#then after I throw a wild fit for like a month I'm back to normal | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-brant · 3 years ago

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The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx2 #this fic is so over the top and silly but I love it 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

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the-slasher-files · 4 years ago

Text

WHAT A KILLER

BO’S S/O REVEALING THEY ARE ALSO A SLASHER (Vincent is also kind of in this)

TW: blood, gore, killing, swearing (that’s inevitable with Bo)

THIS has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS and idk why I'm so iffy on posting it but hopefully you guys in enjoy this! It's different from a lot of what I write and I do like it, it's just specific lol.. Also the s/o in this, was the bare bones of what Amaria (my oc) started as... hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

Bloodcurdling screams could be heard through the normally silent town of Ambrose as dusk fell. Crimson painted the skies and the asphalt, almost mirroring each other in perfection. Crows calling for the wasted souls Bo obliterated and Vincent could not fix.

Shuttering at the sounds heard you could not sit there on the old couch any longer, just playing with your fingers trying to push down the urges you felt deep down. They beckoned you like the crows did for flesh. You tried so hard to hide this side but it was only a matter of time you knew, the demon had to rear it’s head eventually if you really wanted to stay in Ambrose forever, and you did. You found the man of your twisted dreams here.

Before you were held in Ambrose against your will; well in the beginning it was against your will but that quickly faded and you fell madly in love with your kidnapper and the town he held so close; you were a drifter. A wanderer of gypsy’s blood. Never managing to hold in one place for more than 6 months, the only time you had a home was when you were growing up, but having a disgusting home life you left at 16. Fleeing home and trying to run from your growing desires you instead made a treaty with your urges, running towards them, allowing them to show when you were safe and comfortable.

Bo never knew, all these months as you played the part of his defenceless little housewife it was growing harder to tell him. Of course you wanted to tell him but you were scared of him not trusting you, and terrified of what he would do to you; pretty ironic when you considered doing the same things to him.

Casually you would throw a joke out there about killing someone or dreaming of snapping someone's neck, however they weren’t jokes to you. It was your wicked reality. Bo was none the wiser, but Vincent, in his quiet embers saw something beyond your delicate eyes, something he saw within himself perhaps. He started to believe your jokes and comments, carefully watching you. Wondering if for once there was a different kind of evil in the town, or if he was becoming the hunted instead of the hunter.

Climbing the stairs and reaching the bedroom you paused, pulling in a large breath and exhaling, closing your eyes. You sank to your knees against the hardwood, pulling a long black, locked plastic box from under the bed, methodically you played with the lock and swung the top open. Placing your eyes upon the weapon your body tensed but your soul relaxed, a sick war inside your head divided.

Running your hands along the cold metal of the black blade, you felt home once again, blood could almost be felt on your hands and screams faded in your ears. Hunger grew. A deep pleasure surged through you.

It was your 18 inch steel black machete; with ridges menacingly flaunting themselves across the top, like a dragon’s spine. The grip you had customized to fit your hand perfectly, needing it to act like an extension of you. It was adorned proudly with a thin rope of bright red fabric tied around the end of the handle, ripped from your first victim’s shirt, it’s tails would drift gracefully in the wind juxtaposing the damage the weapon could do.

Shaky hands picked up the weapon and it seamlessly melting into your grip, your eyes darkened as you rose from the floor, feeling your demons begin to yip and howl like a pack of starving wild dogs ready to feed. Giving yourself another deep breath in and out you kicked the box back under the bed and started down the stairs and out the front door with purpose.

The hot sticky Louisiana air hit you, flowing in your hair and the tail of fabric on your machete. Screams begin to reach you in swells, coming closer flooding you like the rising tides as a younger woman was running towards you. Under the dim streetlights she could not see what you held, for the black blade melted into the shadows perfectly, as intended. To her you were hope, a way out of her hell, maybe you could help her. The poor thing could not have been more wrong in her panic-stricken judgements.

You could smell her blood pouring from her injuries Bo inflicted and her desperate cries, it was all too much to you, it was just like blood in the water to a shark, your twisted instincts began to take over. Eyes darkened on the prey that was heedlessly bounding towards you and with one swipe, that was it. Blood was spilt. You had killed again and it felt so damn right. Looking down basking in the sight, she was slit ear to ear, the gash threatening to show the tips of the vertebrae at the back of her neck. The demons were lurching beside you pushing you forward for more. More blood. More affliction.

Studying the surroundings, Bo was nowhere to be found, unusual for him to let his prey escape his hunt. It was quiet now as you walked on down the street, yellow fluorescents guided your path, and the homes were just barren shapes acting as blinders leading you onward for the man you dreaded seeing at this moment, the demons couldn’t care less about your emotions or feelings, they just carried your body to more gore.

Rounding the corner, the gas station lights gave up a tangled mess on the ground. Two men were wrestling for some sort of weapon that glinted in the lights above them. Cursing yells, threats and grunts spilled out of both of them, one more than the other of course. Bo always had a mouth on him and no one could ever shut him up, it made you smirk as you approached, but suddenly there was a sharp yell and the stranger was on top of Bo. The man had his back to you and just had eyes for the greasy mechanic, beating him with the weapon you could now see was a wrench. You could feel a burning anger rise from your core and Bo’s howls were just fuel to the fire.

Steadily making your way up to the two wrecks of people, now standing behind the stranger you forced your long rigid blade through the core of the man, impaling him right under the sternum. Loud clanging of metal rang through the street as the man dropped the wrench as his body went limp, heaving over the weapon within him. With your boot you carefully directed the corpse off your machete and on the asphalt next to Bo, leaving your face sprayed with red from the spine of the blade.

Your eyes met with saucer wide baby blues causing you to let out a silent breathy laugh licking your lips of blood, sickly savouring the unusual copper. Bo laid on the ground a moment longer just taking in for sure what he saw from his precious angel. Just as you were about to speak but Bo beat you to it.

“I FUCKIN’ KNEW IT!” he gloated hysterically, leaving you more than a little shocked. “I KNEW IT!” Bo got to his feet and almost looked like he was going to do a little dance, you just stood there in the streetlight beginning to laugh, relived but worried as if he had hit his head or something. It was never a dull moment with Bo that’s for sure.

“Are you ok? like seriously, your beginning to scare me” you puzzled as he sauntered his way up to you cocky as ever.

“I’m fuckin’ fantastic... I knew there was something in you” he held you against his chest and put his head on yours “something awful behind those beautiful eyes, my little angel of death” you laughed against him as he kissed your crown, then pulled away looking you dead in the eyes. “Why did you think I kept you around all these months? you made me wait a while... and you know how much I hate waitin”

The words burned in your skull, was that really the only reason? Bo was still unpredictable to you in ways, especially with his dark side. Maybe he was just going to kill you now, maybe he didn’t love you, it could’ve just been the wicked charm he carried effortlessly.

Something came alive in his blue eyes, scaring you slightly but trying to play it off when you cupped his strong jaw, breathing slowly.

“People are my specialty baby” he drawled, then pulled you roughly into a kiss. Sweat, oil, cigarettes, and blood coated the kiss leaving you breathless as he often did.

Bo was right, people were his perfected craft; charming, seducing, lying, playing up the sob story about him and Vincent being in foster care after both parents died. Hell, he could speak French Cajun so he could be more versatile, and charm his way out of any situation in any part of Louisiana. Bo always knew everything you were feeling even before you said it, now that you think back on it.

“Bo? you still love me?” you hesitating in your question not sure if you wanted the answer.

This caught his attention as his jaw tensed and eyes hardened “What would make you think I don’t?... sure I would’ve liked to know earlier, sure, but this just makes you better,” he looked you up and down like a predator before coming close to your ear and purring “and hotter.” You yelped as you were suddenly tossed over his shoulder and carried down to the basement of the garage.

Fidgeting with the lock for a moment he swung the door open and placed you in his chair. “Oh, Sinclair there is a special place in hell for us, and I will meet you there” you laughed as Bo climbed on top of you, clashing his lips against yours, hungry and lustful.

#my writing #horror #slasher #slashers #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair #imagine #slasher x s/o #slasher fanfiction #slasher fandom #x you

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 4 years ago

Note

Hello, Cloud Anon here, I have a new au idea and I'm going to make that everyone else's problem.

So! George and Dream XD are messing around in Kinoko Kingdom, when they accidentally stumble across Karl's library. Not realizing what it is, they hang out there for a while, reading through the stories. Suddenly, Karl bursts into the room clearly stressed. He can feel another jump through time coming on, and he's been trying to get to his library before he gets yeeted through the time-space continuum again. He starts freaking out and trying to get George and Dream XD out of there, and then George starts freaking out and trying to apologize because he didn't know he wasn't supposed to be there, and Dream XD starts freaking out because there is a powerful energy building around Karl and they can tell something is wrong but don't know what's going on. Karl grabs George's arm to throw him out of the library and Dream XD's power spikes because if there's one thing they're going to do it's protect George- and suddenly everything goes white.

When Karl wakes up, he's alone in his library. He can tell he's time-traveled, so he'll have to deal with George and XD later, right now the most important thing is figuring out where and when he is. But when he climbs out of the hatch of the library, his surroundings are surprisingly familiar- he's back in the Old West. After walking around he confirms that yep, this is definitely the same town he visited before, and based on the fact that he finds John John alive and well at the bar, it seems like he hasn't been here yet at this point. There seem to be a couple more people around than before too, though they're far enough away that he can't really make them out. Karl is confused, but this is nothing he can't handle. Maybe his time traveling got messed up somehow and he just has to... do this one again? He shrugs and goes to sit at the bar and chat with John until the bandits start pulling up outside. Pretending not to know what's going on, he asks John who the people outside are. John John fearfully tells him that they're the infamous Bee and Boo Bandits and that they've been ransacking the town for months.

Wait. What? Before Karl has a chance to question him, the doors are thrown open and he's greeted by two *very* familiar faces leading the bandits into the bar. Normally he might be glad to see Tubbo and Ranboo, but normally, Tubbo and Ranboo aren't threatening him with guns while they rob a saloon! Just what the fuck is going on here?

What Karl doesn't know yet, but will soon figure out, is that something weird happened when he time traveled. His jump through time combined with the sudden spike in Dream XD's power sent a wave of energy through the server that somehow dragged everyone on the server into one of the stories in his library. Now all of his friends are scattered throughout his stories, with new roles and memories that fit their settings, as if they had lived there all their lives. And it's up to Karl to find everyone and get them back home.

Alright, that's all the poetic/storytelling bit out of the way so now for some more details- So, the characters haven't actually been transported to the time period of the stories they're in, and the original timelines of the stories remain unchanged. Instead, the characters have been sort of transported into the stories Karl wrote about the events, rather than the actual events, so nothing they do actually changes history or the future. Also, all of the original tftsmp characters are still there, the dsmp people have just been added to the equation on top of them. And with the addition of new people, some of the stories have actually been significantly changed from how they originally went! For example, when Karl arrives in Mizu, the city is bustling and full of life, and it becomes obvious that Ranbob hasn't massacred the rest of the city's inhabitants yet. Along with the people who have been taken from the dsmp, there are tons of people Karl has never met, the original inhabitants of the city. It becomes a race to rescue all his friends before the massacre when Mizu starts running low on food and oxygen.

I haven't decided on a tales episode for everyone yet and I'm excited to see if people have ideas on where to put everyone but this is what I've got so far:

Tubbo & Ranboo - Wild West, leading the group of bandits that ransack the town

Tommy - Mizu, with Wilbur as his idol

Ghostbur - The Village That Went Mad

Niki - Baker and Co-sheriff to Sheriff Thompson in the Wild West, though this is subject to change because I kind of also want her and Jack to be a fighting duo in The Pit

Quackity - The Masquerade, he's a wealthy casino owner. His mask has a cool poker chip design over his ruined eye

Anyways I've been thinking about this for days and I'll probably just send more asks in as I come up with more ideas but yeah I hope people like this idea, I'm excited to see if anyone else has ideas to add on

-Cloud Anon

Oh lord. We have all of this chaos and man. Karl got to fix all of this or else things will go wrong very fast.

Got to go get his friends back or else everything is going to go to shit.

We got main character Karl and him most likely dragging George and XD along with him and man. This is interesting.

#mcyt #dream smp #dream smp au #tales and dsmp mix up au #georgenotfound #dreamxd #karl jacobs #tubbo #ranboo #tommyinnit #ghostbur #wilbur soot #nihachu #jack manifold #jack manifold tv #quackity #ask #cloud anon #there's probably a better name but for now have that

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visd3stele · 3 years ago

Text

magic and kids

summary:

A/N: I really hope you like it. Thank you for your requests. Loved writing it.

art credit: @phantomrin

TW: none

@britishbookworm2 requested (if you want to leave a request as well, click)

masterlist

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

It's been four years since Taryn decided the mortal world would be a more suitable place to raise her child than Elfhame. Even if her sister was now High Queen, the fairies would still make life hard for her and her baby. Maybe not on purpose, she admits it. But magic runs wild, free and unstoppable. Used to it, the Fae Folk barely notices the dangers. And frankly, they don't care. Not allowed to use it on humans as cruelly as before, some meaner courts claim innocent ignorance. How can an entire society of enchanted beings change overnight? How could they be expected to adjust to human fragility all of a sudden?

So Taryn took her baby, promised her sister to visit and fled to Heather and Vivi's. It wasn't as hard as she'd thought. Getting used to the mortal world, that's it. And if her baby had longer canine than normal, or his ears sharpened to pointy edges to the top, it passed unnoticed. Her son certainly didn't stood out the way Vivi did, even with light brown eyes that looked orange in the sun and rusty red hair. He didn't need much glamouring either, not like Oak, Oriana or Madoc. By the time she sent him to preschool his hair was long enough to cover the ears and no one seemed to notice the teeth even without magic.

For all the talk Taryn did on how she wanted her son to be free of his father in all ways, snapping at Oak when the boy tried to teach him magic before he knew how to properly walk and forbidding her family to bring Fairyland up, she named him Renard.

Fitting, though not what she should have done. Maybe part of her can't let Locke go, not entirely. She knew he didn't particularly wanted the baby, that everything he promised her were pretty lies. But for a few months, it has been real. Their marriage, their love, their lives. She saw her dreams come true, one after another: the mistress of an important household, throwing parties for courtiers, motherhood.

Now that everything she wanted snaped broken in tiny little pieces carried away by harsh winter wind, Taryn Duarte couldn't phantom having her child become like his father.

"It has nothing to do with magic, for fuck's sake!" Vivi exploded once, after Taryn better than not threw Oak and Oriana - who came to visit - out of the apartment for trying to reach Renard's magic. "He won't become a sly, selfish fox if he can change appearance or grow horses out of leaves. It's all about his up-bringing!"

"I want him to be normal, Vivi! That's why I took him here!"

Renard has been barely one year old when the argument happened. But it was enough to take his mother's words to heart.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Four years old Renard and twelve years old Oak played outside, jumping in crusty piles of autumn leaves. The princeling hadn't given up his plans to teach his cousin magic. He refused to let go of such opportunity: a friend he didn't have to hide of, one he could play with like he used to in Elfhame.

"Hey, Ren-Ren," Oak said, "check this out!" The older boy held up his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, lip grazed between his teeth. Nothing happened for an alarming amount of time. And then... the leaves twirl around the two cousins, splashing then with guts of wind and scarce dew as it swept them up in a friendly tornado.

Renard chuckled in delight, stretching to catch some of the closer leaves. But as soon as he touched one, the whole thing fell apart. "No!" Do it again, Oak. Do it again."

"I'm sorry, Ren-Ren," Oak faked a yawned and laid on the ground. "Magic is very serious business. Very consuming. I'm too tired to even move." He let his eyes close dramatically, watching Renard between his lashes. Truth be told, every time he did magic Oak felt good. Vibrant. As if the earth itself reached out and gave him life. But Renard didn't need to know that yet. He can definitely learn it by himself if Oak's plan works out.

The younger boy pouted and dropped on the ground. "Not fair," he muttered to himself.

"You know, Ren-Ren, you're half fae. That means there's a pretty good chance you're magic too."

"No, I'm not."

"You can't know that. Come on, give it a try!"

"No, Oak! I'm not magic. I'm not like Father, I'm like Mom. Like Mom, just like that."

Oak straightened himself, but didn't rose from the ground. "Ok, Ren-Ren. Listen up. Magic is not bad. It's fun. Don't you think it's fun?"

"Yes!" Renard nodded enthusiastically. "It's super fun. When you do it, Oak." At that the named boy own enthusiasm faded away in an instant.

"Thank you, Ren-Ren," he deadpanned. "But do you know what's more fun than watching me practice magic?" Not giving the kid a chance to answer, to even take in the question, really, Oak said "To do it yourself."

"Do you really think I should try, Oak?" Clearly, the little boy was attracted to magic. And clearly something was stopping him. But his older cousin slowly made whatever that was seem less big and scary, dragging him along in his qualms.

"Totally!"

Renard pushed his lips forward with his tongue, sticking it out through the gap in his teeth. Caramel eyes shone with desire, his red hair flown around by a cold, pleasant wind. "Ok," he gave in, as expected. "How do I do it?"

The smirk that lightened up Oak's face can only be describes as evil. Though no ill intention hid behind it. Only the knowledge his plan worked out, just like his sister, Jude's.

"Listen to me very carefully, alright? There is not just one way to make magic, Ren-Ren. You have to find your own. But for now, try the basics. Think really hard on what you want to happen. Something easy. Got anything in mind?" Renard frowned, then his eyes landed on a tree which still had some green leaves on its branches and nodded.

"Perfect! Now, imagine whatever you want to happen. Imagine it happening. Are you imagining?"

"Yes."

"No!" Oak groaned. "If you're paying attention to me, then it means you're not focusing on magic."

"But how will I know what to do if I don't listen to you?"

"I told you! Magic is your own, Ren-Ren. It comes naturally. So, dig it up. Use your imagination."

Renard tried to shut out the world around him, picturing the sole tree in his mind. A warm pull tugged at him and he followed. His magic, he tried not to dwell on the joy, but instead focusing on his practice. His magic reaching out. Because he reached out first.

The boy allowed the warmth to take control, guiding him through it. The tree now carved in his mind by detail wasn't enough. He needed action. But just imagining the leaves to fall wouldn't do. Renard couldn't say how exactly he knew it. He just did. Something more tender was needed. The half fae kid had to imply what he wants and trust his magic to follow his lead.

So Renard made himself cold. Chilly. Feeling a breeze of wind creeping inside his clothes, whipping his skin gently. Enough to rip a leaf off a tree, though. Which it did. The wind he summoned couldn't be felt, not really. Only by himself and the green leaves that departed one by one from their branch as if plucked by an invisible hand.

Oak gasped. Then grinned. And then he laughed. Renard broke free of his concentration, pleased to see his magic didn't falter. Not until every and each green leaf from his chosen tree didn't fall. The sight made him still in awe for a couple of seconds. But soon enough he joined his cousin with a bubble laugh, jumping up and down and running to tackle Oak in a tight hug.

"I did it, Oak! I did it!"

"Yes, you did, Rem-Ren. Indeed, you did. Congrats!"

"Can we show auntie Vivi? And auntie Oriana?"

When Madoc and Oriana first came in the mortal world, Taryn wanted nothing to do with them. But years of being cared for by the blue skinned, white haired, pink eyes woman showed their tale. She agreed to see her, but only her. She could be part of her child life, if she wanted.

"Sure. But don't you want to show your mom first?"

"Mom and auntie Heather work a lot. We can show them later." Renard said, but he felt his magic shrinking at the thought of his mother. His Mom didn't like his father. And his magic comes from his father. Is that why his magic doesn't want to reveal itself near Taryn? He hoped it was just him overthinking it, because he loves his Mom and wants to share this with her.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

Oak stayed with auntie Oriana, who was his mother, so Renard couldn't bring himself to be upset over it. He would want to be with his mother as much as he can as well. So he did a little trick for auntie Vivi, who told him to stay where he was, brought a camera and ordered him to glamour the tea cups again. Renard made them look like pumpkins, since the Halloween being over the corner made him impossibly anxious - in a good way.

Turns out even mortal technology can be fooled by fae's magic. Vivi showed the clip to Heather, who coed over him until Taryn came home.

"Hello, treasure. How was your day? Wanna give mommy a kiss?"

Renard jumped into his mother's arms, pressing a strong kiss on her cheek before starting to tell her about all the fun he had with cousin Oak. "And then he said I should try magic too."

Tamryn stilled. "And?"

"Look, Mom!"

Renard broke a vase, then, with a twitch of his fingers put it back together. "Auntie Vivi says I'm a natural."

"Does she? That's amazing, sweetheart."

But his mother didn't sound thrilled. In fact, her smile wasn't even a smile at all, but a thin line. "I'm sorry, mommy. I knew I shouldn't've done it, but I didn't know why. Now I know: you don't want me using my magic. It'll make me bad, like father."

Renard pushed his lips up front, scrunched his nose up, wiggled his toes, all in an atempt to stop the tears hurting his eyes from falling. When he realized it was in vain, he took off running to his room.

When Taryn entered minutes later she found her son curled on his left side in the middle of the bed, hugging a black goat plushie his uncle Cardan gave him on his birthday tight to his chest. She hated herself for causing the pain struck look on her son's face.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hi, Mom." Renard wiped his nose with his jumper's sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie. Mommy was just scared, but that's not your fault. You could never be bad. Magic is not bad. Of course you can practice all you want, but we'll settle some ground, basic rules first. Ok?"

"Really?"

"Rules you can never, ever break. Really."

"Thank you, Mommy! You're the best! Just wait until Oak hears about it."

A/N: Renard means fox in french. Also: oops, guess I finished it earlier than expected and didn't really felt like waiting days to post it 😅

#taryn duarte #folk of the air #cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #tfoa #oak greenbriar #madoc #magicfolk #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the queen of nothing #wicked king #my fic #my writing #imagines #imagine #fanfic

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eryiss · 3 years ago

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Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Matrue [Guns, Violence, Unnamed Character Deaths]

Prompt: Savage, Deadly

Summary: Perhaps having an affair with Russian spy in the middle of the cold war wasn't a good idea, particularly when Freed worked for the American Secret Service. But it was fine, America and Russia were never going to actually fight. Killing those they saw as traitors, however, was apparently a different story.

Notes: This is the forth Fraxus Week submission, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This story has gunshots, death and description of blood, so be careful if those might affect you. If that's not something you worry about, I hope you enjoy it.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

A War to Be Ridiculed

Year: 1963

Location: Moscow, Russia

When their affair had started, Freed had been paranoid. He'd picked up the habit of looking over his shoulder, trying to see if another American agent might have discovered his behaviour and was trailing him to get evidence against him. At the time, the paranoia had seemed justified: an American secret service operative sleeping with a Russian secret service operative in the middle of an international stalemate between nuclear superpowers was hardly something that would be celebrated.

The paranoia had died out fairly quickly. Now Freed's main concern was how he'd spin his meeting in the quaint little café as a business expense.

Russian pasties were divine, but pricey.

His bosses would have a fit if they knew what he was doing. Hell: half of America would brand him a traitor if they knew he'd even thought about Laxus in that way. But America seemed to throw a fit over anything for the past few years. A Russian so much as coughing unexpectedly seemed to be enough provocation for an international incident.

Ridiculous, the lot of them. Freed was just thankful that he'd found a way to profit from them.

"What can I get for you, sir?" A waiter asked.

"Just a tea," Freed requested, leaning back in his chair. His Russian was perfect both in accent and in syntax. "I'm waiting for a guest; I expect we'll be eating when he arrives. He'll have a coffee when he gets here."

"Of course."

The man left, and Freed spared a glance towards the door. He had gotten there early, he knew that, but he was starting to get impatient. His job – when he chose to do it – was a stressful one. It was what he had signed up for, of course, and the thrill of it was truly exhilarating. But sometimes the pressure of it all got on top of him, and he had come to grown fond of these meetings in their infrequency.

It was a twisted situation, he supposed. He was sent to Russia on a two-year undercover operation, trying to uncover all information that the enemy forces had on their attack plans. For the first few months, Freed had been diligent in his actions, only to find that Russia had as much on them as they had on Russia. Nothing.

Propaganda was a fascinating thing. Everyone back home seemed to think the bombs would be dropping any moment. They wouldn't. Both sides were shit-scared of doing anything.

Once Freed had discovered this, he had reported back to his commanders and had been told to remain there for the rest of the mission and continue gathering intel. Three more months of gaining the respect and trust of Russian diplomats and governmental workers had led to nothing of interest. Both countries were entirely focused on their defensive measures in case the other country attacked, so nobody had any intention on actually attacking. It was a big, boring stalemate that would never actually come to blows.

It was getting rather tedious, and then Laxus came along. A thrilling, beautiful enemy with stunningly blue eyes and a sense of menace and distrust that drove Freed wild.

Their meeting had been a setup, it was obvious. Freed's rise in Russian society had been suspicious, and so the Russian government had wanted to better understand him and the threat he posed. Freed's alias had been a businessman wanting to help the government and in return get investments, Laxus' alias was that of a rich man wanting to invest money and get a return. Freed had known what Laxus was doing, and Laxus had known what Freed was doing.

Still, pretending he was in the dark about Laxus' true intentions was fun. They both spun lies, tried to catch the other out, and there was the constant reminder that they both had weapons concealed, and the person who slipped up first would end up dead where he stood.

The thrill was brilliant.

Their third meeting had been where Laxus had taken things further. He'd worn a suit so snug nothing could be hidden if you were determined to see it. Freed had gotten chills from the sight of it, and he couldn't remember if he was more excited by the curve of the man's ass or the outline of his gun against his chest. Laxus was silently proposing advancement in their roleplay: increase the danger and increase the pleasure.

Freed almost thought it might be an interrogation tactic, a way for Freed to spill his guts once sated. After their night together it was clear Laxus saw the war in the same way Freed did. Pointless, without risk, and something that should be mocked. He wanted Freed; he didn't want information.

You went submissive if you wanted intel. That night, Laxus had been anything but.

And so, their affair had begun. At first it was just sex, with the occasional meeting of their businessman and investor character to keep up their charade. Then, as time went on and they got more comfortable, their meetings became more public, and their facades dropped slightly. They could only meet once a month or so – they had to do their jobs, of course – but it was the most fun Freed had had in years.

Eventually, the quaint little bell above the door rang, and Freed looked to see the object of his affections walking in. Say what you want about Russia; they knew how to breed a handsome man. Broad shoulders, stern features, trim waists, and large thighs. What more could a man ask for?

Freed watched as Laxus spoke to the host of the café, before being guided to sit opposite him. Freed stood and shook his hand as if they were colleagues, and they underwent their normal childishly competitive hand squeezing ritual. Laxus relented first this time, taking a seat at the table after Freed motioned for him to do so. The host left them alone, and it took a moment for Laxus to break the silence.

"So," Laxus rumbled in his beautifully accented, deep voice. "You've not been murdered."

"I'm afraid so," Freed smirked. "Nor you, it seems. We should congratulate ourselves."

"We should," Laxus agreed, mirroring Freed's expression. "How so?"

"I'm sure we're both creative enough to think of something," Freed purred as he saw the waiter approaching with their drinks.

Under the cover of the tablecloth, he brought his foot to slowly glide against Laxus' calf. He raised it higher as the man placed the two drinks on the table and asked if they wanted anything else. Freed allowed Laxus to answer, putting pressure on the part of his thigh his foot found rested at. Laxus didn't stammer or blush at the action – he was a professional, after all – but Freed knew he was just a little bit more tense. He spoke calmly and dismissed the waiter, glaring at Freed once he was gone.

"You wanna get us caught?" He growled.

"If we got caught, it would be entirely your fault," Freed hummed. "Keeping a straight face is rather standard for what we do."

"I'll get you back for it," Laxus promised.

"I certainly hope so."

Freed raised his teacup to his lips, then halted.

He sniffed as subtly as he could, then slowly brought the teacup back down to the saucer.

Arsenic.

Someone wanted to poison him.

Instincts took over, and a list of questions needed to be answered. Who wanted to kill him? Who in the café was behind the attempt? Who outside of the café might be involved? Who had noticed he hadn't actually drunk anything? Where was the quickest way to safety? How quickly could he leave the country without anyone noticing? Was this anything to do with Laxus? Had Laxus been an informant, or was he in as much danger as Freed was?

As he watched Laxus raise his own drink to his lips, Freed quickly took a chance on the latter question. Before the drink could touch his lips, Freed pressed his foot firmly against Laxus'. The flirtatious teasing was now overpowered by strength, and Laxus paused. Freed glanced to the drink with only his eyes, then gave Laxus a meaningful look.

Laxus sniffed his own drink, then brought it back to the table without drinking.

Fuck. This was a setup for them both.

They had to assume everyone around them was involved. Freed had absently noticed how there was nobody younger than twenty in the café despite families milling around the square. He'd been placed at a table in the centre of the room as well, secluded and in the centre of attention. Likely everyone was an agent of some kind, and they all had been watching them from the moment he arrived. This was manageable.

"You must tell me about your sister's birthday," Laxus said, as if the revelation hadn't happened. "She's turning twelve, correct?"

Twelve. There were twelve agents in the room. That was passable, given some luck. But they needed to know the situation outside of the café as well.

"She is," Freed nodded, leaning back in his chair, casually glancing out of the window. He caught a glimpse of something reflective from atop the town hall, and sighed. "Her cousin is getting rather angry about it, apparently her mother couldn't afford the gift she wanted, and so they've been fighting. But you know how young girls are, always sniping at one another."

"I suppose so," Laxus agreed, body tensing slightly. "I don't know how I'd deal with them. I'd want to just leave the situation behind me, but sometimes even doing that means you'll get caught in the crossfire."

They agreed then. They couldn't just walk out.

"It is rather an impossible situation," Freed chuckled, idly toying with the teaspoon as if uncaring. "Sometimes it feels like you can't escape family, doesn't it?"

"Well I don't see any of my family here," Laxus laughed. He didn't recognise any agents.

"Nor do I," Freed agreed. "Thank heavens for small mercies."

They could be facing either Russian or American forces. They had to assume that, as they'd set up their assassination attempts when the two were meeting up, either side had come to know about the situation and saw them both as too big of a risk. Whoever wanted them dead, it would end up with them both on a most wanted list. This was bad.

Conversation without drinking could only last them so long. Eventually, any agents in the café would know their attempt had been discovered, and they'd act. No doubt they'd be armed to the teeth. A bloodbath was inevitable, they just needed to be smart, and they'd survive it.

"The food here is divine," Laxus commented, picking up his menu again. "The last time I ate here, I nearly congratulated the chef."

"Perhaps this time you will."

They'd be leaving through the kitchen then. The sniper was positioned so that he could shoot through the window, so probably they'd not be prepared for any kind of escape, certainly not one through the back alleys. So long as they could fight their way to the back, they should be able to outrun them and get somewhere safer. If even for a few moments, it was better than being in the jaws of their trap.

Just as Freed was about to continue the conversation, he caught something in the reflection of the window. A man tucked around the corner of the café's counter was looking directly at them both, hand scratching at his thigh where a gun most likely was hidden. Damn.

They hadn't finished a plan, and they were suspicious. But it was avoidable.

Freed, very slowly, wrapped a hand around his teacup and brought it up. Laxus watched, face unmoving but arms tensing. Freed tried to make his movements look loose and uncaring as he brought the teacup to his lips. He tipped it upwards, clenching his lips shut as tight as they could be. The hot tea bumped against his lips and stung – either from the arsenic of just the heat of the drink – and he swallowed as if drinking. He could only hope that had sated them.

"Good?" Laxus asked, voice a little stilted.

"Enough," Freed dismissed. "I do wish I'd ordered something a little stronger. Though I suppose it's a little early in the day for that." He casually looked over his shoulder to the clock, to see it was eleven fifty-eight. Perfect. "To think, in two minutes it would have been perfectly fine."

"It's a bastard, for sure," Laxus grinned, gently tapping his knuckle against the table in a sign of acknowledgement.

When the clock struck twelve, they'd go.

What followed was a tense minute and a half, where they attempted to fill the silence with general conversation. Neither man touched their drinks, but it seemed Freed pretending to drink his tea had been enough to convince them that their plan was working. They talked about nothing, though their eyes darted from place to place to make sure they wouldn't be attacked before they could move. The seconds seemed to stretch into an eternity.

Eventually, the bells of the grandfather clock rung, and they both spurted into movements.

They stood, chairs flying back as they reached for their weapons. Freed felt the wind of a bullet passing past him as he shunted himself to the left, and the back cushion of the chair exploded into feathers and dust. Nobody in the café screamed nor jolted; they'd been expecting it, meaning they were all agents sent to kill them. Good, no civilians made things simple.

Freed shot the man opposite him in the chest, a little to the left of his heart. The man staggered back, dropping his own gun as the sound filled the room. Freed quickly emptied another bullet into the man's skull. One down.

Laxus grabbed Freed's shoulders and shoved him back, banging him into a table. Freed watched slightly dazed as Laxus raised his own gun and emptied some shells into an elderly man and a young woman, who had been acting as a father and daughter. The man lurched back, falling against the window that had now been splattered in blood. The woman, who had been shot in the side rather than anywhere vital, tried to rush forward. She was holding a steak knife rather than a gun, and Freed quickly picked up a serving tray and struck her in the neck with it. He did so multiple times, before she stumbled to the ground, where Freed kicked her in the head enough times to knock her out. Either that or kill her.

Nine left.

When the window shattered again from another shot from the sniper's gun, both Freed and Laxus took refuse behind the counter. Wood splintered above them, and they could hear the sound of the other agents getting closer. Gunshots were near constant, blocking off their route to the kitchen and back entrance.

A lull in the shooting came, and Freed rose above the counter with his own gun in hand. He had expected that, with the number of agents involved, they wouldn't be as well trained as Freed and Laxus, and as such had to reload at the same time. Freed quickly shot the nearest agent, a woman in her fifties who was quickly spinning the barrel of her pistol. Freed's bullet landed between her eyes, and she staggered her final movements before falling to the ground in a lifeless pile.

Laxus, in an attempt to save bullets, picked up a sharp knife that had been put aside for cleaning, and threw it through the air. It struck a nearby agent in the cheek, and he stumbled back and grabbed at the deep, bleeding gash in his jaw. Not dead, nor incapacitated, but distracted.

Another agent shoved the bleeding man forward to get a better shot at Laxus and Freed, but Laxus acted faster. This time he did use his gun, and Freed almost winced as he saw the bullet slam into his face, eyeball exploding as the man screamed in pain. He fell to the ground, crumpling up and screaming as he rolled around the floor. Freed might have felt sorry for him, but he was an assassin, so mercy was the last thing on his mind.

An explosion of glass shattered behind Freed, and he winced as glass cut into his cheek. He grabbed Laxus' shoulder and dragged him down again.

There were seven agents unharmed and two badly injured. Feasibly they could kill them all, but it was a miracle they hadn't been hurt yet and their luck would run out. They had limited bullets available, and their impromptu weapons would progressively get less and less effective. They needed to leave and run, because if they didn't then logic dictated they would be killed. The kitchen staff seemed to have fled, so they were clearly not agents, meaning they had a clear escape route. They just needed to get across to the other side of the café without being killed.

"You go first," Laxus demanded. "I'll cover."

Freed nodded, and waited for another lull in the fighting. Knowing he needed to trust Laxus, he ran across the empty café without protection, ducking down to avoid the bullets flying towards him. He heard yelling and Laxus shooting, and hoped that Laxus was the cause rather than the victim. As he ran, he picked up the eyeball-less man's gun.

Once he was ducked behind the kitchen door, he tucked the agent's gun into his belt for later use and brandished his own gun. It was his turn to provide cover for Laxus, and he started by shooting at a woman with a pistol. She yelled and clutched her shoulder, though screamed when a bullet hit her forehead.

Freed shot as best he could as Laxus ran across the room and towards the kitchen. Freed only stopped when Laxus was inside, and the door had been slammed shut. Freed went to run, but Laxus placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"They'll pursue," Laxus grunted, moving a cabinet against the door.

"Yes, that's why we're running," Freed hissed.

"We need 'em dead. It's safer."

Rather than arguing, Freed decided that Laxus was right. They might not be top agents, but anyone left alive was a hazard to them. Three of them were completely unharmed and could track them. They needed to take any advantage they could get. Freed thought for a moment, before an idea hit him.

It took him a few seconds of routing through the kitchen to find what he needed: a gas canister for the kitchen's oven, and a blowtorch for their deserts. It was nasty and cheap, but it was a bomb. He removed his tie and quickly wrapped it around the handle of the blowtorch, holding down the trigger so that the flame would be constantly ignited. He then placed the gas canister against the barricaded door, which was being banged against by the other agents.

"The torch powerful enough?" Laxus asked.

"In time, it will be," Freed nodded, resting the lit blowtorch against the metal canister. "We need to go."

They did. They ran through the winding back alleys, utilising their maze-like qualities as best they could. They couldn't be sure who was following them and how close they were, so their paces didn't waver, and their determination kept firm. Freed felt his body aching but couldn't stop, not when stopping might mean their lives were over.

Faster than expected, they reached the edge of Moskva River. They couldn't see any bridges to cross it, and running along the river to find one was practically advertising their location. Going back into the alleys wasn't a possibility, and as such they could only do one thing. They climbed the barricade and jumped in.

The water was freeing cold, and it took Freed a moment for his muscles to acclimatise. He brought himself to the surface and saw Laxus had done the same. If nothing else, the quick submersion in the water had washed most of the blood off them both. They both began to swim to the other side of the river, Freed silently plotting how they'd hide now that they were both soaking wet. No plans came to mind, and Freed found himself hoping that Laxus had an idea.

"Boat," Laxus rasped, and nodded his head. "Look like yer struggling."

Freed didn't question the demand, and his practices swimming gave way to thrashing and panicking. He put on a façade of dread, deciding to yell when he knew the boat was getting closer. Laxus wrapped his arms around him as if trying and failing to save him. The two men in the boat noticed, and were rediverting their trajectory immediately.

When the boat was close, they climbed aboard it. The men peppered them with questions, asking what had happened and if they were alright. It took them a moment to see the injuries the two men had sustained, and their weapons.

Freed raised his gun and pointed it at them. It wouldn't work, but he felt like they didn't know that.

"We're going to need your boat I'm afraid," He demanded. Laxus raised his own weapon.

"And yer clothes," Laxus added; always thinking ahead. Two men in drenched suits might be somewhat conspicuous as they traversed the waterways. Two men in fishing apparel would be less so. "Quickly."

The men, fools that they were, took the threat at face value. With stumbling hands they began to strip and hand over their clothes. Within moments, Freed and Laxus looked like any fishermen that you might see on a river, and they'd given the poor men their suits in an act of mercy. They looked absurd and cold, of course, but it was better than finding themselves naked in the streets. Not once did Laxus or Freed remove their guns from their targets.

"You will tell the authorities you were drunk, fell into the river by mistake, and that you're incredibly sorry for causing a ruckus," Freed demanded, voice icy.

"And if you mention us, we'll kill ya," Laxus threatened.

Just as one of the men went to argue, an ear-splitting explosion shook the city. A plume of smoke burst upwards behind them, and the men watched in horror and fear. Freed and Laxus didn't react, and instead nudged their guns forward and looked at the men with feral grins as screams and shouting filled the city.

---

Year: 1970 Location: UNKNOWN

Freed woke to the sound of grunting, and the now familiar sound of an axe meeting wood. He padded to the window of the small cabin, opened it, and looked down to watch as Laxus split the firewood. The man really was a sight to behold; unbridled masculinity in all of its glory. His muscles flexed and the axe splintered the wood spectacularly, and even now Freed felt a twisted thrill at the knowledge of what that man could do when called upon.

He bathed himself in the cold tin bath, and dressed quickly. He attached his gun to his belt and walked to their shared kitchen. He placed a kettle over the fire and began boiling it, walking outside and into the forest where they now called home.

The gun was pointless, in reality. They were nowhere near either of their home countries, where no doubt they had been touted as traitors and been deemed as instant kill targets. They weren't on the same damn continent, but Freed had learned his lesson about becoming complacent. It didn't matter that they were tucked away in a Scandinavian Forest, with only a small town of people knowing of their existence; he would remain armed as to best protect himself and his lover.

Also, the gun was useful in killing the dear.

Laxus grinned at him as he approached, placing the axe down and running a hand over his sweat drenched face. Freed was undeterred, kissing the man he called husband slowly and smoothly. Laxus wrapped an arm around his waist and grinned.

"Sleepin' in again, huh?" Laxus teased, still speaking his mother-tongue in his beautifully harsh accent. "Because it was your turn to cut wood today, I think."

"It was," Freed agreed. "And yet you seem to be doing it."

"Maybe I'll find a way to make you do it."

"Maybe you'll have to."

Both men smirked, tight hand's grasped tighter, and Laxus pulled Freed into a brutally incredible kiss, one he greedily returned.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1960's AU #Cold War AU #Word Count 4.1k

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spirit-of-vengeance · 4 years ago

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After MONTHS, I was finally hit by something that made me completely piece together Rozália's story of what she is and why and I'm HYPER. Aka: here it comes the usual tragedy

Origins:

Attila Véghváry was a descendant of warriors whom protected Hungary throughout the Ottoman period of history, to be able to live up to his ancestors he joined to serve the Vatican as a Hunter. He had fallen in love with a half Italian, half Hungarian woman named Liliána, charmed by her ethereal beauty and kindness. His desire to have children, to continue his name bathed in blood was grand, after wedding they tried, struggled with the task; without success. Liliána was terrified upon her husband's devastation, fearing he will throw her away, back into the clutches of her father and that was a fate she desperately wanted to avoid. So she prayed, begged for a miracle, yet still nothing happened. In her despair and distress, she turned to a darker force; she had made a deal with the devil: she will be able to successfully bear a child, but the child will serve hell after his or her death.

Rozália was born in 1823 and Liliána was gnawed by guilt from her first cry for air; yet she found herself unable to tell anyone in fear of harm. Even though she couldn't give him a boy, Attila was thrilled to have her and began teaching, treating her as a son as soon as possible. He was a harsh teacher with little to no reward to pay off the hard work and Rozália soon learned she has to fight for her father's love and praise.

The Hunter:

It was no question that she will join her father in the quest of banishing evil, Attila couldn't bear to give his only offspring in the hands of Nuns. To everyone's greatest surprise, the young girl proved to be more capable than most of the men, including her own father: fast, fearless, fatal, brutal yet still a tactician. Despite the available arsenal of weapons she favored hussar swords above everything (+ a few must have religious symbols) with her unique twist: she wielded twin blades, instead of the traditional one, earning the title of Doom Duelist.

Rozália only saw the creatures as obstacles between her father's love and well deserved recognition. She never really believed the preachings, she hasn't came to do God's work but to seek her own glory, to carve her own path.

When she could visit her mother, Liliána started to worry upon listening Attila's tales of how efficient their daughter was, instead she saw it as a sign that the devil already begun his work with her violent personality. As a solution when she was home, she turned her attention towards arts and found out her thirst, passion and talent for dancing. Liliána had given her all the love she could in hope it would provide a tiny compensation for Attila's harsh ways. She didn't condemn nor stood in way of her hunt for the so called satanic creatures in hope of that will somehow lessen or even lift the curse she had bestowed on her before she was born.

The General:

The 1848 revolutionary war swept through the country like a wildfire, both father and daughter felt their obligation to protect their country, just like their ancestors did. Her talents shone brilliantly on the battlefields and despite being a woman, she climbed ranks in lightning speed. Eventually, Attila had fallen in a battle and the title General was given to her along with a legion of hussars, the Főnix Légió (Phoenix Legion). Her horse, Vihar (Thunder) was a wild, aggressive mare from the Herd Lipica, since they couldn't get her to accept any of the stallions, they wanted to get rid of the nuisance but Rozália has had other plans.

They understood each other from the very beginning, they moved together as one. Vihar was as quick and strong as if she was a stallion along with her rider. The name General Véghváry was associated with bravery, power and true Hungarian virtue. She often utilized the tactics of ancient battles like barrage of arrows when they were 'fleeing', used the environment to her advantage, quick, devastating strikes usually at the enemy flanks then disappearing into the thin air. She knew her army well, keeping many personal relations since most of the soldiers were almost still children. Strangely, no one ever questioned her command and the legion moved, fought as one.

Birth of the Demon:

The greatest heroes are designated to fall. Her mistake was that she believed fighting for their country, defending it from the Habsburg's rule unified everyone and didn't take betrayal into consideration. The legion was crossing the mountains of Vértes, advancing into uncertain territory when the ambush happened. Rozália knew they are all going to perish, they were in a valley, no space to utilize the hussar tactic, so she set Vihar free and issued one last command: die as heroes. So they fought like caged wild animals but the Habsburg army had the numerical superiority along with the element of surprise. Rozália watched her men, her friends slaughtered, executed the remaining survivors. Even at the door of death, bleeding from numerous wounds she stood defiant and unmoving, refusing to beg or kneel in front of the enemy general. Swords pierced her body, more than she can or want to remember, pinned standing like a grotesque sculpture of glory. Life left her body and sealed the deal. The ground cracked beneath her body, the flames of Hell itself soaring into the woman, resurrecting and possessing her at the same time. The first gasp for breath was ragged, she was confused, furious and lost. So she did what most children would do, immediately returned to her mother's house, only to find her dead with unmistakable evidence of her falling victim to a vampire. Unbeknownst to her, Liliána had written a diary she kept locked away, detailing why she accepted such offer, her sincere apologies and asking for forgiveness for bringing a cursed child to life.

Szerte nézett s nem lelé Honját a hazában*:

Even though she had no idea what she had became, Rozália knew she can't return to the Holy Order, but she no longer fit among humans and due to her Hunter past she wasn't welcome among other creatures. She lost her identity, the war, her home and her beloved mother. She did what she could: survive. Learn what she is and trying to control it. She soon realized her human face is only a mask, when the pendant is separated from her, her appearance shifts: skin cracks until it looks like ash, her veins are glowing orange in contrast, clawed hands, feet, wide jaw filled with razor fangs, crimson eyes with slit pupils and ink black wings curling from her back, almost impossible to tell when the flames morph into feathers.

Rozália is restlessly searching for her mother's killer while trying to figure out what and who is she, struggling to decide between warrior, demon or dancer.

After finishing off all the Habsburg officials (except for the general whom was nowhere to be found even though she tore through the whole country in her fury), she turned her special attention towards vampires in hope of finding her mom's killer. These encounters often ended with death even though the said creature wasn't the cause of her loss. Soon she learned the Holy Order wants to eradicate her from existence, without regard for her outstanding service; she understood she is truly torn between two words and she could never belong to any of them.

Rozália took part in both World Wars, the Korean war, the Vietnam War, numerous crisises throughout Africa and Middle East; to keep herself occupied, to not let the memories of the war pass even though she suffers from minor PTSD from it. When not occupied with bloodshed, she restlessly learned new styles of martial arts and dance styles, throughout the century she has lived many lives in many places: cage fighter, dancer, racer, pole dancer, acrobat, fitness model; anywhere she can get her rush of adrenaline and spotlight. Rozy can't nor want to slow down, she blazes to the utmost, running from melancholy and loneliness.

To save herself from the heartbreak, the must have 'why do you still look 25 even though we've been together for 10 years' talk, and the danger of being hunted by everyone, Rozy doesn't really date. If she feels a mutual spark between her and an another, she is totally down for a one night stand then disappear, leaving only the traces of overwhelming heat and pleasant memories behind.

Power & curse of the Hellfire:

Rozália needs to consume souls to survive. If she refuses, can't find someone unworthy of life, her 'gift' starts to turn against her. The pendant unable to keep up the false facade of a human, the insatiable demon clawing through the surface and ultimately, the Hellfire would consume her, resulting in a second death which would be hell of a record to beat but Rozy is not interested in that.

With the pendant on, the signs of what is she truly are subtle: Her teeth a little too sharp, dagger like stiletto nails as if she just had a manicure, her body heat feverish, candles leaning towards her or burning more eagerly in her presence. The most notable traits her almost overwhelming, smoldering aura and behind her emerald eyes occasionally a glimpse of Hell itself flash, brief enough to make humans believe their mind is only playing tricks.

She has fire under her control, high temperature cause no harm; her cursed flames able to burn through everything and destroy anything in their path including supernatural creatures for whom normal fire isn't fatal. Being destruction itself makes her unable to bear children, not like she would've wanted in the first place.

If she has the mortal remains, she can raise that being back into life for a few hours as an infernal creature, and at full power she can open a portal directly to Hell and reap all the souls nearby though she isn't aware of this ability yet watch her raise her dead army in heartbeat if needed. Both of these actions leave her drained for weeks, unable even to transform so she will only use these as last resort.

@count-v-dracula you might like this :D

@thxwxlf ...you said I am allowed to throw stuff at you😅

#👹 blazing through history au🔥| heavenborn; hellraised #with this done she is 'officially' separated from Cindy and should have her own blog :`)#* Looking everywhere she could not find home in her homeland; line from the Hungarian hymn because I find this incredibly fitting #🔥headcanons🔥 | secrets of the fire #might update with the powers & their explainations #spoiler: she can raise her army from the dead as infernal soldiers for a few hours #this actually collides with heavenborn because sure af heaven had nothing to do with that; but I love the tag too much to change

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afoxysunny · 4 years ago

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So about Sportacus contusing his arm like i did

Thanks @lazy-alienn for making my brain obsess around that thought now

First up, apparently english isn't as obsessed with naming injuries like german is but i guess that's the word most fitting: a contusion

Basically it's an injury you get from a hard hit. I got mine from dodging people in a hallway and while swaying out the way my hand got caught on a steel doorframe. It really didn't hurt that much but i do this maneuver countless times because I'm small and people just don't make way for me so i have to. This time however i got hurt doing it and apparently that surprised me so much that i collapsed! Like actually black before my eyes falling to the floor collapsing! I walked like ten more meters, checked to see if a coworker was in their office and then suddenly bam! My body went into emergency shut down while my brain was like "yeah ok my hand hurts a little but not even that bad, what's the problem? Why am i on thw floor? Why am i crying? It's really bearable"

Anyway

Imagine That happening to Sportacus!

He's just doing his usual flippy floppy but hits his hand on a wall. It makes a loud thud and he turns around ro see what it was. The kids who were nearby ask if he's alright and only then he notices his hand kinda hurts. But it's not that bad. On with his day - nope. The world goes black but he's still conscious, he must be because he hears the people around him talk and feels his legs giving in underneath him. When he opens his eyes again everythinh is spinning. He's on the floor. Three standing people around him. Robbie, who sounds confused "why is he on the ground? Is he messing with me?" Stephanie, who together with Robbie saw what happened "oh my god did you hit not just your hand? Are you okay?" and Ziggy, who's immediately freaking out "I'm getting him water, help him up!"

Everyone is concerned in their own way but Sportacus is just confused. Everything is spinning as they help him sit on a bench. Before he knows it his shoes have been undone for him and his legs lifted up to stabilize his circulation. Suddenly he feels like he's about to throw up and everyone's voices sound super distant. Yes, his hand hurts, but really not that bad. What is wrong? Why is he crying? The water he got helps his stomach calm down and the ice to rest his by now bandaged wrist on helps dulling the stinging pain. But sitting around while others have a normal day feels wrong so after barely ten minutes and his body going back to normal he returns to his normal day as well just with a hurting hand.

This is EXACTLY how it happened for me. Including the words my coworkers spoke. I still did my job normally for three days even though i knew full well i need to move my hand as little as possible and keep it cold. Yet i still went to work where i do straining physical work in summer heat because that's my job, i can't leave my coworkers alone. And now i suffer for it. Every tiny movement of my arm, wrist or fingers hurts. Even typing, holding my phone. It's really not a lot of pain. Very manageable. But having it constantly, all the time, without break is so straining. It's not painful enough to even get me to flinch or make a sound about it but it hurts and makes me hesitant before every tiny move. This kind of injury takes multiple weeks to recover even if you do absolutely nothing. It can takes months! Have a wild guess if that's manageable for Sportacus if i can't even do it

#lazytown #Sportacus #Injuries #Headcanon #lazytown headcanon #Speculation

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musicallisto · 7 years ago

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Hi❤️ Can I have a ship w/TMR & HP(male), pls? I’m 5'7,have a long black hair,dark eyes,fair skin. I'm ENFJ,the eldest of 4,making me reliable & a good leader. Very caring,affectionate,kind,strong both physically & mentally,competitive & fearless. I'm a good listener so as a good adviser. I adore animals,children & LOVE cuddling,skinship,coffee,theme park & advanturous things.I hate heat & worst w/directions. I'm always there for my sis. Smile's always on my face & I hope everyone can smile,too.

(Thank you so much and take your time with my ship if you’re too busy, I understand! Hwaiting ♥ I’m supporting you~ 🌹🌷🌺💐🌼🌻 I hope you have a lovely day filled with happiness, smiles and love.❤️❤️❤️)

I Ship You With…

T H O M A S

• If Thomas had to describe in one word everything he felt when he looked at you, it would be admiration. He was completely mesmerized by the way you moved, the way you talked, how good of a leader you were, how everyone seemed to rely on you, how you were so tender and yet so brave, how you were so altruistic and generous, how you were determined to save everyone no matter the price. It was what drew him to you. Your personalities were so alike in many ways. Although you weren’t one of the official leaders in Group B, you quickly became the head of the operations because the girls soon realized how good you were at taking the lead, scheming and making plans, and leading people to victory. You were a rebel, a fighter, and Thomas loved that about you. You didn’t try to talk him down, to tell him what he was doing was worthless. You believed in him and he believed in you, and it was enough for the both of you, despite all the death and the chaos surrounding you. You showed your utmost potential in the Scorch: you were an absolute badass, saving Thomas and the others Gladers several times. Your fearless and commander nature was Thomas’s favorite thing about you.

• Besides being one of the strongest and most physically capable ones in the Group, you also valued intelligence a lot, so it was very important for you to keep doing mental puzzles and things like that after all the situation died down. You taught Thomas how to play chess and even if he didn’t understand a lot at the beginning, he was more than happy to play with you. It often ended up in Thomas being frustrated because you won extremely easily, in only a few minutes, and he didn’t understand how you did it. You laughed and told him that he was just really bad at that game, and you wondered why WICKED had even bothered studying his brain. He smiled light-heartedly; your little jokes never failed to bring a smile to his lips, no matter how pained he was by all those he had lost. Evenings in Paradise were spent playing chess on a makeshift board as the sun was dying down behind the horizon on your right, and it was peaceful and quiet: everything you wanted and deserved after the trials.

• Since you loved children a lot, you tried to convince Thomas to have some of your own, years after the dreadful events of the Maze and the Scorch. He was skeptical at the beginning, not wanting his children to live and to be raised in a world so dark, a world so cold, but you told him how amazing of a father he would be and how incredible the kid would feel having a dad like him, and eventually, after a few months of asking and persuading, he accepted. Your first born child, a boy, was named Newt. It felt like a proper tribute to your best friend, and although you wished he could be there to see his small alter ego, you were filled with happiness with your little family. Thomas turned out to be a really good father, treating his child with respect, love, and being firm when he needed to. Sometimes, you could hear Thomas’s voice crack when he called your son by his name, but you shared a comforting look and he smiled lightly. Everything was going to be alright.

M I N H O

• Minho must be your best friend, there is no discussion here and it seems OBVIOUS to me that you two fit each other perfectly. Like honestly I don’t see a romantic relationship between the two of you but sign me up for the bff stuff. You both get so competitive and teasing when you are around each other, especially because you were both the best runners in your respective Mazes, and Minho can’t have his ego beaten by *cough* “a girl” (he regrets those words as soon as he realizes that you’re indeed going to beat him God knows how and that you’re actually one helluva girl). You’re always throwing snarky comments at each other and being what others would think is nasty, but you both know it’s just for the laughs and it’s your way of being affectionate.

• HOWEVER, as soon as the other is in danger, shit gets wild. When Minho is threatened by WICKED because of his immune condition, you’re the first one to react and try your best to protect him, and Minho would be the quicket to jump in front of danger to protect you (I mean, Thomas would too, because they’re both such hotheads). Sometimes, and especially in the Scorch, when everything seems desperate and after Minho gets hit by the thunderbolt, his playful banter slowly turns to more philosophical and deeper conversations that he shares with you at night around a bonfire. At first, you’re taken aback, because it’s a side of Minho that you don’t know, or are not used to seeing. You find some stupid joke to make because seeing your lively best friend so down in the dumps is very frustrating, and he uncontrollably laughs because you know him so well. He’s uncapable of keeping a frown when you’re around.

• After the Scorch and all the Flare shit, when life goes back to normal, you suddenly realize that animals must have suffered as much as humans, if not more, and you instantly find a new goal: adopt and care for any stray animal that you find near Paradise or on the roads. And every g o d d a m n time you see a wounded racoon or a pathetic-looking dog, you must take it in, to the great displeasure of Minho who doesn’t understand that fascination at all. From his point of view, it’s already hard enough to keep humans alive, let alone furballs. However, when you pick a little blind in one eye kitten, pleading eyeing Minho with his only blue orb, and literally shove him under his nose, he can’t help sighing and agreeing with you. From that day, he helps you put up an animal shelter in Paradise and surprisingly becomes the most whipped and gaga in front of the baby animals.

J A M E S S I R I U S P O T T E R

(faceclaim: Blake Steven)• So you didn’t specify which era you wanted so I thought you were okay with any, and I never wrote anything about Next Gen (actually, yes, I did. I wrote a Lorcan x Rose fanfic years ago and it was actually quite decent. It was called Kiss From A Rose bc, yanno, the song and the wordplay, rose, haha, lol, so funny 10/10) so I thought why not? So you two would be King and Queen of mischief™ just like the two amazing bastards he was named after. You may not be the most malicious, and that’s exactly why you make an excellent duo: teachers never suspect you because they know how intelligent, mature and responsible you are, and therefore would never do anything as childish and frivolous as putting pranks on people, right? but they fail to remember that you are dating James Sirius Potter, grandson of James Potter and nephew of Fred and George Weasley. (actually, McGonagall knows very well what’s going on, but she doesn’t interfere a lot because she misses the lively and funny atmosphere in the castle from the Marauders time, or the twins time).

• Soooo many dares, tournaments and stupid challenges between the two of you. At first, they were light-hearted and simple, nothing too extravagant, like “I bet you can’t eat two turkeys in one dinner!”, but as days went on and neither backed down, it escalated until it reached the point of “One hundred Galleons if you dye Professor Longbottom’s hair green in his sleep”. You always come up with the w o r s t dare ideas, or at least the most maleficent, and the thing is James Sirius always executes them. He never backs down from a challenge or dare, partly because it amuses him a lot and partly because he doesn’t want to be seen as cowardly. When you fear it’s going too far (because you have the most common sense, so even if you find it funny, you know when it’s time to stop and be serious), you tell him that it’s okay if he doesn’t do it, and it will absolutely not degrade his reputation or the way you view him, but once he has an idea in mind, he doesn’t let it go. Which leads him to detention quite a handful of times per semester, and as a consequence he receives a lot of Howlers while you’re laughing on the other side of the table.

• Because you both adore animals, and because that kind of stuff seems to run in your blood, you decide during your fifth year to become Animaguses, or at least attempt to do it. It takes a lot of months of preparation, and at first, you are very intimidated by the processus, but James Sirius convinces you to try to do it with him because it will be so much fun and imagine the endless possibilities if you can transform into an animal at will! Finally, after months and months of bizarre spells and disgusting concoctions, after several times escaping from detention because you were brewing potions after hours in the bathrooms, you finally manage to make it. It’s very confusing at first to change shape and become an animal, and not knowing what animal you would change into when you first transformed was very stressful, but after a lot of practice and training, it became easier and easier to get used to changing into an animal, and you could use that new, secret ability to meet with him without anyone knowing.

T E D D Y L U P I N

(faceclaim: Chace Crawford)• So despite being much older than you both and therefore leaving Hogwarts years before you, Teddy is your best friend because of his mischievous, happy-go-lucky nature that really mirrors James Sirius’s personality. You get to hang out with him a lot, because he is a very good friend of the Potters, and also because you get on well with Victoire too. He is your favorite partner in crime and when he gets a prank idea to pull on someone in the castle and James Sirius is there to follow him, he basically is unstoppable. Your trio is very well known in Hogwarts when Teddy is still attending because of your creative jokes and pranks, and, to tell the truth, a little feared.

• Even after Teddy leaves Hogwarts, you still are in touch with him and talk a lot via letters. You tell him everything that��s going in Hogwarts, the classes, your friends, your family, gossip about the professors and the students, every little thing that he never would have thought he would miss when he was a student himself. He’s the only person you tell about your Animagus journey, and he’s very impressed because he knows it’s a very advanced form of magic and few wizards are ever capable of doing so. He doesn’t need it, obviously, but he loves hearing stories about your adventures and animal escapades nonetheless. Your letters are always the highlight of his days because he loves hearing from you and James Sirius and you are the closest thing he’s ever had to a brother and a sister. He loves hearing from you, your friends and your handwriting always reminds him of the times when you would spend days scheming jinxes and hexes to traumatize the poor other students.

• During the holidays, instead of staying at Hogwarts that becomes completely empty and dull, you would go back to the city and spend one week with your family and the other with the Potters, who basically adopted you as their second daughter. You love spending days with them because most of the time, the Weasleys and Teddy are there too, and it’s one giant family gathering where everyone knows each other and everyone gets along. You usually take long walks in the countryside with your best friend, trying to catch up the time you’ve spent without talking to each other, laughing and running in the corn fields, laying in the grass and laughing at the clouds that ominously look like McGonagall, or that Malfoy kid, reaching a pond and pushing a fully-clothed Teddy in there, then fleeing from the crime scene under his infuriated shouts… You’re so grateful for your friends and the amazing family that took you under its wing.

Moodboard

bigger version

Playlist

Muse - Knights of Cydonia

Martin Garrix - Virus (How About Now)

Eminem - Not Afraid

The Cab - Angel With A Shotgun

(the playlist & moodboard are mostly TMR related, but I was much more inspired, hope you don’t mind!)

#ships #ship requests #the maze runner #thomas #dylan obrien #minho #ki hong lee #harry potter

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hale-of-stiles-heart · 7 years ago

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damn it, here I'm again: how about sterek + (those are all so perfect dear lord someone send help) "I picked up what I thought was a stray on the side of the road last night and it turns out you’re a werewolf. Um. Can I offer you some pancakes?"

This was such a fun prompt to work with! (also on ao3)

Stiles had a history with strays.

Ever since he could walk, toddling around the Stilinski home as fast as his tiny little legs could carry him, he had an affinity for animals. More specifically, taking in any animal in need.

Living in a residential neighborhood adjacent to the local woods meant that he had never been lacking in that department. He couldn't throw a stone around their neighborhood without finding a baby bird that had fallen from its nest or a dog that had wandered out of its yard.

In the creek behind their house, buried in the woods by a groove of black willows and white alders, he used to catch redwood salamanders and Cascades frogs. He would wade knee deep into the water in search of the sneaky amphibians, never caring that his pants got soaked.

He would keep them in an old fish tank, arranging algae covered rocks in the water of the terrarium so his new pets could spend time on land. He used to spend hours digging up worms in the backyard so he could feed his amphibians.

Of course, they eventually died — wild animals weren't meant to be in captivity, after all — and Stiles had been devastated. He had cried for hours, until his eyes were red and puffy and his throat was sore.

A few months later, he found an abandoned squirrel pup in their front yard. There had been no nest in sight, nor any mother squirrel searching for her lost baby.

The pup was cold to the touch and Stiles refused to risk letting the pup freeze to death while waiting for its mother. John had reluctantly agreed and allowed Stiles to adopt the squirrel.

For the next several weeks, he dutifully nursed the squirrel pup with an eyedropper full of puppy milk. He set up a nest for it inside, composed of old t-shirts and ripped socks that made a perfect bed for the tiny pup.

It had been a bittersweet day when Claudia had informed Stiles that it was time for the squirrel to leave. They had released it in the backyard where it ran right up a nearby sycamore tree, chattering away as though saying goodbye.

After the squirrel came a blind kitten they found wandering through the neighborhood, mewling pitifully. Stiles had snuck the kitten into his room and cared for it under his parents' noses for weeks until his mom went looking for something in his room and stumbled onto his little secret.

Unfortunately, with Stiles in elementary school while both of his parents worked full-time, they just didn't have the time or resources to care for a special needs cat. But luckily there was an older woman who ran a cat sanctuary a few towns over.

After taking the cat in, she had assured Stiles that he could visit anytime he wanted. And he did, his mom driving him over every other weekend.

Next came an entire litter of puppies that he begged to keep, only for his dad to painstakingly explain why adopting six Tibetan mastiffs was not a very good idea. And after that was the mountain lion cub that he somehow found on one of his exploration through the woods.

John nearly had a heart attack when he came home from a double shift to find his son cuddling the baby of a two hundred pound killing machine.

He then had to inform Stiles that a mountain lion was not a pet. Park rangers had been called in and the cub was safely returned to its den for its mother find.

But Stiles' affinity for taking in strays never wavered. Even as he got older.

In high school, he worked at the vet clinic with his friend Scott, just so he could help out any animals in need. It was better than working some crappy retail job like many of his classmates.

And it was a great reprieve from the everyday stress of high school. If he was ever feeling particularly stressed, he would just call up Deaton and volunteer for an additional shift.

Basically, his job consisted of bottle feeding kittens and doing trial introductions for potential pet adopters. It was a pretty sweet gig apart from the occasional bittersweet moments when animals were adopted.

Even after he moved out of Beacon Hills to attend Stanford he made a point of dedicating his time to animals, getting a job at the local pet store just outside of town. So it was no surprise to anyone that while on break in Beacon Hills, he didn't hesitate to pull over to check on what looked like a stray dog standing on the side of the road.

He had been driving in from Stanford, having enough days off for Thanksgiving break to warrant the drive back to Beacon Hills. Drumming his fingers against Roscoe's steering wheel while imagining the amazing meal his dad would be making in a few days, Stiles had been absorbed in his own thoughts.

Until he noticed a dark shape in the shoulder of the forest road leading into town. His interest immediately piqued, he had pulled over to get a better look at whatever the dark shape was.

Lo and behold, it was a dog. A stray by the looks of it.

The dog was huge, probably some sort of wolf dog hybrid that someone had purchased on a whim then realized the complications of the hybrid. Its coat was jet black with a few grizzled spots around its muzzle.

Fortunately, the dog didn't seem undernourished or injured in any way. And it wasn't wearing a collar let alone a tag bearing an address or phone number.

But what really caught Stiles' attention was the dog's eyes. He hadn't thought dogs could have hazel eyes with that much green in them, captivated by the specks of gold and rivers of bluish silver in the canine's irises.

His heart instantly captured, Stiles had coaxed the dog closer with a few soft words and careful touches. He had been glad to find that the dog was a gentle giant, docile and sweet as Stiles scratched it behind its ears.

With plans to take the dog to the vet clinic first thing in the morning to check for an implanted ID chip, Stiles had corralled the dog into his Jeep and continued his drive home. His dad hadn't even bothered to act surprised when Stiles showed up on the front doorstep with a stray in tow.

But, of course, because Stiles' life could never be normal for more than a few months at a time, it turned out that the stray he had picked up was much more than meets the eye. He found that out the hard way the next morning.

After a wondrous night curled up in bed where he actually got the recommended eight hours of sleep, Stiles woke early in the morning craving pancakes. But not just any pancakes; his mother's famous pancakes.

They were fluffier than a cloud and had just a hint of vanilla, making them perfect for any kind of syrup under the sun from traditional maple to boysenberry. His mom had always made them on special occasions, especially holidays, which made them perfect for Thanksgiving break.

Once he brushed his teeth and took care of some other hygienic needs, he tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, careful not to wake his dad. He hurried past the living room couch where the stray dog he had picked up had spent the night, too preoccupied with his thoughts to pause and greet the dog.

He was in the middle of flipping pancakes, adding an extra bit of flair the way his mom had taught him, when he heard the telltale pad of bare feet on the kitchen tiles. Beaming, he looked over his shoulder, cheerfully greeting, "Mornin', pops— Uh... You're not my dad..."

He was pretty much stating the obvious since the tall, bearded, naked man standing in the kitchen was clearly not his father. The aforementioned bearded, naked man said as much, simply stating, "Uh, no."

"Are-Are we being robbed?" Stiles asked, turning the heat on the stove down and tightening his grip on the metal spatula in his hand in case they really were being robbed. "Because, I gotta say, this is fucking weird, man. You're not even wearing pants."

The mystery man's eyes widened almost comically as he tensed and rushed to cup his hands over his crotch. His cheeks flushed, drawing Stiles' attention back to his eyes. His eyes that were oddly familiar.

Hazel-green with gold and silver. Holy shit.

"Shit, you're a werewolf, aren't you?" Stiles groaned, feeling his own face flush. He had practically kidnapped someone! Because he thought they were a stray!

The yet to be introduced man just nodded, still looking embarrassed as all hell. Stiles let out a sigh, "Keep an eye on the pancakes. I'll be right back."

He waited for the werewolf to nod before he slipped out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the laundry room where he rifled around for a clean pair of pajama pants. After finding his baggiest pair, he hurried back downstairs where he was met with an eyeful of the werewolf's firm ass and the tattoo between his shoulder blades.

"Uh, here. These should fit ya," Stiles announced after clearing his throat, holding out the red pajama pants that just so happened to be patterned with white dog bones. Turning his head to give Mr. No Name some privacy, he wandered back over to the stovetop where his pancakes were still cooking. "I'm Stiles, by the way."

"Derek," the Sheriff's voice returned, managing to make Stiles' cheeks flush even deeper. He craned his neck to take a peek at his dad who was embracing the now only half naked werewolf, a friendly smile on his face. "Son, this is Derek Hale, my new deputy."

"Of course it is," Stiles mumbled, hanging his head as he poked at one of the pancakes with the spatula. Sparing another glance over his shoulder, he watched Derek and his dad plop down at the kitchen table.

"So... Can I offer you some pancakes?" Stiles asked, meeting Derek's mesmerizing eyes.

"Yeah, why not," Derek answered smoothly, sending Stiles a sly wink when the Sheriff wasn't looking.

It may have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life but it made one hell of a 'how I met your father' story.

#sterek #au #first meetings #meet cute #pre-slash #full shift derek #werewolves are known #awkwardness #embarrassed stiles #naked derek #because reasons #my fic #fic #xamberry

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