#they consume my every thought and i would trade my life for theirs i would abandon everything to be w them

[1980ssunflower]

i love my boysss i love my baby boyssss

[twistedmusings]

My Kind of Human

Ramshackle stayed silent throughout the night, the moon and stars shining light into each room. 

All except one. 

I swear on my askbox that I am working on requests but this idea popped into my head and now it won’t leave and people always tell me to find a niche and I think my niche is angsty smut. And in this niche I will dwell ò uó. Aside from that, I’m very asexual so if my sexy scenes are bad you are more than welcome to roast me.   Reader is [G/N]  Warnings: Lemon soda (smut), possessive Malleus, bareback, dub-con and our good ol’ dragon boy just putting you under a spell so he can have you all to himself. 

“Do you have someone special, Tsunotarou?” 

Malleus stops walking as he looks down at your frame, your eyes staring up at the sky while you both are sitting down at the step of Ramshackle. 

“Special?” 

“Yeah.” you sigh as your eyes remain fixed on the stars, “Someone special. Like someone you wouldn’t trade for the world.” 

His first thought is his Grandmother. She had taken over the role of ruler of the Valley of Thorns and had let him grow in a somewhat normal fae childhood. He had heard many stories of children being forced to take the throne early on in their life and how damaging that decision turned out to be not just for the country but for the child as well. He was glad that his Grandmother remained steadfast and strong. There was also Lillia. Lillia, despite his constant antics, was always a guiding hand for Malleus in things he did not understand. Even now, Lillia would lend an ear whenever Malleus had a question about social interaction. Whether he would get a straight answer or a joke, that was just up to the older fae. 

“I have some people I consider that important.” Malleus looks up with you, “How about you, child of man?”

Your eyes remained fixed on the stars. 

You nod, “I do.” 

He laughs, “Is it your first year friends? I am sure Sebek would be glad to hear you say that.” 

“He would yell in my face before telling me he felt the same, you know how he is.” 

You two share a giggle before letting silence take over once again. “But it isn’t like that. The way I love Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel and Sebek is different from what I’m talking about.” 

Malleus watches your eyes shine under the bright stars, some of them being reflected on your irises as you tilt your head and lean back to let your legs stretch out. 

“I’m talking about a person who you can’t live without, you know?” 

“I’m afraid I might need a bit more of an explanation.” 

You shrug, “I can’t fully explain it without sounding crazy but…imagine you one day find yourself completely alone. There is not one single person who understands what you are going through nor do they bother because they might believe that it is too hard to comprehend. You find yourself so alone that you start getting used to that loneliness.” 

The way your eyes sadden are not lost on him, copying your movements and leaning back so that he can stretch out as well. With how you are both positioned, your fingers are almost brushing. 

That wouldn’t do. 

You continue talking, not paying attention to how Malleus places his hand over yours. 

“But one day someone comes in and changes everything.” 

He lets himself feel the fluttering in his heart, having lost himself to this feeling a long time ago. The way his heart would beat faster when you smiled, when you laughed, how you would approach him without fear. From what Lillia had said, this was something akin to falling in love with someone. When asked who it was he was falling in love with, Malleus simply shook his head and avoided answering the question. 

What he felt for you was not for anyone else to know. 

“They just ‘get’ you.” you smile and close your eyes, “Everything thought you have, they somehow complete it. Long distances become shorter when you are with them and for a brief moment time just...stops. You find yourself yearning for this person and wonder if they think about you the same way, to the point of losing sleep. You want to be to them what they are to you.” 

You tilt your head towards him. 

“Am I making any sense?” 

Malleus nods and sits up, “More than enough.” 

He stares into your eyes, your color reflected back on his as he instinctively leans closer towards you. You were building up to something, he could feel it. The feelings you described, they were identical to the ones he felt for you. It hadn’t been that long since you came into his life but he couldn’t see himself not popping by Ramshackle dorm every night to share these talks with you. Malleus wasn’t necessarily that attached to you when you two first talked but the more you sought him out the more he opened himself up for you. 

Your conversations, your little adventures, your attention. 

It was all slowly consuming him and making him realize that you were no longer a human but his human. 

The question slipped out of him faster than he could think of it. 

“Who do you speak so highly of?” 

You turn to look at him, your body leaning towards him as well that he allowed himself to dwell in his imagination for a few seconds. His own body covering yours as you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer and asking him to take you with him the moment he graduated from this place. 

“It’s kinda what I wanted to talk about with you tonight.” you sit up with him and grin excitedly, “Remember what I told you about Crowley trying to find a way home for me?” 

He would answer your plea, taking your hand and kissing your palm before his lips made his way up your arm. 

“Well...he finally found it.” 

Malleus is pulled out his fantasy as he blinks twice, your smile shining just as bright as the stars above despite the awful revelation you had just given him. 

“I’m going home, Malleus.” 

You used his name. A part of him hoped that you would use his name when you two were in a much different and more favorable situation but you had just used his name to stab him in the heart with your wonderful news. 

“I was just saying all this because--I can’t believe I’m telling you this--before I came here I had these feelings about this person. They are everything to me but I was almost afraid to admit it? And this distance just...it just solidified what I felt for them.” 

He has to stop himself from reaching out to you and grabbing your wrist, thinking that the moment you got too far he would lose you forever. 

“Crowley says that I am going to be able to go back next week. So I’m just preparing myself to tell them everything I felt.” You turn to him and hold out your hand to help him stand up, one of the many things that Malleus loved that you did solely because he had an excuse to touch you. 

“I think a part of me just wanted to share this with you because I trust you. We’ve talked like this for so long that I think I just...tell you everything.” you smile sheepishly, “Which I hope you don’t mind, I did just spring it out of nowhere.” 

You were leaving him. 

“Tsunotarou?” 

You were leaving him for someone else. 

“Malleus?” 

You were leaving and he couldn’t stop it. You had these sorts of feelings for someone else and he couldn’t stop it. You opened him up and you were going to close him as if you were able to make the decision without any repercussions. You weren’t theirs, you also weren’t yours, you were his---

A hand shakes him from his thoughts as he focuses in on your eyes, his heart melting when he sees panic in them. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What did I do?” 

He shakes his head and smiles as he takes your hand so you both could stand up. 

“Nothing.” Malleus pats your head, your size difference being made apparent to him even more than before, “I guess this is goodbye?” 

“No need to make it dramatic.” you lean into his touch, like a pet to their owner, “I’ll find some way for us to keep in contact. And if there isn’t--well then I will make one.” 

“I feel the same.” 

Malleus looks down and digs into his school jacket, smiling when you make a comment about this being a goodbye present. He puts a finger to his lips before pulling out a spool of thread, the top of the spool decorated with a sharp needle. “Give me your hand, child of man.” 

You nod and smile, doing as he told. “Is this going to be a blood pact of sorts? You don’t seem like the type, Tsunatarou~” 

He chuckles, “It is just a customary practice in the Valley of Thorns. Something that I believe will make our connection unbreakable.” 

Malleus brings your finger closer, the tip touching the spool as he expertly pricked your finger. You hiss for a second before smiling as you wave your finger. “Strangest friendship ritual ever, but it is very you so I will gladly partake in it…” 

A feeling of vertigo overtakes you as you lose your footing, your eyes closing as you feel yourself fall to the ground but finding yourself pressed against something warm. 

“...Mal--?”

You try to look up at him but gasp softly when your legs are swept under you, Malleus picking you up bridal style as you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Almost as if it was a chore to keep them open. 

“A true unbreakable connection.” 

Malleus opens the door to Ramshackle quickly, looking behind to see if he would need to take care of any pests that had made their way to the old dorm. Without any in sight, he closed the door, the lights on Ramshackle’s doorstep snuffing themselves out as the smoke drifted up into the starry sky. 

-------------

“Fgnaaa~!” Grimm yawns as he floats towards Ramshackle, yawning as he rubbed at his tired eyelids. 

Hands roaming up and down your torso, slowly undoing buttons as your hands rested on his wrists. Sloppy kisses shared between two amateurs but in between said kiss there seemed to be a forced passion, a need for the person above you to communicate how much he had wanted you. He had been caught stealing some food from Monstro Lounge and Azul had put him to work just like before, it had been a redo of what happened in Octavinelle all over again. 

Wanted wasn’t the right word, needed was the way to describe how he was feeling. His mouth traveled from your lips to your neck, your mouth opening up to let out a soft moan but being quieted down by his fingers slipping inside so they could rub against your tongue. You could barely keep your eyes open but with how you were looking at him, it almost made him believe that you were the one that initiated this. 

“Hnng?” he looks to see the lights in Ramshackle are all off, his head tilting in curiosity. When did you start going to sleep this early? 

Legs parted, eyes looking away, your chest rising up and down as his fingers pressed deep inside of you to rub and prod at whatever he found. He used his other hand to turn your face, your eyes meeting as he whispers a couple of words. A veil is cast over your eyes as he feels you open up like a flower for him. Hips grinding down to meet his fingers, arms opening to welcome him closer, his name falling from your lips making him eager to finally show you how he felt about you.

Grimm opens the door and yawns as he makes his way to the kitchen, licking his lips as he imagined what you had cooked for dinner that night. However, the only thing he finds are three deluxe tuna cans and a note that certainly wasn’t in your handwriting. 

Your hold on him is tight, legs wrapped around his waist as he sinks deeper and deeper into you. Hands in his hair, going up his horns and then traveling down as he bit at the juncture between your neck and your shoulder blade in order to keep himself from pushing all the way inside. But your warmth was calling out to him, inviting him to push deeper and deeper until all you could feel was him and him alone. 

Even with the magic affecting your brain. 

“Don’t feel so good. Going to sleep early.” Grimm sits down on the counter and frowns as he opens one of the cans and starts munching down. 

“Say you love me…” 

You gasp as you feel him push your whole body up with his first thrust, the bed creaking in protest in your ears but no sound being heard outside of your door. 

Were you sick? Grimm takes a giant bite and hums as he thinks. With him being this tired he would immediately go up to the room you two shared together and cuddle himself on your chest but if you were sick…

“I love you! I love you I love you--Malleus--!” 

The sounds were all mixing together. Your moans, his groans, the protests from the bed and the wet slaps of his body meeting yours over and over again. You were so full, all the way up to  your throat that the words he so desperately wanted to hear were spilling out despite you not remembering thinking of them. You were thinking of nothing. Every time you tried to think about what you were doing a sharp pain would stop you, instead keeping you attentive to the pleasure the soon to be ruler of the Valley of Thorns was giving you. 

“You are mine, child of man. Body and soul...all of them mine!”

“Silly human. Getting sick like that. They should be taking care of themselves.” Grimm shakes his head as he keeps on eating the tasty treats you had left behind. If you had left something this good for him, he guessed he could forgive you. 

Your toes curled as you felt something warm gush inside, lips covering your own and drinking up all the sounds you were making. He whispered something into your ear but you couldn’t quite make out what he said. Something about heirs and a kingdom. Was he telling you a story? He pulled away to look into your eyes, your brain moving your hands so that they would cup his cheek. Your comfort seemed to stir something inside him as he brought you closer, your arms now wrapped around him as you rested your forehead on his shoulder. 

Ramshackle stayed silent throughout the night, the moon and stars shining light into each room. 

All except one. 

[marauders-venting]

It Can’t Be

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: angst

warnings: lots of mentions of death and a funeral, grief and mourning

words: 1906

a/n: this fic is an au in which Sirius has a trial. He is found innocent and Peter is arrested. the fic is set after the trial has ended

Sirius stood, his hands clenched so tight on the handle of Harry’s stroller that his knuckles were white. It had been a good idea to bring the stroller because there was no way he could’ve carried Harry in his arms right now. His whole body was shaking. It had only been a few days since Lily and James had died but so much had happened since then. Sirius had been to Azkaban and had a trial, Peter had been arrested, Remus had disappeared and suddenly Sirius was Harry’s legal guardian. With everything that had happened, Sirius hadn’t even had time to process it, let alone accept it. In his mind, Lily and James Potter could not be dead. They just couldn’t. But evidently, they were because Sirius was attending their funeral at the moment. They were because any minute he would have to give his eulogy. Sirius wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do it but he had to. He owed it to Lily and James.

So when the minister called Sirius up to speak, he rolled Harry’s stroller over to the front of the room and faced everybody. Sirius looked around at the people in the room; their expressions were passive. These people don’t care about Lily and James, Sirius thought. No, all they care about is that Voldemort is gone. The only person other than himself who looked even remotely sad was Professor McGonagall, who was sitting in the back of the room, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. And… Remus! He’s here. Remus is here. Well of course he’s here you idiot, he arranged the funeral, said a voice in his head, he set this up for Lily and James while you were moping in a prison cell. Sirius needed the voice to shut up. He didn’t have time for this now. He wanted to honour Lily and James properly. So he took a deep breath and spoke.

“James Potter was my best friend,” he said, ignoring the ache in his chest and the tears pricking his eyes. “He was my brother. Never have I known a person so full of kindness and love for other people and so willing to share it.” It was only ever with him that I felt truly safe. And now he’s gone. Sirius couldn’t say it. He swallowed hard and went on. “And Lily…” even just saying her name hurt, “Lily lit up every room she walked into.” There was more but Sirius couldn’t speak. Tears were streaming down his face. He skipped to the last few lines, the part he was determined to say before he collapsed. “She got f-far less time than she should have. They both did. If I could trade my life for theirs I would. James and Lily… they deserved the world—” Sirius choked. And I was going to give it to them. It was my job. And I failed. That was it. Sirius had written more but he couldn’t go on. “Thank you.” He walked back to his seat and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t care that these people were seeing him cry. He had failed. The least he could have done was properly eulogise Lily and James but he’d fucked that up too.

“Pa’foot?” came Harry’s voice. Sirius wiped his tears away and looked up.

“Yes, Harry?” he said quietly.

“Pa’foot sad,” Harry said.

“Nah, I’m not sad, Prongslet,” Sirius said, feeling a sharp stab of pain at the nickname. Prongslet. Little Prongs. Prongs’ kid. James’ kid. But James was gone. And Harry… Harry didn’t even seem to know that. “Come on,” Sirius said, picking Harry up out of the stroller and sitting him down on his lap. “Uncle Moony’s going to speak now so we need to be quiet.” Remus stood at the front of the room, about to give his eulogy.

“Moo’ee!” Harry called, waving at Remus. Remus gave Harry a small smile and wave, pointedly avoiding Sirius’ eyes.

“Shh,” Sirius whispered to Harry. “We need to be quiet, Harry.”

“Shh,” Harry repeated, putting a finger on his lips and looking from Sirius to Remus and then laying his head down on Sirius’ chest. Remus’ eyes flickered towards Harry and Sirius saw him bite his lip before starting.

“Lily and James were the kindest, most accepting people I have ever met,” Remus said, his voice shaking slightly. “They both had a knack for knowing when someone was upset and what exactly that person needed to feel better. And they would both do just about anything to help their friends. Knowing Lily and James and being their friend was an honour and a privilege. And I will never forget the kindness they showed me and the help they gave me.” Remus fell silent and for a moment Sirius thought he had finished but Remus closed his eyes for a moment and then continued.

“Often when people die young, we tend to say that they had just enough time or that they were so happy in their short time that their lives were fulfilled. And while Lily and James were certainly the two happiest people I have known, I refuse to stand here and say that it was just enough time or that it’s ok because they were so happy. It’s not ok and it wasn’t enough. Lily and James deserved more time than every person in this room combined; I’m just sorry that after everything they did for me, I couldn’t give that to them. Thank you.” Sirius thought that Remus’ eyes had met his for just a second. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d just imagined it.

There were tears on Remus’ cheeks and his hands were shaking but he returned to his seat, keeping his eyes on the floor. The minister said a number of prayers but Sirius’ mind kept fading in and out of focus. Lily and James are dead. But how can they be dead? They can’t. But they are. They’re dead.

When the funeral ended Sirius stood and started following the crowd of people heading for the exit but having a stroller meant that he had to wait for most people to leave before there was enough room for him and Harry to move. They were almost out of Godric’s Hollow when Sirius heard a voice coming from behind him.

“It’s your birthday today.” Sirius spun towards the voice. It was Remus.

“W-what?” he stuttered.

“It’s your birthday today,” Remus repeated.

“No, it’s n—” Sirius started. He thought for a moment. The 2nd of November. That’s today. “Oh, it… it is. I didn’t realise.” Silence. Sirius didn’t know what to say.

“I think we need to talk,” Remus said, quietly.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “I think we do.” He couldn’t discern Remus’ tone but his heart was racing a million miles an hour as they walked back to their apartment in silence, allowing Harry to fall asleep in the stroller. No one said a word until they were back in their apartment.

“I’ll just put Harry down for a nap and then…” Sirius trailed off.

“And then we’ll talk,” Remus nodded, sitting down on the couch. Sirius pushed the stroller into Harry’s room, deciding it was better to let him sleep in the stroller than to risk waking him by moving him into his crib. Sirius closed the door quietly and returned to the living room, sitting down on the couch beside Remus. They were silent for a moment.

“So are you going to tell me why you hid that fact that you were changing Secret Keepers from me?” Here we go, Sirius thought. He knew he would have to have this discussion with Remus the moment his trial ended but he couldn’t look Remus in the eye. Sirius didn’t know if he was more consumed by grief or guilt. He forced himself to look up at Remus. He tried to put so many unsaid things into that look. Remus’ eyes widened with realisation and Sirius nodded.

“Remus,” he said, he wanted to reach out and hold his hand but did not think that the gesture would be kindly received. “I am so, so sor—”

“Don’t,” Remus said. He sounded angry and hurt. “You can’t just apologise for something… for something like this.”

“I know,” Sirius said, softly. He was so ashamed.

“No, you don’t know,” Remus said. “I trust you with every fibre of my being, Sirius. I’d trust you with my life! When you sent me that message telling me what Peter had done I believed you. There was loads of evidence against you but I didn’t suspect you even for a second! And you think that I would sell Lily and James to Voldemort based on nothing?”

“Remus, I was wrong,” said Sirius. “There’s no justification; I made a mistake and now everybody I love is suffering the consequences. But you were gone on missions for days at a time, you’d come back and you would barely talk to me. You wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“I didn’t tell you anything because Dumbledore had sworn me to secrecy! You knew that!”

“I know but Remus I was worried. I knew that you were spending a lot of time with werewolves who were rallying behind Voldemort and I was worried that they’d gotten to your head. And I tried to talk to you but you were shutting me out and I—”

“Don’t try to turn this on me!” said Remus. He was shaking. Tears were spilling from his eyes. “This is not my fault!”

“Of course it’s not,” said Sirius. He was crying too. “Of course it’s not but Remus, just try to understand where I’m coming from. I was terrified. I was terrified for James and Lily and Harry and I just—”

“I was terrified too! You know what? This was a bad idea. I think I should just go.” He stood up and walked to the door.

“No, Remus don’t! Don’t leave, please. You can’t go!”

“You… you have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do, Sirius!” Remus said. “You don’t get a say in what I do!”

“Remus please don’t go, please Rem I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice was weak and clingy and pathetic; he didn’t care. He took Remus’ hand and Remus froze. Sirius stepped closer.

“I can’t be without you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing Remus’ cheek. Remus wasn’t looking him in the eyes but he wasn’t moving either. “I love you, Remus.” Sirius leaned in towards Remus and kissed him. And for a moment, he feels Remus kiss him back and in that moment Sirius really believes that everything will be ok, that everything will work itself out. But then Remus pulls away and steps back.

“Don’t! Don’t Sirius, just fucking stop! You can’t just kiss me and expect it to fix everything. You don’t get to do this!” Remus yells. “You don’t get to cry! You don’t get to guilt trip me! You don’t... you don’t get to say that you love me! You can’t fucking do that! It’s not fucking fair! Just... I need... I have to go,” he finishes quietly. “I need to get out of here. Goodbye Sirius.” Sirius watches him go. He watches him walk out the door and Disapparate. First Lily and James, then Peter and now Remus. They’re all gone. And they’re not coming back. And just like that, Sirius’ entire world collapses.

[bokutosworld]

FALLING IN LOVE W HAIKYUU BOYS TO TAYLOR SWIFT SONGS

pairing: various x reader 

word count: 800+ words, fluff. 

summary: what falling in love feels like with them and the kind of lovers they are based on taylor swift songs that i think fit them

a/n: so taylor swift released the new version of love story and can i just say i am IN LOVE with it. and i somehow got inspired to revisit her old songs and thought of some hq characters that suit the songs :D ig this is a result of my swiftie brainrot so here ya go, happy valentines! 

OUR SONG – nishinoya, ATSUMU, hinata, HOSHIUMI, tanaka, KOGANEGAWA 

Experiencing love with them is like opening a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get. There are no dull moments when they’re around; their surprises keeping your relationship alive and exciting. Arcade dates, impromptu midnight drives, shopping dates where you and him fill the aisles with boisterous laughter and looking all loved up, gathering the attention of jealous singles who wish they have what both of you share. Ultimately, they love like there’s no tomorrow; their affection all-consuming and making you feel like you’ve lucked out in life.   

LOVE STORY – YAMAGUCHI, kita, OSAMU, ennoshita, DAICHI

They give you love that makes you believe that fairytale endings and happy every afters do exist. Maybe the two of you fall in love at first sight, catching each other’s eyes from across the room, and the rest is history. Each moment spent with them feels like a dream come true. Heartfelt words and affecting actions define your relationship, putting to shame every couple that existed in romance novels and movies. As lovers, they are faithful and passionate, and there’s no one else you’d want to grow old together with than them. 

YOU BELONG WITH ME – BOKUTO, lev, GOSHIKI, komori, HANAMAKI, yaku

It’s a kind of love where both of you bring out the best in each other. You’ve been together since childhood, having seen one another in their best and worst days, yet the two of you still stick by one’s sides. Everyone – from your parents, friends, and even the neighbors – sees how well you two complement each other; and there’s really no one else who knows you better than them. They know how to calm the raging storm in your heart on your bad days, how you like your coffee in the mornings, or even how you’d like to be proposed to when that fateful moment comes and he’s ready to go down on one knee and ask that you spend the rest of lifetime together.

SPARKS FLY – KUROO, terushima, SUGAWARA, futakuchi, KONOHA, matsukawa 

You think he’s on a league above your own, but when the two of you cross paths, the unexpected happens: you instantly hit it off. He comes off strong, a force you think you can’t reckon with, but to you, in secret, he brings down his guards and shows his true self – his troubles, desires, and ambitions that he believes only you can answer. It’s in the little things that you both realize your intense longing for one another: the staying up all night talking on the phone (not caring whether you’d wake up with eyebags), the intense lingering gazes exchanged from afar, brief kisses in secret hallways, and the subtle yet electrifying touches that make you feel hot and alive. It’s a love that you’re proud of, the kind that you’d want to showcase to the whole world. 

CRUEL SUMMER - IWAIZUMI, kyotani, SUNA, kageyama, KUNIMI

You meet at a time when you needed each other the most. It was early midnight and you were the only two people left in the diner when he scoots in your booth, with his blinding smile and eyes that spelled trouble. Feeling bold and confident, he took your hand for a midnight rendezvous and before you knew it, you found yourself falling for him hook, line, and sinker. He teaches you how to be free, you teach him what’s it like to love. It’s a relationship where you’re both unsure but you’re exploring new territories and experiencing firsts together. He bathes you in a love that makes you crave for more. And though it doesn’t last as long as you hoped it would be, he leaves you a sweet aftertaste that lingers even long after you’ve separated.  

MINE - TSUKISHIMA, tendou, SEMI, kenma, DAISHO 

Romance was something you already crossed off in your life. You’ve seen people close to you get hurt, lose themselves, and cry their hearts out over someone. It was something you never wanted to experience until he came along. Like a knight in shining armor, he enters your life at the right time when you needed someone’s steady support the most. Along with his arrival, comfort and peace of mind comes to you. His love saves you, heals you, and puts back the broken pieces of your life together. He shows you what it is like to trust and give your whole heart to someone without fear of having it shattered into pieces. Most of all, you’ve find someone that you can now call your new home. 

LOVER - AKAASHI, asahi, SAKUSA, ushijima, ARAN

Being in love with them is one of best things in the world. It’s the kind that makes you believe that soulmates do exist. As soon as your eyes land on them, it feels like you’ve known them your whole life and your breath is knocked out of your lungs as suddenly the world around you is painted in vibrant colors. You instantly feel connected to them, your soul attached to theirs in a way you couldn’t describe. You find yourself falling head over heels for them in everything they do, even in complete utter moments of silence where it’s just you and him in the comfort of your shared home. Simple post-it notes scattered all over apartment, the never-ending love confessions making you feel complete, whole, and reassured. Promise rings are exchanged as symbol of undying commitment; and sooner or later, these are traded for bands worn on your ring finger, signifying the gift of a lifetime together. 

[green-blue-heller]

Hi!! How about a one shot with first person narrative, with Jensen thinking about the video posted yesterday by Darius (jealousy?) And also the video posted by Misha (butterflies in the stomach!)? Write this story, please! 😁

Ohhh! Thanks for being so patient while waiting for this! I absolutely loved writing it. Though, as I told you, I did struggle a little because first person isn’t my strong suit, but I love a good challenge! 

Hope you love it. 

Because it is Cockles RPF, I put it under the break. :) 

******

Title: Green with Jealousy (Read on AO3)

Cockles RPF

Words: 2174

I hadn’t meant to slam my phone down as hard as I did, and when Danneel looked up at me from across the room, one eyebrow raised, I gave a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” My voice was low as I muttered, trying to keep my annoyance from my wife. But she knew me all too well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression go soft as she put down the security monitor she had been using to keep an eye on Arrow and J.J. as they played in the twins’ room. Guilt consumed me as I watched her make her way over.

The last thing I wanted to do was let her know how stupid I was acting, but she knew me too long for me to be able to hide anything from her. That was why I didn’t even try anymore.

“What’s wrong, Jensen?” She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder. 

I grunted, not sure how to answer her. The truth was, I wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that was bothering me. There was no reason for it. It was just this feeling that I couldn’t put a name to, that slowly started to wrap itself tight in my chest.

Or, rather, a feeling I didn’t want to put a name to.

But when I didn’t say anything, Danni turned her head and softly kissed my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into her touch.

And fell for her trap. 

I was distracted, only for a moment, but it was enough for her to reach out and swipe my phone from the countertop.

“Danni.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out in a low growl, but it just made her chuckle as she put in my pin and unlocked my phone.

And I was helpless to do anything other than hang my head, as I knew what she was 

going to find.

It only took a few seconds before the sound of Misha’s voice hit me like a freight train. It immediately sent shivers down my spine as I recalled what it was like to have him next to me, whispering in my ear. 

“Aw, love.” Her voice was so soft, I almost didn’t even hear her speak. But I felt the love she had for me as she wrapped her arm around me again and kissed the top of my head, as she continued to watch the video. “I know you miss him,” she continued, trying to tame the beast she knew I could be whenever I was reminded how I was missing the other piece of my heart, “but you’ll see him soon.”

I nod, not trusting my voice as I ran a hand over my bearded cheek. 

Shit. She thinks this is just because I miss him. Not that I don’t. Because of fucking course I miss him. He should be here, enjoying the snowy Colorado weather, curled up on the couch while the fire is going.

Even with three kids, the place felt too empty without Misha, Vicki, and the kids. We were supposed to be enjoying ourselves before I left for Toronto in a few weeks to film for The Boys. But, of course, something happened that canceled those plans.

Not that I could blame Misha that his doctor scheduled his hip replacement surgery the week before they were supposed to come to Colorado. It just meant that I was going to have to head out to California instead. Sure, it sucked that we couldn’t get the entire family together like we planned, and we would only get a weekend together, but I knew I should be grateful for whatever time I was able to spend with Misha.

Even if it was while he was hopped up on pain killers and wasn’t allowed to do any strenuous activities.

I bite back a grin as thoughts and schemes of what we could get away with began to trickle in my head.

But then I pick up the sound of Darius’ voice from the video Danni is still playing and I let out a scowl. It isn’t that I don’t like Darius, it’s just that I can’t help worry about how much Misha likes Darius.

Danni clears her throat and I cast a glance over to her, only to see her quirk an eyebrow at me.

I can’t even muster a guilty grin because I didn’t want to think about the jealousy that consumed me every time I thought about Misha and Darius together.

Even if they haven’t been together in almost twenty years.

But I did feel guily, and embarrassed at having been caught. It was something I needed to work on, and I knew that. This whole jealousy thing. 

Misha hated it. He felt like it meant I didn’t trust him, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. I just hated the thought of him wanting to kiss or be with someone else, even if it was just a joke and not real. 

More than once it caused an issue at a convention. Most of our former cast mates knew about our relationship, and were understanding that there were boundaries. But I still felt like an asshole sometimes when I let it consume me.

But Darius was different. He knew Misha - not to mention he knew Misha. He was the first person he’d been with, ever. So of course the fact they were still close was going to stir up some unwanted emotions in me, despite the fact that I had never been prone to jealousy before I had me Misha.

But his relationship with Darius wasn’t something I could compete with. 

Not that it was a competition.

With a sigh, I grabbed Danni and drew her close.

As I buried my face in her neck and inhales the sweet scent of freshly cut flowers, I felt myself finally begin to relax.

A few hours later, as I was getting ready to give Zepp a bath, I felt the familiar warmth of Danneel’s hand on the back of my neck. I leaned back into her touch and moved my head to kiss her palm as I flashed her a smile. 

“Hey, baby. I thought you were still finishing up with Arrow? Is she almost ready for bathtime?”

“Almost. But that’s not why I’m in here.”

The wicked grin she was giving me churned my insides. “Oh, yeah?” I asked as I wiggled my brow at her.

She let out a giggle and held my phone out to me.

“Mama! Mama! Watch.” Zepp pulled Danni’s attention away from me for a moment and she gave him a soft smile. 

“Hold on a second, baby. I’m going to take over for Daddy, so you can show Mama whateer you want, in just a minute, okay?”

I let out a sigh, as I love watching the way Danni is with the kids. It makes me melt every time I remember they’re mine, and that I’m lucky enough to be theirs.

But then I realize what she said and give her a questioning look.

“Why are you doing bath time tonight? It’s my turn.” I love having these little moments with the kids, things I missed a lot of while I had been filming Supernatural.

Not that I would trade any of that for anything. 

But I was lucky enough to be able to have both. To have it all.

Though I could admit I liked living this quiet life in the mountains with just the wife, boyfriend, and our kids all trying to bring the house down around us.

I knew I wasn’t SuperDad, like Dee was SuperMom, but I wasn’t that bad that she’d need to come in and take over bathing the kids from me.

But she just gave me a wink as she motioned again for me to take my phone from her.

Confused, I grabbed the towel and dried off my hands before taking the phone from her.

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom and see what I have pulled up, while I take over here, cowboy?”

My heart skipped a beat as I nodded and leaned in to give Zepplin a kiss before I placed a quick kiss on Dee’s cheek and made a beeline for the bedroom.

When I had the door closed, I leaned against it for a moment and closed my eyes. I had no idea what to expect, but the anticipation was killing me.

And I didn’t want to lose that high, so I clutched it tight against my chest for a moment. But I knew I had precious little time to myself before one of the girls realized I was set free from daddy duty, and set out to find me.

Unsure of what I was going to find when I opened my phone, I reached back and slid the lock on the door into place. She hadn’t given me any warnings that it wasn’t child-friendly, but I didn’t want to take the risk.

I opened my eyes and walked over to the bed and sat down. 

As I let out a breath, I steeled myself as I brought the phone up and swiped up to allow it open.

There was a video on my screen, waiting for me to press play. 

When i did, music began to play and I could see a woman kneading some dough. I sat there for a few moments, wondering what it was I was watching, or why Danni felt like I needed to see it at that moment.

But within a few seconds, I saw the camera move up and reveal Liz, Misha’s sister. I knew she could sing and had heard her, Misha, and their dad sing on more than one occasion, but I had been caught so off guard, I hadn’t been able to place her voice at first.

Then another voice hit my ears and tears immediately stung my eyes.

It was a voice I would know anywhere.

There was my Mish, leaning against the kitchen counter with his sister, singing to the dough they had been making, like a bunch of goofs.

My heart stuttered and I felt butterflies in my stomach as I watched him belt out the song. It made me miss him even more, and wish the weekend would hurry up and come already so I could get back to Los Angeles and see him, Vicki, and the kids.

As he squeaked out a high note, I let out a strangled laugh and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I played the video again, and saw the beginnings, where Dee had fast forwarded so I didn’t know what I was watching, and let out a snort at how only they would spend all day making something, even after several failed attempts when he could have just gone to the bakery a couple of miles away and gotten his pastries within a half hour.

But that was why I loved him.

He liked making things with his own hands.

If he didn’t have some part in building or shaping something, it didn’t feel as real to him. It was why he built his own house, and even most of the furniture - although, throughout the years, Vicki had managed to replace about a third of it.

But even me. Misha shaped who I had become. He built up my confidence and chipped away at the self-doubt I had. Made me believe in who I was and that I was worthy of everything I had, of everything I wanted. 

Mish was the one who made me believe I deserved it. 

I looked up as I heard the lock click, and smiled as Danni walked through the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” I whispered.

“Hi.” She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.

When she pulled back, she reached out and wiped the tears that stained my cheeks.

A sob threatened to break free from my chest, but I held it tight. I didn’t want her to see how much I was hurting. To see how much I missed Misha.

But she never missed a thing.

“Call him,” she whispered as she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

I shook my head. “Naw. It can wait.” I put my head down, but she hooked her finger under my chin and brought my face back up and stared into my eyes.

I swore that woman could see my soul, and it made me shiver.

“I know it can. But you don’t have to suffer for me, Jensen. Call your man, and tell him you love him. That you miss him. There’s no reason to deny yourself that.”

She cast me a knowing smile as she got up to leave the room again.

I gave her a grin as I thought about the sound of Misha singing in that video, and the butterflies returned as I picked my phone back up to dial his number.

*******

Taglist: @dolphindiluna @astral-from-the-pit-of-despair @kristina710

[izzyspussy]

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

Name and link some of your favorite works, please!

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

I'm calicofiction everywhere, I don't have any secret identities lol. For fannish stuff specifically I really only use this account and AO3.

I've had sooooo many tumblr urls adjkjcs. The only other non-referential name I had was penlex, though.

I saw ITch1 in theaters (incidentally I also lived by a river and had bright orange hair at the time, which was.......... An Experience), but I didn't really enter The Fandom™ until setting ITch2a a few months ago. I didn't... know this would happen to me. (It was only a clown, how did it end up like this. it was only a clown...)

I started in fandom by talking to my older sister about how I thought Ginny Weasley should have been in Slytherin, and she hooked me up with ye olden fan sites.

The one character that I can always come back to is Bruce Wayne, but the character I identify with the most of all time is Taako from The Adventure Zone: Balance. I've even considered writing to Justin to tell him how deeply Taako affected me and made me kind of stop feeling like my personality was an unfortunate consequence of my circumstances lmfao.

I'm a Jack of all Trades (*jeb bush voice* please laugh). I do fic, moodboards/aesthetics, traditional art, mixes/playlists, headcanons/shitposts... Mostly fic though.

I'm loving Milo @clownjizz's kink content right now, Kels @lethimrunsonia is a sweetheart and one of my best friends, (other fandoms now), Nathaniel @transbucky and Jess @sequencefairy keep me motivated to make Good Stuff (theirs highly recommended if you like MCU, SPN, BFU), and Rachel @dykerory keeps me from taking It All too seriously lmao (DCTV, Star Wars).

I have 500+ Bookmarks on AO3! I also reblog fics I like here under the tag /fic-rec, and I make a new recommendation every Thursday on my /interlude post.

I'm on mobile so I don't wanna do a lot of linking and formatting BUT you can find all my fic on my AO3 or in my /fic tag. I've done a few fic themed answers that highlight some particular works.

I participated in kink memes and gift exchanges during my LiveJournal days. I'm sorry to say those pages are lost to time.

I don't necessarily feel like the IT fandom is missing anything... but I do think fandom in general, including this one, adheres way too much to normative ideals when attempting to represent queer relationships. Not only is there so often an uncomfortable replication of heterosexual gender roles in every rating level, but there is also the prevalence of cohabitation, legal marriage, and kids as the ultimate happy ending for a couple. It's just plain not the case, and I long to see more relationships like the ones I participate in and witness as a queer person (and especially as a queer man) in real life represented in fanfic that purports itself to be About Us.

[dark-empress-rey]

Feast and Famine

I remember eating with the officers in the mess hall for breakfast the day after I arrived on the Supremacy. The uniform I had been given the night before was too large for me. I was small and skinny at the time and hadn’t reached my full height yet. I was told I would have to wait for a tailored uniform.

I attracted many stares as I entered the hall and got my food. It felt strange having the food just given to me and not needing to trade something for it. I sat down in a gap in the benches and noticed this food was very different from the portion bread and dehydrated vegetables I was used to on Jakku. It wasn’t easily eaten with hands. I had a fork and knife but didn’t know how to use them. I snuck glances at the officers around me, observing how they used theirs.

One of the female officers was walking by and beckoned to me. I stood and followed her to an empty table where we would be alone. She was probably in her early 30s. She had short straight red hair that didn’t go far past her ears. She spoke with an accent similar to mine but with subtle differences.

“You’ve never eaten with silvers before?”

“Silvers?”

She held up her fork and knife. I shook my head.

“We don’t have them where I come from.”

“Where do you come from?”

“Jakku.”

“That’s a desert planet, right?”

I nodded. “You know it?”

“Only from history lessons. The Battle of Jakku, the Empire’s final stand...”

I nodded again. I wondered how many people knew about the Battle of Jakku.

“I can’t imagine much food grows there.”

I shook my head. “We ate old Empire rations...and, you only needed your hands to eat them.”

“Right...well, it’s quite simple really...”

She showed me how to use the fork and knife.

....

“There, you’re getting it.”

I took a few bites of food. “Is it true we eat three times a day here?”

“Yes.”

My eyes grew wide. “That’s more than I’ve ever eaten in one day.”

She paused mid-bite and just stared for a moment.

“I’ve also never eaten this early in the day. I always ate at sunset. It usually took most of the day to find enough ship parts to trade for portions. So it’s a bit strange...”

“You ate Empire rations every day?”

I nodded.

“For how long?”

“I was on Jakku for eight years.”

“You ate the same thing for eight years?”

I nodded.

“Wow...Well I think you’ll find the food here more to your liking. And it changes every day.”

“Where does the food come from?”

“Everywhere. The First Order has arrangements with worlds all over the galaxy. Some days we get food I’ve never even heard of before.”

I smiled. I had always wanted to try food from other worlds.

“You must be very strong. I don’t think I would have made it in your shoes," she said.

“It wasn’t an easy life. Many ways to die. I almost did a few times...but somehow, I always made it through.”

“You’re a survivor, I can see that. That will serve you well here. Now eat. Put some meat on those bones.”

By lunchtime, I was wolfing the food down, realizing just how hungry I was. When I had cleaned my plate, I was tempted to lick the remaining juice right off of the tray, like I had on Jakku, not wanting to waste one bit. But I caught myself, and simply wiped up the rest with my finger, licking that instead. Several officers were staring at me. I stuck out like a sore thumb among these stiffs. I also realized I could hear their thoughts, and part of me wished I couldn’t.

By dinner time, I was still full from lunch, but I wasn’t going to skip out on food when it was offered, so I went. I struggled to eat more than a few bites, but still felt the need to clean my plate. The woman who had taught me how to use silvers was sitting nearby and noticed my struggle. She leaned over and whispered.

“You know, you don’t have to eat all of it.”

“What?” Such a thing was inconceivable to me. She smiled.

“Really, you don’t. If you’re full, you can stop. You’re not used to this much food, so take it slow.”

In the weeks that followed, I skipped lunch and sometimes breakfast until my body became accustomed to consuming more food. I gradually worked my way up to three meals a day.

Looking back, this is probably why I thought giving Ben one meal a day on Exegol after I became Empress was ‘normal’ and perfectly fine. Up until age 13, that’s what had been normal for me, and I compared everything to my own experience. (Sorry, Ben!)

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Fatal Ties: The Ending

As promised, here's the plot bullet-points for the rest of this story so no one is left to wonder. When we left off, the Boss had just been shot at and was going to try figuring out who the mole was, who the perps were, and how to stop them while still going through with the wedding. I hadn't plotted out anything in detail, but here's the things I knew I wanted to put in. Oh, and a flashback that would reveal how the Boss became the Boss.

Message gets to the Boss to meet with mysterious people who shot at them. The fact there's no demands is fishy, but they go.

They have Kyungsoo hidden away ready to shoot if the meeting goes south. The person who shows up? The Boss' sister. *queue flashback*

(In the edits I was doing the pov changed and the bakery was instead a greenhouse cause I liked the idea that deep down this mafia boss just wanted a quiet life with their plants. So just to avoid confusion this is told from 3rd person pov, and it is indeed showing the day the Boss used a coup against their own father, but it was actually their sister who killed him, and they sent her away under the guise of protection. In truth the Boss pinned the murder on the sister and took over the business.)

They were standing in a vast, gleaming greenhouse awash with sunlight. Two rows of various plants and flowers grew on tables, leaves dancing in their warm glow. Two people stood in the center as they spoke alone. One of them carried an overwhelming sense of authority and sharpness. Wearing a pressed black suit and severe eyes. The other, with broad shoulders, looked right at home beside them.

There was something odd about the image, however. The emotions of the moment eclipsed details; softening and flooding out the edges with blotted blurs. The surroundings bent toward the two figures slightly, revolving around them, existing by extension.

A bright and fierce feeling consumed them. It beckoned they straighten their back. It filled them with elation and confidence.

The breeze sung, warmth and sweetness tickling their nose with a few wisps of hair. Distant concussions rang in their ears. That of hand-made rhythms and automatic syncopation like a crackling symphony. Fingers flinched by their hip, joints aching to grasp long awaited vindication.

A smile slid into place on the one with broad shoulders. Something older and deeper than amusement. It had the appearance of affection, but it was dangerous; too sunken and tight. "This is my kingdom," he said. "None of this would exist without me. Some delusional little girl won't change that."

"A kingdom is more than one person," they remarked, a sneer curling their upper lip. "You're not thinking."

"Am I now?" he marveled, teeth flashing. "You've spent your whole life trying to make me proud. Now you're going to give everything up for some petty cash?"

"Someone is."

"We could do that," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Or you could stay here while I go clean up the mess inside, and every time you lay down in the bed I bought, under the roof I earned, you'll rest peacefully, remembering when you chose to walk away."

"Just like some mindless, obedient bitch, right? Why would I go back to that?"

"Some paths are less traveled for a reason."

The air stretched, a tethered tension consuming the room. It seeped into their chest. The words agonized and twisted their thoughts into turmoil, but more than that, it galvanized their wounds. Defenses dissolved into truth. Their face went eerily blank, poised for one direction or the other. Weighing the words against their knowledge. On the cusp of their vision, a shape came with the wind that made the leaves tremble.

Clasping metal, their hand raised, and a gunshot shattered the air. Three heartbeats, then a dull thud and a crack. The sound resonated throughout the new space created; striking the emptiness from their gaze. As they looked down at the man collapsed on the concrete their eyes blazed. Watching him attempt in vain to put pressure over the hole in his chest, mouth gaping open and shut with no utterance. The bullet had hit just under his clavicle.

The color was ripped from his face. As seconds passed his brows set into a hard line, glowering up at what must have been just shapes and bright lights. Slipping into shock and the blissful numbness.

And their veins were white hot. Seething scars lurked in the tremor of their hands. Their knees hit concrete, fingers twirling the barrel of the gun into their palm, and rammed the blunt end down onto his forehead.

A fissure opened in his flesh. Hazed hatred in hard eyes and harder hands, his bloodied fist cloyed upward. Treachery painted their neck, warm and slick, and their insides revolted.

They brought the corner of the grip down once more, grunting with the force of it. That time a wet crackle was heard, tissue and marrow and matter opening like a rift in the earth. His eyes dimmed and shut. Fingers fell limp. Then they brought the gun to his face again, and again, and again. Beating, breaking until all the scars were his and retribution stained their very self, pooling around their knees.

They were left with shivering leaves and limbs, metal clattering to concrete. For a few moments, they thought they could feel everything. Beneath, the ground itself breathed with them. The immeasurable magnitude of their actions soaked the air; acid in their lungs. Stinging, shallow flexes damming their thoughts. The image of his bloodied skull battered and branded into their memory; proof he would no longer torment.

"We have to go." A set of shoes stepped in to view. Welcomed into the washed-out greenhouse; making it sharper.

Their gun was picked up. Then a gentle hand rested on their arm. The light straightened and the emotions drained; a hollowness haunting their eyes.

"Come on," the voice urged softly. "I'll take you out of here for a bit. What's that place you always talk about going to? The one in the mountains. We'll lay low there for a bit, and when we come back everything will be like it should. They know what to do."

It was a trusted sound, the promise of better circumstances. It had to be, coming from the one who had been bound for so long; now unbound and free to bind. The vindication was theirs to share. So they swallowed the bile and butterflies, and took the hand on their arm. Bundled in familiar security, warm with such flattering certainty. There would be no leaving the stranger path.

This little exchange (starting with the sister speaking) during the reunion that would confirm what happened in the flashback:

"At least I killed him on purpose. You're a glorified accountant. Dad would've squashed your guts like an ant. If I'm appalled with what you've become, he's rolling over in his grave."

"As long as he stays there then I don't fucking care."

The meeting basically just confirms all the "who's" and "why's" but not the "how". Sister who wants the business for herself, therefore stopping the truce by getting revenge on the Boss is top on her list.

Some more reconnecting, tied together by a homophobic dad. Then this schpeel by the sister as well for more context.

"I was cursed from birth, just like you. The daughter of a mafioso. There's a mark on my head always. Police want to lock me up, criminals want to use me to prove themselves to their own shitbeat dads, regular people are scared shitless they'll be arrested just for talking to me. You weren't protecting me! You threw me to the wolves! My own sibling..."

"The world took everything from me! Don-"

"No! You did that! You took everything, killing anyone who didn't agree with your grand vision!"

Hadn't decided how the Boss would get out of the meeting, but basically the tension would build cause now you realize the Boss hasn't done much actual killing themselves. But the sister? She' killed her family before; what's stopping her from doing it again now?

More bonding with Baekhyun. Teaching him things. Maybe try and get him to kill someone to prove himself, but he can't go through with it.

Boss is in the greenhouse the morning of the wedding, but Baekhyun is also there, and with a gun to his head, kneeling. Boss of course then pulls their gun on the person threatening their fiancé which is the sister. Then maybe this interaction (starting with the sister speaking.)

"Look at you, so proud to kill me. About to be the big boss who saves the day. Protecting everyone with this fucking contract and this ridiculous fucking sham wedding. You think this'll make things right? Just like killing our fucking dad and throwing me out was right because you "saved" the business? Because you were "protecting" me? There's no redemption for someone like you. No happy, fairytale retirement ending. I'll just be another body you leave behind. Go on, finish me. Send my body to Junmyeon and scatter me to the wind, but it won't change what you are."

Lots of twisted emotions, Boss on the verge of tears.

"...I miss my old sister."

"Of course you do," the Boss replied. "They were much more trusting and naive. Easier to kill."

"What happened to your ruthless energy? You used to have real ambition for this company. Now you want to play cottage lesbian with this dipshit?" A pause. "I'm tired of this bluff. Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo appears and restrains the Boss, taking their gun away and maybe holding a knife to their throat, voice in their ear.

"Be a good kitten and shut your mouth, huh? You had your chance." He turns to the sister. "Trade you for the dipshit."

Sister laughs. "He's all yours, love."

Kyungsoo was the mole. Twisty, yes? The irony being the Boss was worried Baekhyun was the honeypot, when Kyungsoo had been all along. Well, from when he actually started sleeping with them. He tried to get the Boss to change their ways, and when they didn't, the sister gave up and and gave in to vengeance.

As Kyungsoo trades, Baekhyun steals a gun from Kyungsoo's holster, presses it to his chest, and pulls the trigger. His first kill.

The Boss uses the distraction to kill their sister. Their final violent act. Both of them standing amidst the blood.

The truce is made, the Boss gets married, and both their souls are now corrupted and damned.

Hadn't totally decided, but if I were to lean toward a happier ending then the Boss would've raised up one of the others (probably Jongdae) to be the new boss, and they'd prove their sister wrong by retiring with Baekhyun to a small house with a garden. Well, they weren't totally happy after everything they'd been through, but they were content.

[heaventoyou19]

A concept called Love

Growing up, Disney channel presented love to be this beautiful thing that’s obtainable when you have beauty, grace, a pretty face and a good heart with only an evil step mother or some witch as an obstacle. Looking back to when I first started dating, you can say that I was actively looking for Prince Charming to save me from my, oh –so-terrible life. I victimized myself and it wasn’t just because of the shows that my eyes and brain consumed almost daily… I also didn’t have the best role models growing up. That and I didn’t really have anyone to talk to about things encompassing love, what society deems attractive and horrendous, what’s actually right or the difference between love and toxic luggage. I had to run through a lot of case scenarios on my own to actually get an idea of all of this; and from what I can tell – love isn’t really worth the hassle.

I’ve been in relationships before and honestly speaking all throughout those relationships, I’ve only ever felt loved by one of them. Let’s call him, Zachary. He was my first love and I really thought that he would be my last. The only time I pictured my future to have more than just me, myself and I was when I see us marry each other. But that obviously, didn’t happen and what we had really set me up for actual character growth.

All throughout our relationship, we always had obstacles coming from both sides. By the end of our relationship, I was suffering in silence while he avoided me like a plague to solve his problems. He’s a great guy, but looking back, we were just too volatile and toxic for one another. He chose to end our little tango and I will forever be grateful for that. After months, almost eight actually, I realized how much love I was giving and pouring into his cup when my own neck was parched. I lost complete sense of myself and I truly didn’t have an identity because of how much I was breaking down every wall that I had just for him. I thought this was love.

I came to realize now after 19 years, 5 months and 2 weeks of living, how people truly navigate around the topic of love, entitlement, infatuations and lust; using myself as subject #1 under ‘people’.

Throughout my healing process I began to talk to my fellow peers to see if my situation was similar to theirs. Some were, but most had it worse than I did. Slowly I tried to get those peers to talk more. This gave me an insight as to how they managed their love lives; a limited scope but I take what I can get. Using my famous “you can trust me” frontier, you would be surprised at how quickly I could get someone to talk about what’s really going on in their romantic rendezvous. People are usually pretty reserved about the topic and want to maintain the “perfect for each other” exterior but I was really desperate for answers. It was a little manipulative on my part, but I really didn’t mean any harm when we had our conversations. After listening to their stories, I can tell that the one trait we have in common is that we love unconditionally – wait no, blindly. We let ourselves be stepped on like doormats thinking that this is love. Sacrificing our rights and literal self- worth is the measure of how much we love our person. In addition to this, the idea of wanting to complete and be the half of another literal person was something that kept popping up throughout our talks. So, by nature we have this need to fix someone and hence feel needed. And to that, we were legit smack talking their past exes and I’ve witnessed others literally gossip and complain away about their significant other. It got me thinking if this was what will naturally come with “Love”. Losing yourself, losing your cool and your head it’s… is this it? Is my self-worth and well-being worth that little to be traded with a problematic concept that just hinders a person from truly becoming the star that they are?

Sacrificing that freedom and the longevity of our sanity… is it worth it?

I used their stories as personal data to justify my prejudice on love. I wasn’t surprised when I found out that ‘Love” equates to “I want to be the reason why they change,” “they changed because of me,” and the ���I’m the one destined to fix them.” As a friend, sister, cousin, girl fresh out of a relationship and  a fellow closeted rational – thinking human being, I can’t help but wonder why – why do we put a lot of significance in fixing someone? It’s not our responsibility to give up our freedom and put other people’s shit onto our plate. And yet, this is normal. Looking back to all of the Wattpad love stories I’ve read back in 8th grade, it was always bad boy meets good girl, good girl fell for bad boy, bad boy hurts good girl, good girl turn cold, bad boy suddenly realizes he loves good girl, bad boy changes for good girl and a whole dramatic sequence of finding true love at such a young age. This way of thinking is literally played out in movies, books, fanfictions and looking at the married couples around me, sometimes I wonder why they’re still together. It sounds harsh but really, it is mind bottling. These are two individuals who live completely different lives and time and time again, I had to watch them comply with the gender norms and get frustrated because of it. Succumbing to the mindset of how love works and how marriage works its… odd. We are expected to shed away our individualistic nature for a label that will only erase our names. If I get married it wouldn’t be, Lilac this or Lilac that- it would be X’s wife did that or Jane’s mother did this. Was all of this worth it for something as unstable as “Love”?

Reflecting on my relationship with Zachary, I realize I never truly needed him when I want to accomplish anything academically. The only thing that followed him each time he returns to my life was endless drama – not the good kind. So, in other words I could still hit great, grand milestones until my very last breath without him – and since he was my first love, then that meant I could breathe without “Love”.  Without love, I still have me, my thoughts and freedom which is worth more than just a concept that may or not be true. Something so changeable with time, that’s what “Love” is. Therefore, I stand by my words , “Love” whatever it is- it’s not really worth it.

[limited-practice]

1. Pins and Needles

Happy October! Here's the first of what will eventually be 31 Goretober fics that will get written throughout the rest of the year, because I’m can’t write 31 fics in 31 consecutive days. If you can do that, you’re amazing!

1920 words of Swerve, Overlord, a massacre aboard the Lost Light and a love of fingers are below the cut. The prompt is Pins and Needles, and is taken from Drawkill’s excellent prompt list.

Warnings for gore, robo gore, amputation, suicidal thoughts, implied cannibalism and torture.

Ao3 link here

Swerve sits on his favourite barstool with a drink in one hand and a congealing mass of energon at his feet and wishes he was dead. 

But he’s learnt the hard way to stop begging Overlord to kill him. 

The first dozen times he’d whimpered and screamed and pleaded with the Lost Light’s new Captain to please just kill him had been met with amusement. Which had inevitably morphed into weariness. Swerve’s mouth had once again taken on a life of its own and he wouldn’t stop talking he couldn’t stop talking, because something might get through to this insane monster if he could only string the right combination of words together and there was still a chance he could live when so many had been butchered and he’d babbled and joked and pleaded and bargained and finally Overlord had lost patience and kissed him.

Swerve had gagged and kicked out sharply, but Overlord had held him effortlessly in place on his favourite barstool. The one that still spins smoothly; the one whose colour hasn’t yet faded despite constant use. It’s a good little stool, and he wishes he’d paid it more attention. He wishes he’d thanked it out loud. He wishes he’d done so many things differently. Overlord had kissed him for longer than he thought he could possibly bear and then slowly, with a long, long, squelching sound, had pulled away. 

Swerve had vomited immediately.

Swerve looks down at the wobbling mess he’s made on his ruined bar’s floor. He starts to cry. 

Overlord chuckles. Unlike Swerve’s voice, he doesn’t find Swerve’s tears annoying. Overlord pries the glass away from Swerve's hand and goes behind the bar to top the drink up.

Tears leak out of Swerve’s visor. “I’ll clean that up later,” he whispers.

“Here you go.” Overlord says gently, as he places a glass full of warm liquid back into Swerve’s hand. He curls Swerve’s trembling fingers around it. “Drink up. It will do you the world of good.” 

Swerve wipes his face with his free hand. He looks down into the glass and the thick dark liquid it contains. His damaged optical and olfactory sensors still have enough function to warn him that there are substances in the glass that he should on no account consume. They activate their branches of his alarm network as best they can. The warnings they send out are weak and muffled and dim, but they're trying so very hard to warn him despite being damaged by Overlord’s backhanded blow earlier. 

The cocktail looks like an overlaid grid of sharp lines and even sharper ends through his broken visor. It looks like it’s made from poisoned energon that would kill him after one sip. Maybe it will do him the world of good to gulp it down in one go after all. 

Swerve lifts the glass to his lips. And pauses. A niggling thread of his old life vibrates and plucks at him. Swerve tilts his head, and watches light from the shattered overhead lights illuminate the drink. He rotates the glass slowly. The liquid inside changes colour. But not permanently - it’s moving in and out of a different molecular state depending on how much direct light touches it. That must mean there’s optical contraction liquid in there. There’s part of someone’s eye in there.

Swerve shudders but doesn’t look away. And he certainly doesn’t throw the drink and smash it against the wall and scream and scream and scream. 

“Not your cup of tea?” Overlord asks him softly, his lips brushing Swerve’s ear.

Swerve startles violently, and spills the drink over himself.

“Oh dear,” Overlord says. “I spent a lot of time making that for you.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I'm sorry.”

Swerve paws at himself with one hand in a pathetic attempt to clean himself and return the drink to its glass. Liquid crawls down his plating and seeps into his transformation seams and sticks to him and it won’t come off, he knows it’s not ever going to come off of him. His fingers are covered in it. 

“Thank you for making it for me and I’m sorry I spilt it but I appreciate it I do I really really do,” Swerve babbles, as he glances down at himself and tries and fails to ignore the horrible tingling in his fingers. The sensors in his hands have erupted at the onslaught of chemicals sticking to them and they’re screaming at him, they’re screaming so loudly at him that it hurts.

“You clearly worked hard on this drink because I’m detecting things in it,” Swerve continues, because he’s never known when to stop talking. “There must be three, no four, no five, no...six? Six? There are different parts of six different people in here? Six. Six people. Six people liquified and mixed up to make this drink.”

Swerve looks at what remains of the drink. He swallows back another glob of vomit fighting to escape.

Overlord crouches down in front of him. There’s an expression in his eyes that Swerve doesn’t care for one single bit. He doesn’t care for any of Overlord’s expressions, but this one is unsettling because he hasn’t seen it before.

Overlord looks impressed.

“How did you know that?”

As always when he receives genuine praise, Swerve chuckles self-consciously and pretends not to fully understand. “Oh it’s nothing special, it’s just something I can do. It’s nothing. I’m nothing.”

Overlord’s expression then melts into one that Swerve is already achingly familiar with - impatience.

“You are refusing to answer my question.”

“No I’m not I swear I’m not.”

“How did you know that drink is made out of six people?”

Swerve unconsciously waggles the fingers of his hand that’s not holding the glass. 

“I, uh, just can,” Swerve says. “And I know I just said that but it’s the truth I’m not lying or refusing to answer you I swear it! I just...can. I was forged with these fingers.” 

He flexes his fingers as if playing an invisible instrument with them. 

“You are a chemist?” Overlord asks. 

“Metallurgist. A good one. Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. Ha. These, uh, my fingers, they- they’re tools of the trade. Essential actually.”

Overlord gently rests Swerve’s hand onto his palm. “Tell me about them.”

Swerve fights down another ball of vomit. “Uh...when we’re out in the field. Or in the lab. Or anywhere. And by we I mean metallurgists as a whole, not bartenders, not me, not-”

“Swerve.”

“Right. Yes. Fingers. Hands. I was forged with them and they’re brilliant. I mean I’m not brilliant, but my hands are. All metallurgists’ hands are. They’re essentially one big databank studded with sensors and coated in scanners that can identify every substance and chemical composition ever discovered. So long as it’s been recorded. Each finger has a neural link communications wire that goes up to my brain after it’s passed through my spark and t-cog, and it can download the latest materials update from the Academy when the Chief's second assistant remembers to send out the update after spending their day on more important things like sleeping at their desk, which means that if a new element or compound is discovered and recorded I’ll know about it.”

Swerve swallows dryly.

Overlord doesn’t say anything. Swerve chooses to see this as an encouraging sign.

“Some people say that my hands are better than medics’ hands. I don’t of course. And neither do the medics. They think theirs are way better. Well some of the forged ones do, even if they don’t say it out loud. You can always tell that’s what they’re secretly thinking though. And, uh, theirs are good of course - they’re better than mine in lots of ways. They’re faster and lighter and more dexterous. But mine are just as sensitive. And mine are studier and stronger. They’re more durable. They have to be, because if you’re out working in the field and a boulder lands on your hand you don’t want your fingers to be crushed because then what would be the point of keeping you around? They’re designed to survive rough treatment.”

Overlord holds Swerve’s hand up in front of his face. “Are they now,” he says softly. 

Swerve’s weak sparks dims further.

“They sound magnificent,” Overlord says.

“Uh, yeah, thank you. Thanks. Um. They’re pretty good. I kinda like them. In fact I like them a lot.”

“So do I.”

Overlord runs a huge fingertip up and down Swerve’s smallest stubby finger.

“So tell me,” Overlord asks pleasantly, “Who is in your drink?”

“...excuse me?”

“By using the power of your fantastic fingers, tell me who is in your drink. Let’s play a little game together.”

Swerve’s visor dims in tandem with his spark. “...I…I don’t...”

“I am not going to ask you again.”

Swerve looks down at his short feet dangling off the barstool and wishes he was dead.

“Uh…” he forces himself to concentrate. He forces himself to stick two fingers into the liquid in the glass. He forces himself not to yank them back out and immerse them in a vat of paint stripper. He pushes them down further until the fingertips touch the bottom of the glass. His exquisite sensors fire up and explode with data. He pushes that data up the wires that run through his fingers to his body’s connection points: spark, t-cog, brain module. He pushes past the roadblocks all three of them have desperately thrown up to try and prevent him from knowing. He collects. He investigates. He analyses. He identifies all six of his former crew members and wishes he was dead.

“Rodimus,” Swerve answers in a small soft whisper that makes him feel like he’s nothing. “I can feel remnants of his spark casing. It was touched by the Matrix and I can feel it. It’s still there. It’s still pulsing. Oh, god, it’s still pulsing.”

“Good!” Overlord beams. “Very good! Our former Captain made the mistake to keep talking to me when I’d asked him to be quiet, so he was the last to undergo this treatment. He got to watch the others go first.”

There are pins and needles in Swerve’s fingers. They crawl up into his spark and scratch at it with poisoned tips and he knows that they’ll never stop.

“Who are the others?”

Swerve recites their names quickly and doesn’t embellish. 

“Excellent,” Overlord purrs. He examines Swerve’s fingers. “I like these Swerve. In fact I think I like them a lot.”

“...thank you?”

“They could be very useful to my endeavour.”

“Yes I can be useful to you,” Swerve bursts out, as his self-preservation kicks itself into high gear and steamrolls his earlier thoughts of self-destruction. If he’s useful then he might be kept around. He might be allowed to live.

“I am going to have your excellent fingers for myself.”

Swerve’s too wide smile freezes. He feels his plating stretch and warp and start to buckle as he realises what Overlord is planning to do.

Overlord holds Swerve’s hand tightly and fans all of his fingers out. 

“No!” Swerve screams. “Don’t cut them off! They won’t work as well if you cut them off! Please don’t cut them off I’ll be good, I’ll be good.”

Overlord blinks. And then smiles slowly, like a smouldering black sun rising over a toxic yellow wasteland. “I don’t remember saying anything about cutting them off.”

Overlord jams two of Swerve’s fingers deep into his mouth and bites down hard.

[hunter-marsh]

A Living

All his life, Hunter Marsh believed in his heart that there was no conflict, no battle greater than the one between the Marshes and the Windhams, at least, not in Cresthill. His whole life had been consumed by it, like a fire, it burned away every thought he had, every consideration.His whole life was the war but then came the floods, the first in blood, death after death, loved one after loved one slipping through his fingers like sand until her killed her, Katya, leaving her blood etched on his own hands. Next, came the water, where once he would celebrate the ruin of the Windham manor, now he felt almost nothing. To see the Windhams displaced gave him no feeling of justice, just as killing Katya hadn’t satisfied him. Hunter was tired, unbelievably so, tired of fighting and tired of seeing his family and theirs destroy everything in their wake.

Was it even necessary to keep Nora with them? Was there even really a war anymore at all? Who wanted to fight? No one that Hunter knew. No one at all and yet he didn’t want to part ways or confront the feelings that prevented him from doing so. Instead of facing anything, he set himself to work away from the Marsh house, away from his own house, toward flood efforts. He hauled sandbags, retrieved things from houses, a variety of things. Hunter worked and worked from morning until night, returning home exhausted, falling asleep on the couch, waking up the next morning to do it all over.

He was leaving early one morning when he spotted a figure in the mist of the graveyard. He smelled the air, it was his mother. How long had it been since they’d spoken? Since Brennan at least. It was just too hard to talk anymore, for both of them, Hunter knew he reminded her too much of the son she’d lost.

Taking a chance, Hunter walked out to meet her, she was a shorter woman, which was odd since her sons had been so tall. Really, it was amazing that someone so small could make people so big, granted, neither of them started out that way. She turned to him as she heard him approach, she seemed like she wanted to smile, even though she couldn’t.

He pulled her into a hug, brows knit together, “I missed you,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,”she heaved a heavy sigh, “some mother I am.”

“Some son,” he countered.

Neither asked why it had taken so long for them to come back together, their reasons were the same, they didn’t need to be spoken. He pulled away as did she and they looked into each other’s faces. She looked so tired, so much older. She reached up and brushed his cheek with her finger tips. “You need to get more rest, you don’t need to carry every sandbag yourself.”

“It’s better if I’m not around right now,” he said, “it’s better if I keep myself busy.” He looked down at the grave, it was Emma’s. “The Windhams don’t want to see me.”

His mother shrugged, “perhaps,” she said, “but I do.”

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes, he shook his head, “I’m not great company right now.”

“Neither am I,” she said, “but it feels like and ending is coming and that it might be time to start planning for the future.”

He winced, “I already don’t like where this is going,” he muttered.

“You can dislike it all you like,” she said with a smile, “but I have a feeling you will get to have one, a big happy future.”

“What does this future look like to you?” he said.

“First, it looks like you picking up a trade,” she said, “becoming a contractor maybe…or a social worker, gosh, you’re so big and strong but you also take care of people and take on so much responsibility.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled, “I think that makes sense,” he said, without a battle to fight constantly, he would need something to fill his days with work. He really liked it actually, the thought that his work would be to build instead of destroy. “So that’s it? Nagging me to get a job? I can live with that.”

“No of course not,” she said, “you need to get your personal life in order.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “if you’re trying to tell me to break up with Nora, save it, we aren’t even together.”

“I know you well enough to know you have feelings,” she said, she placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He stepped away from her, “I’m already hurt, what difference would it make?” he said.

“Not every love story has a happy ending,” she said,”they don’t all last but the ones that are never told haunt you.” His mother sighed and looked up at the Marsh house, “whatever you decide, I support you, I have to, you’re all I have left of my babies but…” she looked back at him, “but you need to make a decision. You need to be honest.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Hunter said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “it’s better this way.”

“No,” she said, “it isn’t.”

He shook his head with a grumble, “I need to get back to work, we’ll talk later but not about Nora, this is the last we’re talking about her.”

“Okay hun,” she said, “I said what I needed to. Good luck today.” With that she nodded and headed back up to the house.

It was strange to him, how much she seemed like she was totally different and yet exactly the same. perhaps living alongside the Windhams softened her heart to them, perhaps she was just tired too. Regardless, she was back to her annoyances as well, namely pestering him about his love life, soon would come the questions about kids. He sighed as he trudged along to his jeep, “at least she’s back to normal…”

[hauntedatmidnight]

Alive Part II

Part I

skies grow darker, currents swept you out again and you were just gone and gone, gone and gone in silent screams, and wildest dreams I never dreamed of this

(for @starksparker writing challenge)

Harrison Osterfield x OFC

Summary: she had to find her boyfriend. She thought about it everyday since the dead began to walk. They say what’s ours always find its way back to us, even if not in the way we wanted it to.

Zombie apocalypse AU

Warnings: angry sex? Not what you guys are thinking right now haha

For a second, they weren’t leaders. For a brief moment of time, they didn’t have people relying on them and maybe people were not even dying and coming back to kill them. There was just this: his blue eyes on her brown, warm ones and their gasps of breath while they took each other in.

But it was just that: a moment.

“It was you!” Tom accused, tears in his eyes. “Your people killed Finn, you turned your back on me. You!”

“I’m sorry” Harrison said, but his tone was cold.

“What do you even want from me now?”

“I… Just wanted to make up for last time. We were best friends, Tom. But I understand why you feel this way. You can stay, then” he gave Tom a half smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“What?” Olivia finally got her voice back, when she realized it felt like Harrison was still negotiating with them. “Harrison, that’s us… Are we really going to do things this way?”

“What else should we do?” he asked, this time avoiding her eyes.

“What the hell?” they heard, from behind.

“Jake, stay where you are!” she ordered. But it was too late. Jake and Brad were already out of their hiding places, the first running up to them with an anger she’s never seen before. Quickly, Harrison’s men had their gun pointed to both of them, which didn’t slow Jake down. “Stop!” she yelled, putting herself in front of her friend, while the men started to shoot.

“Enough” Harrison said, walking up to them and the shooting stopped. “What else should we do?” he questioned again, watching Jake struggle behind Olivia.

“I was going to say join forces. Be better together. But apparently your men cannot live in peace”

“You had people with guns hiding, Liv. At least mine were out in the open” he gestured around him, putting his hands in his pockets and glancing at her.

“Liv?” they heard Brad’s raspy voice coming from behind them. She turned to look, already knowing what happened. He was on the ground, pale, bleeding.

“Tom, get Brad out of here. And you-“ – she turned back to her old boyfriend. “You shot one of my men. Give me back Carol”

“Na, she’s staying. I’ll take good care of her, don’t worry”

“What do you want from me?” she yelled, feeling the anger consuming her.

“Are you going to keep your end of the deal? ‘Cause it doesn’t sound like it. In that case, Carol’s staying”

“I kept looking for you. I knew you wouldn’t be the same, but this…”

“I know. I figured you were looking for me a while ago. But you changed too, Liv. Last time I checked you followed orders, not gave them”

“You knew I was looking for you?”

“Your people are not exactly subtle about it, you know?” he smirked, getting his stuff, ready to leave.

“That’s ‘cause we all want you back, Harrison!”

“I have people counting on me. Can’t exactly fall for the old high school fairytale anymore. People change, Liv”

“They do. Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the worst”

“Yeah. When you’re ready to make a deal, call for a meeting. Your people know where to find mine”

For the first time since she realized who he was, Liv let herself cry, the moment he gave her his back. She found him. And that’s how she lost him.

X

Olivia walked the halls of the school with a lot of people following her. They were asking her questions, they were scared and they all seemed sad about Harrison. She couldn’t hear them. She understood, though; they were sort of grieving. The Harrison they knew didn’t exist anymore and even though they all thought he was going to be different, what they got was so much worse. But instead of mourning, Olivia decided to do something else.

She knocked on the door of the only person who felt as angry as her.

“Jake? Can I come in?” she asked, leaning against the wall.

“I don’t wanna talk” he yelled, without opening the door.

“Me neither” after a few seconds she heard his footsteps and then the creak of the door opening. She went into Jake’s room, their eyes never leaving one another.

And, for the first time in her life, she let someone else touch her. Someone who wasn’t Harrison. Jake felt different, but still good and in their anger, they were reckless with each other. This was also good.

His lips on hers, his fingers laced through her hair.

“Are you sure, Liv?” he whispered, his lips just a ghost of a touch from her cheeks to her neck. He wanted this for so long and she never realized. He knew this was not what he wanted it to be, but at least was something. And he could work with that.

“Thought you said you didn’t want to talk” she clutched onto him, nails playing on the back of his neck.

“You’re the boss” he whispered against her neck, chuckling, sending shivers down her spine and biting softly on her skin after.

Both of them were taken over with more emotions than they were able to process at the moment. So she let his hands wander through her body while they kissed, her own hands on his muscular back and arms, biting his bottom lip from time to time and stifling a moan every time he sucked lightly onto hers.

They fell on the bed, Jake on top of her. Olivia could feel his erection and that seemed to wake something else inside her. She turned them so she was grinding on him and started to undress herself. He just let her, watching her every move. She looked so perfect on top of him, wanting him.

Soon, he was inside her and she was setting the pace, little whimpers leaving her lips. Jake’s mouth attached to her right nipple, her hands steading herself by tugging his hair, his thumb finding her clit and making her see stars.

“Jake” she cried, his lips on hers again. He switched them back, picking up a faster pace that made her moan a bit louder.

“Come for me, love” he groaned against her neck, knowing he wouldn’t last any longer too.

X

“How are you holding up?” Henry asked when he found Liv sitting alone at the council’s table next morning.

“Fine. Get the council, please. We have a lot to do” he looked like he was going to ask more questions, but decided against it when Olivia got up and turned her back to him. Maybe it was not the best time to push her.

Henry brought all the council members to the table this time. Everyone was quiet, scared to say the wrong thing to Olivia and trigger a reaction they couldn’t handle.

“How’s Brad, Tessa?” Olivia addressed the tall black girl who was responsible for the nursing.

“He’s going to be alright. But we do need more antibiotics”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t scavenge for now” she sighed, knowing this was an awful situation. “We need to get Carol back. To limit Harrison’s and ours territory so no mistakes are made”

“Do you think we could still negotiate with them?” Phoebe asked, from her seat. “They really don’t seem the type to talk”

“Well, we need to establish some things. Where our territory ends and where theirs start. How to get Carol back” Liv answered, knowing it wasn’t as simple as she was making it sound.

“I can start working on a limit” Bill offered. “Something that can satisfy both groups”

“We would very much like that” she smiled at him. “And now we have to think on what to do about Carol. Then we can call for a new meeting”

“Anyone has any ideas?” Henry asked.

“You can trade me for Carol. I don’t buy Harrison’s bullshit about making up, but he did offer the trade”

“That’s off the table, Tom” Olivia looked at her best friend, understanding he was still trying to punish himself. “And it was always off the table. We’ll find another way”

“If we could get them to collab with us… We could send some people to them, have them trained. We all saw his guard. It was nothing like I’ve ever seen in this world” Phoebe suggested.

“That would be good. Especially if we could get some more medicine and food” Tessa agreed.

“No” Jake spoke for the first time. “They attacked us. They shot Brad!”

“You ran to them with a weapon!” Phoebe argued.

“Harrison’s their leader. Maybe you could get to him?” Bill proposed to Olivia.

“He’s not our Harrison anymore” she simply said. “I don’t think they would be willing to collab. We can try, though. I get you, Jake, but it would be beneficial to us”

“And what would they get in return?” he questioned.

“Maybe we have to learn what they need” she suggested.

“They must want something, at least” Henry agreed with her. “If not… Why keep Carol as prisoner? Why not… Kill her?”

“He might not be our Harrison anymore, but there’s still some of it in there” she said.

“What makes you so sure?”

“He did ask for Tom, Jake. And he let him stay”

“You’re being naïve. He just realized we wouldn’t give him what he wants” Tom stated, meeting her eyes with his teary ones.

“There’s gotta be a part of him that still cares about us. Or we would be dead by now, he had the means” Phoebe argued in Olivia’s favor, sensing the tension in the room.

X

The meeting was supposed to go down in a few hours. Olivia was already there, pacing back and forth, Tom and Jake watching her come and go, sitting at some stools they found in the store.

“What are you going to offer him again? Talk to me, Liv” Tom pleaded, getting nervous by her pacing.

“People for the guard, if he offers us protection back. Shared supplies. New weapons – we do have more than we can use. We want Carol back and we need more medicines and…”

“This just sounds like bullshit, honestly”

“Very optimistic of you, Jake” she gave him an annoyed expression, crossing her arms against her chest.

“Seriously, Liv. All that would just benefit us. You’re not offering much and asking for a lot in return”

“I’m very aware he’s going to say no” she answers, stopping to look at both of her friends. “And then I’ll get to know what he actually wants”

“Just remember this is not your old boyfriend Harrison, please” Tom begged, giving her a worried look.

“Oh, believe me. I know that”

“You’re here earlier too”

They all jumped from their spots, looking around. Harrison was entering the store with three of his people following him.

“Harrison” she greeted, turning around to face him.

“Don’t worry, is just us” he assured Jake who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“What are you doing here?” Olivia asked, cocking her head to the side and observing them.

“You know I could ask you the same thing, right?” he smirked, getting near the trio. “Just needed some time to think” she nodded at this, noticing the people he took with him didn’t look like his trained soldiers from last time.

“Think about what?” she felt safe to ask, trying to see what was left of her Haz.

“Can we talk? In private?” he asked. “I’m not gonna hurt her” he rolled his eyes at Jake, who was already jumping from his seat again.

“Sure. I’ll call you guys if I need you” she told Tom and Jake and left with Harrison.

They sat on stools on a small fitting room, facing each other. This was the closest they’ve been in years and it didn’t make it any easier that he seemed to relax once it was just the two of them.

He took his time. First he took his weapon down, setting it beside them. Then he took off his jacket, leaving just a dark shirt on. And finally, he sat down, watching her with a soft smile.

“So?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna need to say no to whatever you propose. I’m not in a very good position right now, I’m sorry” he said, sincerely.

“So this is pointless, is what you mean”

“I can’t afford to lose this leadership right now”

“I can’t believe this is about you keeping your little power!” she laughed, a dry, sarcastic laugh. One he never heard before.

“You don’t understand, Liv” he whispered, stretching his arm to hold her hand.

“Don’t call me that” she asked, pulling her hand back, out of his touch.

“We’re in a very bad situation, Liv” he said, ignoring her. “For the sake of my people, I can’t let them take over”

“What are you talking about?” she questioned, raising her voice.

“Just let Carol with us, I promise to take care of her. Just let it go, Liv. So they won’t go after you”

“Harrison! What are you talking about?” she asked again, feeling her heartbeat quicken.

“There’s this group… They take over smaller groups. Take everything that’s theirs. If we don’t cooperate… They kill people, take their homes. I can’t have that. I’m managing them for now, but…” he leaned into her so he was very near now, foreheads almost touching. She could hear the desperation in his voice and was trying so hard not to fall for this. She didn’t know him anymore. She couldn’t trust him.

“I want Carol back” she whispered, her voice feeling strangled as she felt backed against a corner with his proximity. Being so close was everything she had wanted for years and yet, right now, it was suffocating.

“I’ll take care of her, I promise you” he put a lock of dark hair behind her ear, his hand staying there. Olivia opened the eyes she didn’t even notice she had closed, finding his pretty blue ones. They faltered to her lips, making her whole body melt into his touch, his thumb making soft circles on her left cheek. His lips were almost touching hers, his uneven breath against her…

“Hey, Osterfield!” they heard someone shout from outside.

“Shit!” Harrison cursed against her lips, getting up and leaving her behind.

[dreamingfordraco]

i wonder what it feels like to know that you have completely broken someone. i wonder what it feels like to know the hot tears on someone’s cheeks every night are because of you. i wonder what it feels like to know that you have torn someone apart and left them simply with the sentiment that that’s just how life goes and they’ll have to get over it, because there’s nothing you’re willing to do to try and fix it. i’ve never done to someone what you did to me, so i have no idea whether or not you think about it on a daily basis, or even just sparingly. does guilt seep in at all when you think about what you’ve done? does it matter at all that you’ve shattered someone? is it something you think about on your way to or from school, knowing that they have probably cried the entire way on their own travels? when you’re sitting at your desk, do you wonder if they’re sitting at theirs too and trying to fight back the aching need to cry? do you pray for them as vehemently as they pray for some otherworldly being to somehow take their pain away? have you convinced yourself that what you did was the best thing that could have happened, even though it’s left them so entirely fractured that they can barely manage to get through their day without wanting to flee back home, curl up in a ball, and just sleep until it all feels better? you see, i can’t be you. i can’t do what you have done. and so i don’t have the answers. i suppose if i had “won”, then i don’t know if i’d think about the other person either. if i still got to run off to a happily ever after, would i really care about the collateral damage i left behind? i’d like to think that i would. i would like to think that my happy ending would be stained for as long as they were in misery. i guess that’s why I’ve never done what you have done, because i’m not sure i could live with myself. everything to me would taste like the ash of the bridge i had just burned. but i’m not most people, and i suppose most people don’t really worry about the disposable paws in their life who they traded in for something better. “Oh well” right? i guess in the end if there’s a silver lining to be found in any of this, it’s that i have been reminded once again what it’s like to feel like this. i know how painful it is to try and get through the day and remain cool, calm, and collected even though inside you’re going through every emotion under the sun within a five-minute time period. sadness. anger. hatred. grief. mourning. repeat. this is a feeling that i wouldn’t wish on anyone, and now i know what a person has to do to inflict someone with this soul-consuming anguish. i know what not to do. you taught me what not to do. i can only hope that i’m never in the position where i have to wonder if what i’m doing will ever put someone else through this. and if i am? i hope that i can handle it a lot more gracefully than you did. i hope i can be selfless enough to try and curb their pain as much as i can; i hope i don’t abide by the all-too-easy idea that “it’s not my problem”. i hope that you haven’t tainted me and i don’t come out on the other side of this as cruel and misgiving and hateful. this pain is nearly unbearable, but in the end i hope i remember these days so that i know how imperative it is i don’t curse someone else with something similar. do you feel good? has this helped your ego? is it nice to know that no matter what you had chosen to do, you would end up coming out on top? i wonder what that feels like to sacrifice someone else’s feelings in order to ensure you don’t feel an ounce of pain. i could never do it. and i wish i’d been more careful about who i let in my life, as i never thought i’d be foolish enough to let someone in who was capable of such monstrous and hurtful actions. i have no one to talk to, you know. not really. when i say that you’ve left me alone, i mean that you have left me completely and utterly alone in this. i’m not a weak woman; i know i’ll muddle through this. the point is that no one should have to.

[npc-says]

Kunt Tower: Lossan

“It’s not ready, my lord.”

“I am tired of your excuses!” 

With a crash, an old urn shatters against stone wall. The crash echoes throughout the hollow antechamber. 

A Mind Flayer in an ill-fitting and tattered, once-elegant robe stands with fists clenched and angry impatience flaring in his eyes. His underling, a small, quivering halfling, cowers against the wall, shielding himself with trembling hands in an attempt at defense from the Mind Flayer looming above him. 

“We must leave the worm in the brine for another day, sir. If we remove it any sooner, it will be too frail for transfer.” 

“It’s supposed to be so powerful that it all but consumes its host!” the Mind Flayer snaps. “How can it be too frail?”

“One can be both frail and powerful, sir,” the halfling insists. “We do not want it to be so weak that it will not have its chance to unleash its power.” He was recruited specifically for his knowledge of the forbidden corners of underdark arcana and physiology, and it was clear that Ambassador Huzhi Suliazhi, despite his prowess in other areas, was in over his head on the current subject matter. He does not like telling Suliazhi something he doesn’t want to hear right now, but the fallout from another botched transfer would be much worse than anything he’s enduring now. 

Luckily, he is saved by the hasty arrival of one of his colleagues. Another halfling runs into the room, almost out of breath, then prostrates himself in front of Suliazhi on the cold, damp stone floor. He is seemingly catching his breath before speaking, but the first halfling knows that pause all too well; he has done something similar, buying time before having to deliver less than ideal news to Suliazhi.

“The Magistrate is coming, my lord,” the second halfling quavers once he finds his voice. 

“He is early,” Suliazhi growls, displeasure dripping from every word. 

“He heard we have taken her prisoner,” the second halfling says, still at Suliazhi’s feet, “and said a meeting was necessary to clarify terms.” He glances up briefly at another two of his dwarven colleagues who have been standing silently nearby in the antechamber. At their feet lies a small humanoid, about their size, covered in stained cloth and bound at the wrists and ankles. 

“I don’t understand what he could possibly need clarified,” Suliazhi snaps. “The Orange Guard takes the city. We use the containment to find a suitable host. I have found a suitable host.”

“He says she is not a suitable host,” the second halfling reports, wincing and ready for punishment at the message he is delivering. 

“Nonsense, he doesn’t know a damn thing about how ANY of this works,”  Suliazhi snorts derisively. 

Luckily, the sound of approaching footsteps and the distraction it provides allows the first halfling a chance to exchange an eye roll with his colleagues at the thought of Suliazhi accusing someone of their ignorance. 

//

Jonathan Robertson is a composed human man, even one that would be considered handsome by many. He enters the antechamber in such a manner, retaining a serious and impassive expression as he strides into the dark, foreboding room as if it were nothing different from the well-lit, cushy dens, libraries, and municipal halls he is accustomed to occupying.   

This composure was largely the reason why he was chosen for this job, as Chief Magistrate of Falschegal’s highest court. He had convinced the regional governors and the members of the Councils of both the Many and the Small that he would be the most impartial of arbiters at this post. Like the neutral overseer of a non-lethal duel, he had insisted, he would be ruling on matters of justice as if doing little more than judging which fighter struck first and where. 

He had risen to prominence in hopes that he would issue his decisions in the heritage of the more human-leaning politicians. For the most part, he toed that line, and predictably decided cases before him in that regard. But his manner of doing so was constrained, calm, and consistent with the niceties expected of his station. He maintained the composure characteristic of the Cliffsides of society, the old respectable culture of proper noble politicians, and did not lower himself to acting in or displaying a manner of zealotry that was far beneath him. No, he left that to Kunt adherents. 

The calm and evenness of his disposition rarely ever left him. Though this demeanor was consistent with the dryer, more technical decisions to be made (those regarding the minutiae and tax and trade disputes, for example), nobody would have been surprised if he showed any sort of remorse or smug satisfaction for some of the more controversial rulings he had to issue. Those were the rulings that could reach near and far across the country’s population in tangible ways, ripping entitlements and access to food, healing, and shelter to the most vulnerable populations. And yet despite the known impact of these decisions, Robertson approached them with the requisite solemnity required of his post and did so unflinchingly, for better or for worse. It was unclear if he was simply insensitive or cruelly indifferent to the impact of his decisions; all anyone knew was that his unyielding professionalism prevented him from showing any inclination or emotion one way or another. 

With that same, impassive expression, he had even shown the rare boldness of rendering decisions contrary to the interests of his noble human brethren, sometimes in favor of the nonhumans. His grounds for doing so were narrow and of technical, legal reasoning. Some regarded these rogue decisions as a betrayal, while he considered these decisions to be consistent with the impartiality that he vowed from the outset. Though his brethren eventually came around, they spent many weeks all but spitting in his face. And still, he took all of it, with the steely calm and composure he was known for. 

It is fitting, then, that he remains composed even now, as cultist worshippers of Dunghill Kunt hold his colleague, knocked unconscious and bound, right in front of him. 

“You have moved too hastily, Suliazhi,” Robertson says, gesturing to his bound and unconscious colleague. “This was not part of the plan. We can’t undo this.” 

“It is by Flintstone’s orders that we have taken her.” It was not a lie, but Flintstone did not specify what state she was in as long as she was incapacitated in some form. Suliazhi had taken it upon himself to use the situation to his advantage and dispose of her in a way that would be useful to him. 

“Cliffside doesn’t know what we’re doing here,” Robertson says. 

“What he knows and allows is none of our concern.” 

“He is our Chancellor,” Robertson says coolly. 

“Kunt is our Chancellor,” Suliazhi hisses back at him. “And we are continuing his work.”

“Clearly.”

The noble human side of this war had claimed Robertson before he even took his position as Chief Magistrate, he knew. He admits his inclinations fall in step with theirs more often than not. And yet there was something about these past few years, where he watched the human nobility and their followers reach beyond the limits of respectability and decorum with crazed hands to push down the nonhumans. 

It was more the lack of respectability than anything that he found to be in poor taste. The means, the rhetoric, the brazen rush to an end that he also sought was a little too much for his liking. Smaller, more subtle steps over a longer period of time was the old way. The new way, the path that Kunt had forged and shown the humans was possible, was quicker but far, far messier. 

Suliazhi, Robertson knew, did not seem to be afraid of making a mess. 

“Grant me the small,” Suliazhi growled, gesturing to the bound body at his dwarven underlings’ feet. “She is already in our possession after clashing with our forces.”

“No.” Robertson did not know if Suliazhi was lying, if she had actually clashed with the Orange Guard or had simply been taken before she could fight back, but that didn’t matter now. 

“Would it not be the ultimate slap in the face to the Resistance?”  Suliazhi sneers. “One of their heroes, beloved for her mind, but all of her memories gone and devoured with a servant in our place? One of their heroes, beloved for her strength and tenacity, that very strength turned on its head to serve us instead of them?”

“She is old and frail.”

“She is POWERFUL.”

“That she is.” Robertson agrees. He has worked by her side for many years. She was even at her post at least a decade before he arrived and ascended to his position. He knew all too well the power she held, and they had both both clashed many times. “She is also old and frail,” he continues coolly. “Perhaps if you had taken her in her prime, you would have what you need. But you are many decades too late. Your efforts would kill her. Using her would be a waste.”

Such an argument has merit, which he knows Suliazhi knows grudgingly. But Suliazhi would not give any indication of such an admission. “Would killing her not be satisfying enough?” Suliazhi asks carefully with a sneer. 

“Perhaps. It would also be foolish.” The city would doubtlessly rally behind her and go absolutely feral at the news of her being murdered in this war. In life, she was a hero. In martyrdom, she would be nothing short of a god. 

They stare at each other for almost twenty seconds, letting Robertson’s last remark hang tensely between them in the otherwise silent room. He need not elaborate any further than what he has already said;  Suliazhi knows he is right. 

“We keep her here until we can find another in her place,” Suliazhi hisses angrily, finally. He turns to his underlings. “Take her to the Inner Sanctum.”

“But, my lord, the outer chambers—“

Another feral yell from Suliazhi is all it takes to get the four underlings moving again. Though they are small, the body they carry is similarly small and thus not as cumbersome of a load for the group.  They scramble away, audibly sighing with relief as the door straight across from the antechamber entrance swings open. 

Suliazhi and Robertson are left alone in the antechamber as the four disappear into the Inner Sanctum. They both face the door to the Inner Sanctum but do not lose sight of the other in their respective peripheries. 

“You were once the mayor of the great city of Broadison,” Robertson comments dryly. “It’s funny, what the years can do to a man.”

“I am not a man. Not anymore,” Suliazhi says. “No, now, I am something much, much greater.”

[the-darklings]

How would the 3c's react to the reader being part of a gang/mafia/m.o.b(?) ((This is inspired by the song 'Bust your kneecaps' ;)) -CandyBaby Anon

oooooh this is some ~good stuff~

Connor:

Connor would have the hardest time accepting this. Not only because he works for the police, and is on the right side of the law, but also because the idea of you being brutal just doesn’t sit well at all? It’s a wild mix between being worried for you, angry that you would turn to crime of all things, and desperation to protect you. 

Because if you are criminally inclined the police would undoubtedly try and take you in? Maybe you’re involved with Red Ice? Illegal trade? Connor would have to make a choice between what he knows is right, and his “heart” as well as his affection for you. It’s the guilt of not telling others what he knows about you (all those delightful, dark secrets~) and the aching desire to protect you and keep you safe. 

He would try his hardest to talk you out of it. Make you leave your life of crime behind because he knows that you would never be able to be together otherwise. 

“Do yourself a favour Connor and forget me.”

“Never. I’m no going to give up on you.”

.

Ruthless!Connor:

Most likely to be in the mafia himself? It’s completely plausible that a mafia boss would throw a ridiculous amount of money at CyberLife in order to purchase this state of the art prototype to give himself an edge. This would lead to deadliest matchup in history. 

Sniper rifles, gun fights, and gasoline. Death reincarnated and the only human he makes an exception for—the only human to keep up with him, to attack with the same ferocity he does. The only human he acknowledges as capable of surpassing his expectations time and time again. Undercover missions all the time, having each others backs, and near constant snarking at each other too. 

He would honestly enjoy having someone who is equally as driven as him. Who is less focused on emotional value of something and is interested in materialist value instead. Someone who can focus on the mission the same way he does. It starts with annoyance (”why this human, why now?”), grows into reluctant respect (”they are tolerable, unlike others.”), which slowly, with time, unruffles into affection and protectiveness. 

And when he realises he loves you.

The deadliest duo in the criminal underworld. The whispers of you reach far and wide. The Hunter and his equally destructive Counterpart. A legend of blood, death and all consuming love. 

“I do not want you. I am incapable of such weakness.”

“Then why am I pressed against the wall with your fingers in my hair, huh?”

.

RK9oo:

You meet when his gun points at your head and he shoots. Turf wars are common and expected, but who knew the opposing family would get a goddamn android to work for them?? He is easily the most destructive thing around but you manage to scrape by, to dodge and evade long enough to slip through his fingers and into the chaos. 

They tell tales of that battle. The tall, endless nightmare that unleashed hell on your family. Who broke, and snapped, and tore his way through too many bodies to be human. 

The Pale Death, they all begin calling him after that day. You realise very quickly how lucky you were to get away from him. Except, of course, it’s never that simple. No one had ever escaped before that day. And he does not let go of his prey. His mission was to neutralise his enemies and you got away. He wasn’t going to let some pathetic human make him into a failure. 

He hunts for you. Relentlessly. His terrible shadow looms and he searches for you in every battle, every confrontation. No one gets involved because they know better than to do so. Nines has no mercy for those who try and insert themselves into your business. 

You are his mission. His prey.

His.

“I thought you wanted me dead. I’m the enemy.”

“Your life is mine, not theirs.”

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

The Stacks - Chapter 10

Ships: Eventual logicality and prinxiety, abusive anxceit, slow burn

Summary:  In this society there is a place where the poor and unwanted are placed and kept hidden away from everyone else, where poverty and crime are a frequent and life shines for no one. Stacked up high in the sky, this is the furthest anyone living there will ever reach. When a Depression consumes the land, and the government fails to bring an end to it, society turns even further on the residents of the Stacks, accusing them for bringing the rest of them down. What no one knows, however, is that it’ll take the work of four unlikely people to not only bring an end to the poverty, but also to this inequality.

Chapter One Previous Next

AO3 - Here

The Senate Hall, the building where the summits were held and national records, information, and law was kept, was a circular-shaped grand architectural creation meant to hold the most powerful people in the nation. In the center of it all was the Discussion Hall, the room where legislature was made, executive orders were carried out, and judicial decisions were cast; numerous other meeting rooms were scattered around the building for private meetings between committees. There were fifty members in total, a Senator and Deputy Senator from each of the twenty-five provinces. Sessions were held for ten hour hearings, with breaks for meals in between. The worst part of it was the body’s poor scheduling, as many Senators or Deputies were scheduled to be more than one place at once. After the ten hours on seminars was completed, each of them went on their way to go over their takeaway work and proposals for the next day.

Logan sat in the upper front part of the round stands, the order set up in order of when each province was established, his being one of the last at twenty second, with Joan at his side. The Chancellor sat in the center booth, currently regarding the room on issues of foreign trade with their largest supplier and neighboring country. A good number of the senators felt they were paying too much for goods and wanted to raise the import tax, while others feared straining the ties with their closest ally. Logan was against raising the tax.

“Recent statistics have proven that we have been paying two percent more in international tax than Gemma. We need to show them that we will not put up with this by raising theirs four times as more.” Senator Dean Wainwright declared, slamming his palm on the table every other word for emphasis. Applause from about half of the room erupted before quickly being shouted over.

“If we raise their tax Gemma might see it as a threat and pull back on trade. It is not a risk we can take with the state of our economy.” Senator Lucy Lee argued, shushing the crowd.

“So you think we should simply continue to pay more to the Gemmians?” Senator Rachel O'Connor challenged.

“No I-”

Logan was caressing a bleeding headache from the nearly nonstop yelling of stupid politicians who appeared to love listening to their own voice more than actually accomplishing policy. The back and forth went on for a while more, the Chancellor doing nothing to call order as he should be. Eventually, Logan could no longer take it.

“The resolution is clear.” His voice cut in suddenly over the fighting senators, “Send an ambassador to negotiate a set tax that is equivalent to each other’s. That way we can bring their tax down, and raise ours up without the risk of offending our close ally.”

The crowd began murmuring amongst each other, some seeming to agree, while others bitterly disregarded his option. Not soon after, Wainwright, an old, withered man who was plagued with his own selfish pride stood from his seat abruptly to yell out an accusation; however, Chancellor Jackson stepped in before he could unleash a flood of personal insults.

“That is enough Senator Wainwright; Senator Winchester does make an excellent point, one that must be thought over properly with calm minds before a final decision is made. This topic will be returned to on a later date. For now, let’s move on to the next item on the docket.”

At the moment, Logan would love nothing more than to jump out of a window. He wondered why he had chosen to go into politics sometimes when he was only ever surrounded by idiots. The meeting had just adjourned for the day, the multitudinous senators and deputies exited the room and Logan did not spare a second to escape as well.

Joan was currently in a meeting, having left the main congregation about an hour ago with the Natural Resources and Environment Protection Committee they were a part of, and wouldn’t be finished until late in the evening. Now that his time was, somewhat, free, Logan went to go do as he would almost every day since he had arrived, and that was to scavenge through the Senatorial Archives to continue his investigation. Joan had provided him with all the knowledge they possibly could have on the Purple Revolt, but there were still many questions left unanswered. For the past three weeks Logan has been wandering through the massive shelves of the archives, looking for any details he could find on the subject, but oddly and suspiciously, enough nothing turned up. When he had searched for it by name, it was found nonexistent; when he went to the section dedicated to the history of The Stacks, Logan discovered that much of it was missing, their placements labeled, but the files out. He asked the Head Archivist if someone had checked them out, but he was told that they were confidential and no further explanation could be given.

In the company of each passing day that turned into a week of no more than a speck of data unearthed, Logan’s disturbance and inquisitiveness escalated. He dared not to ask anyone else on the subject, nor share his interest with any of his colleagues, not even Joan. Nevertheless, as the weeks went on, Logan began to feel the creeping suspicion of the others around him at his odd obsession with the archives, he had even been asked about it by Martha Quinn, the Senator of Ivy.

Martha was one of the few Senators who were under forty years old, being the age of thirty, still leaving him as the youngest at twenty-eight. Logan got along well enough with her, agreeing with her views on quite a few policy areas, however she was known to be nosy and quite crafty, any information split to her could immediately be pivoted right back at him with a flick of her wrist. Despite being so young she had many connections within the Senate and outside of it, it was best to avoid her becoming involved in any way at all costs.

Alas, she was persistent in her prodding and often offered to accompany him to the archives to assist him. Logan tried to gently let her down but she refused to hear what she didn’t want to; a reason why she was such a brash Senator. Just as he had feared, her self-inclusion into his investigation only set him back further as he tried to derail her suspicion towards him. At this point he only had three more weeks left with the opportunity to be in the nation’s largest data bank and possibly find what he was looking for, he surely wouldn’t be able to do that with Miss Quinn breathing down his neck every second of the day.

“Actually, on second hand I think I’ll go and rest in my hotel quarters, I have obtained a rather painful headache from today’s chaos. It was a pleasure chatting with you Senator Quinn.” Logan excused himself, politely giving her a small bow before. Martha said nothing in response, staring him down with her calm, calculating as she watched the way every muscle on his body moved, reading him like a book. She offered him a smile.  

“You know Logan,” She purred, stalking her way around him as if her were her prey, “there are a lot of rumors floating around you, you best be careful not to draw any more attention to yourself, lest the investigator becomes the investigat-ee.”

Martha bounded off down the hall he had planned to take to avoid her, effectively cutting through his previous bluff to go back to his hotel and revealing his true intentions to stay, or else he would have accompanied her out. Her luscious black curls fell down and bounced off her waist in an eloquent ballet. She had let him go today, but Logan knew she’d be back to try and snuff out the truth from him. Try as she might, there was no way she could hope to get a single meaningful word out of him without it coming with his full intention.

It truly was a pleasure, Miss Quinn.

Logan glanced back to the doors of the archives, contemplating the contents that lay behind them, and then walked away, following in her footsteps. Whatever it was he was searching for, it didn’t exist here, and he could trust no one within these walls to provide the answers he so craved. Yet, there was one who very likely could assist him. The man who had started him on this scavenger hunt of his, his chef.

...

The serene calm of the apartment home, quiet and still from being unbothered and vacant, grey with the light of the sun through the clouds being the only provider in the dim setting sat in a perpetual loop was erratically shattered when the front door was brutishly kicked inwards from the outside hall. A caramel brown briefcase was chucked into the open living area, hitting the edge of the lush red sofa, flinging open with a cascade of papers soaring into the air and across the rich mahogany flooring. The action thusly destroying the prior peace and replacing it with something much more conflicting.

Roman charged into his residence with a heavy huff, slamming the door behind him, and stomped his way to his couch and collapsed into the cushions in a frustrated heap. He paid no mind to the mess he had created beside him, too focused on the vexation that was bubbling erratically inside.

It has been nearly five weeks since the robberies had begun, and not a single fucking trace of evidence had been found. The reporters were describing it as if the treasures had seemingly disappeared by out of thin air. Of course he knew that was a lie and simply the media trying to get views. Talyn themselves was also perplexed about this case, unsure how to pin down the thief when the hits were so sporadic and elusive. This kid was able to rob three homes within a single night, yet go under radar for several days and appear in a completely different part of the city.

Several suspects and captured robbers had been brought in for investigation, but none have been proven guilty for the mass conduct. Talyn had sent him confidential intel on each suspect, but once he saw their faces he knew it wasn’t them. Talyn questioned him on this, becoming suspicious of his behavior.

“How are you so certain that this kid you ran into is the same one whose commiting all these acts? It could be the work of several people for all we know.” They told him earlier that same day when they met for coffee during his break.

“It’s him, Talyn, I know it is.” Roman said firmly, lifting his heavy head from its previous position in his hands on the tabletop.

“No, you think it is.” They denied pointedly, setting their mug to the side with vigor, their voice strong and commanding, but also caring and parental. “Ro, you have to let this go. It isn’t your job anymore and you’re becoming obsessed with this in a way that’s not good for you. As the new head of security, you have other matters to focus on other than a single thief.”

“A thief has single-handedly taken millions worth of possessions from innocent and good people to do lord knows what, striking fear into the minds of the masses, and creating civil unrest. And I’m supposed to just let it go?” Roman hissed bitterly, clenching his fist tightly in his lap and digging his heel into the floor under the table. Talyn sighed resignation and backed away from the whole debacle, knowing that he could not be reasoned with as he was. They stood and slid their jacket on over their shoulders, placing cash on the table to cover their end of the bill.

“This case isn’t going anywhere anytime soon with what’s been showing up. I know you don’t like to throw in the hat, but maybe you should consider it this time and focus on helping the province.”

After they left he didn’t even bother going back to work and instead went home, which led him up to where he was now, lying on the couch in a very bad mood. He was still technically on his break, although it would soon end in less than ten minutes. Roman will most likely be late getting back to work, but he didn’t care about all that at the moment.

I am helping the province. He thought begrudgingly. I’m trying to protect it from this scumbag. I’m not obsessed. Why would I be?

Roman sat up with an exhale of hot air, letting his back sink into the fluff of his cushion pillows, staring blankly at the ceiling. It was true that this was no longer his duty, and he know had something more to look after, but the endless paperwork was never for him, and it wasn’t what he had expected or desired. Roman was best in his element at the front line, facing the criminals head on and taking them down with his bare hands and hand pistol. He couldn’t just suddenly leave that part of him behind, it was what made him who he was. It defined him. When Roman was young he looked up to the police and wanted to be one of them. He entered college and studied then studied in an academy, spending years of his life on this path. Now his life has suddenly changed, but he wasn’t sure if it’s for the better.

That’s not to say he doesn’t see his role as being unimportant, but the mindless hours of dulling meetings and discussions over policy and action, only to come up with nothing in the end didn’t hold a candle to what he once did. He was helping people, sure, but not at the rate he wanted. When he was a cop he always had his radio on, even when he was off-duty, so that he could rush in if danger appeared. From anything to assault, armed robberies, car crashes, or just a noisy neighbor, Roman wanted to help the people no matter what, no matter how small. As a politician he was just arguing over how something should be carried out when it was clearly obvious.

Throwing his head to the side, Roman looked over at his digital wall clock to check the time. He was ten minutes late already. Diana was surely going to give him a firm talking to once he came back.

Logan trusted you for a reason. It may not be what you wanted, but you can do some good.

Moaning out loud, Roman threw himself of the couch and dramatically crawled on his knees to his scattered papers and haphazardly jammed them into his case. He may be blunt and reckless by nature, that was one reason he was such a great cop, but he still stood by the honor of his badge; and for now, that badge called him to be something else.

…

With his glasses in a pot of soup and running off of five hours of sleep, Patton’s day was not going as he exactly wanted or expected it to.

The morning came much too early for him, at three A.M. He woke in a panic, sweaty scare, his hands held in front of him acting as a shield. He looked around frantically, searching for a threat, making sure that his sons were still at his side. Thomas was still knocked out, his arms and legs spread out widely like the little star he was. Emile was in a ball, seeming a bit disturbed by the sudden movement, but was otherwise fine. Patton let out a relieved sigh, although he wasn’t sure why, because, not matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he had dreamt of to make him that way.

He tried to lie back down, close his eyes, and go back to sleep, but the lingering feeling of unease kept him up. After about half an hour of pointless attempts, Patton got up from bed, careful to not disturb the boys, slipped on his shoes, grabbed his coat. He made his way out into the backyard garden. The first time he had found this place he had instantly become enchanted with it. Something like this never existed in the Stacks, in fact there was barely any natural vegetation there, even the riverbank held little plant life. That’s why when Patton saw this place, full of beautiful flowers and amazing varieties of bushes and buds, he had fell in love with the garden.

Patton would occasionally come out here during his breaks and simply gaze at the plants, finding it therapeutic, but he had never come here during nighttime. Yet he found the result all the same. The moonlit roses and carnations, names he had learned from a plant guide he had found in Logan’s downstairs library, the one he had open to the staff and visitors. The red of the flowers, which were fiery and vibrant in the sun, were now purplish silver. He had been enjoying his time out there; that is until he was suddenly shouted at and tackled to the ground.

Ahmed later explained that he only saw his figure and not any characteristics, causing him to believe that Patton was an intruder. He apologized for doing so, but made him promise that he’d tell him ahead of time if he planned to be in the gardens.

The rest of his morning wasn’t as dramatic, but not any easier either. Due to his lack of sleep, Patton was more sluggish when preparing breakfast for everyone, giving cause for Elise to ridicule and lecture him, even though she already refused to ever eat his cooking. Because of this he ended up being late taking the boys to school and had to sprint there on foot while carrying both of them, Thomas on his back and Emile in his arms. He had managed to get them to class on time, but their teacher had given him an incredulous look, peering down at his food covered apron and messy hair. Patton acted as if he didn’t notice and tried to not let her scorn bother him.

During the return to the manor the grey clouds that had been plaguing the skies since yesterday began to pour down rain on his umbrella-less self, drenching him by the time he made it back. Elise scrunched her nose at him as he dripped water across the floor. Patton apologized to Jamie for the mess but he didn’t mind and was much more worried about him, offering to run him a bath while he changed from his wet clothes. I took a few moments for Patton to oblige, not wanting to be a burden, but he eventually conceded to his wishes.

The bath had been warm and relaxing, so much in fact that he almost fell asleep in it, but by the time he was done it was around the time he cook lunch.

Which had then led him to his present situation.

Patton had decided to make chicken soup with rice, as it seemed appropriate for the stormy weather, but while he was doing so the steam from the pot boiling fogged up his glasses. He wiped at them to clear away the fog, but he accidentally knocked them off and they fell into the pot. Patton frowned a little, bit simply picked up a pair of tongs to pull them out of the boiling broth. It took him several dozen times to pick up his thin, frail glasses, but once he had them snared he pulled them out and placed them in the sink. He cleaned them off under the faucet the best he could and placed them back on his face, but the water droplets blocked his vision. He tried to wipe it off on his shirt, but the smudges made everything blurry.

Patton closed his eyes and swallowed his breath, took a deep breath, then continued with what he was doing, making do with what he could see.

“Hey Pat Pat!” Jamie greeted walking into the kitchen; he was wearing an apron around his waist and had his cleaning gloves still on his hands, meaning he had just started his break.

“Hi Jay Jay.” Patton said as enthusiastically as he could, but ended up sounding tired.

“Whoa, you okay?” Jamie asked in concern, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, just had a bit of a rough day.” He smiled, “I’ll be just fine. I’m sorry that I made you clean up the water I dripped on the floor then had you run a bath.”

“No, no it’s fine! What kind of person wouldn’t do that? Well, besides Elise.” He joked, well versed in how stingy their butler can be.

More people than you’d expect. Patton thought bitterly before catching himself. He shouldn’t be thinking in that manner, it wasn’t healthy or good.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio? I like to listen to music while I eat.”

“Of course.” Patton confirmed, pouring soup into a porcelain bowl and placing it at the table for Jamie. The youthful looking man, it was still a shock that he was thirty-four, went over to the little radio on the counter and switched it on. The music playing was some sort of instrumental piano, but Jamie quickly changed the channel to something the sounded very angry and aggressive. The main singer was also for some reason screaming a lot. Yet Jamie nodded his small head joyfully as if it was the sweetest the tune in existence. Patton tried to listen along peacefully, but he wasn’t able to get comfortable in the sound.

“I actually feel like eating in the sitting room today.” He announced filling a bowl for himself, turning off the stove and covering the pot with the lid to keep it warm.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you later then.” He waved, although a bit awkwardly. Patton felt a twinge of guilt and almost decided to stay, but the screaming singer got angrier.

Patton waved goodbye to him as well and walked towards the door, passing Ahmed as he did and pointing out his meal that was waiting for him at the table.

The sitting room was dark and empty, cut off from the outside light by heavy curtains that were practically nailed to the walls, much like the rest of the house. The room was small compared to all the others, only slightly larger than his. The hardwood floors were covered in an old Victorian style carpet in the center of the room, while the rest surrounding it was left bare. The furniture consisted of a loveseat sofa, arm chair, and a chaise longue all circulating around a long coffee table. Across the two, right walls were lines of bookshelves, from where he got his encyclopedia of flowers all jam packed with various forms of literature covering the dark blue wallpaper behind them. In the left corner was a smaller bar table accompanied by two stools and a wine cabinet behind it, not necessary filled with just wine.

While the room in itself was indeed beautiful, it lacked any color or life. Whenever he was home, Logan often spent his time here in the dark reading by the lamplight. From what Patton has gathered from his time at the manor, Logan was a very busy and reclusive man who barely had any time to himself, and if he did he would spend it in the solitude of his study or this room. Much of the mansion was left in the dark due to the order he had apparently given out three years ago according to what Jamie had told him when he asked about the curtains.

Placing his bowl on the coffee table, Patton walked over to the windows and drew them open as wide as he could, letting the light spill in. Even with the sky being riddled with rain, a new spirit was allowed into the sitting room. He walked over to the bookshelves and peered over the titles of mostly non-fiction and educational stories, looking for something to spend his afternoon with. Finally he found a story about ancient heroes and decided to settle with that, always enjoying a good tale of heroic deeds.

Patton took a pillow from the couch and placed it in the ground before the coffee table, taking a seat there instead of on one of on the sofa or chair. Opening the book on the table, he sipped on his soup as he read to himself. The book switched from story to story each chapter, but he found himself really enjoying a story about a woman named Mulan. He was astounded how many of the stories turned out to be sad in the end, such as for Jeanne D’Arc, but their lives were so honored.

All of these heroes had lived hundreds, or thousands, of years ago, their accomplishments being passed down into legend. Patton never knew people like this ever existed. Brave men and women who fought for their people and country; it sounded unbelievable and unrealistic. Why would someone care for their country so much to risk it all? It sounded almost mystical.

After an hour of peacefully reading, and occasionally difficulties with words he couldn’t read or understand, his soup long finished and forgotten, Elise crept in.

“Mr. Sanders, a letter has been sent to you by the young master.” She said briskly, shoving a letter down on the table in front of him.

“Oh, what is it about?” Patton inquired and turned towards her, closing his book.

“It hasn’t been open yet so I do not know, obviously.”

He shrunk back at her words, but nodded at her in apology, taking the letter into his hands. “Perhaps you should sit on the sofa.” Elise said backhandedly as she stepped out.

Patton fidgeted in slight humiliation and sat up of the couch, putting the pillow back into the placement he took it from. He looked down at the letter in his hand, addressed specifically to him, sent from his superior. Ripping the corner, Patton ungracefully tore the envelope open and pulled out a piece of parchment from the inside.

Salutations, Mr. Patton Sanders,

I am writing you in regards of an important and classified issue that is held with the utmost regard. What I am about to ask you I ask in trust that you will keep classified between only our two entities. Over the past weeks that I have been in our nation’s capital I have gone under intense research into the origin and history of The Stacks Experiment Initiative, or TSEI as it is called here. However I have hit a roadblock as I have discovered that most all of the records on the TSEI are missing from the Senatorial Archives. I am due back in a month, but I fear that it will not be enough time for me to finish my research. That is why I am requesting that you reconnect with you old neighbor who served in the military, I believe that she will have some of the answers I need. If for whatever reason you are not able to do so, I expect you to be the one to provide me with any information I may request. I do not have more than an educated hunch that the TSEI somehow ties into the nation’s economic depression, and that solving the issue of The Stacks will only benefit the entirety of the public. I am relying on solely you to help me fix this, as I have no other routes of which to turn to.

Cordially, Logan Winchester

The chef held his breath the entire way through without realizing it, and then let out an enormous exhale of air as he read the last line. He didn’t understand what it all meant or what was being asked of him. Why would Logan be researching the Stacks, what did he mean by the records being missing and why would Patton being his last option to turn to? He trembled lightly in a perplexed awe, a mix of excitement and terror, his mind hurtling in direction it had never been to. Whatever it meant, whatever Logan was attempting, whatever his purpose, he saw opportunity in this letter. The senator was asking for help to understand the Stacks so he could fix society, maybe if Patton was able to mold his focus further onto the state of the Stacks in its own right he could persuade him to adjust the law surrounding them.

But wouldn’t that be deceiving Logan and using him? He’s putting his trust in me after all.

He faltered a bit at that thought, not at all enjoying the prospect of taking advantage of his trust or lying to him. However, what Logan desired was for Patton to help him fix the state of society, and Patton wants the Stacks to be part of that society. If he could merely show him the mistreatment in the Stacks then it may be enough to persuade him by itself. The people born there were just as much of a citizen as any other born in a proper district, this could be the way they finally receive their rights.

If I agree to this, I risk the chance of being caught and being sent back, or worse, being executed.

Patton pondered heavily on this for a while, trying to see the correct path he should take. He could be safe, say no to Logan, and keep his job and family safe, while nothing in the Stacks changes. Or, he could agree and guide Logan through his journey, steering him in the path he desires and possibly aim for a betterment of all Stackers, including his son, Virgil, who was still trapped there. Patton thought back on all of the news updates, the rocketing crimes, the sworn promises of the law enforcement to bring him to justice. Virgil would always be at risk so long as he committed theft, and he’d never stop stealing until he was free of Damien’s control; but with the amount of debt he owed, it would take him more than a lifetime to pay it all back. Because Virgil never borrowed a specific amount of money from the crook, no, it was something more precious than that.

His eyes caught the title of the book on the table, reminding him of the countless amounts of people who put everything on the line for what they believed in. He had his answer.

Virgil had traded his life for Patton’s own, metaphorically and literally. It was time that Patton did the same.

…

The knock came tentatively at his front door, cautious and careful to maintain the secrecy in which they were called in. Roman, still suited up from his long day of work, peered through the peaky hole prior to opening the door, allowing Talyn access into his home. He had called them in on his way back from the office, eager to start planning the layout of his scheme. Roman could tell they were still concerned from their previous conversation yesterday, but had still agreed to come nonetheless.

Roman beckoned them in, guiding them to dining table in the foyer where he had all of his papers, intel, and newspaper clippings laid out as leads for the case. Talyn sighed sarcastically when they say it all, setting their bag on top of the table and papers. Roman whined as they did this, complaining that they had messed with his algorithm.

“Oh yes, I can see you’re definitely not obsessed.” Talyn mocked affectionately, plucking up a newspaper article on an alleged sighting of the man in question, the most recent of them all.

“It’s called being determined,” Roman sang, taking a sip from his coffee mug, handing one over to Talyn as well. They took the cup gratefully, swirling the liquid around as they regarded the work before them. He waited by their side as they gazed on with silent computation, committing everything they saw to memory and locating a route within a few minutes. “Do you have a plan?” He asked once she snapped her head back up, signaling that she had finished her assessment.

“From my analysis as the chief investigator of this case over the past two months, I’ve found that our guy doesn’t strike random houses, everything has a rhyme and a rhythm. The data here didn’t offer any more than what I already know-”

“Geez thanks.”

“-but it appears that all the targets are of well known holders of fortune. No small-time businesses that we know of have been hit up by this guy, nor have there been any jobs on uncharted shareholders. Still, there appears to be no other correlation between his victims other than them being rich and openly so. He also tends to favor working at night, meaning he most likely knows how to manipulate the darkness and stealth to his advantage. It would be useless to act in daylight hours.”

“So, are you saying we have a plan?”

“I’m saying I have a plan, but yes.” Talyn reached into their bag and pulled out a notepad and pen and began sketching out a formulated plot. “It’ll either take a while or work very quickly, there’s no clear way of predicting; but if I’m right, which I always am, this should get him in five days or less.”

Roman looked over their shoulder at the sketch work of childish looking doodles that were meant to be a serious scheme. He chuckled inwards at the cartoony look, finding the art style to be adorable.

“What do I have to do?” Roman questioned, abandoning his previous train of thought to focus on the bigger picture at hand. He felt a tingle underneath his skin at the prospect of finally being able to corner this tricky kid. Oh how close he had at last come.

Talyn smirked, their eyes filling with the shine that could only ever be brought through their love for complicated and dastardly strategy and the thrill of a chase. They were much like him in that regard. Nothing was more satisfying that bringing a villain to justice.

“What you I need to do is-”

.

.

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