals that were in color and not grayscale like you had assumed. The snake looked almost lifelike and you stepped forward before you even realized, wondering if the texture of the scales would be an illusion or real snakeskin under your fingers. Then you paused, eyes darting up to meet Taewook’s, hand outstretched towards the side of his throat.

“By all means.” He reached forward and grabbed your wrist, tugging you the rest of the way to place your cold palm gently against the tattoo. You stood between his legs now, knees pressed against the leather chair and legs brushing the inside of his thighs. “You may touch it.”

Heat crept up the back of your neck. He didn’t let go of your hand and instead kept tracing interesting little circles into your wrist, and you gently followed the lines of the tattoo, tracing each petal and leaning closer and closer to find the lines that were almost obliterated by shadows. You didn’t even realize how close you were until his hair was tickling your temple.

You leaned back at the realization, not far enough to part completely with the tattoo but to look at his eyes, to see his face. His eyes were heavily lidded and half shut, lashes casting shadows onto his face from the moonlight. Those eyes reminded you of a lazy predator, content to lay and wait, and you felt his fingers on your wrist solidify into a strong grip. You almost pulled away, but found that you couldn’t--you were ensnared by his eyes, your fingers pausing over the skin of his tattoo.

“Taewook?” You whispered, a breath in the room.

His lips were on yours before you had even conceived the notion of pulling away.

You had imagined kissing Taewook before, just like you had Taehee, Biho, Hansol, and Yooha. Each of them, in your mind, had a different way, a different feeling they gave you.

You weren’t expecting the savage way he devoured your lips. Savage, and yet thorough, tongue swiping against the raw skin of your bottom lip, teeth grazing the flesh ever so softly but never biting, never brutalizing the skin. You couldn’t help but respond, your free hand coming up to rest lightly on the bare skin of his chest, your other hand darting up and into the hair at the nape of his neck, almost surprised by the softness. What surprised you even more was the way he released your wrist and dug his fingers into your hips, lifting you into his lap in one smooth motion, nestling your legs between his thighs and the arms of the chair, pinning you in place.

A bolt of white hot lightning shot down your navel and left you tingling when the dark haired male shoved his hands up your shirt to draw his fingers on the skin above the waistband of your shorts, each touch feeling like electricity, like fire sundered with sparks. When you made no move of pulling away, your hand fisting in his hair, his kisses became more violent, teeth drawing harsh lines down the swell of your lip. When his tongue entered your mouth it was because you let him, unable to prevent a small moan escaping your throat when his hands traced higher to the smooth curves of your breasts. You were almost painfully aware that you weren’t wearing a bra right then, having forgotten all about it, and could almost envision his hands through your shirt, hands taking a firm grip just underneath them and providing a mimicry of support. His thumbs traced sweeping lines over the flesh, never quite touching your hardened nipples, mimicking the movements of his tongue in your mouth.

Soon you had to part for breath, taking deep gasps of precious air. Taewook continued his assault down your jaw and throat, lips dragging a fire hot trail wherever they went, and soon you could feel the hard pulse of heat settle between your legs, itching for friction. You knew you should have gotten up the moment Taewook found that sweet spot where your throat connected to your shoulder, but you didn’t--Taehee’s warnings completely left your mind. Because this, this was what you had wanted, on some level, as wrong as it was. As evil as they persuaded you he was. As bad as you knew he was.

A high pitched whine had Taewook smiling into the hickey he was sucking onto your neck. “Such a pretty sound. Sing more for me.”

His hand trailed down from your breast and followed the lines of your stomach to rest lightly on the ribbon holding your shorts up. He united them with one quick movement, lips moving to capture your nipple through your shirt. The sparks that erupted throughout your body at the warm, hot contact of his mouth on your flesh, your shirt the flimsiest barrier between you, had you stifling a moan.

“Don’t hide your voice from me.” Taewook’s mouth moved against yours as he spoke, fingers tracing down between your legs over the fabric of your shorts. Your nipple had been abandoned, a damp spot cold against your skin, but you didn’t much care when his fingers pressed against your lower lips with enough pressure to have you wanting more. A desperate whine left your mouth when he refused to move his fingers. “Good girl. Give me more of those.”

“Taewook,” you gasped, moving your hips slightly to gain friction against his fingers. You weren’t even embarrassed by the rush of wetness that he could probably feel. “Please…”

“Please what?” He goaded lightly, lips latching back onto your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please…” You swallowed the words when his fingers moved, finally, dragging across your clit through the fabric. Your hips jerked to follow them, desperate to ride his hand, but his other hand came down and stilled them. “Please touch me. Please.”

You couldn’t stand it. All of the warnings had completely left you until you were focused on one thing: Taewook.

“Your wish is my command.”

You weren’t expecting the way his hand darted up the leg of your shorts, or the way he pushed aside your underwear to sink his fingers into your wet warmth. Your legs almost buckled, but with nowhere to go between his legs and the chair, you had to steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders, fingernails digging crescents into his back. He moved his fingers in hypnotic movements, palm pushing against your clit with every blissful rub of his fingers over your slit. He allowed you to move your hips with him, riding his hand like you would your own, except this--this felt so much better than your own hand. The delicious grind of his callouses against the tiny bundle of nerves was getting you closer and closer, a tight ball building behind your navel.

Your gasps in his ear became faster, louder, higher pitched--and then he stopped.

Before you could angrily pull back, he was already moving you. He pulled his hand out of your shorts and hoisted you up by the back of your thighs, fingers digging red welts into the flesh. You wrapped your legs around his hips on instinct when he stood, burying your face in his shoulder and unable to resist putting marks of your own on him. Your hips moved on their own volition, finding the hardness of his cock pressed against you and rolling into it between the short distance from his desk to his bed.

“Shit.” His curse was light in your ear when you ground against him, wet enough that he could feel you through the thin silk of his pants. “Fucking--[Name].”

You were tossed on the bed unceremoniously, but you couldn’t bring it in yourself to care. He ripped off your shorts and panties in one go, not even stopping to admire the glistening, wet view of you under the moonlight, all ripe and ready for him to devour.

Then your legs were over his shoulders and his face was pressed between your legs, finding your clit almost instantaneously and sucking so hard you were seeing stars. You weren’t even sure if the moans were yours, as wanton and desperate as they were. He slipped a finger inside you, curling it against your walls and touching that spot just-so that you dug your heels into his back hard, tossing your head back with a hard roll of your hips against his mouth and fingers.

He didn’t seem to mind, judging by the groan he let off that had your thighs clamping down on his head, and soon you were gone, your orgasm hitting you with the force of a train. The next one crept up on you like death in the night, ripping through you faster than the last one, Taewook working you masterfully with his fingers and hot mouth. Soon you could barely scream, voice hoarse and faint, and only then did he rise from between your legs, lips glistening with your slick. You couldn’t help the pang of arousal that was almost painful when he licked his fingers off one by one and then leaned down to kiss you.

“Taewook,” you moaned breathlessly against his mouth, legs coming up to wrap around his hips. You settled your hands on his shoulder blades, the taste of yourself on his mouth more than you could take. He was rock hard against your thigh and you rolled your pussy against him, gasping at the friction as his head caught your engorged clit, him groaning in your mouth. “Oh, please…”

You didn’t have to beg this time. He fisted himself with his hand, rubbing his cock between your folds to wet himself, bucking his hips with every movement. And then he was pushing into you, the arousal overpowering the slight pain of losing your virginity. Your fingers caught in his skin and dragged dark red lines down his back, coming back up when his fingers found your clit and began rolling it between his thumb and index. He filled you to the brim, enough that every shallow thrust had you seeing white spots. His hands came up to grip onto your hips and you replaced his hand with your own, fingers darting down to feel him slide into you with a harsh thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

He was rough but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His hands were tight, bruising fingerprints into your hips, and you could feel them blooming on your thighs as his pace grew faster than you could keep up with, chasing his release, and you somehow felt yourself coming with him, shuddering as the final wave swept through you as softly as a caress.

Taewook caught his breath, softening inside you, and reached up to push his hair away from his face. His eyes weren’t black, like you had thought, but such a deep brown that it devoured his pupil. He looked down at you, breathing hard, almost as if he was waiting for you to instantly feel the regret and leave.

You didn’t.

“[Name]?” He inquired softly, almost confused when you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair, dragging his head down to your level. “Are you alright?”

“Never been better,” you replied, your voice a rasp, and you kissed him sweetly, pouring all of the emotions you harbored for him into that one kiss because, goblins and gods be damned, you wanted him.

You kissed until the sun rose, casting him in gentle light, and even then, you refused to move, too warm and comfortable and wrapped up in him to care. He was almost like a snake, refusing to part from you, legs entwined with yours and you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

The marks on your skin remained, a permanent reminder as you finally were forced to retreat to your room to retrieve your phone, and even when Taehee and the others came to walk you back home.

It was almost curious when you woke up late the next night, a text from Taewook lighting up your screen. You sat up, casting a glance to the door that you knew was locked, and opened the text with bated breath.

You could barely hold in a horrified breath.

Taewook had attached an image of his back and the grisly lines you had gouged into him with your fingernails. They were still livid and looked to be bruising slightly. Underneath that was a single line: ‘You’re quite vicious when you want to be, aren’t you?’ Judging by the smirk you could see in the mirror in front of him, he wasn’t angry at all. Smug, in fact. A little too smug.

You snapped a quick photo of the enormous hand shaped bruises on your hips, each finger imprinted in ghastly detail upon your skin. You sent him to it and captioned it: ‘And you like to leave your mark, don’t you, you snake?’

His reply was almost instantaneous. ‘I think I like my marks on you. Perhaps I should add more.’

You bit your lip and, with one last glance to the door, replied. ‘Maybe you should.’

‘You know what to do.’

And so you did.

Into the night air, you whispered his name.

“Taewook.”

[annewritesfic]

Happy Endings Don’t Exist

y’all i’m so attached to this au-

anyways! based on chapter 58 of cress by marissa meyer!

tw: discussion of blood, violence, chess has a pretty gorey nightmare in the first section (you can skip the first few paragraphs and pick up at “Chess opened her eyes with a gasp” to miss it), blades, pain medication, mention of attempted murder/murder, hallucinations

word count: 2275

In Chess's dreams, she was being chased by a wolf.

She was running through a field of crops with thick mud that sucked at her shoes, fog soaking her jacket and leggings, her lungs burning and her eyes stinging and her heart thundering. Dry leaves crunched underfoot, quickly being swallowed by the mud, and something in the back of her head dimly registered that she was being chased through the sugar beet fields on the Benoit farm back home. Even as she thought it, something began to glow in the distance - the lights of a farmhouse. Her house. The house she’d grown up in, the house that had always been safe and warm. If she could just make it to the farmhouse, then everything would be okay.

But no matter how hard and fast Chess ran, the farmhouse didn’t get closer. It almost seemed that for every step she took, the farmhouse was three steps farther away. She might’ve been running for hours or days or months or years, but the farmhouse got no closer. Eventually, the fog closed in and swallowed the farmhouse, the warm glow blinking out of existence.

She tripped, landing on her hands and knees with a shout of pain, mud sticking to her clothes and caking her braid. The damp wetness soaked into her bones, making them ache from the cold. She looked up, and just a few feet away was the wolf, crouched low to the ground, eyes flashing with hunger and anger. Her hands desperately searched for a weapon on the ground, something, anything, as the wolf got closer, and closer, and closer…

There. Something smooth and hard under her fingers. It was surprisingly easy to yank from the mud. She barely had time to look at it, to register the blade glistening in the moonlight under the layer of mud, the sanded wooden handle - an axe - before the wolf leaped in the air, jaws unhinged, sharp teeth reflecting in the axe blade. Chess lifted the axe reflectively, bracing herself, just moments before the wolf would’ve landed on her chest and ripped her to shreds.

The axe cut clean through the wolf, slicing it in two pieces from snout to tail. Its blood splashed all over Chess’s face and chest, and she heard twin thumps as the two halves fell on either side of her head. A choking sob fought its way up her throat, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, sure she was going to throw up.

Then the two halves of the wolf began to move, shifting beside her into two human-like shapes, each wearing half of the pelt. The fog began to clear as two hands reached towards her, and Chess stifled a cry - her grandmother and Cairo, welcoming her home.

Chess opened her eyes with a gasp.

Instead of her grandmother’s old military jacket and Cairo’s shining eyes, all she saw were steel bars. The air was filled with the scent of ferns and moss. The chatter of birds was so overwhelming she almost covered her ears.

A soft yip came from somewhere to the side, sounding concerned - the white wolf. Chess rolled over to look at him - on the other side of the pathway, the wolf sat, watching her. He tilted his head a little bit, and it struck her how much he almost seemed like the neighbors’ dogs back home.

Home…

It wasn’t the first time she thought it, but Chess was still shocked by the near-physical pain in her chest, the longing for the rolling fields and blue skies and familiar faces. She wanted to go home.

“He likes you,” said a voice.

Chess inhaled sharply and sat up, eyes searching wildly for the source of the voice. A girl about her age was sitting in her cage, hands folded in her lap, watching her curiously, close enough to touch. Chess tried to move away, but pain shot through her hand, and she fell back to the ground with a hiss of pain. Her hand was wrapped in bandages, but her pinky was the worst of it - during her trial, Levana had forced her hand to pick up a hatchet and use it on the pinky finger of her other hand, taking it off at the second knuckle. The pain had been bad enough that she’d wished to pass out, although she hadn’t. But while that was the worst of her pain now, it wasn’t all of it - there were scratches and cuts and bruises all over her entire body, some from the scuffle on the satellite and some from that awful Lunar boy she’d stayed with for several days and most of the aches from sleeping on hard floors for more nights than she could count.

The strange girl didn’t react to Chess’s fear. She sat quietly against the wall, her back straight, looking interested and curious. She clearly wasn’t another prisoner - she wore a pale pink dress that looked out of place against the dark regolith Chess’s cage was carved from. Her honey-brown hair tumbled around her shoulders in healthy, shiny curls, half of it tied up in a ponytail. Her eyes were a pale blue, sparkling with excitement, and Chess realized that her left eye had three scars below it, cutting in straight, parallel lines down her cheek - almost like perpetual tear tracks.

She was the most beautiful person Chess had ever seen.

And it was that beauty that made Chess realize she was wearing another glamour - another trick.

“Ryu and I were wondering if that was a very good dream or a very bad one?” the girl asked in a sweet voice. “You were mumbling to yourself quite a lot.”

Chess pushed away the lingering memory of the dream, the image of Cairo and her grandmother smiling at her. “Who the hell are you? And-and who’s Ryu?”

The girl smiled. “Ryu is the wolf, silly!” She turned to look at the wolf across the path. “Haven’t you been neighbors for four months now? Ryu, why haven’t you introduced yourself?”

The wolf blinked big yellow eyes at her.

The girl looked back at Chess and leaned forward, like she was sharing a big secret. “And I am your new best friend. But you mustn't tell anyone, because all the guards think that I am your master and you are my pet - they don’t know that my pets are my dearest friends of all! We will fool all of them, you and I.”

Chess struggled to comprehend what the girl was saying. None of it made sense, or answered Chess’s question.

The girl reached for a basket beside her that Chess hadn’t noticed before. It seemed like a picnic basket, lined with some soft, silvery material. “I thought that today, we could perhaps play doctor and patient! I’ll be the doctor, of course. You seem in need of some care.”

Chess sat up and pressed herself against the opposite wall. “You’re not a doctor.”

“I know. That’s why it’s pretend.” The girl smiled wider. “Aren’t you having fun?”

“No, actually, I’m really not.” Chess’s fingers pressed against the rough stone floor. “I’ve been mentally and physically tortured, I’m starving, I’m thirsty, I’m locked up in a cage in a goddamn zoo-”

“Menagerie.”

“-and I’m hurting in a thousand different places. And now some crazy girl comes in here and wants to play make-believe? Like we’re best friends or some shit?” Chess scoffed. “I’m good. Go away.”

The girl sighed and leaned her chin on her hand, resting her elbow on her knee. “You shouldn’t call me crazy. The guards don’t like that. Even though it’s true.”

Neither of them broke the silence for a moment.

“I know it’s true. You want to know how I know?” The girl leaned forward again. “The palace walls have been bleeding for years, but I am the only one who sees.”

More silence.

“No one believes me, no matter how many times I say it,” the girl continued. “Sometimes I can’t help but step in it, and then I track bloody footprints everywhere, and I worry that perhaps a wolf soldier will smell it and come for me. But if the blood was real, don’t you think the palace maids would clean it up?”

Chess tried and failed to think of an answer.

The girl pulled a small box wrapped in ribbon. “These are for you. Doctor’s orders are to take one pill twice a day.” She handed Chess the box with a wink. “It isn’t real medicine, of course. It’s just candy. Sour apple petites - they’re my favorite.”

“I’m not eating one of those.”

“Why not? It’s a gift.” The girl opened the box and held it out to Chess - four small, round red candies, shiny and smooth. Chess didn’t move, and after a moment, the girl set the open box down on the floor between them.

“What do you want from me?” Chess asked.

“I want to be friends.”

“A friendship based on lies?” Chess laughed sharply, humorlessly. “Of course you don’t mind that. You’re Lunar. Lying is all you know how to do.”

The girl looked at her lap. “I’ve only ever had two friends - two human friends. One became a pile of girl-shaped ashes when we were very little, and the other has gone missing. I don’t know if he’ll ever return.” She shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “But I asked the stars to send me a sign that he was all right, and the next day was a trial like any other trial, except standing before me was an Earthen girl who’d seen him.”

“Can you make sense? Please?”

The girl leaned forward, closer than she had before, close enough that Chess could almost feel her breath across her face. “Is he all right? Sybil said he was still alive, that he probably was supposed to be piloting that ship, but she didn’t say whether he’d been injured. Do you think he’s safe?”

“Who?”

The girl smiled again, almost wistfully. “Clark Winslett. Sybil’s guard. The man with the blond hair and the kind eyes and the smile that holds the sun. Is he all right?”

Chess blinked, baffled. She didn’t remember much from the fight on the Rampion, and what few memories she did have were blurry. But while her focus had been mostly on the thaumaturge, she did faintly remember a blond guard.

But the smile that holds the sun? Bullshit.

“I remember two people that tried to kill us,” she muttered.

“And he was one of them?” the girl pressed, seemingly unconcerned with the killing part.

“Yeah, I guess.”

The girl smiled gleefully. “Did he look okay?”

“He looked like he was trying to kill me,” Chess said. “But I bet my friends killed him first. That’s our typical procedure for people who work for your queen.”

The girl’s smile vanished. “You’re lying.”

“Nope. And he deserved it.”

The girl began to shake, almost hyperventilating. The wolf - Ryu - pawed at the bars of his enclosure, whimpering. Chess tamped down her guilt and told herself she wouldn’t call for the guard’s help.

The girl got her breathing under control and sat up, her hand resting on her basket. “I see. Well, I-I should go.” She moved as if to stand, but then stopped. “I wasn’t lying about the bleeding walls. Soon, the palace will be so soaked with blood that Artemisia Lake will be so red, even Earthens will see it.”

“I don’t care,” Chess said. “And I’m not going to feel sorry for you. Your glamours and your mind control - you people have built your entire civilization around those lies, and I don’t want anything to do with it.”

The girl crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Chess, but said nothing for almost a minute. Chess lifted her chin and looked the girl in the eye, refusing to be afraid.

“I haven’t used my glamour since I was twelve years old,” the girl said at last. “That’s why I have these visions. Why I’m going mad.”

Chess didn’t show her surprise as the steel bars of the cage opened and the girl ducked out, taking her basket but leaving the candy. “Your Highness,” said the guard as he closed and relocked the cage door.

Chess listened to the footprints retreat down the path, staring at the candies, her heart thundering in her ears.

Your Highness.

Princess Annleigh.

The queen’s stepdaughter.

Annleigh was rumored to be more beautiful than Levana herself - which was why the queen had given her those scars. Even Earth knew about her, about her unspeakable beauty, about her scars… though Chess had never heard about the girl going mad.

The candies lay in front of her still, tempting her. Chess had no reason to trust her, but she’d finished her one small meal hours ago, and she wouldn’t be fed until the next day. Her stomach began to ache, and her head spun, and while she was proud of how long she made it, eventually she reached for the box and lifted one of the candies from the shreds of paper it was nestled in. It was smooth as glass between her teeth and cracked easily, the warm, melty center sweet and sour on her tongue. Nothing, nothing, had ever tasted so good.

But it was nothing compared to the sensation that expanded through her chest, down to her legs and into her fingers. A feeling of warmth, of comfort, that took her pain away with it.

Chess managed a smile up at the glass ceiling, at the stars beyond it. Perhaps the princess wasn’t so cruel after all.

[btsslowburnfic]

Chthonic Love Chapter 4

Series Summary: Greek AU Yoongi/Hades x You/Persephone.  The Olympic Lord, Namjoon kidnaps you as a "gift" for his brother, ruler of the Underworld. Lord of Death: Yoongi.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

The two of you walked in silence, your footsteps echoed through the hallway. You once again found yourself in the massive and empty Great Hall. You saw Penthos waiting at the other end of the room and you sucked in your breath. You weren't used to being disliked and it was clear to you that he did not like you.

“Penthos,” Yoongi acknowledged him as the two of you walked past.

Penthos gave you that same wide eyed stare as he did earlier in the day. You rolled your eyes and followed Lord Yoongi out of the Hall and eventually out onto a narrow stone bridge.

“What river is this?” you asked as the two of you travelled across.

“It’s just a tributary of Styx. It doesn’t have a separate name.” he responded. “You didn’t get very far in the Compendium.”

You can’t tell if it’s a question or statement. “No. The warm fire and crying earlier made it difficult to stay awake,” you admitted. “I plan on finishing it later though.”

“It’s not a very long book. I got bored after Elysium and I didn’t want to visit Tartarus to write a better description.” he shrugged and turned to look over at you, ”Not to spoil the ending or anything,”

Your eyes widened, “You wrote it?” you asked, clearly impressed

He turned his head forward once more, a small grin on his face, “Of course I did. Who else would write about the Underworld? I probably wrote all the Chthonic Culture books you’ve ever read,”

“That is so awesome,” you said.

A blush crept across his face, and he brought his hand to the back of his neck, scratching. “I don’t know about that. I haven't written in centuries and really no one reads them, and who else would write them?”

“Well I still think it’s impressive,” you responded.

The two of you continue down the paved path where it abruptly ends and black sand begins.

“Be careful on the dunes, they’re unstable.” he warned you as the two of you head out to the sea.

He wasn’t kidding, you made it about 3 meters before you fell for the first time, letting out a small shout.

“I warned you.” he said as he looked back to see if you were alright. It took everything in him not to go and help you up, but just that morning he had crossed that line too soon.

You got up and dusted yourself off. He waited for you as you started to walk again, unsteadily.

“Sorry, I know it’s a little bad but I forgot just how much. I’ve been walking across them for ages.”

You pressed your lips together, determined not to fall, and lasted about another meter. This time you reached out and grabbed Lord Yoongi’s arm for support. He looked down at where you are latched onto his arm. Your hands felt so warm against his cold skin; he turned his gaze up to look at you but your eyes were already fixed ahead, starting to walk towards the sea once again. He doesn’t say anything although he does wonder why he suddenly feels tingly and his chest feels lighter.

“Why is it called the Desert of Sorrow? You ask after a few minutes.

“It just felt like that’s what it should be called.” he responded quietly.

“Did you name everything in the Underworld?”

“Not everything. Tartarus and Elysium already had names.” he explained quietly but doesn’t elaborate.

The two of you arrived at the shore a few minutes later. You let go of Yoongi’s arm and walked over to the water.

“It looks like liquid glass.” you said, squatting down to look at your reflection in the water. It began to ripple. You looked behind you and watched as Yoongi raised his arms, a beacon of light extended from his hands, across the Sea, and into the horizon. After a moment the green sky was opened, like a cloth being cut, and ships poured out across the water. You stood up, cupped your hand over your eyes, and marveled at the sight. Leading the fleet was a skeleton wearing clothing: Charon.

As the ships got closer Yoongi stepped next to you, “Come on, we have to escort the ships to the gate and then we can speak to Charon.” He offered you his arm.. You took it and began to walk with him down the shore line.

You followed the shore eventually ending in an estuary. The water here was less clear, a brackish mix of green and black. The ships sailed slowly along, parallel to the two of you. Looming in the distance you saw the fabled Gates of the Underworld. They were enormous and stood between the estuary and a cave entrance. Next to them was a giant white thing that you couldn't quite make out. It looked like it might have fur?

"Stay here," Yoongi commanded as the two of you arrived within 100 meters of the gate.

You watched in awe as he continued to usher in the ships as he approached the Gates, suddenly looking very small next to the structure and whatever creature was next to them.

"Open the gates Holly." Holly wagged his tails and furrowed his brows, lifting his heads in your direction. "In a minute Holly, lift the gates." he patted the creature's side. Holly picked up the chain with all three of his heads and pulled the Gates open for the third time that day.

"A minute of your time on the way back Charon." Yoongi quietly said as the Ferryman sailed past. The skeleton nodded its head.

The fleet of ships passed through the gates, the creature closed the gate, and you found yourself standing there with your mouth hanging open like an idiot.

Yoongi walked back over towards you."Are you OK?"

"that was amazing!" you exclaimed. “Is that a Dog?”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows at you.

"Aish I don't know about that. No one tried to escape or anything," he shook his head. “And it’s not a dog, it’s a Cerberus.”

"Well for someone who's never seen the Gates to the Underworld before, it before I thought it looked really interesting.” you began to follow him over to the gates. “And that,” you gestured, “is most definitely a dog!” you declared, pointing to Holly.

“Min Holly is a fearsome Cerberus who guards these gates. He is not a pet.” Yoongi lightly protested.

“Oh. So should I stay back here? Will he bite? Most animals like me.”

Yoongi poked his tongue into his cheek. “You can get close but not too close.” He actually had no idea how Holly would react to another person.

You walked closer. The animal was as tall as the gates, which were at least 6 meters tall. He had three heads, which looked very soft and fluffy despite all the teeth, and three tails which had started to wag.

“He looks absolutely terrifying.” you remarked dryly, “Is that tail wagging a warning before he rips me to shreds?”

Yoongi is used to being the sarcastic one and so he has no response for you as you walk closer to Holly who lowers his heads as you approach. He watched as you carefully placed an arm out for him to sniff.

“Hello Min Holly,” you said as you approach. The tail wagging increased. “Oh yes, it’s nice to meet you too. Is that chain heavy? You do such a good job with it.” He barked quietly in response and leaned into your hand for you to pet his ears.

Yoongi walked over in disbelief. “I found Holly wandering the Underworld. He’s been attacked by the Harpy Celeano and was close to crossing the river himself.” he began to stroke Holly’s other head as Holly whined at the memories.

“That’s awful. You poor thing,” you gave extra scratches. “Such a good Cerberus, yes.”

The two of you stand in silence for several moments petting Holly. His ears prick up and he rises, suddenly very much the guard dog again.

“Charon must be returning, “Yoongi commented, and in a few seconds you also can hear the sound of rowing echoing in the cave.

“Open the gate Holly,” Yoongi instructed for the last time today. Charon rowed out of the cave and through the gates and stopped on the other side, facing the two of you.

“Charon, I need you to deliver this letter to Apollo to give to Hoseok.”

The skeleton stared at Yoongi. At least, you think it did. It focused its skull in that direction. He then abruptly turned to you.

You awkwardly stood there not knowing how to speak to a skeleton but decided it’s best not to be rude, “Hello Charon. I’m Persephone, Goddess of Spring.”

The skull’s jaw dropped open ever so slightly and he awkwardly tried to bow, bending his knee.

“Oh that’s not necessary, thank you. Please make sure this letter gets delivered. My brother is probably very worried about me.”

The skeleton straightened and nodded its head, making a strange jangling sound as the bones rattled. He extended one of his skeleton arms and took the letter from Yoongi.

The skeleton placed the letter into his small coin chest and picked up the oar, beginning his journey back.

“See you tomorrow Holly. Good work today,” Yoongi said. “Hold on.” He disappeared for a moment into the cave and exited with a large animal carcass of some sort and drug it in front of Holly. “Let’s go.” he said to you.

“Bye Holly!” you cheerfully add as the two of you began to walk.

“Let’s go this way,” Yoongi instructed, leading you through the cave.

The river in here glows a faint green, illuminating the passage. It is smaller than the estuary, allowing each ship to pass through one by one. The walls are moist and it surprised you at first that there as no moss or fungus growing on them but then you remembered where you were. Yoongi takes a left into a smaller passage. “You talk to animals and skeletons like they’re people,” Yoongi commented offhandedly as you two passed a small dock.

You shrugged, “I also talk to flowers.”

You heard the deep rumble of his laugh echo through the chambers “I suppose you do. This is a way to get out to the Gates without having to go through the Desert,” he continued.

“Oh, my ankles thank you.” you responded. “Does the cave have a name?”

“No. Let me know if you think of a good one though.” he stuck his hands into his pockets and walked up an incline which brought the two of you near the base of the paved path.

“Ooo I’ve never named a cave before. I’ll have to think hard about it.” you were honestly excited.

“You are way too easily impressed,” Yoongi smiled.

“There’s nothing wrong with getting excited about things” you counter. “Plus I’m the Goddess of new beginnings, I couldn’t really do my job well if I didn’t find the Joy in that.”

“Well then, thank you for bringing some much needed joy to the underworld,”

It was your turn to blush and become quiet.

--------

The two of you arrived back at the Palace. Yoongi stretched, "It’s been a long day. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow. If you need anything let Lethe know.”

“Thank you Yoongi,” you curtsied and headed to your room. Your dress was caked in seawater and sand. You weren’t sure what you were going to do about that. You opened the quicksilver door and are surprised that your spartan room has been slightly transformed since this afternoon. There is a fire in the fireplace, blankets on the bed, and the “Underworld Compendium.” has been placed on a table. Even though you hadn’t chosen to come here, it wasn’t so bad. Today had been fun once you decided to just go with it; how many other Goddesses had gotten to pet a 3 headed dog or walk the Desert of Sorrow? And got to name a cave?!

You sighed and sat down on the bed. You were tired but also so dirty. Tired and also strangely energized and excited. You heard a knock at the door.

“May I come in m’lady?” you recognized Lethe’s voice.

“Yes.”

The door swung open and Lethe entered with a tray. “Good evening Lady Persephone. I prepared a soup for you and some bread if you’re hungry. Also some tea.” She sat the tray down on the table and looked at you expectantly.

“Thank you so much. I suppose I am.” you got up almost immediately, the food smelled amazing. You sat down on the small bench.

“If you give me your dress I can wash it.”

“I don’t have any other clothes.” you replied, breaking off a piece of the bread and stuffing it in your mouth.

“Actually, you do. I just put a few in the wardrobe.”

“Oh?” you brushed the crumbs off your hands and walked over and opened the door. Inside were several beautiful dresses. You reach out and run your hands along them; they are unbelievably soft. You realized at this moment that you are still wearing Lord Yoongi’s cloak. You found yourself blushing a bit as you removed it and hung it in your closet. You’d have to return it tomorrow. You turned back to Lethe.

“I thought you said you don’t get many visitors here, and yet there are dresses and you seem quite skilled as a maid.”

“Thank you ma’am. The dresses are brand new. Lord Yoongi requested them to be made. One of the most skilled seamstresses in all the realms lives here in the Palace, so it was no trouble for her to make them quickly. As for me, I have served in many courts so it is actually quite nice for me to act as an attendant for the first time in years.” Lethe smiled, the honesty of her words was evident.

You had sat back down, eating. “This soup is delicious. What courts have you served in?”

“I worked in the Athenian Palace for several years before here.” she sighed sadly.

“How did you end up here?” you asked, genuinely curious. You had no idea how others ended up in the Underworld.

“I killed myself.”

You tried to not overreact to what she just said, turning around slowly. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I don’t know much about what happens to humans when they die.”

“Forgive me, M’lady. I forget that not everyone is familiar with the Underworld and the Afterlife.”

“No. No, it’s fine. I mean. If you don’t want to talk about it it’s fine. But,” you looked at her with kindness in your eyes, “if you do, I would be very interested in learning more about you.”

Lethe almost started to cry. No one had ever asked about her. Even when she was alive. She didn’t want to appear unprofessional. “No, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

You scoffed, “Lethe, I order you as Goddess of Spring to take a seat and make yourself comfortable.” you giggled slightly.

“Oh. You are just so nice. May I?” she indicated to a chair near you.

“Yes please,” you said, and looked at her expectantly.

“Apollo guides the dead to Charon. Charon drives the ships. Lord Yoongi guides the ships, opens the gates, and guards them. Once the ships pass through the gate, the dead are judged. Some people are sent to Elysium, some to the Asphodel Meadows, some to Tartarus. And suicides are sent to work in the Palace or other places in the underworld as a way to pay penance. Once we have served our time we are judged once again and allowed to pass on.”

“So you’re dead technically?” you asked, trying to not be indelicate.

“Yes. And even though it’s supposed to be a “punishment” most of us don’t mind working here. It could be much worse. Lord Yoongi is a fair God to work for.”

The air filled with a natural silence as you finished eating. You knew it was not your place to ask the “why” about her choices.

“Is there a bathroom anywhere near this room?”

“Ah yes, across the hallway. Let me lay out something for you to change into and get the water warmed up,” Lethe excused herself, leaving you to finish your meal alone.

An hour later you find yourself freshly washed, in the softest nightgown you had ever felt in your life, and tucked under the covers with your copy of “Underworld Compendium.” You flip through the pages to see if...yes, you found it.

Min Holly is a fearsome Cerberus who guards the gates of the Underworld. His many teeth can easily snap through an entire fleet of the dead. His mighty paws can crush scores of men to death. He is a fearsome beast who would sooner smash your skull than look at you…

You smiled and closed your book, “Liar.” NEXT CHAPTER

[raccoonmooon]

the poison, drunk

Dipping my toe into writing! Have a WTNC fic!

Post pledge ending, the hunter does not tell anyone when they leave Lunaris. The hunter's sister (who is a hunter herself) acquires a lingering injury, and decides to take the time off to visit her sibling. Instead she finds a mystery, and a town full of people who's help she will need to solve it. 

categories: angst, hurt / comfort, eventual happy ending, maybe the hunter can have a little redemption arc, as a treat, two hunters, divergence from canon epilogue | pairings: August / F!Hunter, Finnzra, Finnzra / nb!Hunter | fic rating: explicit | content warnings (this chapter):  canon-typical violence | word count: 1,635  |  read on AO3 

Chapter 1/?  | i'll send a storm

chapter summary-  A hunt goes wrong, Finn makes tea badly

...Seven...eight...nine heartbeats and a roll of distant thunder filtered through the trees, closer than she’d prefer. Rowan scanned the forest in front of her, the full, newly risen moon illuminating tall conifers scarred with layers of claw marks. She moved with a renewed confidence in the direction her senses were pulling her.

Keane huffed "That glare might leave demons shakin’ in their boots but it’s not gonna turn the storm." The weatherbeaten old witch was scarred as the trees they were passing through, with glinting eyes under bushy grey brows. "We’re ending this night soaked to the bone no matter how fast we trot."

He kept pace regardless, heavy boots muffled by the thick layer of pine needles and other decaying detritus that made up the forest floor. The air felt just as padded, pregnant with the approaching thunderhead. She ducked under a branch with tufts of cinnabar orange fur stuck in the bark.

"I’d rather finish the job before the clouds steal our moonlight Enforcer. Wasn’t exactly a short hike up here and now we’re in the beast’s territory it’s not likely to give us a night to wait out the weather."

It had, in fact, taken them just over a week to track the creature here from the rustic little town she’d been assigned to the last three years. A harsh winter had drawn it down out of it’s remote stomping grounds and into the range of people. And even with the arrival of spring, now that it knew easier prey was a short flight away, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t come back.

"Eh, least the wind’ll keep it grounded" he growled "An’ how many times have I told you to call me Keane?"

Rowan huffed a laugh in response, letting the discussion rest. For a while the only sounds were increasingly frequent peals of thunder and the susurrus of trees in the storm’s downdraft drowning out their breath and footfalls.

She slowed as they approached a clearing cast in darkening moonlight, and let her hand fall to the handle of her axe as a four-legged figure padded into view. The barbaric semblance of a human face snarled at them out of a thick mane of matted red fur. The over sized body tensed and threw massive leathery wings up into an obvious threat display, while a tail tipped with a chitinous, scorpion-like stinger lashed behind it. The manticore crouched back, sizing the distance and preparing to leap.

Rowan readied her axe, flashing silver in a burst of lightning that briefly threw the clearing into sharp relief. The ground was littered with shredded wood and scattered carcasses in various states of decay, the smell of which failed to entirely drown out the musty scent of the beast itself. Beside her, Keane visibly centered himself and the air took on a biting chill as an icy mist rose in the clearing and his eyes were overtaken by a cold light.

They moved apart swiftly as darting fish, and the creature’s massive bulk landed in the space now between them with an impact she could feel in her teeth. Keane drew its attention with a flashy burst of spiked ice to its face.

"Well this fellow’s scarred as an old tom isn’t he?" the witch laughed as the beast whipped around to face him with a snarl.

He was indeed, the shaggy lion’s pelt marred with dozens of scars, and the heavy wings were ragged at the edges. But Rowan was focused on the tail, which she ducked out of the way to avoid as the creature spun. Segmented red chitin leading to a wickedly curved tip coming down from the bulbous final segment. Both of them had little vials of the anti-venin potion she’d prepared for the trip, but that didn’t guarantee they’d be fast enough to get it down if struck, certainly not without permanent damage. So it remained the manticore’s deadliest feature, and her first task was to remove it.

Keane continued to back away as he threw another volley of ice at the thing. Rowan waited for it to pull back its tail to strike, near parallel with the ground, and brought her axe down between two of the segments as it sprung back up, neatly splitting the top few from the rest and sending them spinning uselessly through the clearing.

The manticore turned back on her with outstretched claws swung wildly in her direction and an earsplitting yowl louder than any cat she’d ever had the misfortune to hear.

She called back to Keane, "About as subtle as a tomcat as well yeah?" It bared leonine teeth at her in an angry hiss, three rows on top and bottom, and prepared for another swing.

Rowan jumped back, rather than to the side, the thick mane would deter a blow to the neck, and its face was the next best option for a clean kill. But rather than the swipe of claws she expected, it took a flying leap over her head, knocking her down with its hind paws, bouncing off the massive pine behind her and flapping some twenty meters up a tree on the other side of the clearing. It clung to the bark with straining claws and the approaching storm whipped its mane around its face as it roared down at them, fully pissed off.

She pulled herself back to her feet, coat flapping around her calves, and unholstered her flintlock pistol, it was out of range no matter how well she aimed.

"Can you do something about that?" she shouted over the wind at Keane.

The witch focused up at the tree and some ways below the yowling beast, a pale mist settled around the bark. After a few moments there was a great cracking sound, loud as a gunshot, and that part of the tree shattered, the top half with the manticore on it tilted towards them, seemingly in slow motion.

"TIMBER!" Keane shouted, darting farther away from the falling tree, Rowan ran backwards in the opposite direction, trying to keep her eyes on the manticore, trapped by the falling branches. Her boot hit something that crunched and she felt a sharp pain in her calf, she looked down horrified to see the manticore’s envenomed stinger at her feet. Fuck.

She needed to take the antivenom now but the tree crashed to the ground between her and Keane, and five hundred kilos of manticore began flailing to try and free itself from the branches pressing it to the ground. There wasn’t time. Rowan leapt forward, running along a thick branch to the trunk where she could get a good look at the beast, it saw her approach and let out a final unnatural yowl that abruptly cut off with the crack of her pistol.

The manticore went limp just as Rowan’s leg gave out, she landed tangled in branches and pulled the little vial from the leather pouch at her waist. She could hear Keane calling for her as she ripped the stopper out with her teeth. She downed the bitter, red liquid in one mouthful, and things started to get a bit blurry as the sky finally opened up, instantly drenching her.

OOO

Far away, moonlight poured through a kitchen window as Finnegan Kazimir struggled to make a cup of tea. Which one was it he’d seen Ezra reach for after a hard day in the shop? The blue and yellow tin that smelt of mint and earth? Finn was unsure, he didn’t often pay attention to such things when Ezra was in the room. The kettle screamed, and decision made he pulled down the tin and yanked the horrible thing off the heat.

Sitting at the little wooden table he watched what should have been the cheery gold of the tea, warp to a sickly yellow in the shadowed light, spreading in tendrils through clear water like poison through-

Finn shut his eyes and thought of the bright life of his love upstairs, warm, safe, close, and too distracted by fresh grief to make himself the cup of tea darting thoughts told Finn he wanted. He settled and let each moment pass as the tea steeped, time would fix this, settle wounds into scars that could be ignored like a scrap of purple fabric in a box.

OOO

Ezra stared up into the rain pounding on the window and felt cold imagining where Maro might be. He wanted to run out into the night and find them, bring them home and find a way to undo the curse they’d drunk down like it was the only option. But there wasn’t a way to undo it, there was nothing he or Finn could do, and their love was going to die alone in the cold after everything they’d fallen in love with had been stripped away. He shivered.

The creak of the bedroom door drew him out of his thoughts and he watched Finn approach the bed with distant golden eyes and a cup of tea steaming in his hands. Ezra found a smile for his love.

"You didn’t have to do that" he said.

The vampire crawled into bed beside him and slid the cup into his hands, wrapping his own tea warmed palms around Ezra’s and holding them against the gentle heat as he leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead in lieu of a response.

They settled against each other and Ezra took a sip of the tea, a lovely calming blend with strong notes of peppermint and chamomile, drowned out by far, far too much honey, even for him, with unstrained leaves swirling about. He tucked a more genuine smile into Finn’s neck "It’s perfect, thank you." They curled closer together and listened to the rain.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Ravenclawinstarfleet!

Happy Holiday Season to Ravenclawinstarfleet, who asked for Spark!Stiles and soulmates. I hope this little story provides some warm and fuzzy feelings!

Read on AO3

*****

Something With Explosions

My quick sleep had deleted all Of intervening time and place. I only knew The stay of your secure firm dry embrace. ~ Thom Gunn

--

when we met, and met, in spite of such differences in our lives, and did the common things that in our feeling became extraordinary, so that our first kiss was like the winter morning moon, and as you shifted in my arms it was the sea changing the shingle that changes it ~ Edwin Morgan

--

Remember this?

--

There’d been a fight — a difference of opinions — that had escalated because of tempers and casual thoughtlessness, and maybe feelings had been hurt because some people were stubborn and said stupid things. Then maybe a door closed too hard, and maybe he had to get out, just to clear his head. And, in hindsight, maybe it was a bit reckless, but maybe it was just that kind of disagreement and maybe it was just that time of year and maybe it was just meant to all happen just like that, anyway.

“Oh,” Derek said, just before he hit the ground. “This is going to hurt.”

--

“Hey. Hey hey,” said Stiles. He was slapping at Derek’s cheeks, lightly, but gathering strength and commitment as time passed. Derek knew some sort of time had passed. He didn’t know how he knew. Maybe it was his wolfy senses. Maybe it was the fact that he ached all over and he wasn’t healing, not fast enough, at least. Maybe it was the fact that Stiles looked different as he hovered over him, hair shorn short, eyes wide, skin smooth and uncreased. This Stiles was 10 years behind.

Backwards, thought Derek, irrationally, wondering how hard he’d hit his head when he fell. Time had passed indeed. Backwards.

Then he thought, I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t right.

“They’re coming,” Stiles hissed, hands balled up in the front of Derek’s shredded shirt. Derek wasn’t sure who they were but he could hazard a guess. Something big. Something potentially deadly. “I don’t know where the pack is. They don’t know where we are.” He paused in between hitches of breath. “Why aren’t you healing?”

Because something is wrong, thought Derek. This isn’t right.

“You need to attract attention,” he said out loud. He felt light, like he was rising. Not a good sign, he knew. He felt heavy, too, and he knew he wouldn’t be moving fast anytime soon. He could hear the pack in the woods around them, but he could hear other things, too, dark things, things that could rip and tear.

“Attention?” Stiles said, looking at him like he was crazy. He very well might be.

“The pack will get here first.”

“You don’t know that,” Stiles said.

But Derek did know, because he remembered.

“Do it, Stiles.”

“How?” Stiles said, hands skittering over Derek’s body, raw and on edge and Derek took a chance.

“Use it,” he said. “You know how. Use it. Call the pack to us.”

“I,” Stiles started and he was already shaking his head, already giving up and that just wouldn’t do. “I don’t. I can’t.”

“You do. You can,” Derek said. “Do it.” He paused. “Something with explosions.”

Stiles swallowed and stilled. He closed his eyes and balled his fists. He breathed deep, a shudder going through him, top to bottom. The ground shook beneath him and Stiles leaned back, fully engaged now, hands rising up and up until it emerged, the Spark, shooting up and up into the sky above them, lights and explosions like gunshots echoing around the woods and alerting the pack. It was a zing zing zing and a flash of light that was particular to Stiles’ power, to his particular Spark. Derek recognized it, was achingly familiar with it, even if this Stiles was younger, his power barely formed and badly controlled.

“I did that,” Stiles said just over the din of Boyd and Erica, Scott and Isaac, panting and snarling, skidding into the clearing. Stiles leaned down, close to Derek’s ear, panting and pale, shocked at this sudden revelation. He looked right at Derek who was looking right back. “I did that.”

“You did,” Derek said, consciousness fading and if the last thing he ever saw was Stiles’ pale radiant face, that was ok. “You did good, Stiles.”

--

Fucking high school. This wasn’t just a random parallel universe, another point in time. It was some kind of horrific punishment designed to provide maximum torture.

Lockers, green and dented, metal on metal on metal all the way down the hall. Linoleum, black with scuff marks. A swirl of bodies, cloth and skin and teeth and hair. Everything smelled like sex and boiled hot dogs and sweat and cologne.

I’m not supposed to be here, either, Derek thought. Everything, everything was messed up.

He saw Stiles before Stiles saw him. Loping down the hallway, hair still short but growing out, not buzzed, and he was taller now, rangier, leaner with long muscles moving under his jeans and layers, text books hitched under one long arm. His head was down but he was smiling to himself. Derek watched him, mesmerized. He barely remembered this Stiles, and yet he was as familiar as air, as the slightly erratic thud of his heart, the blood under his skin. And just like that Stiles’ head shot up and he looked right at Derek and smirked.

Stiles looked at him a lot back then, Derek realized in that moment. And he looked at him like that a lot back them. Derek remembered that particular expression from the teen years, a combination of surly and frustrated and annoyed and put out sometimes, with a little outright disgust thrown in for good measure. But also with curiosity. Fear. Something dark and intense that Derek never understood at the time.

Sometimes he caught Stiles looking at him with utter confusion, back then. Sometimes he even looked a tiny bit amused when Derek did or said something weird or awkward or cutting. Sometimes, he thought, there was even heat, just underneath the constant humming zing of the Spark, the thing he tried so desperately to keep under control, before he understood what it was. Derek had missed that, he thought, how hard Stiles fought it.

Apparently he missed a lot of things the first time around.

Now Stiles tilted his head, held up one finger like, Wait a minute, I’ll be right there, like he’d been expecting Derek and Derek just nodded, tight and terse, because, ok, what else was he going to do? Where else was he going to go?

Stiles turned on his heel then, approached the row of lockers and the girl standing there, the small, slight girl with the long strawberry blonde hair. Lydia, impossibly young and bright and looking right back at Stiles and.

Oh, Derek breathed, watching Stiles press into her, his mouth and his long, lean body, all of him up against her, her arms up around his neck. Derek’s heart writhed and his skin itched and his teeth dug into the tip of his tongue. Don’t look, he thought, look away, quick.

This was going to hurt.

--

Derek looked around the kitchen and frowned. It was his kitchen, in his refurbished house, not that long ago, maybe, but he didn’t remember this particular moment.

“What are you doing? You’re not supposed to be here!” Stiles said. He flapped sticky, flour-coated hands at him.

I know, thought Derek.

Stiles sighed, deflated, and Derek took in the scene: batter and bowls, flour and bits of candied fruit scattered across both countertops. Three different tins filled with cakes, burned, crumbled, decimated. The room reeked of sugar and burnt batter. A thin smoky haze hung just at eye-level.

“Fruit cake,” Stiles said, like that explained it all.

“Fruit cake,” said Derek. Now he saw the decorated tree and brightly wrapped presents in the next room, the tinsel and mistletoe strung over doorways. Christmas, or close to it.

“You said, a few months ago. At the pack meeting. You mentioned your mom made the best fruit cake, but the recipe.” He paused. He wiped his sticky hands across the front of his shirt, over and over. “The recipe was gone. So I looked up some, a bunch of different ones, just to see.” He shrugged, mouth up on one side. “As you can see, it hasn’t actually been a success.”

Derek had no idea what to say.

“I even tried with my, you know, Spark. Just to see if it made a difference.” He was embarrassed, Derek realized. Or ashamed. “I know you don’t like it when I use it for stuff like this, or much at all, but.” He laughed then, a strangled sound and Derek wanted to weep. “Anyway! You weren’t supposed to know. Like, ever.”

And he didn’t. Derek realized. Stiles had thrown it all out and Derek had never known. He’d made this goddamn fruit cake, many of them, for Derek and then thrown them out and cleaned up the kitchen and never said a word.

“You did good,” Derek said, mouth dry, eyes wet, meaning every word, even though Stiles huffed and rolled his eyes, cheeks pink. “You did so good, Stiles.”

--

“You’re acting weird,” Stiles said. He was twitching. Fucking high school, again. “You feeling ok?”

No, Derek thought. “Yes,” Derek said. “I’m fine. I’m.” He paused. “I’m out of sorts.”

Stiles snorted. “You sound like someone’s grandma.”

They were waiting outside the school — for Scott, presumably — leaning against the warm brick wall, shoulder to shoulder, Stiles tapping and tapping, humming under his breath. He flicked one finger, random, and a rock the size of his palm flips at his feet, skittered away towards the parking lot. He froze, looked over at Derek, wide-eyed and frightened.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been trying to contain it better, but Deaton said—”

Derek reached out to touch Stiles and Stiles jumped, his skin sizzling with energy. Then, before he could talk himself out of stupid decisions, Derek hugged him.

He threw his arms around Stiles, around the tight taut shoulders and pulled him close. Stiles was immovable, solid muscled rock under Derek’s arms. Derek didn’t give up, though. He was, if nothing else, stubborn and relentless. He pushed his hot face into Stiles’ hot soft neck and breathed in and out in and out in and out again and again and again. Stiles let him.

“Derek,” Stiles finally whispered. “What. Are. You. Doing.”

“I’m. I’m just. Uh.” It was the scent that undid him, the smell of Stiles’ skin. He started crying. Quietly, hot tears building and growing and releasing and sliding down his cheeks. He knew Stiles could feel them.

Very slowly and very reluctantly, Stiles unhinged the tight muscles in his arms and let them, very very slowly, slide around Derek’s middle.

“Derek,” he said, and his voice was much lower and much softer now. “What is it?”

Derek was sniffling. He couldn’t help it. It was all so stupid and sad. This was Stiles. His Stiles. And not his Stiles. And he missed his Stiles so fucking much. He pushed his wet face into Stiles’ neck and Stiles was holding him tight, fingers pressing into Derek’s back, pulling him as close as he could. Derek could feel Stiles’ lips right against his left ear, asking him over and over what was wrong, maybe making soothing sounds, like It’s ok, don’t worry, stop stop stop.

“Derek,” he said again, right into his ear and he sounded kind of wrecked, voice breaking. “You’re…scaring me.”

And Derek finally stopped. He sucked in a wet snotty breath and pulled back just a bit, eyes down, breath hitching.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. He started babbling like an idiot. “Sorry sorry sorry sorr—”

“Derek,” Stiles said again, gripping tight and trying and failing to catch his eye. Derek was having none of that. “What the fuck is going on? Can you just tell me?” He paused, then said, like it pained him, “Please?”

“Something’s wrong,” Derek said. He shook his head, twice to each side, like he was trying to get water out of his ears.

“What?” Stiles said.

Derek shrugged and sighed, reluctant to pull completely away and Stiles’ grip loosened, just a bit and of course, that’s the exact moment when Scott finally made his appearance.

“Dudes,” he hissed. “What the fuck?”

--

“Oh,” Stiles breathed. “You’re here.”

In the woods again, Stiles splayed out on the ground, bloody and broken, Spark gone wrong and Derek near blind with rage and grief. His hands were trembling and cold. This, this is what he feared all along, what he always feared and couldn’t control: Stiles getting hurt.

“I’m here,” he said.

Derek wanted to take him, this Stiles, in his arms because he never had been able to, back then. How many version of Stiles had he missed out on, he wondered. How many new muscles, how many different twitches and expanses of skin, how many new cells formed without his knowledge.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stupidly, then shook his head. Stiles hitched in a breath and tried to focus.

“I’m never gonna get the hang of this,” Stiles said, low, bitter and desperate. “I have this fucking gift and I can’t even get it right. All of you, the rest of you, have something, and I have this, I could have this, and I just. I can’t do it.”

“You will,” Derek said, his voice coming out much too loud, way too sure. “You will. You’ll get it and you’ll get so good at it that people will come to you for help. You’ll teach people how to use their own Spark and you’ll be so good and so powerful.”

Stiles looked at him and his face was a mixture of things, mostly pain.

“How do you know?”

He took Stiles’ cold hand, held it with the thrum of energy zipping between them, held on so tight it probably hurt Stiles, but he couldn’t let go.

“I remember.”

--

This scene, at least, he knew well.

In the woods, with dry, dead leaves under his feet and there was Stiles, so impossibly young it broke Derek’s heart in two.

Derek wanted to run to him right then, pull that fidgety, frightened boy into his arms and carry him off, leave Scott there more bewildered than he already was. He forced himself, through sheer will, to stop, 20 feet from them and just watch. He could feel it though, feel the Spark, even then, the energy, running of Stiles in thick waves, uncontained, uncontrolled, with nowhere to go.

“This is private property,” Derek said and watched the boys fidget, their faces contorting in amusement and bravado. They reeked of hormones and sweat and fear. They looked at him, looked at each other. He could have sworn Stiles rolled his eyes and swore under his breath, maybe asshole.

There were a lot of things, Derek realized, he’d like to do over, if he had the time.

--

This one, too.

In the pool, the sharp sting of chlorine filling his nose and mouth, his body a dead weight, and everything wet and heavy. And there was Stiles, of course, hard arm wrapped around his chest, feet kicking, churning up water, knocking against Derek’s shins. Hours, Derek knew. Stiles did this for hours and Derek never gave it a second thought at the time.

“How are you doing this,” Derek gasped, even though he suddenly knew the answer. His lungs hurt.

“You know how,” Stiles said, spitting water everywhere. “You think I could haul your big, muscly ass around without a little supernatural Sparky help?”

Later, dry and exhausted, in the car outside the Stilinski home, pointedly not looking at each other.

“Look,” Derek started, voice quavering, unsure. “Sometimes, people might tell you to stop it.” He was talking slowly, with care, conscious of where they were and where Derek was in this particular timeline. “I might even do that, sometimes, because I’m stupid about it and stupid about you. I see what it takes out of you and sometimes I may say things that hurt. Like. In the future.”

“Dude,” Stiles said. “How much water did you swallow down there?” He laughed and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “In the future?”

Remember, Derek thought. Don’t forget.

“It’s stupid,” Derek said and his voice sounded rough. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Stiles laughed. He actually laughed and for a second hope bloomed in Derek’s chest. “Hello. We just finished fighting off a human-sized lizard thing. My friends are werewolves. You think you talking about our future selves and explaining why you were hugging me and crying into my chest the other day is going to surprise me?”

Derek blinked. “You remember that?”

“Derek! What is going on!” Stiles finally looked directly at him and he didn’t look mad, exactly. He looked frustrated. And tired. And tense. And curious.

Ok then.

“I’m not in the right place. This isn’t. I mean. I’m here but I’m not supposed to be here. Right now. I’ve already been here. And left. And now I’m here again. And things. Things have transpired in the future. Things that you. The you that you are now, don’t realize yet. And I’m stuck here, apparently what’s going to happen, but at the same time trying to deal with you not knowing, ok? It’s just.” He sighed again. “It’s complicated.”

“Derek,” said Stiles. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re from another dimension, another time, another part of life, then yeah. I get it. I believe you. You’ve convinced me and frankly nothing shocks me in this fucking town anymore.” He paused and swallowed. “I’m just sorry I don’t know. That I don’t know what you know or remember what you remember because. I really really would. Like to know.” He swallowed again. “What happens to us.”

“Oh,” Derek said.

“Just tell me one thing,” Stiles said quietly. “Is it good?”

Derek thought about that. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, letting himself smile. “It's so good.”

--

Then he was driving. He was driving the Camaro and wasn’t that a blast.

“Blast from the past,” he said and laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Derek said. He shook his head. “Sorry. You were talking about something. Lydia, right?”

Stiles groaned. “Don’t remind me, dude. It’s too humiliating for words.”

Derek sucked in a breath. “You could cast a spell, couldn’t you?” he said, thinking of the Spark, thinking of energy spilling from the tips of Stiles’ long, elegant fingers, light cast on the ground, light around him, spinning up, creating anything Stiles wanted. If it was Lydia he wanted, he could get her. Would get her, for awhile.

Stiles wrinkled his nose. “A spell?” He tapped his hand on his thigh, jiggled his knee. So twitchy back then Derek thought. All the time, always moving. All of that energy still bottled and contained just below the surface, waiting to be scratched and released. So fucking amazing, even then. Derek should have been in awe. “Do you mean a love spell?”

“Well, you’ve been practicing right?

“You know you can’t make people love you, right?” Stiles voice was low and hard now, a tinge of bitterness seeping into the edges of it. Everything was off. Derek had ruined the moment. Stupid.

“Yeah. No. I mean, I just thought.”

“Love is different than all that other shit I do. All those tricks and funny things, yeah, they’re good for a laugh and I dunno, maybe I’ll do something with them one day, with some training. But love? That’s serious shit, Derek. You don’t mess around with that.”

Derek swallowed. “But you, you care about her, right? Did I get that right?”

Stiles huffed out a breath through his nose. His hand, which had stilled, suddenly took up a life of its own again, tapping erratically on his thigh.

“People see things when they see them, I guess. When they’re ready.” His voice was heavy, slow, deliberate.

Derek glanced over. Stiles’ skin was flushed. Maybe it was the warmth of the car. Maybe that was it.

--

At the edge of here and there it got very dark, but Derek saw everything much more clearly, finally.

“Have you always looked at me like this?” Derek asked, stepping closer. They were on the Stilinski porch, Stiles poised to go inside, Derek hovering the at the bottom of the stairs. Stiles’ face went red. It was a fascinating progression, starting on his cheeks and spreading, like liquid, up to his ears and down the long expanse of his neck to pool along his collarbones.

“Don’t be like that,” Stiles said and he held his lower lip between his teeth. “Don’t be a jerk like that.”

Derek took a step up. He shook his head and held out a hand, placating. “I’m not, I swear. I just. I missed so much, back then.”

“What are you talking about?” Stiles looked over his shoulder. “You’re not making any sense, dude.”

Derek stepped closer, and closer again, until the tips of their shoes were touching, their breaths mingling. Derek could feel Stiles’ heat, the zing of his Spark.

I remember this, Derek thought, on the verge of panic, hysteria nipping at his ribs. I remember this. How could I have forgotten?

Stiles’ lips were so soft and so warm on his and the air around them was so cold. This was a December long ago, one before the December he just left. And here was Stiles, not his Stiles, but one who came before, brash and banging about, long limbs and generous mouth always moving. This Stiles never took his eyes off him, but not in the same way. These eyes were nervous, unsure, and this mouth was unpracticed. Derek leaned into it all the same, taking Stiles by surprise. Derek slid the fingers of his right hand up over the collar of Stiles’ shirt, onto exposed skin, up the side of his neck, tendons taut and straining, giving every inch, and stopped at the short, shorn line of hair just above the hood of Stiles’ winter jacket. Stiles kissed him and Derek kissed him right back, let the tip of his tongue touch the middle of Stiles’ bottom lip just once, and felt Stiles’ entire body trembled in joy or shock or fear, he wasn’t sure.

Don’t forget this, Derek thought and held on tighter to be sure. This is the first kiss and the first time you fought it off, dismissed Stiles and probably made him feel like shit. Made him feel like he couldn’t control his Spark, that he’d end up hurting himself, hurting someone else.

Zing, went the Spark. Zing zing all along Derek’s mouth. There it is, he thought. It’s been there all along, and he leaned into it even more.

“Oh, Stiles said, pulling back. His lips were wet and shiny and his eyes, too. He blinked once, twice and swallowed like it hurt. “Ok. Huh. Wow. I wasn’t like. Expecting you to. Uh.” He licked those lips three times and Derek felt light-headed

“Thank you,” Derek said, stiff and formal as a suitor. He reached out to steady himself on the porch railing. Everything was white and still and moving too fast, too. There were circles and spinning and he couldn’t catch his breath, suddenly. “You. You’re good at that.” He blinked and looked right at Stiles. “But you get so much better.”

Stiles laughed. “Ok.” He shook his head, touched his wet lips with two fingers, still unbelieving. “You’re just full of surprises, Derek Hale. I think you’re gonna make me fall in love with you.”

And that was that, and the ground broke free and Derek was light and heavy, pinwheeling and loose, and Stiles was moving forward ready to grab, face gone white with surprise and his mouth was moving, maybe yelling his name as Derek fell and fell and fell.

Oh, Derek thought, just before, he landed. This is going to hurt.

--

“Hey, handsome.”

Derek blinked and blinked again. He felt heavy and wet and sore and thought immediately, ah, I’m back in the pool but it’s ok because Stiles is here with me. Focus, he thought, gather every detail and remember everything before it disappears again.

Stiles’ face, his lovely bright and shining face, moved into view, peering down, frown lines between his eyes. Glasses. He was wearing glasses, square and black-framed and his hair was longer, curling out from under his blue beanie.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said still staring. He couldn’t look away if he tried. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Stiles squeezed him again. “Falling off the roof? Yeah that was pretty stupid. Stringing Christmas lights alone when I told you repeatedly not to. Yeah. Very stupid.”

“Yeah, for that too.” Derek closed his eyes. “For the stuff before though. The fight. What I said. That was even stupider.”

“Stupider.”

“I worry about you. Getting worn out. Getting hurt.”

“Hmm,” Stiles said. “And yet, it’s been how many years since that’s happened?” He tilted his head. “And here you are, sprawled on the ground with as yet unknown injuries. Interesting.”

“I was wrong and it was wrong and when I saw you, from before, I realized how stupid it was.” He opened his eyes and saw Stiles watching, even more concerned than before.

“Did you land directly on your head, then?”

You are so beautiful, Derek thought. You are so lovely and so close and I want to keep you forever. He lifted one heavy, wet hand and found Stiles. Stiles’ mittens were off, lying next to them in the snow, red on white. Stiles’ fingers were very cold on his and they squeezed hard.

“You back with me?” Stiles said.

“I was gone,” Derek said and Stiles grinned, but his lips were tight. His whole body was shaking under his, Derek realized, a fine tremor, barely noticeable but Derek knew. He always knew things about Stiles.

“You were,” Stiles said blinking fast. “You were for a bit and I waited for you to come back.” He exhaled a long breath, a cloud of white above Derek, shrouding his face for a moment. There were sirens now, in the distant and drawing closer.

“Oh,” said Derek. “Ow.” He shifted on the light layer of snow, powder seeping into the space between his untucked shirt and the waist of his jeans. Cold under his thighs and calves, his back and shoulders and head cradled in Stiles’ trembling lap.

“Yeah,” Stiles said. “They’re on their way.” He breathed in deep at last, looked away. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek closed his eyes, saw Stiles here and there and further away, Stiles with the round face and round cheeks, slimmer Stiles, Stiles with the shrewd eyes, the kind eyes, the knowing eyes, Stiles with people who were not him, Stiles watching. Stiles waiting.

“But I’m back now, and I won’t go anywhere again.”

“Good,” Stiles said as the ambulance pulled up to the curb, chunks of ice popping under the wheels like firecrackers, little explosions in the cold. “Neither of us.”

--

Christmas day bled into a night that bloomed cold and still, falling suddenly and early, like it did this time of year. Dinner with the Sheriff and Melissa, Scott and Allison and the baby, fat and babbling in her chair, then rolling under the tree and grabbing for low-hanging ornaments with a chubby, uncoordinated fist while her parents took turns snatching her up.

Later, their car slid into the driveway of their home — their home! Small and compact, Christmas lights strung halfway across the front eaves, red and green and white, the other half dangling down, loose, to the frozen ground.

“Come,” Stiles said, cutting the engine, fingers tugging at the cuff of Derek’s jacket. “Come. I have something to show you.”

Their backyard was square and white and still and they made first footprints in the snow together, one after the other.

“Ready?” Stiles said.

Derek took in the trees, the old picnic table, the frozen garden. He smiled.

“Derek. Derek, watch,” Stiles said. “Are you watching?”

Stiles made sure Derek’s eyes were on him, then squared his shoulders under his heavy woolen coat and plaid shirt under that, and lifted his hands up to chest level. His expression settled into something calm and distant, but focused, body barely thrumming with his pent up Spark. And then the zing. And then the lights, shooting from his fingertips, his entire hands glowing too bright to look at, lights shooting up into the sky one after another, streaking high and then bursting into reds and greens and whites and blues cracking loud in the dark sky.

They stood side by side, staring up, watching and listening until Stiles stopped, exhausted, zing zing zing, and he turned to look directly at Derek, face calm and still again.

“Good?” he said.

“Good,” Derek said. “You did so good, Stiles.”

Stiles tucked himself up into Derek’s space, pushing his head into the curve between Derek’s chin and chest where it was warmest. He put his arms around Derek and pulled on him, pulled him close and hard and held him still.

“Fireworks,” said Derek, in awe, as always, of this Stiles, of any Stiles, all of them his, and this one in particular. His heart was all tied up, slamming into the backs of his ribs as the last lights streaked into the sky over their heads, falling and fading out with quiet hisses and crackles. Later, under the blankets, Derek would tell him everything that had happened. Stiles would listen and nod and then kiss him, touch him all over, top to toe. They would slide together, gasping and hitching while Derek murmured about the woods and the pool, the Stiles then and the Stiles now, soft mouth pressed up against every part of his skin as the sky lit up above them. “It’s beautiful. It’s so beautiful.”

“Something with explosions,” Stiles whispered against Derek’s hammering heart, and held on tighter. “Remember?”

Boom, went everything. Boom, boom, boom.

[flamingwhump]

Whumptober 8 Stab Wound

(Also for Alternative Whumptober 1 “Wake up”)

The team had been traveling through the forest for a few days now, they were on the move to their hideout. Sun was heading up the rear keeping an eye on the perimeter around them, always hyper-vigilant. After everything they’d been through no one blamed them. Sun was a natural leader, naturally protective, like everyone’s big sibling.  

Sun’s stoic scanning face cracked into a smile, watching Crimson sneakily jump onto West’s back. He was so used to this maneuver from the team’s weapons and tech expert, he easily caught her wrist as she put her arms out to grapple West’s broad shoulders. He flipped her over his shoulder, flinging her into a bush to the side of him. Koanya busted out in high peals of laughter, they clutched their stomach, the smallest and right up front, they brushed a low branch out of their way. Ko’s laugh fell short as they moved a branch aside.  

The small healer’s eyes went wide, “S-Sun? You’re gonna wanna see this” they barely breathed no louder than a whisper.  

Sun pushed forward through the group, worry creasing their brows. “What-? Oh... Oh gods..” they pressed past the foliage and into a small clearing where a bloody body was propped up against a tree, barely breathing. The figures clothes were torn and nearly destroyed but Sun could tell they were formal- Royal- clothes.  

Sun stopped short, feeling everyone else behind them bumble to a stop. They dug the heels of their muddy boots into the earth, grounding themselves, their face hard and protective. A tall broad figure in a regal emerald green cloak, clasped at the shoulder with a golden emblem marking him as a Lord. The drawn gun in his hand pointing right at Sun had their strong tan arms shooting out to protect their team. They would die before they let this asshole shoot anyone in their little misfit family.  

“Hey, hey now, man, no one needs to get hurt” they took a tentative step forwards and to the side, sweeping West behind them and Ko to the side. They didn’t have a third hand to be touching crimson, but that’s what the protocol is for. Sun didn’t have to worry about that because they knew West had a hand on Crimson and a hand on Ko. Sun also knew West would protect them to the death if anything happened to them.  

The cloaked man just flashed them a sharp wolfish grin.  

“Oh, how precious” he snarled, laughing dark and high like a lightning bolt hitting a tree. Only to leave fire and destruction in its wake. “What exactly are you supposed to be?” He looked over the whole group more closely, as if he was picking them apart in his head. His eyes widened and he gasped once he landed on Crimson, her tail visible above her head and her wings fluttering in defensive anger having caught his eye.  

“What are you doing with that thing?” He recoiled, disgusted, gun lowering minutely in his surprise. “That thing should be in a cage somewhere”   Sun could barely hold her back as Crimson barreled against the barrier of Suns arms. They were strong but they couldn’t hold Crimson back for long when her rage got a hold of her. Thankfully, West stepped in, putting a calming hand on her shoulder  

“Hey, hey-“ he fell suddenly forward as he got an accidental bright red feathered elbow right in the chin. His grip on her shoulder got tighter, his other hand grabbing the elbow that hit him “You’re okay ‘mon, hey-!”   The man just chuckled, laugh building as the half-griffin struggled to get to him to shred him to pieces. “Aww, the mutt seems familiar with the cage. Someone should reacquaint you.” He hummed, face bright and triumphant. The gun was almost all the way at his side now, his other hand on his hip, foot tapping as he considered the ragtag group.   West had to put Crimson in a headlock to get her not to tear Sun’s hair out in an effort to climb over them to get to the man with the gun who would most definitely shoot her. Luckily West was about twice her size, his training peeking through as he kept her immobilized from the waist up as her legs kicked wildly and her head swung from side to side.  

Sun pushed the group further along the edge of the clearing inching closer and closer to the tree that had that slumped person against it.   They struggled to keep their arms up, but they couldn’t until everyone was safe, even this hurt guy against the tree. They managed to glance down between them and West, checking in on Koanya. They had their little dagger out but downward in a defensive position and to the side as they pressed against Suns hip in the middle of the formation. It was protocol to keep Ko in the middle.  

Their eyes flicked back to the danger in front of them, taking a shaky breath, One foot, then the other. Okay. They concentrated and breathed. Slowly, sparks at first crackled and shone around Sun’s fingers, rubbing together for friction. A few flames sprung from their fingertips as they moved forward.   They were parallel now to the snickering lord in front of them. West and crimson were entirely covered by the tree.   “Ko!” West hissed, jerking his head back motioning them to get over to him. Crimson was much calmer now, but she was limp and scowling in West’s arms. 

Ko scurried behind the tree beside West, his arm snaking around their shoulders and they instinctively pressed their body close to his side, breathing in his familiar scent. They put their hand in Crimsons, her scowl softening after the initial start of suddenly touching her hand. She smiled down at Koanya, wanting to reassure them now that their vision had mostly cleared of red.   Sun took a step away from the others and towards the Lord, his cloak flowing in the wind blowing across the clearing. They took another tentative step, lifting their hands, now engulfed in a blaze. Before they could say or do anything he held a hand up, stopping the leader.   “No need, Mage. You can have him.” He said dismissively with a wave of his hand. He holstered his gun. “I’m going back to the castle. I’ve had as much fun with him as I can for now anyways. You get him healthy and I just might see all of you” he made eye contact with Sun and then darted over to Crimson with a wink and a smile, “someday.” he hummed as if in thought but his face never dropped his shark smile as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the forest going the opposite direction.   Sun let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Adrenaline coursed through them and they immediately turned from tense and scared to directing the team now that the danger had passed.   “Ko, I need you here” Sun ordered, kneeling beside the figure finally able to look clearly at him for the first time. He looked starved, Sun noticed jutting collarbones and sternum before they saw the blood seeping from his lower stomach.  

“Looks like a stab wound” Sun went to put pressure on the wound and the unconscious lump jolted awake, screeching in pain. Sun gasped, ripping the man’s rags of a shirt off to reveal dark purple blooms across the guys ribs.  

“Fuck, I’m sorry dude. Ko, start with the stab would, then the ribs. Set any more broken bones you can manage and I’m going to start sewing up the cuts on his arms and legs.” They looked from the subject to Koanya, they gave a resolute nod from behind large circle wire framed glasses, their small round face so serious it would be cute if the situation wasn’t so intense right now.   Sun had clocked a bunch of red all over his arms and legs but upon further inspection they were intricate geometric patterns, some kind of floral looking and some looking like alien language. It all flowed in and out of each other like a giant pattern.  

“Fuck” they whispered under their breath. Luckily only a few places were bad enough to be stitched up. They took their backpack off and got the med kit out, 25 stitched over four limbs that’s not that bad in Suns book.  

They looked up and Koanya was on their knees, blue glowing magic flowing into the abdomen, sweat pouring down their face. Sun felt shining pride in that moment, Ko had come so far. The stab wound was gone and the ribs looked almost there.  

“Good job, kid” Sun smiled as they hoisted themselves up, checking in with West, making sure Crimson was okay and released. Warmth bloomed in Koanya’s chest, they always felt like the weakest member of the group, they liked feeling helpful.  

Ko took a small break, breathing heavily as they wiped their brow with the back of their small arm. The guys face twitched and he let out groans and moans as his ribs clicked and creaked back into place, sometimes eliciting gasps from the unconscious man.

Ko wondered who he was, they shook the man a little by his shoulder  

“Hey? Um, hey guy?” They said gently, as if waking up a child from a nap.  

They peered over his face as his brows came together, shaking his head and whining high pitched.  

“Nnnn-” he moaned and tilted his head to the side. Ko gasped in surprise, and shook the man’s shoulder harder  

“No, hey! Hey, wake up!” They insisted. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and blurry.  

He immediately squeezed them shut with a grimace. He tried to push himself up bracing his hands on the ground and fell back harshly against the tree with a sharp cry.  

“Gods alive! My arms, fuck!” He pulled his arms up in front of him, making sure they weren’t touching anything. He looked down but just saw white bandages and felt the sting of antiseptic.  

Koanya scurried away from the sudden outburst, hiding behind Crimson.  

Sun strode forward, kneeling quickly by the yelling new man  

“Shh, I know I know honey.” They said, taking the mans hands gently “I know it hurts. Can you tell me your name?” They asked, trying to get the man to look at them. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.  

He exhaled and tried not to focus on the pain. “I-I,” inhale, shakey exhale “Atlas” he gave a toothy grin that would have been charming if he wasn’t desperately trying to keep himself together.  

Sun racked their brain “where do I know that name?” Their eyes went wide as they realized suddenly, looking back over their shoulder at West, and back at Atlas. “Prince Atlas?” they shook their head, standing and nodding to West. The two of them helped him gingerly to his feet “Well I'll be damned”  

Atlas nodded “T-thank you” he nodded at Sun and looked wildly between this he rest of them, grateful tears welling up in his eyes. Sun clasped the new friend on the shoulder where they knew the cuts didn’t reach.  

“All of us have been through things and we all found each other, most of us in your shape or worse” their eyes softened. “You’re one of us now. Or you will be.” Their gentle hand on his shoulder squeezed a bit.   Atlas’s shoulder sagged in relief. He hadn’t expected that at all, to be protected and accepted without even a question? His body was overwhelmed with exhaustion, he had been running on adrenaline and terror. Now that he finally felt safe it was like all his pain and exhaustion crashed down on him at once. He barely registered being picked up as his heavy eyes finally closed. He snuggled closer to the warmth surrounding him as his world went black.  

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’  ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.  

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

[whatscallion]

rise, ch. xiii

//- A Medieval AU based on some Marvel parallels that follows Natalia Romanova in her rise to divinity.

Chapter Summary: Natalia still can’t catch a break.

Chapter Word Count: 1,090

Previous Chapters: Prologue - One - Two - Three - Four - Five - Six - Seven - Eight - Nine - Ten - Eleven - Twelve

Tagging: @cptsteven @sammiewilson ( message / ask to get tagged! )

--

Even in the temperate warmth of the waning sun in the summer sky, every sharp breath drew daggers to tear lungs to shreds. Resilience was driven by fear despite the calmness of the lingering clouds upon the horizon. Small lavender blossoms fell in delicate swirls from their perches high in the canopy, having filled their duty to the mother plant they were born from. In its own, it was to be the Summer’s Snow, blanketing the ground for nothing more than a day in purity. But disturbances from predator and prey tainted the untouched veil the fragile petals painted. The birds sang their farewells to the warmth of the season for only the night, but they were cut to silence in their skittish nature, taking flight to the heavens above.

Stamina could only gain so much ground before panic induced a fervor without logic. Predictability became a sin as ground was hastily traversed, eyes once so unshaken by the unfolding future, were now stricken wide with uncertainty as they sought out some semblance of safety among the wilderness.

But this was not her terrain. Not her home. Unwittingly, there had been a plan laid long ago to ensnare the impossible, and stars aligned just perfectly enough to rip away what was used as the backbone to an advantage. Fright ripped bravery and intellect from the streamlined mind, allowing only the most primal instincts of desperate survival to shine through in ragged brilliance. A distaste embedded in a newly born divine creature was now uprooted to be used in the most extreme ways against blasphemous Holiness in order to bring her to the reckoning she had easily dealt.

The God Widow was being chased by none other than Death itself.

In the distance behind her, the shrieks of mingling agony and deranged delight echoed off torn bark as she fought against every tiring fiber of her body to keep moving. The whispers forged of frail magic began their eventual chipping away at a sheer will to live, promising respite from a world unkind to her. Through frustration, she persevered, her speed maintaining as gullies were maneuvered, and every trick utilized to hide her presence. But little could be done when Death was so swiftly moving in closer, and closer still.

Somewhere, the weapons she had wielded to slay those who opposed her had fallen from her body, fear forcing her immobile and digits stricken with lack of tension. The cold steel had found a new home among the sun soaked ground. The Widow knew not how long she’d been running; she only knew how little was left in her to keep pushing forward. It was becoming a test of pure durability, but like most creatures, she was failing as time wore cruelly on.

The glory of the sun setting before her very eyes diminished a foolhardy strength in her, for she could only rely on the twilight ambience to conceal her to that which could not be hidden from. Rushed steps pressed her forward, constant in the chase for the sunshine that would shroud her being from the evil behind her.

In a moment of human defeat, the young God paused in her endeavor of escape in a fruitless attempt to catch her breath. Only two heavy gulps of stinging air were allowed before the prowess of the Queen Mage made itself known. Little else was as unsettling as the shrill sound of anger coming from the trees, insects crying out against her in deafening tones. Natalia had to keep moving, but her pace slowed, the end of the chase drawing close enough to suffocate. As such, the heavy body of a serpent fell upon her shoulders. Before she could even grip the slender body, its malicious bite was already inflicted upon the porcelain perfection of her cheek.

With vehemence, she threw the reptile to the side, a surge of adrenaline releasing untapped energy to urge her to move, but also to spread the potent venom through her veins. It seared like molten copper through her bloodstream, eliciting a ghastly shriek from her, profound in its absolute rarity. Distance staggered beneath her feet before gravity took hold of another victim, and it was in those precious fallen flowers that her hands dug into the ground in a futile attempt to keep control.

From the corners of emerald eyes, she could see Death slithering before her. Born from iridescent scales came the phantom of her baptized past.

“Look at you,” Ivan spat. “Pathetic little peasant.”

She shook her head, thoughts firing off in every possible direction as light dimmed. This was a product of the venom. It had to be. Ivan could not have tracked her this quickly. Slowly, her head lifted, granting the image of a fallen god.

Crimson marked her cheek, smeared in her attempt to rid herself of the bite.

One emerald dimming while the other flooded with the same hue upon her flesh.

Her jaw once so set in resolute belief now slack against defeat.

The power she once held, bled from her, leaving nothing but a shell of her former self in the self-imposed image of her father. His scowl remained exactly as she recalled, the disapproval more palpable than before as she attempted to pull herself up, but to no avail. Though his image wavered, the details were a testament to the memories of her dying mind.

“No,” she mumbled, a sheen of sweat suddenly coating her facade. “I am..”

“A God?” He had finished her statement for her, followed by a sharp bark of a laugh. “You are nothing more than a mistake. A disappointment. Failure.”

Casual steps carried him before her, bringing himself down to a kneel with a sinister curl of his lips. The grip holding her head up - the very hand that had trained her all those many lifetimes ago - felt so real upon her throat.

“In His name, we trust, little God Widow. Not yours.”

Behind her failing form, a basilisk drew its head back, several feet into the air. In a show of arrogant victory, his mawl opened wide, brandishing serrated teeth that many men befell.

A sudden moment of clarity drew Natalia lucid, glaring at the image her mind projected before her.

“My wrath knows no Death,” she whispered.

The audible snap of jaws slamming together marked the light diminished of the God carved from stone.

The birds escaped where she did not.

In Her Holy Name, we mourn.

In the Blood of the Lamb, we pray for forgiveness.

[lord-dusk]

 What happens when two parallel heroines meet? If you think this will escalate in a bloodbath.....THINK AGAIN! >:D

 The dead fallen leaves on the forest floor scrunched and crumbled under my talons as I made my way across the woods. I was doing nothing particularly special; walking around was good exercise. Sometimes the trek would yield  small animal from the undergrowth, and I would immediately chase after it and have a pick-me-up. Other than that, there seems to be no one in these swathes of trees but me, a lone raptor walking all by herself.

 It would have been nice to have some one else(or three) to stroll with. While I didn’t mind being by myself, there was a certain part of me that longed for company, someone to talk to, someone to hunt with, someone to have mock fights with. True, there were other creatures I have cohabited with, but I didn’t necessarily hung out with them. They were either too busy, too contemptible, or I simply had no business whatsoever with them. Still, to have another sentient animal walking alongside me would make the trek so much worthwhile.

 And as if seemingly out of black magic, it was as if my wish would be granted.

 I perked my head to the side and back, sensing someone not too far from me. What could it be, I wonder? A rodent? A goat? Pakki? A few seconds of silence have passed before I decided to bark. 

No response.

A minute of dead silence have passed before I barked again.

Still no response.

This is odd. I could have sworn something was following me, but I couldn’t quite see them, let alone smell them. What kind of creature was it? Ryukami prey it better not be some Indo-something abomination again; my life was never quite the same after dueling with those mangled-teeth mofos that have tried to kill Papa multiple times.

I’ve waited another minute of eerie silence before I turned head and kept on rolling. I still kept my state of awareness however.

And it was a very good thing that I did.

 I barely made two or three steps further before the attack lunged at me from behind. I barely missed the strike and swiftly spun around to face the opponent that I now face: a very tall and very uptight woman. Normally when I see a female of Papa’s species, I would almost have paid them no mind but that women wasn’t normal.

 She was nearly the same height and build as me, and a deep blue all over. Her “wings” were the color of spilt blood beneath and on her belt carried a very long yellow sword that looked like a...well, an eiselt’s caecilian. I never encountered anyone in my life use a sword, but something tells me that if that blade pierces my flesh, it’s all over. I then assessed her eyes. I can tell right on the spot she is evaluating me as I was with her. Both her eyes are just as blue as her body, though examining them even further, her right pupil was a sky-blue raindrop-

“You’ve seen too much!” the blue woman shrieked. “And thus, crawl back to the ice-age!” She drew her eiselt’s caecilian out of her helm and leaped towards me. Her movements were swift, but raptors are even swifter. 

 The woman did manage an attack....on the unfortunate microorganisms and the leaf litter on the soil. I jumped to the side just in the nick of time before leaping again to her flanks and plunging my right talon into her stomach. If you readers love torn attire, keep on reading. The blue female howled like a certain black wolf-raptor as my talon ripped across her abdomen, her blue shirt becoming a dark crimson as it shredded alongside her flesh. Great mosasaurus, the smell of blood is so appetizing...!

However,  I was careless. I was just about to draw my talon out her gash wound when the sword stabbed me in the belly. The pain was simply unbearable. Imagine being set on fire and being wrung at your neck simultaneously. Even then, you would still be way off. I screamed with all the agony my vocal cords had to offer before I collapsed on top of the now unconscious woman. I couldn’t remember anything after that as I too fell into blackness.

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

When I opened my weary eyes, I noticed that me and the swordswoman were in a creamy white room, each of us on fluffy white beds. Both of us had bloodied bandages on our bellies, and as much I wanted to get up, it felt very unbearably painful so I simply stayed put.

“Oh no no nonononononono! Please don’t move!” A very tiny red-and-white girl in Japanese attire ran up to me, planting her miniature hands on me. “You two weren’t very smart to fight out in the woods alone like that! By the time Frederick carried you into this room you barely had any blood left in your systems and your bodies were cold! So please, for the love of all the Great Dragons in all of existence, don’t kill each other ever again!” By now the girl was on her knees, palms in her face, crying an indefinite torrent of anguish on the floor. I had a powerful urge to nudge the poor child in comfort but she was right. To die in the woods only meant being a buffet for scavengers, and what we did was beyond foolish. There was nothing I could do to reverse the same both the girl and I felt. I supposed I could go back to sleep-

“Hey! I’m not done with you yet! I’ll break your jaws-AAUGH!”

 What a lively she-male. The blue woman was like a decapitated snake; still fighting even in a helpless situation. Similarily, I desired to gorge upon her sausages and franks from her belly but, what can I do?

“L-Lucina! Moving abruptly will pop those stitches like a pustule! Besides, fighting that blue dragon over there again will end you for good! Think of your father Lucina...! Think of your father!” The sobbing red girl had run over to the woman, begging for peace treaty between us.

The woman seemed to ease up. She took a deep breath, and sighed. “You’re right, Sakura.” She rubbed her temples as though to clear her cerebellum. “If I died, Father would break down and evolve into a dragon himself. And here, I wanted to prevent another tragedy....”

 Looking at the girl now, I can tell from the shine of her eyes that, while we aren’t exactly friends, we weren’t hostile to each other anymore. Now that I think about it, she kind of bears a very strong resemblance towards me....

Looking at at me herself, Lucina(as the red girl Sakura called her) smiled softly and said, “You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were an executive member of the Grimleal but now, you look like a dragon version of me. In fact, I’d dare say we’re very much parallel to one another!”

 After that, Lucina told me all sorts of things. Her father. Her siblings. Her home. Her hobbies. Her battles. Sometimes I would tell her stories of my own too. It was all in good fun. For the first time in a while, it was pleasurable to have someone to hang out with, especially if that someone was your splitting image.