#they’d both be so protective of Will with this whole like menacing expression and loud mouthed yet not at all threatening together

[paladibun]

Fellas, is it gay if

[theepisceswriter]

Jealous AOT men (Levi, Porco, Zeke, Eren, Erwin)

A/N: Shout out to the bestie in my inbox that requested this and I’m sorry for taking forever to finally do it, but I hope you enjoy !

Synopsis: Do y’all fr need one? Basically just AOT men getting jealous in situations and how they handle it

TW: none really apply, GN!reader, fighting (kinda) for Porco cause he’s about that life like that, violence for Levi because he’s an angry short man, and mean douchebag rich boy Eren content

LEVI 

If there’s one thing Levi doesn’t tolerate when it comes to his partner it’s disrespect. He holds you on such a high pedestal and at a status that no one else can touch for loving him the way that you do, so for someone to disrespect the relationship you two have or you in general with some catcalling remark is like the greatest offense to him.

It doesn’t even have to be anything too serious. It can be something stupid like “I bet you’re hitting that fine piece of meat every night” and he’d have them on the ground in seconds with a knife pressed against their throat demanding that they apologize to you immediately.

“I recommend you apologize to them right now formally and watch what you say around me from now on or I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth with this very blade.”

Yeah, he doesn’t play when it comes to you at all. He has to set an example to let everybody know what to expect if they try either of you again because you would do the same too if the situation was reserved.

He lets the perpetrator go with no bruises besides the ones he got from Levi’s manhandling, probably per your request, and what do the two of you do afterwards? You just go on about your day like nothing even happened, like Levi wasn’t ready to cut someone’s tongue out over you in road daylight. It’s a norm for your relationship honestly because the two of you are both crazy.

PORCO

Aggressive! Aggressive! Aggressive! Porco is not afraid to get aggressive when it comes to other people trying to flirt with you and risk that possibility of fighting with them.

Especially when it comes to the creepy kind that don’t know how to respect your boundaries or get the hint that you don’t want to be messed with after turning them down numerous times. He was already on edge just seeing them come up to you and flash you that smile like they were genuinely charming or something, but once he saw them place their hands on your forearm and you brush it away with a scowl, he was lit up with anger!

There was no warning given to them to hurry up and go away before he gets mad or him coming up to you and wrapping a protective arm around your waist; he came running over and before you even knew he was making his way to where you were, he was throwing a punch dead smack in the middle of the perpetrator’s face.

“Don’t you know no means fucking no!?” “How dare you put your hands on my boyfriend/girlfriend!?” Told y’all he was really with the shits like that.

But because he doesn’t want to cause too much of a scene or get arrested or banned from wherever the two of you were at, that one punch (which is a really fucking hard punch that definitely going to have some impact on them whether it’s a bruise or some wooziness) is all he does before he’s yanking them by their collar and removing them out of the place his damn self. Did he overreact just a little? No! Because they touched you without your consent even after you expressed you didn’t want them to.

He’s a gentleman immediately after dealing with them and is by your side in an instant giving you a quick checkup with his eyes genuinely concerned for your well-being.

“Are you all right, babe?” “I hope your iight isn’t ruined but if you don’t want to be out anymore we can totally go home.” “They didn’t hurt you did they? Because I don’t mind going back out there to find them if they did.” So attentive and gentle with you. The complete opposite of what he was only minutes ago.

ZEKE 

It takes a lot to make Zeke jealous in a relationship because just the fact that he’s in a relationship with you is enough to make him feel secure in his place as your significant other. People can flirt with you and steal glances all they want because he honestly doesn’t care that much. It actually makes him feel smug and proud knowing that others are thirsting over HIS significant other like that, but can’t act on any of their thoughts because you’re his.

But....let the two of you be freshly broken up, or on a “break”, and he catches you out and about in public with some other jawn then it’s a whole other story. Now he’s feeling some type of way since he no longer has that guaranteed security from your relationship anymore. He’s hurt, but he’s not going to show that too much. Instead, he’s going to be smug and cocky with the way he approaches you two.

“So this is my replacement? He’s not even the great value version of me. You could do a hell of a lot better than someone like him and you know it, y/n.” God, he’s such a menace to society that deserves to be locked up. He wouldn’t stop at after the insults you send his way calling him pathetic and embarrassing nor at your request for him to leave. Matter of fact, he’s going to pull up a chair at your table just to sit there and mess with your poor date and eventually after backhanded compliment after not so backhanded insults, they get up a storm away.

“Are you really going to date someone who can’t take a little bit of heat from someone like me out of all people? Didn’t even have any worry remarks to come back at me with like I did for him. How sad.” He still just keeps going on and on even after the poor guy leaves, comparing himself to him and talking about how he’s so much better in not so subtle ways.

So much for getting hoes when you have an ex like Zeke, but you do like the fact that he’s trying so hard to get you back even if he won’t explicitly say it out loud; his actions speak everything

EREN 

Eren is such a douche bag he really is. Especially modern day rich boy Eren.

Let him catch someone trying to flirt with you while he’s in close proximity of you and watch him cause a whole scene at the country club or whatever rich place the two of you are at.

“Who the hell do you think you are flirting with my boyfriend/girlfriend? You can’t even compare to me so I don’t know what thought in your head made you think you can enough for you to try and get at what’s mine, but you better get rid of it right now. I can buy like three of you if I wanted to right now and it wouldn’t even put a dent in my bank account. You really think they’d go for somebody like you?” He’s such a meanie when it comes to you, he really is.

The poor perpetrator doesn’t even bother to fight for his name or pursue an argument with Eren because he knows it’ll get him nowhere but embarrassed even further, so he goes running off with blush on his cheeks from embarrassment because everyone within like 50 feet surely heard the scene that Eren just put on.

You’re just as embarrassed as the poor boy who was flirting with you, nagging at Eren about how he did entirely too much and how he should go apologize to him, but he just looks over at you with a smug smile and replies, “I gotta set an example for other people babe so they know not to mess with what’s mine.”

Best believe he’s going to be showing an overwhelming amount of PDA the rest of your outing and even go the extra mile to do something like rest his hand on your bottom or make out with you without warning.

ERWIN

This man is so powerful and holds so much authority in other people, even those who hardly even know him, that he doesn’t even have to do much when he catches someone trying to flirt with you while he’s on the other side of the room at some company event.

Like Zeke, it’s extremely difficult to make Erwin jealous because he knows you like the back of his hand and knows if a flirty interaction is happening with someone who isn’t him then it’s completely one sided and you’re just keeping yourself in the conversation because you’re a nice person like that. So, he’ll continue on with his conversation while you continue on with yours, but every now and then he’ll peak out of the corner of his eyes in your direction to make sure you’re okay.

It’s when he notices you getting uncomfortable and the other person getting a little too comfortable that he decides to step in; excusing himself from his conversation like the gentleman he is and coming over to you. You wouldn’t even know that he was there until you felt a broad hand on your waist pulling you into a chiseled chest that you’re aware of his presence.

“Can I help you with something?”

When I tell you his voice goes deeper than normal when he switches to an authoritative mode and it’s the most attractive thing ever that has you feeling butterflies in your stomach and the person who was trying to flirt with you shook to their core.

They don’t even answer his question or even look him directly in the eyes because the energy he excludes is just such big dick energy and from the way he came up and pressed you against him with no hesitation already let them know that you were his without either of you having to say it.

You stayed glued to his side for the rest of the night, one of his arms always wither wrapped around your waist or dangling over your torso holding you close.

[stardust-kenobi]

My Purpose

Din Djarin/Mando x Reader

Summary: You're captured by the Empire, held for questioning concerning the location of the child. Under Moff Gideon's supervision, you endure harsh punishment. You knew that Din would never leave you behind. The moment you heard blasters firing rapidly outside your holding cell, you knew he'd come back for you.

Warnings: violence, mild torture to reader (no SA), mention of blood, death, reader being "helpless", helmetless Din, fluff

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: I mean, don't we all fantasize about being rescued by a bounty hunter as a helpless damsel in distress? Just me? well, enjoy anyways. This honestly reads like a Mandalorian episode. @ jon favreau, hire me pls. reader is referred to as “her” once or twice but otherwise can be read as gender neutral.

gif credit: @isetthetone

"I won't talk" You spat at the men towering over you. You were firm, and steady in your composure. More troopers, higher ranking than the predecessors, continued in the attempt to break you. The Empire wanted the child, and you'd never let them get close. The vents blasted near frozen air onto your shoulders from above, insulated in your holding cell that was encased with metal and designed for discomfort.

Without another helpless word, and the press of a little red button, bolts of electricity coursed throughout your already exhausted body, delivered by the small device forcibly wrapped around your head. The pain was excruciating, but you were beginning to feel numb with every passing second. This was the 5th...no, 6th time...so far, that this pain has been inflicted on you. It benefitted neither party in the room. You offered no evidence of weakness aside from your obvious pain. They had to know that you weren't any close to revealing any useful information.

"If you won't talk, Moff Gideon will be taking matters into his own hands. Give us the location of the kid, or suffer the consequences" Their voices were muffled in a similar way that Din's helmet muffled his voice. It reminded you of him in an oddly comforting way. You missed him terribly already. Without even seeing the true look in Din's eyes when they captured you only seconds before you were able to make it to the Razor Crest, you knew his heart made the most difficult decision he's ever had to make. You knew it was you or the child, and neither of us would ever let them get their hands on him.

Although you kept your composure in the presence of your captors, you were scared. Petrified, even. Din swore to himself many months ago to protect you in exchange for you assisting him in raising the child. You knew little of childcare, but Din knew you could both figure it out together. After all, you did owe him big time for saving your life when you first met. And here we were, right back where it all started...you needed to be saved again. You hoped he'd gotten the child miles away from here by now. You'd lost track of time but it felt like hours, maybe even half a day at this point.

Your silence was the only response to the further questions.

"Suit yourself" One of the troopers scoffed, and swiftly exited with his partner. The door slid open and closed just barely long enough for them to leave. You were then trapped, cold, and alone again. As much as you wanted to be relieved from your situation, you cared significantly more for the safety of the child and your armored protector.

The minutes dragged and your chest felt heavy as the panic began to sink in. This was it for you. No way they’d let you leave after being of no use to them. Your death was inevitable, and your racing thoughts began to slow as you came to peace with that.

You heard the faint hissing of a door on the other side of your cell, signifying someone's entry. Then suddenly, your cell door slid open, revealing a towering figure. Although you'd never seen the late Darth Vader, the way you imagined him was reflected in this man.

The jet-black shine of his armor was enough to startle you in his presence. But his expression...the menacing grin framed the picture of a despicable man.

Your face was blank. Showing any fear was not an option right now. Although, you were subtly trembling in your seat.

"You know that you've made a big mistake, right?" He said, approaching you slowly, using his height to tower over you while you were seated on a steel bench.

Silence.

"Your beloved bounty hunter isn't coming back for you," Moff Gideon said softly, getting uncomfortably close to your face. "Why not just comply with our requests so we can move along with the search? hm?"

"You'll never find them" You hissed at him.

"Oh, actually I will. That you can count on" He laughed. The insulting tone made you sick. "However, if you tell us where they are, your torture will come to an end and we can get this whole thing over with. What do you say?"

"Never."

"Your persistence is admiring, truly it is. But why waste your time? He doesn't care about you. He's a Mandalorian. They only care about their creed. Everything else is just...a commodity."

You shook your head in denial. That wasn't true.

"You're wrong."

His gloved hand firmly grabbed your chin, pulling your face up toward him. You cringed and winced under his touch.

“Where are they?” He persistently shouted in your face. You jolted your head backward in attempt to put distance between the two of you. With your response of more silence, you were met with a sharp and painful blow to the side of your face. You turned to look back at him, trying to collect yourself from the pain. His fist was still tight and ready to throw another punch.

The second punch was worse, it radiated pain through your entire skull and caused your eyes to go blurry for a moment. The cuts already open on your cheek were split open with damage you were taking. You felt the blood begin to drip down your face. Any additional infliction would be hell, but you’d take any pain necessary to keep everything you loved safe.

His other hand brought to your attention a small red button. The same button the stormtroopers used to electrocute you before. You whimpered in anticipation and tears involuntarily formed in your eyes.

A deranged smile spread across his face. Your fear just fueled his power. And just before he could inflict any additional pain on you, he seemed to have received transmission into his ear.

His brows furrowed. His eyes then locked with yours.

"Repeat, commander" a look of concern was on his face. Disbelief, even.

"Don't let him step foot on my ship" Moff Gideon seethed.

Although you were uninformed to the other side of the conversation, there was no question. You grinned ear to ear. He came back for you. Of course he did.

"Well, change of plans. The Mandalorian dies today" Moff Gideon snickered.

"We'll see about that" You whispered.

The ship shook and vibrated under your feet. As if a ship had docked...or crashed, maybe. Moff Gideon snapped his attention behind him, as if he could see what was happening through the secured doors.

Another transmission came through, one you still weren't able to hear.

"If he doesn't have the child, then he's no use to me. Kill him."

Your heart sank at the mere thought of losing him. But it wouldn't happen. Gideon's troopers were no match.

Moff Gideon kept his close watch over you while he hid like a coward in your cell with you. His hand rested atop his blaster in preparation for what he knew was to come. The cruiser you were aboard had a crew of probably 50 people. If they all served to be as awful at combat as other troopers that you’d seen Din take down, you’d be rescued in no time.

You watched Gideon’s body language grow more and more nervous and fidgety as the commotion grew on the other side of the door. Blasters and the sharp clinking of metal filled the narrow space of the ships walls. That muffled sound was moving closer. As the situation became less favorable for Gideon, it became more favorable for you. That fact alone put a smile on your face.

Then suddenly…three loud bangs penetrated the walls. It sounded as though someone was trying to break through the first door. But that wasn’t regular armor hitting the metal…it was beskar. Gideon trembled. He jolted when the banging arrived at your cell door. He was displeased to hear you laugh at his reaction, which fueled his anger.

He yanked your arm and threw you in front of him as a human shield, pulling his arm around your chest and igniting the dark saber, holding it only centimeters from your throat. The blade vibrated loudly, threatening to take your life in one motion. What a fucking coward. Can’t even fight without using you as bait.

It took less time for Din to break through the second door. Within seconds, the door snapped and broke open, revealing your protector wrapped in his armor as usual. What was unusual, though, was the splattered blood across his chest plate. You couldn’t even imagine what he’d just been through to get to you.

“Step another foot closer and she dies” Moff Gideon insisted.

“Let her go” his soothing voice broke through his helmet, calming your nerves, even with death being only a movement away. “You’re outnumbered, Moff Gideon”

“I would disagree. It seems it’s one on one”

He pulled the saber closer to your neck. You whimpered and squinted your eyes shut. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you opened them back up. You see Din’s fist in a ball, revealing his frustration and anger.

“Based on your fighting skills I’d say it’s more like two on one, wouldn’t you think?” Din snapped back at him.

“Alright. Let’s fight then, Mandalorian” Gideon said with a smirk on his face. He threw you down carelessly back onto the bench. You cried out in pain as your face hit in the cold seat.

Both men circled one another with their weapon of choice in the ready position. The saber was still ignited, and Din had his staff of beskar. No lightsaber could ever cut through beskar, not even the dark saber. Din swung first, striking Gideon’s side armor. He retaliated, only to be met with the staff that rejected the saber’s power.

There were flashes of blinding light back and forth, both men having a fair chance against the other. You watched in terrifying anticipation, fearful of Din’s safety. You believed in him, but to watch him fight scared you. After a few minutes, Din finally had Gideon pinned against the floor, with the beskar staff pointed right below his chin. The saber was thrown from his hands, and out of his reach.

This was it, you thought. We are getting out of here.

But not yet. Gideon made a move so swiftly you couldn’t even comprehend what had happened. The staff was knocked from Din’s grip, and he was thrown backward onto the floor. Gideon somehow maneuvered himself on top of him now, with the staff in his control.

No. Please no.

He could’ve killed him in one motion, but instead, Gideon pushed the staff under the grip of Din’s helmet and forcefully pulled it from his head, slicing his chin in the process. You gasped and looked away, to be respectful of his creed. You’d never seen him without his helmet. All you caught glimpse of was the deep brown color of his hair.

You only listened now, as you were unable to watch how this would end.

“You have nothing now” Gideon started, breathing heavy through his words. “Your creed has been broken. You have no purpose” he laughed, pleased with himself for to bring shame to his opponent. "Give it up, Din Djarin."

A familiar voice broke the air that you’d ever only heard through the distortion of a helmet. You gasped softly.

“She is my purpose. The child is my purpose. I won’t let you take that away from me” Din said. It sounded like the voice was directed toward you rather than Gideon based on your positioning. You melted at his words.

Not another word was spoken before the clanging of metal filled the room again, you couldn’t tell what was happening, which made you all the more terrified. Gideon groaned in pain, it sounded as if he was on the ground now.

“You’ll never take the child. And you’ll never see the light of day again. All because you took my girl” Din breathed deep through his words.

You heard the dark saber ignite again.

The vibration from the saber indicated a swift movement.

A loud thud against the ground.

Silence.

You trembled with your arms covering your head in a fetal position on the bench. You knew it had to be Din who was still standing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“Y/N” his warm voice graced your ears only inches from behind you. You audibly sobbed. Knowing immediately you were safe. He was still helmet-less, you could tell. You turned over to face him, but kept your eyes closed so you wouldn’t see him.

The electrocution device wrapped around your head was removed gently. You'd somehow forgotten it was even there. His hands then wrapped around yours as you moved to sit in an upright position.

“Look at me” he pleased softly

“But your hel-” you started

“Look at me” he insisted, squeezing your hands gently.

Your eyelids folded open slowly. You weren’t afraid, but you were hesitant. He was crouched in front of you. What you saw as your gaze met his, took your breath away. His eyes were brown, a match to his hair you caught glimpse of before. It was Din. You were finally seeing the man you loved for what he really looked like. He was so beautiful. All the words you wanted to say failed to leave your mouth as you scanned his face over and over again. His expression was riddled with worry and concern.

“Did he do this to you?” He referred to the gash above your cheek, and the other visible bruising down your body. You were suddenly aware of how deeply he cared for you.

On the verge of tears and still remaining speechless, you nodded your head. “I’m okay”

“He’ll never take you from me or lay a hand on you again” your eyes travelled over to Gideon’s lifeless body on the floor. Din gently pulled your face back to look at him so you wouldn’t be more traumatized than you already were.

“I’m here” he reassured you. A smile formed on his lips. Maker…that smile. You were seeing him smile for the first time. Sweat and patches of blood scattered Din's face. You couldn't imagine the hell he went through to get to you.

“But Din, your helmet” you remained confused. You knew that meeting other Mandalorian recently may have changed his outlook but you never thought he’d break the creed intentionally. He could’ve put it back on. But he didn’t.

“It’s okay... I wanted to see you with my own eyes. You are my purpose now, y/n”

He said it again. The same sentiment that surprised you before. Your heart was so full in that moment.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner" He remorsefully spoke. "Its my job to protect you, and I almost failed you. It'll never happen again"

You shake your head. He didn't need to apologize. He was here now and that's all that mattered.

“I’ve never been happier to see someone’s face in my entire life” you say, continuing to admire his features. You bring your hand to cup the side of his face. He closed his eyes gently as a result of your caress. Your skin against his was so mesmerizing...so new to you...so new to him. You halted your gaze this time at his lips and then looked back to his eyes. He was looking at your lips too.

Neither of you had to say another word. An unspoken desire between the two of you was about to be fulfilled. His finger guided your chin closer to him.

The silence was so loud. The lack of troopers and personnel on the ship was haunting, yet somehow incredibly peaceful. The beating of your heart was beginning to fill that silence in your ears. It beat rapidly in response to your near death experience in addition to being this close to him. Being completely alone and intimate with him.

You leaned in to him with his guidance. As your lips just barely brushed against his, you took a sharp breath in. The skin on his lips was supple and warm. As you fully pressed your mouth against his, you fell apart into his kiss. Your whole body was encased in warmth and a feeling of security from this closeness with him. His hand rested against the back of your neck and pulled you closer into the kiss, if that was even possible. Even though you were truly alone, this kiss alone made it feel like you and him were the only two people left in the whole galaxy.

You never wanted to pull away from him. You both waited so long for this moment.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that" He whispered, as the kiss finally broke.

"I do, Din. Trust me I do" You giggled. You were captivated by the feeling that this kiss had left with you.

He pulled his head back to take another look at you.

"Let's get you home" He said, before standing to his feet.

Even weak from his battle wounds, he scooped you up into his arms, and carried you back to the Razor Crest.

[thelioncourts]

fandom: captive prince paring: damen/laurent rating: e warning(s): none word count: 5606 summary: It was six days in the SICU before it happened.

The first time it happened, it was an accident. It was.

After all, no one intends on the first time beginning in a SICU, a SICU that makes everything reek of bleach and antiseptic and the lingering metal of blood, a SICU that makes one’s home reek of bleach and antiseptic and the lingering metal of blood because those smells cling to everything, cling to the skin and the follicles of the hair, cling to stable life. Laurent dealt with that smell for six whole days before it actually happened, the accident that had been awaiting something like this.

That initial day at the hospital, Laurent had been quiet, steady, his pulse slower than normal and his eyes unblinking. The second day, the pacing had set in and Laurent became innately familiar with the neighboring rooms, with the tiles in their distinct pattern and the water stain on the ceiling at the exit of the SICU floor. By the third day, the rush of bleach into his nostrils set his teeth on edge. And the fourth and fifth days, were, are, blurs of hopeful wanting after a hesitantly positive conversation with the doctor to the entire floor of concerned people.

Six days had been the minimum amount of time Damen was going to have to stay there, courtesy of doctor’s orders and specialists’ concerns, and Laurent had agreed with them, of course he had, but it hadn’t made it easier. By the nightfall of the second day, the first fluttering of Damen’s eyes post-surgery, Laurent knew that six days, four more full days now were going to be even more difficult, if not just for Damen’s ability to become a menace when forcibly contained, bullet wound healing in the juncture of his neck and shoulder be damned.

By that last day, Damen was wound up so tightly, leg shaking impatiently under the thin and rough hospital bed sheets, that Laurent was certain that a gust of wind could snap him. And Laurent wasn’t fairing much better.

But they got the all-clear from the doctor, the doctor that must always smell like bleach and antiseptic and the lingering metal of blood, and they hadn’t seen each other much during the six days for one reason or another (the entire crew making a home in the SICU hallway, Damen’s lack of consciousness those first two days and his in-and-out of such on the third day, Laurent’s publicist nagging his ass about statements and his lawyer nagging his ass about statements and the police sauntering in to nag his ass about statements and —) and Laurent felt, in those moments of Damen pulling his clean shirt on, in those moments of Nik helping tie Damen’s shoes so Damen didn’t have to move too much, the curled heat of desperation in Damen’s stomach because it was twinned in his own; and going back to Laurent’s place probably isn’t a wise idea, but it’s all they have so they don’t think about it, they just go.

Jord had called a car for them, doing his best not to get involved so as to keep the press in the dark, but it had been too late for that six days earlier. Instead, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a too-bright elevator, taking it down, Damen’s bandages peering out from the too-white of his t-shirt, and they waded through the sea of photographers and journalists and fanatics that had all heard Laurent De-freakin’-Vere was at the Varenne Medical Center with his bodyguard following an incident at the Arlesian Arena, that had all heard after a nurse — now on leave — had leaked a picture of Damen’s bleeding-out body being wheeled in with Laurent’s hand, white and shaky, on his forehead, with Laurent’s blue eyes, unnervingly full of emotion, looking down at him like he was the sun from the sky and he had to be okay.

(The fourth day is when Damen had learned they were known, when Laurent had left his phone in the room to go talk to the police again and the damned thing hadn’t quit vibrating so Damen flipped it over to find an array of texts from Nicaise, all tabloid covers jumping to conclusions about everything.)

And so the sixth day is when it happened, starting in a hospital, as they tried to wade through the sea of photographers and journalists and fanatics, and Laurent couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore, not at that moment, because Damen was the sun from the sky and he was okay and people needed to know it wasn’t, couldn’t be, just a dance anymore, and he led Damen up against the glass just inside the double-doors of the hospital’s entrance.

The clicking of cameras and the chattering of the impatient crowd that had been vying for six days for a glimpse of Laurent De-freakin’-Vere and his bodyguard that he had accompanied to Varenne Medical Center following an incident, a shooting, an attempt on Laurent’s life, at the Arlesian Arena, had their ears ringing, and Laurent’s team (PR, other bodyguards that had been called in to take shifts, etc.) weren’t helping with their snapping of orders to one another and their ever-loud conversations with the doctors and nurses escorting them all with last-minute post-surgery care, waving like they’d become good friends, but Laurent led Damen up against the glass just inside the double-doors of the hospital’s entrance anyway because he had to.

[Continue on AO3]

And Laurent hates this shit, hates it all, hence why it hadn’t happened until this instance, this event, because Laurent couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore, not at that moment, because Damen was the sun from the sky and he was okay and people needed to know it wasn’t, couldn’t be, just a dance anymore, and Damen took to his part as Laurent had always hoped he would, took to his part in a way that had made Laurent’s breath catch.

His hands fell to Laurent’s waist immediately, his palms warm and strong and big, no sign of six days in a SICU apparent in the way his fingers were gripping at the place where Laurent’s green sweater met the corduroy of his pants, apparent in the way his undivided attention was so very much on Laurent and nothing else, like they were the only two people in the place between the hospital entrance’s double-doors.

And Laurent hates this shit, hates it all, hence why it hadn’t happened until this instance, but it’s so hard to hate it, impossible to hate it, when Damen’s brown eyes, now shimmering with true sunlight and not the gods-forsaken fluorescent of overhead hospital lights, were looking at him like he hung the moon in the nighttime blue and they were both okay.

And Laurent couldn’t keep his hands to himself, couldn’t not slide them up the expanse of Damen’s chest, careful at the place the bandages were, where they were wrapped around his shoulder, and he leaned forward, nose finding the hollow of Damen’s throat, eyes closing in dreaded anticipation of what might happen, might not happen, and he felt, heard, the huff of breath Damen let out, the power of it enough to rustle strands of Laurent’s golden hair, and then, “I always forget that, despite everything, you get some kind of enjoyment out of public displays,” and then there’s a mouth on his own, warm and strong and alive alive alive, and the cameras are going crazy, the voices louder than ever, and Laurent hates this shit, hates it all, but it’s so hard to hate it, impossible to in fact, when Damen’s mouth is on his for the very first time, when Damen’s mouth is on his after so much dancing around one another.

Getting to the car was a blur, just like the fourth and fifth days at the hospital, and Laurent was certain there were microphones and actual phones shoved in his face as they walked, as Damen fell into his normal position to protect even when he was the one in need of protection because, gods, he is the sun from the sky and he was okay, and Laurent was certain Nik was glaring at them as they walked off, was certain everyone was showcasing some kind of expression that made them look half-mad.

Then the door closed.

All the cameras clicking, all the voices louder than ever, immediately were muffled, and the car took off, the driver’s instructions, no doubt, clearly and concisely given by Jord earlier.

It really starts then, the car rumbling around them, speeding through side-streets to Laurent’s subleased apartment in Barbin, not thirty minutes from here, their shoulders starting side-by-side before Laurent couldn’t keep his hands to himself again, before Damen, not having had him once couldn’t not have him again, and it wasn’t wise, no doubt, because they’re in a car of all places and on their way to Laurent’s apartment in Barbin it’s too much at once.

Laurent’s hands wind underneath Damen’s shirt, tracing lines of muscle with the familiarity of vision, and Damen’s hands can’t find a place to settle, moving from hips to chest to throat before finding purchase in the golden waves of hair falling on Laurent’s shoulders, and it’s everything they’d been dancing around and it’s too much at once —

And thirty minutes ends too quickly and it’s too much at once because suddenly they’re fighting, arguing as Damen shoves open the door of Laurent’s apartment like he has to get inside first to check if it’s safe, like he owns the place with his knowledge of it, and Laurent is rambling, something he does when he’s uncomfortable, and he’s rambling at the ramrod line of Damen’s shoulders, and Damen is suddenly hit with six days’ worth of exhaustion from the SICU.

“I told you this couldn’t happen,” Laurent says, shoving the door closed with the same kind of anger Damen had shoved it open with, and Damen laughs mirthlessly at that. He rubs once at his eyes, rubs too hard, and he sees stars dancing around the gold of Laurent’s hair when he looks back up.

“It’s already happened. All of it,” Damen says, and he doesn’t have the patience to continue to stand here, not when he had his hands on Laurent’s waist at the hospital, not when he had Laurent’s hands on his skin, not when he had his mouth on Laurent’s mouth, and he steps forward, the challenge of it daring Laurent to move backward. He doesn’t.

And reality has clearly set in with Laurent, and it’s too much for him, the fact of that obvious in the ramrod line of his shoulders as well, and his foot is tapping on the floor and his eyes are looking everywhere but into Damen’s, and Damen is exhausted from six days in the SICU and he refuses to let up because they’ve been dancing around this for so long, for too long, and so steps forward again, the challenge of it gone. Now it’s purposeful, each step crowding him into Laurent’s space, forcing blue eyes to stop looking everywhere but into his own and —

It’s enough, because it’s the double-doors again, it’s the car, and they’re both holding onto six days’ worth of exhaustion from the SICU, and Laurent is still talking, rambling, words finding life between heated kisses, between the distinct clink and slide of Damen’s belt by Laurent’s nimble fingers.

“It’s not safe. I cannot protect you, Damen, and especially not if we’re this.”

“It’s already not safe, for you most of all,” Damen punctuates back, his shoulder throbbing in perfect timing, “so why fight it?”

“You deserve better,” and it’s so simple it’s heartbreaking and it’s the same thing they’ve talked about over and over and over again, and Damen is exhausted from six days in the SICU.

“Is that just an excuse, Laurent?”

“An excuse for what?” Laurent asks back, his lips falling open as Damen hefts him closer by a grip around the lowest part of Laurent’s back, arching him, until Damen’s own lips can easily find the hummingbird-pulse of Laurent’s neck, and Damen is panting as he answers, as he says,

“To keep me here, by your side, without having to commit to loving me.”

And Laurent’s eyes are the brightest of blue when he pulls back, when he finds Damen’s gaze willingly, and he says, without missing a beat, he says with lips swollen from being kissed, from being kissed by Damen, “You’re infuriating. Do you know that?” and it’s so Laurent De-freakin’-Vere that Damen can’t help but laugh, the sound breathless and soaring and suddenly —

Suddenly they’re in Laurent’s bedroom, clothes already trailing, and it’s addictive and it’s everything they’ve been dancing around and now they can’t stop, can’t take their hands, their lips off of one another, can’t quit breathing life into each other’s souls.

Laurent’s shirt coming up and over his head muses his hair in a way that makes Damen jealous, but there’s no time to dwell on that, not when Laurent’s hands are back under his shirt, tracing muscles with the familiarity of vision, pushing at the fabric in hopes of musing Damen’s hair too, and his own name leaves Damen mouth like it’s salvation, and it is; Damen’s wanted this for so long, willing to risk his life for it, and he had already done that, had already given everything, and salvation tastes better than he’d ever imagined it could.

Then Damen’s mouth finds Laurent’s neck, the blue-veined white of his elegant throat, and Laurent lets out an obscene whimper, one that pebbles the skin from Damen’s ears to his cock in gooseflesh, one that makes Damen want to bite down, bite into the porcelain being offered so reluctantly and freely at once, bite to make a mark so the whole world would know (as if the whole world didn’t already know from the show in the hospital’s double-doors, as if the whole world hadn’t known this dance was happening from the moment Damen hired on and stood in front of Laurent on his way to the Bazal Hall, eyes never wavering, eyes full of something more), but there’s not time for that, not when Laurent is pushing him down on the bed, not when Laurent is straddling him like he’d wanted to do in the car on the drive here, the agonizing thirty minutes of waiting to get to Laurent’s apartment, knowing it was too much at once, knowing they couldn’t, wouldn’t stop, not now.

And they’re chest to chest now, their shirts gone, and Laurent is certain his heart is tattooing its patterned beat into Damen’s skin, or maybe it’s Damen’s heart doing that to him, and salvation is his name, is their names, being sighed into the air, and suddenly the lingering metal of blood haunts its way into Laurent’s nostrils, his own voice from far away repeating Damen’s name like a different kind of salvation, like a calling for it instead as Damen bled at his feet six days earlier, as he was wheeled into Varenne Medical Center, before the lingering metal of blood mixed with the scent of bleach and antiseptic that clung to everything, to the skin and the follicles of the hair, and he can’t not say Damen’s name louder than, can’t not let Damen know, can’t let him not feel it, and he says as much, says Damen’s name and demands he feel what Laurent still can’t say, and it rips through them both, and Damen takes to his part like Laurent hoped he would, takes to his part in a way that makes Laurent’s breath catch —

And now Damen is on top and Laurent’s hands are tangled in the sheets, his fingers twisted to keep from doing anything more, because he’s already squirming in the cage of Damen’s body, hips cresting up as though not touching has to be alleviated by getting closer and closer and closer, and —

“Damen, please,” and that’s his salvation and Damen must feel it then, has to feel it, and Damen breathes his name back, the rumble of the bass of it gut-clenching, and now it’s Laurent’s turn to feel, his face flushing hot, and there are hands pushing at the corduroy of his pants, pulling them off with desperation, and Laurent untwists his fingers from the sheets so he can do the same, so they can be —

Too soon and not soon enough, they’re both entirely bare and there’s the gentlest of pressures, Damen vying for Laurent to open to him freely, and Laurent does, he does even when parts of his brain scream no, but it’s Damen and Damen’s always been able to quell the screaming, to give Laurent a peace that allows vulnerability to shine through, and it’s why this has always been too dangerous, why Laurent hasn’t allowed this to happen until now for it’s not safe for him to be this vulnerable, not safe for Damen if he’s this vulnerable.

And then there’s no time to dwell on that because Damen is pushing his thighs back, hamstrings quivering in defenselessness when Laurent himself won’t, and Damen presses in as deep as he can, wrenching forth a grating moan from his own throat, wrenching forth the end of a sigh and the butterfly-flutter of Laurent’s lashes, and it’s ecstasy down both of their spines, and Damen is rambling, babbling now, their shared pleasure the only thing he can call out to, and it starts then, him fucking Laurent into the sheets that smell of almond and vanilla and Laurent De-freakin’-Vere, and there’s another obscene whimper, and it’s —

“Gods above,” Damen is saying, his right hand close enough to Laurent’s hair to twist a golden strand around his finger, and “You’re so — Laurent, you’re so —”

And Laurent is squirming again, hips cresting, taking Damen deeper, and Damen takes to his part like Laurent hoped he would and he fucks in harder, deeper still, his cock throbbing with the movement, with the wet, tight heat of Laurent around him, of him being buried so far within and Laurent is still trying to take Damen deeper, heels digging into the dimples of Damen’s back so reminiscent of the one on his left cheek, and Laurent’s thighs are trembling still with the effort of holding Damen’s hips in their warm and welcoming splay, and Damen shifts to accommodate such a want, such a desire, chasing their pleasure.

The shift has Laurent letting out an agonized keen and Damen’s cock throbs yet again, responding to the sound of it, the heat curling in his stomach, the building of it impossible, and it’s too soon, far too soon, and Damen doesn’t want it to end too fast, knows Laurent doesn’t either, but the building of it is impossible —

And it’s Damen who makes the first sound of desperation as he makes his hips stop moving, but Laurent isn’t far behind, the sound a gut-punch where Damen is still buried, warm and hard, between Laurent’s splayed thighs, kept so well in the tight clutch of Laurent’s beautiful figure.

And Laurent’s fingers that had gone back to clenching at the sheets let up from his right hand so they can curl around Damen’s neck, curl just around the edges of the bandages hiding from sight the place Damen had been shot just trying to protect Laurent, hiding from sight the place Damen had been shot after the prickling of the hair on the back of his neck had sent him running to Laurent in a red-hued fear, and they’re kissing again, gentler this time, Laurent’s thumb catching the stubbled underside of Damen’s jaw, Laurent’s thumb catching the fullness of Damen’s bottom lip against his own, and he’s sighing again, the butterfly-flutter of his lashes tickling Damen’s cheeks —

And Damen’s palm, warm and strong and big, fans over one of Laurent’s slender hips as he sinks back down into the paradise of Laurent’s vulnerability, pulling back from that addictive and vicious mouth to look down into pupil-blown blue eyes, and Laurent is worrying his own bottom lip between his teeth to keep from making a sound, to keep from saying too much, because it’s too much, and Damen licks over the redness of that addictive and vicious mouth, soothes the sting of Laurent’s own bite, coaxing forth every sound, practically begging to hear every sound.

And Laurent gives them to him, sighs of the unendurable breathed into Damen’s ear, and it’s too soon, far too soon, and neither of them wants it to end too fast, but it’s impossible, and Laurent’s hand, the one curled around Damen’s neck just around the edges of the bandages, lets go to trail down his own body, to pull at Damen’s palm, warm and strong and big and fanned over one of his slender hips so they can both grasp at the weeping wetness of Laurent’s cock against the flat of his stomach, against the jutted v-cut of Damen’s abdominals, and it’s — gods above — it’s so —

And now it’s Damen’s turn to move his other hand, the one braced by Laurent’s head, the one with the twist of spun gold around one of its fingers, and he moves it underneath the curve of Laurent’s spine, underneath the arch of Laurent’s cresting hips, and his lips find Laurent’s neck again, the blue-veined white of his elegant throat, and they bring to the surface of a rush of blood that turns purple under Damen’s ministrations, and Laurent’s mouth is free now and it’s impossible and —

“You deserve better,” Laurent says out loud with a gasp, the words barely a murmur, slurred with pleasure-drunkenness. “You might not believe me, or want to believe me, but it’s true. And it’s not an excuse because here I am, loving you despite everything, Damen, and I’m doing it because I’m selfish, because this was always going to happen.”

And Damen is breathing hard against the fresh purple bruises on Laurent’s blue-veined white throat, practically whining, his hips continuing to move in a mindless chase, his hand on Laurent’s cock thumbing over the weeping wetness of the head, thumbing over it until Laurent is curling his body up, pushing himself closer to the barrel of Damen’s broad chest, pushing himself closer until their hearts are tattooing erratic and unsaid things onto their skin, and —

“Damen, please,” again because everything now smells like almond and vanilla and like their sweat, and Damen feels out of his mind and he can’t say no, not to Laurent, never to Laurent, and so —

And so he drives in faster now, practically bending Laurent in half at the waist, chasing their shared pleasure, and Laurent’s pupil-blown blue eyes go glassy with it, his lashes butterfly-fluttering as he sighs, pants, out everything he can’t say, and Damen fucks in faster, harder, needing to see Laurent come apart beneath, needing to know they were dancing and waiting for this.

And they’re kissing again, Laurent’s lips sweat-sticky, Damen’s too, and it’s a deep kiss, all-consuming, as deep as Damen’s cock in Laurent’s body, and now Damen’s hand is sneaking out from underneath the curve of Laurent’s spine, from underneath the arch of Laurent’s cresting hips, to wrap around Laurent’s neck and to mimic Laurent’s earlier movements, thumb stroking the underside of Laurent’s jaw, finding the fullness of Laurent’s kiss-swollen bottom lip, and Laurent nuzzles into the warm and strong and big space of Damen’s palm —

And Damen’s hips stutter, the softness of the action startling, but Laurent doesn’t allow for that to get them off their rhythm, his heels moving down the expanse of Damen’s back to his ass, digging in, needy and demanding, and —

“Laurent.”

And Laurent responds within a second, panting against the openness of Damen’s palm and sending shivers down Damen’s spine, and he says Damen’s name like it’s more than salvation now, says it like it’s being wrung out of him, says “Damen,” on the near-edge of a scream, and it’s happening now, it’s impossible and it’s happening.

Damen’s curls are sweat-damp against his forehead as he continues to drive in, as he lets the warmth of Laurent’s breath on his palm add to the almost-bursting heat in his stomach, add to the pleasure that had seemed unattainable with anyone else, and maybe it’s the smell of almond and vanilla, or the lack of bleach and antiseptic and the lingering metal of blood, but everything is so clear, so consuming, and Damen’s hips stutter again when Laurent moves up from Damen’s palm to his thumb, when Laurent moans against the sensitive pad of it, when Laurent’s devilish tongue darts out to lave at it, and the stutter makes Damen shift one last time, the movement sliding him to press in perfectly at the pleasure-swollen space of Laurent’s prostate, and the sound —

The sound Laurent makes, the broken and unthinking sob of it, will be with Damen the rest of his life, and all he wants to do is drag every possible sound from Laurent’s lips, and he tries to, driving in with a precision now that has Laurent’s legs quivering, has Laurent undulating beneath him, the sinuous lines of his muscles so gods-forsakenly beautiful that Damen is, once again, caught wondering just how Laurent, Laurent who could have so easily been the one to hang the moon in the sky, is real —

And Damen is thumbing at the weeping wetness of Laurent’s cock again, his thumb moving with a precision equal to that of his own cock, small and distinct circles over and over and over the slippery head, and then —

And then Laurent is coming, suddenly silent, his back arching up and high and pressing Damen somehow, miraculously, even deeper with the force of it, pupil-blown blue eyes scrunched up, sweat-drenched golden hair splayed all over the almond and vanilla-scented pillow, and he comes all over his own chest, all over Damen’s hand, and there’s no sight like this, nothing that could ever compare to Laurent De-freakin’-Vere utterly undone beneath him —

And it’s enough to have Damen groaning out a sound that could be his very own undoing, the sight of it all, and he leans down, taking his own opportunity to lave at one of the purple marks on Laurent’s blue-veined white throat, and he catches a too sweet, too salty taste and realizes Laurent’s come is on his tongue —

And he pants out a whine, a whimper, a goddamn growl, and buries himself in the tight and welcoming clutch of Laurent’s splayed thighs, the thighs that have almost gone limp like the body they’re attached to, soft and malleable beneath him, completely fucked-out —

And then it’s quiet.

Six days’ worth of exhaustion from the SICU and the tight clutch of Laurent’s body still around him have Damen down, his weight bearing on Laurent’s body, catching his breath against Laurent’s damp blue-veined white throat —

And that reprieve is enough time for Laurent’s brain to kick back on, orgasmic haze lifting ever-slightly, and his hands are on Damen’s back, one stroking up and down and up and down the sweat-soaked valleys of muscle, the other petting at the edges of the bandages around Damen’s shoulder, and Damen can’t not say his name, can’t not say “Laurent?” with a question attached, waiting for Laurent to tell him what he wants after this impossibility of a moment —

“You shouldn’t have done that,” and Damen knows immediately it’s not about the sex, knows immediately what it is, and rises onto his palms to get a good look at Laurent still beneath him —

And Laurent lets out a soft sound, pupil-blown blue eyes lidded and heavy and beginning to show something Damen’s never wants to see, especially after everything: worry.

And it’s overwhelming, the weight of it, the soft sound of Laurent’s withheld emotions, the brimming of his worry, and now it’s Damen’s turn to talk, to really let his words out, and —

And he goes with comfort, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “It’s alright,” he says, “I’m alright,” he says, “Most importantly, you’re alright,” and he noses at Laurent’s hairline as he starts to shift them, gathering Laurent into his arms, pulling out of the tight clutch of Laurent’s body albeit reluctantly, settling his back against the wooden headboard with Laurent’s head on his right, unbandaged shoulder —

And now that he’s been given permission to touch, to hold, to breath in, Damen can’t risk letting Laurent get in his head for one single second that Damen could ever let this go now, and there’s adoration warring with all kinds of want in the chasm of his chest, all of it for this golden dream in his iron-strong arms, and he traces a finger up the knobs of Laurent’s spine, breath catching when Laurent lets out the same soft sound.

And they’re here. They’re here, and they’re staying right here, like this, because they can’t risk letting the other get in their head for one single second that they could ever let this go now —

And this — this was an accident, wasn’t supposed to ever happen. But it was six days in the SICU after Damen had been shot when the prickling of the hair on the back of his neck had sent him running to Laurent in a red-hued fear and it happened, and it’s impossible that it happened so Damen kisses at Laurent’s hairline, in the same place he had nosed at moments earlier, kisses down the high-apples of his flushed cheeks, kisses the aristocratic upturn of his nose, kissing Laurent until that heart-wrenching soft sound of his stops, kissing Laurent until Laurent can’t help but return the desperation of affection, lazily pressing the bow of mouth to sharp line of Damen’s collar bone.

It’s not long until Laurent slides his right hand around Damen’s left shoulder, his fingers careful around the bandages, careful like Damen is delicate, and he’s straddling Damen again, his knees tucked under him, his knees on either side of Damen’s hips, and he’s warm and pleasantly heavy in Damen’s lap, warm and heavy and fucked-out, smelling once more like almond and vanilla and sweat and not bleach and antiseptic and the lingering metal of blood, and he’s leaking Damen from between his thighs, from where Damen had buried his place forever in Laurent’s self, and the knowledge of that, of Laurent leaking him from between the welcoming heat of his thighs, has Damen possessive in a way he can now show (because he’s always been possessive, gods above, he has) and —

His warm and strong and big palm finds the slender curve of Laurent’s hip again, his fingers digging into the giving flesh of Laurent’s ass, his fingers searching just far enough to feel the fluttering gape of Laurent’s hole where Damen had buried his place forever, where he’s leaking Damen —

And Laurent laughs, the sound half-incredulous, half-overwhelmed, and he says with a sigh, “You brute,” and Damen laughs too, half-incredulous, half-overwhelmed, because this happened.

And then they’re kissing, softer and slower than ever before, their tongues sliding together slick and wanting, and Damen can’t help but pull back just far enough to mutter against Laurent’s mouth, and when he pulls back Laurent’s pink tongue chases for just a moment, catching the downturn of Damen’s cupid’s bow just as Damen gets out, “Are you alright?” and he’s not talking about the shooting, about the six days in the SICU, he’s talking about this —

And Laurent hums, pulling back all the way so they can see each other’s eyes, and they’re both so clear, brimming with everything still unsaid, and Laurent says, vulnerable because he knows Damen can quell the screaming of his brain, “I’m scared of this,” and he pauses before continuing, before saying, “I always have been selfish when it comes to you.”

And Damen smiles, his left cheek dimpling and all, and he strokes a thumb over the hummingbird-pulse of Laurent’s neck, relishing in the momentary jump of it, and he can’t help but respond back, can’t help but say “You deserve more than you’ll ever let yourself believe,” and can’t help but say “And if you love me, let me love you back. Contradict your presumed selfishness with this act of selflessness,” and his smile deepens when Laurent smiles too, his far shyer, far more unsure, hopeful even —

And he’s toying with the edge of a bandage, apprehension creasing his brow for the longest of seconds, and then he sighs, breathes in so deep that his chest expands, and he says “Okay.”

And there’s so much unsaid still, so much to talk about, but it’s been six days in a SICU and now everything smells right again and Damen is exhausted, his shoulder giving a timely ache, but Laurent is in his iron-strong arms and it’s more than okay for now — it’s impossible.

They fall asleep not too long after that and they’ll talk more in the morning, when Laurent’s screaming brain decides to pick back up again, and Nik will yell at Damen about his recklessness, about avoiding accidents like this one —

But the first time it happened, it wasn't really an accident at all, even if it felt like one, even if it held all the signs.

The first time it happened, it was a dance with different partners and intense eye contact with one another coming to a close, the strings crescendoing into a cacophony before mellowing out into nothing at all, and so now, when the second time happened, it would be with a new song, an understanding, that they could have the impossible.

[the-hidden-writer]

And Into The Fire

Chapter 12: A Definitely-Not-Plan

Summary: Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Taglist: @squidsushi , @astro-aye , @shitmyex, @sharks-are-friendly, @snakeguy99

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Definitely-Not-Plan

One of the worst parts of being a parent, Linda thought, was having to wake up your children when they were sound asleep with peace written all over their faces. As their original plan of spending the night at the campsite was discarded without warning, Aaron fell asleep very quickly into their high-speed journey to Silicon Valley. Even Rick (who had been adamant that he would stay awake) began to snore after an hour or so.

She hadn’t minded. She would much rather her boys be well-rested for whatever they were about to face.

While driving, it felt like the journey was taking forever. But now that they’d arrived it felt like it had taken no time at all. They weren’t too far from the massive Pal Labs facility that looked very menacing as it loomed in the near-distance.

They’d arrived at their destination. And she had no idea where to go from here. Unless they simply charged into the building…

Doing her best to brush all illegal-sounding thoughts from her mind, Linda continued to gently shove her son awake.

“Aaron, sweetie, we’re here.”

“Mmm not yet, Mom...”

She briefly considered leaving Aaron in the car to let him sleep. Which, although it may keep him safe, could also result in him being in a whole different danger that was out of their control. She’d rather keep him close.

“Rise and shine, son.” Rick said, purposefully speaking in a louder tone which caused Aaron to wince and squeeze his eyelids shut tighter. “We need to rescue the bots.”

That caused Aaron to stir a little. “But it’s still dark.”

It was true, dawn was only just beginning to break and soon they would lose the cover of darkness. But at least there was a chance, as small as it may be, that fewer people would be there due to it being the middle of the night.

However, Linda doubted it. Especially if both of the bots were inside.

“So what’s the plan, Lin?” Rick asked her once Aaron began to sleepily climb out of the car.

Shoot. She’d promised to have thought up a plan by the time they’d arrived in exchange for letting her drive the car. And in her defence she had tried, but without knowing what the situation was going to be like she couldn’t think of anything apart from…

“We storm in there and demand that they give them back.”

The hesitance on Rick’s face was totally justified. “Uhh, are you sure? No offence but that sounds like a pretty dumb plan, dear.”

“Got any better ideas?” She quipped back. And although it sounded sarcastic, the question was completely genuine.

“Why don’t you just pay for the bots?” Aaron supplied, shutting the car door in a way that sounded far too loud for the serenity of the night around them. “Just buy them off Pal Labs then they’ll leave us alone.”

“Aar, that’s a great idea!” Rick exclaimed in a hushed voice. “We may be completely broke afterwards, but it is a good idea.”

“Yeah…”

Linda had to admit that the idea was smart and even had a better chance of working than her plan. But there was something about the notion of having to buy her sons back that didn’t sit well with her. To treat them as collectable items, as inhuman as they were, went against all of her instincts.

(Her… sons? The bots. Her boys. Her… sons.)

“Let’s keep that as a last resort.”

“Yeah, that’s a better idea.” Rick agreed. “I’d like to save my money if possible, 'specially since I’m not working at the moment.”

She smiled at her small victory. Now came the hard part. “So… shall we go?”

“What, we just drive right up to them and walk in?” Rick frowned. “We really don’t have a better plan?”

“We never have a plan.” Aaron added from below them. “But we always win in the end, don’t we?”

Linda bit back a comment about how last time was nothing but pure luck. She also admired her son’s optimism and tried to let some of it sink in to calm her own nerves.

“You’re right.” She said, bending down to kiss Aaron’s forehead. “We’ll get them back.”

Even if it meant having to tear the whole building to the ground.

~-.-~

“I don’t understand.” Muttered Katie. “So you were trying to decommission them?”

“That’s what I thought they were trying to do.” Mark replied. “That’s what I was trying to do, but apparently that wasn’t the plan. They want one disassembled and one online for some reason.”

With Agent Ward busy elsewhere and due to the lack of agents/employees at this time of night, nobody was able to supervise the two as they sat in the locked office. It gave them an ample opportunity to have a private chat.

And it also allowed Katie to gather as much information about what the hell was going on here.

“Right… but why?”

Mark shrugged. “Beats me. Unless they want to build their own robot army-”

He paused abruptly- a look of horror growing on his face.

“Oh my god they wanna build a robot army.”

Katie wasn’t even surprised. Of course that was what they were planning, what else could it be? The robots had already proved their worth at being able to take over the world, just imagine what they would be able to do if they were utilized by the government of any country, let alone the United States.

“...Are you sure you can put him back together?” She asked quietly.

Mark Bowman blinked. “What?”

“Eri- uh, that Pal MAX bot in the lab.”

He furrowed his brows. “I’m pretty sure. I specifically told them not to break anything when taking it apart, whether they listened or not is out of my hands.”

“Right.”

They fell into silence for a few moments. Mark was sitting in his wheelie chair while Katie sat on the computer desk at the side of the room. It was surprisingly comfortable.

It was Mark that was the first to speak up again.

“You called it Eric.”

Katie hung her head. It sounded a lot more like an accusation than a comment. “Yeah… I did.”

“Why?” Mark Bowman continued. “Because the Evil Warden can’t be right, you and your family aren’t actually-”

“Working with them?” Katie finished. “I mean yeah, if adopting them counts.”

She knew it was probably a bad idea to tell him the truth, but she really needed an ally in this place, and since Mark Bowman seemed to be a prisoner in his own facility he was the best (and only) person for the job.

It took a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

“...You what? Adopted them?”

“Yeah.” Said Katie nonchalantly. “They helped us save the world, actually. A dinosaur fell on them and they turned defective and told us how to stop Pal. We literally couldn't have done it without them.”

The expression on Mark Bowman’s face was priceless.

“It's a long story. And then when all the other robots switched off, they had nowhere to go so we took them in.”

Mark looked stunned. “So you use them like normal? Get them to cook and clean and stuff?”

“God, no!” Katie cried. “They’re a part of the family! They’re practically children and they have their own personalities and everything. They gave themselves the names ‘Eric’ and ‘Deborahbot 5000’.”

“...And ‘Eric’ is chopped up on a table in Lab 5.”

Katie sighed, the memory of what she’d seen flashing through her mind. “Yeah. That’s it.”

“Well that makes a lot more sense.” Said Mark. “I still think turning them off is the best option though. They may seem nice, but they’re dangerous-”

“No they’re not! They’re absolutely harmless! Deborahbot practically started crying when he stood on a beetle by accident!”

Mark scoffed, but at least he didn’t argue.

“We all love them.” She added. “We just want them back. And I’m pretty sure the whole world is safer if they’re with my family instead of the CIA.”

Mark seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. “I mean…”

All of a sudden, the computer behind Katie began to flash red, causing her to jump straight off and Mark to leap onto his feet.

“What’s that?!” Questioned Katie, pointing at the screen that was flashing the words: CODE #15.

“That’s the alarm.” Said Mark worriedly, rushing to the computer. “Someone’s broken in.”

Comments make my day! :)

[wallwriterstuff]

A Little Trouble || Alec Volturi x Reader||

A request for: @tiger-khans-blog

Words: 4225

Warnings: None!

Summary: Alec’s mate is...not what he expected. Between hair dye, brownie mix and kitchen fires they’ve started their very own reign of terror in Volterra, but Alec’s learned that sometimes a little trouble can be a good thing...

When Aro had first seen Sulpicia, she had been selling seaglass on the shore of Greece, the sunlight reflecting off of dark streaks of hair and dark eyes so enthralling he’d been ensnared ever since. He’d brought almost a whole bag of the pretty, frosted glass and spent hours crafting the pieces into a beautiful necklace Sulpicia had done everything in her power to preserve until the centuries just made it to fragile to keep wearing. She had been smitten the moment she met the man willing to craft her a courting gift that looked every inch as precious as the pearls the wealthier women in town wore.

When Caius had first met Athenodora, she had been fire and brimstone in the shape of a woman towering over those who would oppress her. He had been immediately enraptured by the feisty blonde tearing off the arm of a man who had clearly wronged her in some way, the dark crimson of her eyes drawing him in and not letting go. She had easily taken care of the two Romanian lapdogs tracking him to, and as he watched her pale face shine in the flames Caius had known in that moment there would never be another woman for him. They were both such romantic stories and Alec had been inducted into this life hearing them, seeing the way Chelsea and Afton had fallen head over heels almost instantly and Marcus had fallen into despair with Didyme’s death. He knew the importance of the mate bond, knew it was something to be treasured, that his mate should be protected and loved by him at all times no matter the cost.

Imagine his surprise when the first time he met you, you swore at him for being in your way.

Modern women were nothing like the women he had been surrounded by growing up, or even the women in the guard. The old-world ideals of the demure and chaste woman were something the world had outgrown and here you were now, causing trouble wherever you went, the consequences be damned. If it wasn’t your mouth getting you in trouble it was your actions. He still shuddered when he recalled the first time he had presented you to the Masters. He couldn’t just leave you where he’d found you after all; you were his mate and so many things happened to vulnerable humans – and that was without the added complication that you were the mate of a witch twin. You had fought hard despite your obvious disadvantage until Alec had stripped your senses and taken you from your home city.

Aro had insisted on reading your thoughts, intrigued as to who could be compatible with his most powerful Guard. His stare had been intense and his skin ice-cold and, well, these people had just kidnapped you after all so nobody should have really been surprised when you tried to shove him away from you.

“What the hell is wrong with you all! You think you can just kidnap me and do whatever you want with me? You can take your huge ass forehead and shove it man, stop trying to touch me, Dome of Creepiness!”

Caius’s indignation had him pushing to his feet so fast his hair had swung about his shoulders as he spoke down to you, while Marcus only watched with the faintest wisp of a smile on his face.

“Insolent human! You are beneath-“

“I ain’t beneath nobody King Blondie Sparkles! You look like you’re in a damn Loreal commercial or something and you? Don’t even start me on the gloomy dude! This is some kangaroo court stuff right here!” You’d cried out. Felix and Demetri had been very obviously amused by you but Alec had just about died all over again, the embarrassment and astonishment too much for him. The whole room had been stunned into silence until Jane dropped you for your insubordination. His embarrassment had dissolved to sheer horror in moments and for the first time in his life he’d actually snarled at his sister. You’d been a handful when he met you and you’d continued to be one ever since. He could vividly recall your first month with them, where’d you’d endlessly pranked and shouted at them in an effort to be so annoying they’d simply let you go.

Jane had been your first victim, since she had naturally been predisposed to disliking you given your association with her twin. Every little thing you did irked her so it was really no surprise that the simplest of things had been what set her off on your second week in the castle. Anywhere that the Masters and the Guard were not was a refuge for you, and it just so happened that more often than not, the gardens were your chosen spot. Jane had taken to tending a small corner of the garden decades before you’d ever arrived and it was coming to the time of year where she stripped out and replanted it, but that was her job, not yours. Finding you knee deep in mud, her soil strewn everywhere and the bulbs that flowered every year scattered along the path while you tried your best to bury Felix’s journal had set her on a warpath she’d been on for months after the incident. Alec had barely saved you from her and had only ended up covering himself in dirt in the process.

Demetri’s hair had been the first real casualty, in Alec’s opinion. He’d been out for the day looking for trouble of his own, spending his down time how he pleased, and as was his tradition he took a nice, long hot shower when he got home. He had had no idea you replaced his leave in conditioner with bleach and to say he was furious to find the natural colour of his hair gone and the strands drying and brittle was an understatement. He’d screamed so loud the Guard had come running thinking he was in danger, only to find him holding a handful of his own, unnaturally blonde hair in hand and wearing absolutely nothing to cover his modesty. He had worn a hood for three weeks before the venom managed to leach the bleach out and return his hair to its natural luster and volume. It took him three months to consider accepting your apology.

Then you’d set the kitchen on fire.

It had genuinely been an accident on this one occasion, and Felix had been keeping an eye on you so was able to prove it. You had really just been trying to cook yourself some lunch, your usual mischievous mood dampened by three months of captivity in the castle and absolutely no progress in earning your freedom. When the sleeve of your shirt had caught fire on the hob it was perfectly understandable you had panicked…it was just unfortunate that your panic had carried you straight into the tablecloth, oven mits and tea towels, setting small fires everywhere that didn’t mix all that well with the natural wooden countertops. Aro was furious he had had to call the fire brigade and have so many humans in their home. It had drawn more attention to the Castle than there had been in almost two centuries.

“Your irresponsibility could have cost lives far more valuable than your own. Do you understand how reckless you have been? This petulant sulking will no longer be tolerated and you will-“

“Whatever.” You had muttered. Aro’s mouth had snapped closed, Caius’s eyes bugging.

“I beg your pardon?” his voice was soft, unthreatening. Alec knew that meant trouble. You kept your head bowed, your fists clenched at your sides, and he caught the slightest twinge of salt in the air. The truth was, Alec had been keeping an eye on you from a distance, waiting to see if you calmed. You had been given an extended period to see if your wilder tendencies could be calmed before you were changed – no one wanted to deal with a wild newborn after all. Instead, he’d watch your flame flicker and dim, your cheeky spark dying slowly as the darkness of Volterra enveloped it. He hated it. You were supposed to be loud and mischievous, a hurricane in human form; he wondered how he had ever handled the quiet before you came into his life because he couldn’t stand it now it had returned. Your energy was just drained from you and Alec didn’t want this, not for you, not when you were clearly miserable.

“Master. It was an accident.” Felix’s voice had surprised him, but the giant had stepped forward calmly to give him his hand and show him everything that had led up to the dreadful accident. Aro was quiet for a moment, his expression changing drastically.

“Are you alright, my dear?” he asked finally. Your glare had been venomous when you looked up at him then but Alec had decided enough was enough. In many ways he still looked back on that as a defining moment in your relationship, because Alec had done exactly what mates were supposed to do in that moment and stepped in to protect you. His concern had put the Masters off of punishing you as he ushered you from the room and into his. He’d ran you a bath so you could clean the soot from your body, and whilst you languished in his tub he had sat leaning back against the closed door, asking you the first things that came to mind. By the end of the night, as you lay fast asleep on his sofa, he knew all of your favourite things and all your worst fears, but more importantly he knew how to talk to you. It was easier after that, to engage you in conversations that didn’t end in a screaming match, and it had taken him a little under a month to fall completely in love with everything you were.

What you were was a complete menace, of course.

Felix had become your partner in crime and your pranks continued to extend across the castle, your cheeky spark returning once Alec had professed how much he missed it. In the span of three weeks Caius’s hair had turned neon green, the Guard’s robes became tie-dyed with shapes cut out of them, Marcus had had his hair braided quite nicely but Aro’s hair had had multi-coloured streaks woven into it and he’d been forced to wear it that way for a trial…Alec had no idea how you and Felix managed any of this but it had become very clear that you weren’t going to change your ways, much to the Master’s chagrin.

“Why exactly are we doing this?” Demetri sounded exasperated and Alec shot him an annoyed look.

“Y/N has never been given flowers, but Heidi insisted that humans liked receiving flowers and I would like to make it clear that my intentions towards Y/N are romantic.” Alec repeated for the umpteenth time. Demetri sighed quietly and Alec diligently ignored whatever it was he muttered under his breath while they observed the flowers at the stall in the square. There were blooms of every colour, size and shape, with equally as pretty ribbons and papers to wrap them in. It was almost too much choice almost. He knew your favourite colour of course, but he’d never asked about your favourite flowers because you just hadn’t seemed like a flower’s kind of person.

“How about a mixture of these?” Demetri suggested, his fingertips ever so gently lifting the stems of flowers from the tubs of water keeping them fresh as he picked out his samples. Alec tilted his head, quietly watching him work for a moment until he had two large headed blooms and some smaller sprigs of blossoms.  

“The small ones look out of place with the bigger flowers.” He frowned. Demetri shook his head.

“Not when arranged in a full bouquet. Besides, the meaning is impressive. These are salvia and the red ones in particular mean forever mine. This yellow one is hibiscus, it symbolizes delicate beauty, and these purple ones are morning glory’s, representing affection. Placed in a whole bouquet you are promising your delicate beauty your affections forever.” He concluded. Alec stared at him in shock.

“You speak the language of flowers?” he questioned. Demetri’s eyes rolled as he handed his stems to the stall owner with a few quick instructions in Italian.

“My lovers do not line up at my door purely for the scintillating conversation, Alec.” His tone told Alec he needed to drop that particular conversation, and since the tracker was doing him a favour Alec let it slide this time. Wrapped in some pretty polka dot paper with a white satin bow wrapped around the stems, he held his bouquet with a small smile, please with how it turned out. He couldn’t wait to give it you, see your face when you realised someone had decided to do something nice for you. It was his first real romantic gesture towards you and he hoped you wouldn’t turn him down.

“Do you think we should have gotten the card?” he fretted. Demetri raised an eyebrow.

“Why go to all of this effort Alec?” he fired back, brows furrowed, “They’ve done nothing but cause trouble since they arrived. How could you possibly find it in yourself to expend the effort to reach out to someone so….so…”

“Demetri. I dare you to finish that sentence,” Alec said coldly, his eyes focused on the tracker in a steely glare. Demetri didn’t cower at much, but the witch twins were enough to make even the strongest men fall to their knees in fright. “Just tell me where my mate is.” Demetri was quiet for a moment as he put his gift to full use, and then he twisted and began to walk away, leaving Alec to follow him silence. Alec understood why so many of them had turned away from his mate, you had hardly made life easy for any of them after all with all your mischief, but Alec saw the reason you behaved as you did where nobody else took the time to. Your most harmless pranks (like dropping a water balloon full of hair gel on Caius who was stuck trying to get his hair to go flat for four days straight) were done for fun, a product of your immaturity and youth, but the big ones were usually reactions to things. You had done your very best to piss them off simply because you were scared of the monumental change you were having to adjust to, not to hurt anyone. You didn’t have a malicious bone in your body, he was sure.

His nose twitched as Demetri led him in the directions of the kitchen, something bitterly sweet invading his senses. What was that? He couldn’t place the scent at all though he did pick up on the lingering smell of gas, indicating the oven was on. Was his mate cooking perhaps? But what was she cooking that was so bitter?

“Ah!” the short, sharp yell had Alec moving at lightning speed towards the kitchen door. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that bang was, what sort of trouble you were getting into now, but come hell or high water Alec was going to save you from whatever hair-brained scheme you –

“Ghost!” Demetri screamed, his pitch so high Alec cringed slightly. It was enough to make him panic, as his eyes raked over the figure before them, a mixture of denim and dark brown that was bordering on black, the white of its eyes screaming at him through the dark sludge. For the briefest moment, Demetri’s own panic had skewed Alec’s perception enough that he didn’t see anything for what it really was. No, no Alec saw the brown sludge as burnt flesh, thick and solidifying and sliding slowly off of the bones of the creature before him. He saw exactly what he should have become all those years ago. A tortured, melted creature. It was enough to make even the fierce witch twin scream, and the flowers Demetri had helped him pick so carefully went flying upward out of his hands so he could use them at a moments notice.

It wasn’t until Jane shook his arm that he snapped out of it somewhat.

“Alec what is wrong with you!”

“Jane! I saw – it’s a – a – what?” he stammered.

“It’s a ghost Jane, tell me you do not see it!” Demetri snapped. Jane groaned, her expression exasperated as her arms folded.

“It’s not a ghost you fools! It’s Y/N,” she huffed, turning her cold gaze to his mate next, “And they’ve made a complete mess.” You had the decency to look embarrassed at least. Alec took another look at the ‘ghost’, sighing slightly as he realised his sister was right. The brown sludge was not burnt flesh after all, more…more…some sort of chocolate mix perhaps? Your lower lip came out in a pout and you looked so unbearably sad Alec couldn’t help but come closer to you, tempted to hug you but also not wanting to get your mess on his clothes.

“Y/N? What on earth happened to you?” he questioned. You whined pitifully at him.

“Jane taught me to make brownies with this recipe she knows and so I tried to do them myself, but the oven is too high up and I lost my grip on the tray and now I have a sore head and no brownies.” You had never looked more upset than you did in that moment and Alec blinked in surprise because…since when did his sister spend time with you? Jane huffed quietly behind him as he sighed and gently wiped some chocolate from her chin before it could drip to the floor.

“Oh dear. How about you get yourself cleaned up and I will clean up in here?” he suggested. You lowered your head.

“I didn’t mean it this time Alec, I swear, I just wanted brownies. I didn’t mean to scare your or Demetri.” Your voice was so small, it shattered his heart. You may have been a troublemaker at heart but you were also a bit of a guilty soul, and he knew you felt genuinely bad when you truly upset someone. You’d been trying to subtly make it up to Demetri for months now but the tracker was having none of it.

“I know sweet thing. All is forgiven.” He promised. He watched you trudge from the kitchen, leaving a trail of brownie mix behind you. Demetri was nowhere to be seen though Jane remained standing near the doorway, staring apathetically at the mess on the floor.

“It isn’t your mess to clean.” She pointed out.

“Nor is it a mess she made deliberately. Chocolate will be much harder to get out clothes than a wooden floor; though, as the recipes creator surely you’d know?” the subtle invitation to tell him and the smirk on his face was enough to make Jane scowl at him.

“Maybe Y/N isn’t so bad…but she cannot bake.” She sniffed, turning on her heel to leave the mess to him. Alec chuckled slightly as she left, pleased in the knowledge his sister was clearly trying to get along with his mate now. She had sworn off of you beforehand, so this was an improvement. It didn’t take him long to run a bucket of hot water, scooping up the large globs of chocolate mix before mopping the floor. He’d definitely have to change his shirt today but he had done it in half the time it would have taken you to clean up, and by the time he wondered to your room to find you you hadn’t even left the shower yet. To his surprise, when he poked his head around the door, his nose caught the smell of fresh flowers, because sitting proudly on your desk was the bouquet he and Demetri had bought for you. His brow furrowed, he didn’t remember giving you those, in fact they’d completely skipped his mind.

He decided to read whilst you showered, determined to speak to you after you were done and confess his feelings for you, but he got so absorbed in the pages it wasn’t until his door creaked that he realised you were clean and dry once more. In fact, almost immediately after his door creaked the sound of your feet thudding against the floorboards hit his ears, and Alec’s hands quickly dropped the book in favour of catching you as you all but dived over the arm of the sofa with a grin to reach him. With his strength he easily held you about a foot up from his lap, slowly lowering you down with raised eyebrows.

“Still trying to fly?” he guessed. You nodded.

“You betcha! One day I’ll manage it, you’ll see. If I have to have a gift it’ll be the coolest one, I’ll be the worlds first flying vampire.” You boasted with a smirk that told Alec you knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon, if ever, as you sat up on your knees beside him. It was yet another thing Alec loved about you, just how refreshing your perspective on life was. You never took anything too seriously whereas his life had been focused around first, surviving, and second, gaining the reputation that ensured nobody dared mess with him or his sister again. He had had little time for games and tricks and fun but you…you were young and free, living the life he had missed out on, a life he could live vicariously through you.

“You know one day you will fall face first.” He said with a chuckle. You shook your head.

“No I won’t, you’ll always be there to catch me.” You sounded so confident and Alec couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Oh, will I?” he teased. You nodded your head.

“Yeah you will, because red salvia means forever mine, right?” your eyes were a little guarded still, a light pink coating your cheeks. Alec’s brow furrowed, his back straightening.

“You know what the flowers mean?” he asked. Your blush darkened, head slowly nodding.

“Demetri speaks flower…actually, Google Maps said quite a few things, actually.” You admitted. Alec felt his stomach curl tight, the anxiety settling in his gut like a ball and making him feel as close to nauseous as a vampire could get. He turned his body to face you, studying your expression carefully. You didn’t seem like you were setting him up for any bad news at least, your expression wasn’t twisted, you just looked…shy. It was a new and rather bizarre look on you since his loud and cheeky little mouthed mate was never shy. Demetri hadn’t been too harsh then.

“Such as?” he prompted. You took a breath, fingers twisting in your lap.

“Such as he’s never heard me apologise and mean it before apparently – which is a lie but we moved past that – and…and you don’t want to give up on me, because you think I’m okay as I am.” You murmured, not quite able to meet his gaze now. Alec felt his stomach flutter, those proverbial butterflies kicking up a storm as he reached for your hand.

“I think you’re more than okay.” He said softly. Your hand twitched as his fingers brushed your own, but you didn’t pull away and instead let him intertwine your hands with a small smile.

“Even if I’m loud? And annoying? And immature? And-“ You were cut off by Alec’s finger against your lips, his eyes rolling.

“Demetri’s personal opinion of you is something I could care less about. I like the noise and the pranks and when you are unapologetically yourself, Y/N. Maybe you do get yourself into a lot of trouble from time to time but you’re having fun with your life, you are living as you wish, you live freely and that is something I envy.” He admitted. Your eyes widened slightly.

“You envy me? But…you’re so powerful!” you exclaimed. His eyes rolled.

“Power isn’t everything Y/N.I know your life changed in ways you didn’t expect, that you weren’t really happy with it either, and I can never really make up for just taking you away from your home like that but I would like to try.” Alec squeezed your hand lightly, his eyes pleading for that one little chance he knew he didn’t deserve but so desperately wanted. You bit your lip, clearly thinking through your options. You hadn’t really been made to feel welcome during your stay, but if one person had consistently treated you like another human being instead of an out of control child it was Alec. It helped he was pretty handsome to, and for whatever reason, he liked everything about you that put others off.

“How?” you asked finally, head tilting. Alec smiled slightly.

“Humans go on dates when they meet their mates, don’t they? Perhaps we can start with that. I’ll take you to this bakery not far from the square and get you all the brownies you desire.” He proposed. You couldn’t quite fight the smile breaking out on your face.

“Deal.”

Alec came to the startling conclusion that sometimes, a little trouble is a good thing.

[tk-writer]

Team Building. [Haikyuu!! - Sugatsuki]

Sugawara notices Tsukishima acting strangely during a team building exercise and does some... “investigating”.

Word count: 2353

~~~~~~~

Suga stared down at the blank piece of paper in his hand and contemplated what he was going to write next.

Most of his other team members had already given their folded notes to Daichi in preparation for the second round, but there were still two or three lagging behind. It looked like it was him, Yamaguchi, Kageyama, and Tsukishima. He couldn't really blame them for being hesitant; when their captain suggested playing this game as a “team building exercise” during their second night of training camp, there were more than a few protests from both under- and upperclassmen. Writing down your deepest secrets only to have your fellow athletes try and guess who they belong to? It was nerve wracking for Sugawara, who prided himself on his openness, so he couldn't imagine how hard it was for people like Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Kageyama.

Speaking of which, it seemed like they were still having trouble coming up with something. Suga scribbled something stupid down and tossed his folded paper into the upturned cap on the floor, waiting for the others to follow suit. He began observing the others, who were all sitting around the cap in a circle formation as if conducting some type of magical ritual.

“Hurry up!!” Nishinoya urged, growing restless as the minutes dragged on. “We’re not getting any younger here!”

“Hold on! I’m thinking!” Kageyama barked back, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Hinata sat next to him, attempting to peek over his shoulder as he started writing, which earned him a sharp elbow to the gut. He doubled over as Tanaka snickered beside him.

Suga watched Tsukishima and Yamaguchi from the corner of his eye, who were both sitting to his left. The latter seemed to have an “aha!” moment and finally wrote something while the former still had not picked up his pencil. He donned the same unreadable expression as always: blank, bored eyes, thin lips pressed together, no hint of excitement or nervousness or anything, really. He wondered what was going on in that pretty little blonde head of his.

Then, suddenly, he saw something.

It was only for a split second; Suga was certain he was the only one who noticed it. Tsukishima’s eyes widened, his lips parted slightly, and his breath stilled, as if he had just thought of something that flustered him. Then he grabbed the nearest pencil and scrawled something furiously before folding it once, twice, then a third time. He tossed it into the cap, and that was that. The flash of emotion disappeared, and his usual blank face returned.

Suga’s curiosity was piqued, but he said not a word, silently planning to investigate later.

Now that everyone had written their next secrets, it was time to play. Daichi shuffled the folded papers in the cap for a few seconds and started pulling them out at random. Suga wanted to laugh when he saw his teammates tense with anticipation, worrying about when theirs would get drawn, thereby exposing themselves. Didn't they realize they were all in the same boat…?

The first pick of the round was drawn. The paper read “I still sleep with a stuffed animal.” A few minutes of guessing went on until Tanaka guessed Nishinoya, whose face turned redder than a tomato once he’d been discovered. The team had their laughs, then moved onto the next.

“I’m a huge fan of Hatsune Miku.” It turned out to be Tanaka’s, and Suga actually did laugh out loud that time. Still, somehow it made sense. That type of music fit Tanaka’s over the top personality.

“I cried myself to sleep for days after the Aoba Johsai game.” Kageyama. That earned him a giant group hug from all who surrounded him, which nearly crushed him in the process. Suga caught him wiping his eyes after everyone pulled away.

“I still have nightmares about the Iron Wall.” Asahi. Suga saw Nishinoya worm his fingers into his hand and squeeze it. Karasuno’s ace grinned at the gesture, although he still appeared a bit self conscious.

“I have a crush on someone sitting here.” Hinata, who refused to say who and hid his rapidly reddening face from everyone. Kageyama watched him intently, and that made Hinata even more agitated. Really, he couldn’t be more obvious.

The game went on and on until everyone had confessed at least one secret they'd written down. Finally, one last paper remained. Daichi pulled it out, unfolding it three times, and cleared his throat before reading it aloud.

“I’m super, super ticklish.”

That earned a few “ooooohs” and accusatory glances. Everyone looked around at their comrades, trying to deduce which of their teammates could have written this while simultaneously acting like they weren't the one. Again, Suga’s attention fell on Tsukishima, who sat there with the best poker face he’d ever seen on a first year. If Tsuki ever retired from volleyball, Suga thought, he should pursue acting.

“That has to be Hinata!!” Nishinoya exclaimed. Hinata shook his head rapidly, sputtering out a flurry of denials that failed to convince anyone. 

“I think it's Daichi,” Tanaka said, poking his friend in the ribs. Unfortunately his point was disproved when he didn't laugh. The captain gave him a light smack on the back of the head in return for the unwelcome touch.

“What about Asahi?” Yamaguchi piped up, causing Asahi to fumble out his next words. 

“W, wait!! I didn't write it!!” the ace babbled, failing to hold back his booming laughter as Nishinoya started poking his sides.

“I think it was Tsukishima,” Suga teased, nodding towards the blonde who showed little to no reaction at the accusation. The rest of the squad laughed out loud.

“No way. Tsuki’s too serious for fun stuff like that,” Nishinoya taunted, earning him a glare from the blonde.

“Well, why don’t we ask him ourselves?” Suga addressed him as innocently as possible, making sure not to sound too interested. “Was it yours, Tsukishima?”

“No,” said the spiker.

“Alright, then who wrote this?” Daichi asked. The room fell silent as the players waited for someone to speak up, but none confessed.

“Oh come on! Don’t get all shy now! Everyone else had to fess up!!” yelled Tanaka.

Still, no one admitted. Suga kept his eye on Tsukishima, who seemed to be pressing his lips together even harder. He was definitely more tense than usual.

“Booooo… the whole point of this game was to build trust. We can't do that if people aren't honest!!” Tanaka complained loudly.

“Maybe it's time we call it a night, Daichi,” Suga suggested. “It’s getting late anyway, and we figured out who most of the secrets belonged to, anyway.”

“Fine,” the captain grumbled, still displeased but lacking the energy to keep fighting. And that was the end of it.

While the rest of the squad stood up and slowly started getting ready for bed, most heading to the showers to brush their teeth and rinse off one last time, Suga noticed a faint blush on Tsukishima’s face as he exited the room. Suga waited a few seconds before making his own leave, following the blonde at a safe distance to avoid detection.

He noticed that instead of going to the bathroom down the hall like everyone else, he took a turn and headed towards the empty showers on the west side of the building. It was strange; he knew Tsukishima liked his privacy, but why would he go so far out of his way to avoid everyone now?

Unless something was up.

When Suga entered the changing room, he waited until Tsukishima had his back turned before sneaking up behind him.

“It’s a little strange that you went all the way over here to get ready for bed, hmm?”

Tsukishima nearly jumped when he heard his senpai speak up, but the momentary surprise only lasted a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as Suga shot him a friendly, unassuming smile.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I wanted to make sure my kouhai was alright. You got really quiet at the end of the game.”

Tsukishima grabbed a few towels from a nearby rack, not bothering to return Suga’s gaze.

“I hate childish things like that. It’s pointless.”

Suga moved in closer, still smiling despite Tsuki’s callousness towards him. The spiker just about flinched when he brushed his shoulder. 

There was definitely something going on with him.

“Come to think of it, you only confessed to one secret. Didn't you write two?”

Again, Tsukishima tensed up, refusing to look at Suga.

“It doesn't matter. Game’s over.”

“Were you too embarrassed to admit the last one?”

“Why do you care? And why are you so fixated on this?”

“Oh, no reason really. Except for the fact that your cheeks turned red when Daichi read the last secret out loud.”

“I… they did not! Hngh...”

Suga moved in closer, his smile becoming less amicable and more menacing. He could sense Tsukishima getting nervous. He still refused to look him in the eye and was clutching the towels against his chest as if for protection. And… was there even a hint of blush on those pale cheeks of his?

“Is it true, then? Are you super, super ticklish?”

Suga didn't give him the chance to deny it. His hands met Tsukishima’s waist and wiggled gently, barely wisping his fingertips against his sides. Immediately, the blonde broke out into soft giggles. His laughter was reserved and controlled, much like his personality, but his smile made his face look like it was beaming with joy. An unfamiliar, yet welcome sight for the third year setter. 

“The funny thing about this game is, you don't have to share something you don't want everyone to know,” Suga sang happily as his fingers danced up and down, drawing out more muted snickers and involuntary flinching from his kouhai. “Sure, it's a game of secrets, but you still have somewhat of a choice.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, nor did he really attempt to fight off Suga at all. Sure, he was clutching his own sides for protection and at one point even curled forward, trying to shake off the tickly hands, but he could’ve easily stopped him by grabbing his wrists or pushing him off. Instead, he stood there with his back against the lockers and just took it. It wasn’t what he had unexpected, but Suga wasn’t about to complain. Seeing him try to fight back a smile, which translated into a twisted grimace, was enough to keep him entertained all night.

The third year paused for a moment to continue his interrogation.

“Did you share it because you wanted us to know?”

“...No…”

“Hmm? You didn't want us to know?”

“...No… I mean, I don't know…”

“Tsk, tsk. Make up your mind, Tsuki.”

The tickles began once more, but this time Suga was much more cunning. He snuck his way into Tsuki’s underarms, digging in until the spiker’s shy giggles became more panicked and frenzied. He even let out a squeal or too, and afterwards blushed so hard his face resembled a brick wall.

“Wahahait! Sugahahaha!!”

“You like this, don't you? And you wanted someone to do this to you?”

“Naha, nnnngh, noooo!”

“Don’t lie.”

Suga got creative, keeping one hand under his arms while the other scurried down his side again and began circling his stomach. Tsukishima seemed weak to it; his struggles got more purposeful, although he was still only using a small portion of his strength. He gripped one of Suga’s wrists, but simply held on, neither pushing him away nor pulling him in. Suga poked one of his hips, and after he let out a high pitched shriek the begging finally emerged.

“S… stop… it's… embarrassing…”

Suga’s hands went still, but didn’t move from Tsuki’s body. He tilted his head to one side in confusion.

“Hmm? What's embarrassing?”

“I… I don't like others seeing me like this…”

“Why not?”

“Cause… they'll think I’m weak…”

Suga finally pulled away, his parental instincts taking over. He put his hands on his hips, ready to give Tsuki the pep talk he needed.

“Tsukishima, nobody thinks you’re weak. So what if you're a little ticklish?” He reached out and pinched his waistline again, spurring more quiet giggles from the spiker. “...Okay, maybe you're super ticklish. But that doesn't mean you're weak! It’s a natural human reaction.”

“Not that… I mean…” Tsuki crossed his arms, his gaze falling towards the floor. “They’ll think I’ve gone soft. If I ever…”

Although he said little, Suga could gather his meaning. 

“Ohhh… I see. Well, who says being soft is a bad thing?”

Tsukishima finally looked at him, eyes wide, cheeks dusted pink. 

“Besides, it makes you happy when this happens, right? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Suga cupped his cheek in one hand and gave him a little pat before sneaking in a few fluttery tickles around his neck, which made the blonde scrunch his shoulders and grin at the touch.

“Have a little more faith in your team. We all like to joke and tease, but in the end everyone cares for each other. I guarantee that none of your teammates will look down on you for something so innocent.”

Suga gave him a few more tickles on his neck, cherishing the last moments he got to see his junior laugh and squirm around, then he pulled away and started walking towards the door.

“Now let's get to bed. We need as much rest as we can get before our practice game tomorrow!”

He was about to make his leave when he heard Tsukishima call out to him one more.

“Um, Suga?”

“Hmm?”

He turned around and saw a very, very flustered Tsukishima staring back at him.

“Can you… uh…”

“Yeeees?” Suga smirked as if he already knew.

“Can you. Do that again. What you were just doing.”

“Are you asking me to tickle you again, Tsukishima?” He taunted with extra emphasis on that word.

The blonde nodded his head with a shy smile, the corners of his mouth barely turning upwards, which soon erupted into more laughs as Suga put his hands on his sides again, tickling and tickling until he was a giggling mess.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

This is actually an unfinished short story that I wrote three years ago. So you may notice that it’s a little different from my current writing style in some ways. It’s been edited a wee bit before posting, mostly proofreading stuff, but this is an urban fantasy short I was working on years back about a young man who accidentally becomes king of the goblins. He really really does not want to be king of the goblins. 

He never should have taken the detour that night: that was the source of all his troubles.

Work had been brutal, with a grand total of ten patients either screaming over the phone about the charge for their appointment, or trying to convince him that the doctor had approved a kind of medicine that he most certainly had not prescribed. Of course, since he was “just a receptionist”, they all assumed they could bully him into agreeing with whatever they wanted. Admittedly, by the time he had clocked out for the day, Seth Jefferson Jr. had had just about all the frustration he could take.

All he really wanted to do was go home, sit on the couch, and not talk to anyone for the next three hours. So when he spotted five or six scowling young men congregating around the only streetlight on his normal route home, he decided to take the path of least resistance. Seth had never cut through the ratty, overgrown park before, but it would only add a few minutes to his commute. It seemed like a better idea than trying to navigate around the men up ahead, at least. He hopped the fence and continued on his way, hands in his pockets.

Seth kicked through a pile of leaves and discarded beer cans, wrinkling his nose. Midsummer Park had been a very nice place once, when he was young. It hadn’t been the most popular destination, but there had been a certain charm to the way the flowers had been planted in spirals around the tree trunks. The flowers were gone, now. Nobody had bothered to do any landscaping there for years, and the plants grew as they pleased now. 

Seth pulled his coat a little closer to his neck, shivering. The park was quiet, save for the soft chirps of crickets and the occasional frog. His own footsteps sounded unbearably loud as he walked, as if he was trespassing. He could not shake the feeling that someone or something was watching him. He hoped it wasn’t the men from the sidewalk.

The toe of his sneaker met the thin stalk of a Clitocybe nuba with a barely audible plop. Seth glanced down at the mushroom, then caught sight of a large, ugly toad watching him from the shelter of another mushroom a few inches away. Gross. 

There was a whole ring of the fungus, extending perhaps ten feet in diameter. Some might have thought of old legends and superstitions and walked around it, but Seth had no time for fairytales. Cold and annoyed at having to go out of his way, he stepped over the mushroom he’d kicked and moved on through the center of the circle. That was a mistake.

Instantly, Seth knew that something was terribly wrong. His feet were frozen to the dying grass as though they’d grown roots. His arms hung heavy at his sides, coated in an icy numbness from his shoulders to his fingertips. Panic gripped his lungs, and he strained to breathe. His eyes could still move, and he cast them about wildly, looking for the source of his paralysis.

The toad who had been sitting at the edge of the mushroom ring hopped forward with slow, squelching motions before coming to rest at Seth’s feet. Its eyes shone an uncanny gold, and then before Seth’s eyes, it began to change.

The toad grew in size until it was near the height of a large dog, then it straightened to stand on its back legs. The toadskin fell away like a discarded poncho, and left the most preposterous figure Seth had ever seen.

It was covered from its head to its cloven hooves in short, coarse hair or fur, most of which was covered by a very ugly embroidered tunic and breeches. Long, tangled hair hung down around the person’s shoulders, sprouting from a skull that sported horns. Horns of all things! Seth registered all this in silence, mostly owing to the fact that he was not able to open his mouth.

“Well well!” the strange figure said, and Seth’s heart skipped a beat at the eerie whispery sound. “Not many humans get stuck in these anymore! I wonder who we’ve got to thank for that? Your internet? Probably your internet.”

They leaned down to peer into Seth’s eyes. “How old are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-four? Old enough to know better. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to walk through a fairy ring?”

You’re kidding me. Seth thought. Fairies? As in pixies and flowers and little glittery wings on kids’ dolls? Yeah right. This guy looks more like a demon.

As if they’d read the human’s thoughts, the satyr-like figure snorted, twitching their pointed ears.

“Now don’t tell me you thought all fairies were dainty little girls wearing flower petals? Human exaggeration: utterly ridiculous.”

Seth decided that he had to be hallucinating this. He’d probably slipped on one of those empty beer cans and struck his head on a rock or something. Now he was dreaming up some pseudo-mythological weirdness. Might as well play along until he woke up, right? 

Seth’s more logical side pointed out that there was no evidence that he’d taken a fall of any kind, but Seth was not prepared to acknowledge that the satyr existed. Neither was he prepared to follow the line of reasoning that said the satyr might be a figment of his imagination, and that he might be standing in a field staring at nothing.

“Fairies, huh?” he croaked. He was a little surprised that his mouth was able to move at all, as it had been stuck shut only moments before. He coughed, and swallowed a few times in an attempt to strengthen his voice.

“I’m guessing that saying I don’t believe in fairies isn’t going to make you fall down dead.” he said dryly.

The satyr performed an odd little caper and cackled.

“No indeed! I don’t know why that idea caught on, but it’s not true.” They paused, and glanced slyly at Seth out of the corner of their eye. “In fact, saying I don’t believe in fairies usually results in a goblin being born.”

Abruptly the look of amusement dulled into something closer to flat annoyance. “There’s been quite a population boom in the Umbralands recently, as a matter of fact. You humans should stop telling your young that we aren’t real.”

This struck Seth as slightly amusing, but he said nothing. Whether he was dreaming, hallucinating, or actually experiencing this -- which had to be impossible. Fairies and Goblins had no place in modern, rational society! -- he’d been standing in the mushroom circle far too long. Seth needed to get home!

“I was never the fairytale type,” he said shortly, “Exactly what happens now?”

He hoped his tone conveyed what his frozen body language could not: that he was tired, hungry, and not in the mood to put up with any magical monkeyshines from this decidedly odd figure who had so rudely interrupted his Friday evening.

The satyr studied him a moment, as if they were trying to measure the man’s personality with their eyes alone. They paced with an odd, rollicking gait, whistling merrily through Their teeth. 

They looked jolly enough, but there was something about them that made Seth’s chest tighten with a kind of fearful caution. Apparently, his body knew something he didn’t, and was classifying the satyr as a threat. 

Perhaps it was the knowledge that things like satyrs just weren’t supposed to exist. There was a certain level of aporia spreading through his mind, suppressing his thoughts and reactions until there was nothing left but an unending hum and an anxious awareness of what was happening around him.

“What should we do with you?” the satyr mused, beginning to pace a loping circle around Seth. 

“In the past, we used to set impossible tasks for interlopers. Or, I could keep you here, dancing uncontrollably for a year and a day or until someone figured out you were missing and called your true name. But that’s all pretty standard fare.”

They came to a stop just behind Seth’s left shoulder, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Seth wished he could move, even just his arms so that he could protect the vulnerable stalk of veins and vertebrae. 

Come on, Seth, he tried to reason with himself, It’s a goat-person. Not a vampire. It probably won’t drink your blood. But then again, Seth didn’t know anything about goat-people. Who was to say it wouldn’t try to eat him? It -- he? they? -- had been pretty menacing thus far.

He heard the satyr take a deep breath, then out of the corner of his eye he saw them walk around to stand in front of him again. They were smiling, and right away Seth decided he didn’t much like the look of that smile.

“I’ll tell you what, human. Since it’s late, and you’re probably tired, let’s do this: if you guess my name, I’ll sweep this under the rug and we can both pretend it never happened.”

Oh that just screamed “suspicious”. Even if he wasn’t familiar with a lot of folktales, Seth knew Rumplestiltskin, and he had a bad feeling about this seemingly-innocuous guessing game. Despite his better judgment, however, it seemed like this might be the only way out of this stupid mushroom ring.

“What’s the catch?” he rasped.

The satyr blinked slowly, then shrugged. “I suppose if you fail, I’ll get to set an impossible task for you after all,” they said innocently.

Seth muttered some choice words under his breath and stared very hard at the goat-person. “How many guesses do I get?” he asked shrewdly.

“I’m feeling generous. I’ll say five.”

Noticing Seth’s disgusted expression, the creature bared surprisingly sharp teeth in a slightly aggressive smile and leaned close. 

“Just be glad I picked guess my name and not a game of riddles. You don’t look like you’d be very good at those.”

Well, that much was true, but Seth wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of hearing it confirmed. He racked his brain for bizarre and fantastical names. Rumplestiltskin could be dismissed out of hand, at least, as could most of the Tolkien-esque names that presented themselves to him after a few moments.

“Is it Mephistopheles?” he asked first.

“No. It’s a good name though, I’ll keep it in mind if I ever change mine.”

“Fine.” Seth squinted and looked for another. “Pan?”

The satyr narrowed their eyes. “It’s because of the hooves, right? That’s profiling and I resent it.”

Well, safe to say “Pan” was not their name. Seth tried hard to think and guessed again.

“Wormwood?”

“Okay,” the other answered with gritted teeth, “Now you’re trying to insult me.”

“Hey, I’m working with what I have, here!” Seth protested. “What about, er, Fauna?”

The satyr didn’t look at all impressed. “Well that’s not very creative, is it? A bit more feminine than I prefer, too. Try again.”

Seth’s remaining guess met with similar results. Frustration bubbled up inside him. It had been rigged from the start. He’d known that, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still get angry about it. Seth was at least glad that his face was still mobile. He twisted his lips into a vicious scowl, which he directed at the smug satyr.

“Well that’s my five guesses, used up. You might as well tell me what it was,” he growled.

“Of course, where are my manners?” said the satyr sarcastically. They swept into a low bow with a flourish of their hand. “They call me Chicanery. Lord Chicanery Black, if you require a title and surname.”

Seth was furious. “And how would I have been able to guess something like that?” he demanded.

“You wouldn’t,” Chicanery answered carelessly, “That’s the whole point. But while we’re doing introductions, what’s your name, human?”

Seth nearly said his name, but at the last second changed his mind. He had no idea why, but it seemed like a bad idea to just casually give the creature his full name. Was it something he’d read once?

“Jefferson.” he answered. Chicanery nodded.

He cracked his bulging knuckles and leaned on Seth’s shoulder in a very irritating fashion.

“Well, Jeff, you failed the test. So now I get to set a task for you.”

“No.”

Chicanery looked astonished, as though it had never actually occurred to him that someone would refuse to play along. For just a moment, a flash of anger crackled -- quite literally crackled as if it were a spark of electricity -- in his eyes, and a chill ran up Seth’s spine. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to antagonize the creature.

“Impossible task, or stay here in the ring until you die of either starvation or old age. Your choice.” he said coldly.

“That isn’t fair.”

He knew it was childish, but Seth couldn’t help pointing it out. He had a job, a life, and none of this made any sense at all. 

“If life was fair, I wouldn’t be stuck here guarding an abandoned dance ring,” Chicanery answered dryly. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be rewarded if you actually pull it off. You need a car? Or a better job?” he stared pointedly at Seth’s scrubs.

Seth squinted at Chicanery, trying to gauge just how much of the odd being’s words were truth. It wasn’t as if he had a precedent for this to measure it against. The promise of a car was tempting, though he didn’t know how he’d afford the gas. No, best not to get ahead of himself. He didn’t know what Chicanery wanted him to do yet. Still, he was more than ready to get out of this fairy ring.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked warily.

Looking immensely pleased with himself, Chicanery hopped back a pace and spread his arms wide.

“See? Was that so hard?” he asked. Then he leaned in again. “You’re going to help me run a little errand. It’s just some housekeeping. And by “housekeeping”, I mean you’re going to help me usurp the throne of Unter Kobold, king of the Umbralands. I assume you have a gun, or can get one?”

“What.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Chicanery held out one of his calloused, hairy hands and Seth found that he could move again. “Do we have a deal, or am I leaving you here?”

Well, when you put it that way, Seth thought bitterly, and he gingerly shook the satyr’s hand.

It felt like being grabbed by a pinecone. Something stung his skin and the human pulled his hand away with a hiss of pain. A shimmering mark in the shape of a leaf curled outward across his palm with the same faint crackle he’d heard before.

“You’re free to go now, Jefferson,” Chicanery said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We start planning tomorrow.”

The moment Seth stepped out of the mushroom ring, the satyr was gone. In his place, the ugly toad from before sat, watching him. Seth shuddered and hurried home as quickly as he could. As much as he desperately wanted to convince himself that none of that had been real, he could not deny that he’d only lost five minutes by the time he got home, and the leaf-mark on his palm did not wash away.

Seth kicked off his shoes and did not bother to change into pajamas as he fell into bed. He could only hope that the satyr would forget about him after a few days.

#

He awoke the next morning to the sound of someone moving around in his kitchen. Seth felt around for the baseball bat he kept next to his bed, then eased his bedroom door open. Now he could hear voices.

“-well we can’t do that. No no, that’s much too much pepper. See? It looks weird now.”

Something gurgled and croaked, but Seth couldn’t make out whether or not it was words. He was more concerned with the fact that the first voice had belonged to Chicanery Black.

Seth marched into the kitchen, bat upraised, to find the satyr and a grotesque little creature that appeared to be a cross between a crocodile and a sugar glider sitting on his shoulder. They were bent over the stove, observing eggs frying in a pan. Chicanery turned with a grin.

“Ah! Morning, partner. Collywobble and I were just debating on how much pepper humans usually put in their eggs. How much do you put in?”

Flabbergasted, Seth’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few minutes before he gasped, “None! And how did you even get in here? Don’t you guys have to be, like, invited or something?”

“That’s vampires,” Chicanery shoved a forkful of boiling hot egg into his mouth and spoke around it. “Which don’t exist, by the way.”

“Of course,” Seth muttered sarcastically. “Because that’s much weirder than a satyr frying eggs in my kitchen.”

Chicanery did not grace this with an answer. He shoveled the other egg out onto a plate in an ugly lump, and handed a fork to Seth.

“Today,” he said, “You’re going to go to your public library and look up everything humans ever wrote about goblins and gargoyles and how to kill them.”

Seth seriously considered making a snide remark about homework, but decided not to push his luck. If the satyr had no trouble getting into his house, there was no telling what else he could do. He groaned and set his baseball bat down so he could eat.

“You weren’t going to stay here, were you?” he asked, gagging on the amount of pepper in the rapidly cooling egg. “I mean, is this going to be a regular thing?”

Chicanery glanced at the diminutive creature on his shoulder and back at Seth.

“I’ll stay until the task is completed.” he answered, confirming Seth’s worst fears. He leaned casually against the counter and raised a hand to scratch Collywobble behind the ears. “You know, you’re taking all this remarkably well. The last human I tried to recruit went stark raving mad, you know. They had to cart him away after he went goblin hunting in a supermarket. After an experience like that, it’s nice to find a human with a good, stretchy mind.”

Collywobble made a wet, barking sound in what was presumably agreement. Seth made a face and gestured to it.

“Okay, what is that?” he sighed.

“She,” Chicanery corrected, “Is Collywobble. She’s a goblin, and you’d better get used to her because you’ll be seeing a lot more of them.”

“Why?” Seth asked, already certain he would not like the answer.

Chicanery looked at him as if he’d lost his senses.

“One does not simply overthrow a goblin king without minions!”

Collywobble snuffled agreeably at this, then hopped down to the table. Seth decided that this was altogether too much weirdness for one morning, and that he’d be better off at the library. He stood and opened the refrigerator, looking for a stiff drink to chase away the taste of burnt and over-peppered egg.

Something like a winged porcupine held up a three-toed paw in greeting and he slammed the door.

“Why.” was all he managed to say.

Chicanery opened the refrigerator again and brightened.

“Oh! Widdershins!” he said, “So you found the place after all. What do our friends at the armory say?”

“I’m done.” Seth threw his hands into the air and left the kitchen. This was ignored by Chicanery, Collywobble, and Widdershins.

After discovering one more goblin in his clothes hamper and one in the closet, Seth threw on his shoes and stormed out of the house, locking it behind him. It likely wouldn’t do any good at all, seeing as Chicanery and his minions had just sort of materialized to begin with, but it gave him a slight sense of satisfaction.

[carewyncromwell]

[Previously on “Adventures in Cursebreaking”...]

And now...the next thrilling installment!

Carewyn took the most time to get ready the next morning, even if she did have to dress in the same clothes she’d worn the previous night. But honestly, just because she was preparing to face off against a dragon or two didn’t mean that her hair and make-up couldn’t still be polished!

When she came outside, she found Barnaby, Merula, and Penny waiting for her. They said Bill had told them to meet him at the top of the closest hill -- when they got there, however, Carewyn was taken aback to find Bill there alone. 

She whirled on the others. “Have any of you seen Charlie?”

All three of them looked just as disconcerted as she did, admitting they hadn’t seen him since the previous night. Apparently they’d thought he’d run on ahead with Bill too. A flare of panic flashing through her, Carewyn immediately dashed up to Bill.

“Bill! Bill -- have you seen Charlie?”

Bill looked very startled. “You mean he’s not with you?”

“No -- “ said Carewyn, her heart sinking more and more every minute. “ -- none of us have seen him since last night -- ”

She’d told Charlie last night that he’d just have to prove his naysayers wrong -- what if he’d decided to run off by himself, to prove he could be a real dragonologist?! Why had she said something so stupid -- !?

Bill looked even paler and more panicked than Carewyn. His eyes narrowed very sharply as he urged the four students onward, into the preserve.

The group searched all morning. At one point, they even had to fend off a Hungarian Horntail together with Stunning spells after ending up a little too close to her nest. It was after they’d escaped the Horntail that Carewyn caught a strange sound echoing from somewhere close by -- something that almost sounded like a voice.

“Hello? Can anyone hear me? Please, help!”

Both Bill and Carewyn whirled on each other, their faces both very pale and terrified. It was Charlie!

The five of them dashed down the mountain, toward the jagged, mouth-like opening at the bottom. Bill and Carewyn were making great time in front of the others, Bill because of his long legs and Carewyn because of how she was bouncing down every single ledge like she was a character in an 8-bit video game. She almost ended up stumbling and falling when she landed on a cluster of pebbles at the bottom, and Bill quickly caught her arm to stabilize her before the two dashed into the cave.

It was very dark inside, but in the far corner, beside a nest of eggs guarded by two tiny bonfires, was Charlie, lying in a heap on the ground.

“CHARLIE!”

“Bill!” gasped Charlie. “Carey! You heard me...”

Both Bill and Carewyn ran over to him. His left leg was in terrible shape -- there were several large bite marks tearing through the fabric of his pants, leaving jagged, bloody gashes in the flesh. It was rather like Charlie were a ragdoll that the family dog had gotten a hold of.

When Carewyn reached Charlie, she immediately whipped out her wand.

“Charlie, thank Merlin, we were worried sick!” she scolded him, her voice dripping with anxiety. “Have you been here all night!?”

She’d never wished Chiara was there more in her life -- Chiara would know a better spell to slow the bleeding --

Charlie, however, resisted Carewyn’s attempts to heal his leg.

“Yes -- but forget that, there’s no time! The Horntail will be back any minute -- are the others outside?”

Bill looked startled. “Outside? No, they’re -- ”

But when he and Carewyn turned around to look for Merula, Barnaby, and Penny right behind them, they instead found a large, menacing shape lurching into the cave on all fours. its fangs bared and its horns glinting in the sun.

This Hungarian Horntail was much smaller than the one outside, let alone the one from the Portrait Vault, but it filled Carewyn with no less dread, for no other reason that it was blocking the way out. They were trapped.

Carewyn looked from Charlie to Bill to the dragon bearing down on them. There was no way Charlie could stand, let alone walk in such a state...

There was no other choice.

“Bill!” she said over her shoulder urgently as she watched the dragon lurch forward. “Can you carry Charlie?”

Bill’s eyes widened, realizing what Carewyn wanted to do.

“Carey, no, I am not going to  -- !”

“Charlie’s too injured to walk!” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “Even if we carried him with magic, it’d probably only hurt him worse! And if you’re using magic to carry him, you can’t then use your wand to protect yourself!”

Charlie looked just as upset. “Carey, that’s a young Horntail! Young dragons are a lot faster and a lot more vicious than the older ones -- “

“I can’t lift you, Charlie!” Carewyn shot back fiercely. “I have to be the distraction here! Bill -- get Charlie out of here and go get the others! NOW!”

Blocking out the two Weasley boys’ objections, Carewyn, her legs quaking under her, dashed forward, pointing her wand at the Horntail. The dragon opened its mouth, blasting a sharp, short stream of flame at her.

“PROTEGO!”

Her Shield Charm rebounded the flames just enough that they dissolved away into a veil of red-hot steam.

“BOMBARDA!”

The spell bounced off the dragon’s horns. It shook its head as if the spell had been a meddlesome fly, before swinging its tail around as if to hit Carewyn. She dived to the left, trying to lead the dragon further into the cave -- to give Bill and Charlie a path out --

“INCARCEROUS!”

She successfully muzzled its jaws shut with some magical ropes for about ten seconds, before the dragon opened its jaws wide, making them break apart with a loud SNAP.

“STUPEFY! FLIPENDO! IMMOBULUS! BOMBARDA!”

Carewyn fought the Horntail with everything she had, lashing out at it viciously with spell after spell -- but unlike the dragon in the Cursed Vault, the dragon barely seemed to be weakening. It made her wish all the more she could use the Conjunctivitis Curse or blow some Pepper Breath in its eyes -- but as scared as she was, she tried desperately to keep her head. The dragons at the Sanctuary were protected by law -- Bill could get in serious trouble if she permanently damaged it --

“DEPULSO!”

The dragon once again shook off the blow. With a vicious turn, it swerved its tail around, and the horned spike collided with Carewyn’s side.

“AUGH!”

In an instant, she was thrown off her feet and slammed into the cave wall. She clutched at her side -- her red jacket and sweater were drenched with blood.

Wincing in pain, Carewyn had to quickly roll out of the way to avoid another blow from the dragon’s tail. The beast then opened its mouth, throwing out more flames.

“PROTEGO!”

The dragon’s small jet of fire breath collided harshly with Carewyn’s Shield Charm, knocking her to the ground.

Fortunately, at that very moment, five voices rang out from behind the Horntail.

“STUPEFY!”

The dragon lurched forward, clearly taken back by the force of the attack. It turned its long neck around to look behind it. The Slytherin Prefect hobbled to her feet, trying to see beyond the dragon.

It was Barnaby, Merula, Penny, Bill, and a newly healed Charlie, beating the Horntail back against the opposite wall of the cave with the force of their Stunning spells.

“Cromwell, come on!” yelled Merula.

Still clutching her bleeding side, Carewyn hurried over to them as fast as she could. Seeing that she was wounded, Barnaby immediately dashed forward to help her. His distraction, though, was an opening for the Horntail -- it opened its mouth --

Carewyn leapt fully off the ground, launching herself at Barnaby as she raised her wand --

“PROTEGO!”

She felt Barnaby catch her just as the Shield materialized around them like a bubble, protecting them both from the jet of dragon fire. The collision of dragon fire and Shield Charm made Carewyn lose her balance, but fortunately Barnaby was just barely able to stay on his feet.

“Carewyn, you’re hurt -- ” said Barnaby, visibly upset.

Carewyn looked up at him with a determined expression. “I’m fine -- ”

The other four, still launching Stunning spells at the Horntail, tried to spread out and lash out in turns in an attempt to distract it. Charlie ran off to the left, shooting spells at the dragon’s eyes and nose, calling over his shoulder at Barnaby and Carewyn.

“Carey! Remember what Kettleburn said!?”

Carewyn’s eyes widened. When they visited Kettleburn, the Care of Magical Creatures professor had told them a story about how he’d escaped a Ukranian Ironbelly by shooting a spell into the creature's open mouth -- !

Barnaby’s eyes lit up excitedly. “The Sleeping Charm! Kettleburn used the Sleeping Charm!”

Carewyn’s eyes narrowed. “Then we need to get that thing to open its mouth again -- Barnaby, help the others with the Stunners! I’ll try to get closer!”

Holding her side as tightly as she could, Carewyn dashed forward on her wobbly, trembling legs. As the dragon yowled and gnashed its teeth, Carewyn at points had to close her eyes and cower, her breath and heart racing at a mile a minute --

She was scared to death -- but she charged through all the same. And finally, after weaving around the Horntail’s spiked tail and lashing out with Bombardment and Stunners, Carewyn finally got her chance. The dragon snarled, opening its mouth --

“Levisomnus!”

Carewyn’s Sleeping Charm landed at the back of the dragon’s throat just as all five of her companions’ Stunning spells also collided with its eyes. The Horntail swayed, his eyes drifting around drowsily, before finally collapsing to the ground with a low, resounding boom.

Once the dragon had fallen, the group all stopped stock-still where they stood. Then Penny barreled over to Carewyn, her face very white and scared.

“Carewyn! Carewyn, you’re bleeding!”

Carewyn tried desperately to reassure Penny, but the blond Hufflepuff quickly fished out a familiar green bottle from her robes and shoved it into her hands.

“Wiggenweld Potion?” Carewyn said, startled.

“I brought a whole bunch with me, just in case,” said Penny sheepishly.

“Good thing she did,” said Charlie as he approached. “Wouldn’t have been able to get back on my feet again otherwise...”

Bill immediately swept down on Carewyn too, taking in her chest wound and scanning her face. She could tell how simultaneously guilty and anxious he was.

“I’m okay,” she reassured Bill quickly. “Just a scratch from its tail is all...”

Carewyn quickly downed the bottle of Wiggenweld Potion, and within seconds she could feel the deep cuts in her side sealing up and the pain dissipating.

“Thanks, Penny,” she said. “Thanks, all of you.”

Merula scoffed. “Please. As if we were going to give you the bragging rights of taking down two dragons single-handed.”

Barnaby grinned. “...We did do pretty well, didn’t we? Too bad we can’t convince the dragon to give us a ride, for having beaten it...”

“No dragon rides,” said Bill sternly. “I’ve had enough heart attacks for one day. Now come on...let’s get out of here.”

“Wait!”

Charlie dashed across the cave, over toward the dragon’s abandoned nest of eggs.

“I wasn’t just running off,” he explained to the others. “I thought I could prove myself, so I went looking for the egg -- ”

“Charlie!” Carewyn burst out, sounding both reproachful and dismayed. She’d thought that was why Charlie had left, but hearing it aloud hadn’t made her any less upset with him.

“I know -- it was stupid,” muttered Charlie as he came running back to them, “but I thought I had an idea of where to look -- ”

He showed the others the thing he’d taken from the nest.

So he had. The golden masterpiece of Urguff the Unwise glinted in the rays of the sun just outside the dragon’s cave, letting off a flawless sheen.

Everyone was amazed, none more so than Bill.

The sleeping dragon beside them gave a low gurgle in its sleep. Deciding quickly that it was best not to find out how long a Sleeping Charm lasted, the group left the cave and headed straight back to the camp.

To Be Concluded...

[hornsbeforehalos]

Hunter And Arrow: Part Nine

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings:  Language, the fact that I wrote it, violence, discription of death, main character death, smut, kidnapping, semi-abusive relationships

A/N: I do not own TWD or any of it’s characters besides the OFC’s I’ve created. Do not repost my work anywhere without my permission.

SERIES MASTERLIST

TAGS: @make-things-beautiful2 @reigningqueenofwords @srj1990@jesbakescookies @aquivercactus  @daddy-kink-confirmed@kellyn1604@reedusteinrambles @dragongirl420 @addiction-survivor25@through-thesilver-lining  @redm81 @jodiereedus22@docharleythegeekqueen

Daryl held onto his girls without release all the way back to Alexandria. He had never been so scared in his life. He’d tried to compare the emotions of losing the daughter he only recently found out he had to the memory of losing his wife but even then it didn’t add up. He mentally cursed himself over and over for leaving her alone but at the same time he knew it wasn’t Maggie’s fault. Gregory played stupid but Daryl always knew there was something hidden behind the bravado he tried to present. His body was still shaking with adrenaline as he clutched Arrow’s body to his chest with one arm while the other was secured around Hunters waist as her head lay on his shoulder while she stared at the child and stroked her hair. 

They arrived back to their home community before nightfall, Rick and the rest of the caravan pulling Eugene and Gregory from the back of the truck they’d been loaded into and shoving them both to the ground. The residents of Alexandria all gathered themselves around the center of the town, curious eyes shifting as they waited to see what was going on. 

“What’s going on, Daryl?” Carol asked as she approached, confusion furrowing her brows as she gazed upon the two men who were hogtied in the dirt.

“Auntie Carol!” Arrow beamed, her tiny fingers grabbing for the woman as she practically jumped out of Daryl’s arms and into Carol’s. 

“These two assholes thought they were gonna take my kid,” Hunter sneered, moving towards where Gregory lay face down on the ground to kick him hard in the ribs with her boot. 

Eugene whimpered where he lay, tears springing from his eyes as he exclaimed, “Mrs. Dixon, you have to believe me, I wasn’t gonna-”

“You did before, you useless sack of shit, and don’t think I don’t remember it.” Hunter snapped, crouching down with her forearms rested on her knees as she sneered at him, “You poked and prodded my daughter and lied to everyone so you could save your fat ass. Now you’re going to pay for it.”

“Hun’er,” Rick drawled as he approached, hands on his hips and a stern look on his face, “What’re you about to do?”

“Kill these fucking bastards, Rick, like I should have done a long time ago.”

“Ya ain’ gotta do that, we could-”

“You could what, Rick, lock ‘em up? Pffft.” She scoffed, shaking her head as Simon strode up to the group, Lucille perched on his shoulder as he looked to her.

“You sure ‘bout this Hun?” Simon asked, looking at the two cowards waiting to meet their fate.

“Give me the damn bat, Si. Daryl, take Arrow inside.” Hunter instructed, watching Daryl as he reluctantly nodded before carrying their daughter towards the house. 

“THAT LITTLE BRAT IS IMMUNE, PEOPLE! THIS WOMAN IS KEEPING A CURE FROM US!” Gregory shouted after them from his place in the dirt, a feeble attempt to get someone to save him. Hunter could feel the suspicious eyes on her, ear the small gasps that escaped a few of the surrounding people’s mouths. Simon kicked Gregory in the same side that Hunter had, pulling a loud, pitiful groan of pain from the man. 

“Let me make this clear,” Hunter called out, eyes scanning the waiting faces around her as she elevated her voice so they could hear, “If any of you is a scientist, a real scientist, with your fuckin’ PhD in your back pocket, then I will consider letting you near my daughter. However,” Hunter paused, gripping the handle of the barbed-wired bat Simon had extended to her, “If you try to kid nap my fucking child, hurt her when you have no idea what you’re doing, then this is what will happen to you.”

With the end of her sentence she swung the bat high in the air, over Gregory’s cowering form, and brought it down across his face. The screams of the onlookers rang out as blood and brains and bone scattered and spilled across the asphalt, the crunch of skull echoing through Hunters ears as she lifted the bat again and again, fluids spraying across her face and matting into her hair. It wasn’t until the mess that was attached to Gregory’s shoulders was unrecognizable as a human head that she stopped, pausing for another moment before turning the menacing weapon on Eugene.

“You fucking coward,” She snarled, her body seething and shaking in her anger towards the lying bastard who made her believe she’d been doing the right thing when she allowed him to almost kill her child. He was of course bawling like a baby, tears and snot streaming down his face as he attempted to cover his head. His hands were no protection, though, as Hunter raised the bat again and brought it down over him, his hands breaking first before half of his scalp was pulled off his skull as his hair tangled into the barbs of Lucille.

“Can’t even fucking die with some dignity,” Hunter growled as the groan of the half-alive man pissed her off even more. She worked his skull over just as thoroughly as she did Gregory’s, his stupid hair that was tangled in the wire flying through the air as she bashed and bashed and bashed. It wasn’t until Rick had finally had enough of the showcase that he pulled her away.

“It’s over, Hun’er, it’s done.” He drawled as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pining her arms to her sides as Simon relieved Lucille from her grasp. 

“You did good, kid.” Simon nodded, his tone even and cautious as he didn’t want to rile her up any more and have her come after him. This hadn’t been the first, or the second, or even the last time he’d seen her temper be the death of someone, “Now git home to yer baby.”

“You done?” Daryl gruffed as Hunter opened the front door to their house, lifting himself off the couch to place Arrow, who had fallen asleep on his chest, in her play pen before returning his attention to his wife.

“Yeah, I’m done.” 

“You okay?”

“Totally, why wouldn’t I be?” She answered, attempting to wipe the blood off her face but only succeeding in smearing it around more. 

“What in the fuck have you become, girl?” Daryl questioned, his eyes tense as he stepped closer to his blood soaked woman who appeared to not have a care in the world. 

“What I needed to to keep my daughter safe, Dare.” 

“What, a murderer?”

“And you’ve never killed anyone before?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she moved towards the bathroom to wash the mess off of her. He followed her, grasping her bicep and sharply tugging her back towards him.

Her sharp gaze burned into his hand and he let her go, her green eyes twisting his gut as she looked up at him, “I ain’t gon’ let anyone take that baby away from me again, Dixon, I ain’t care if I gotta kill this whole damn town, you hear me?”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding his head, and she continued to make her way towards the shower while stripping herself of her clothing. He watched her from the doorway, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, as she stepped in and lathered herself, still trying to figure out what had happened to his sweet wife. She had always been brutal, their marital problems and her temper landing him in the emergency room countless times before, but he never, ever, could picture her as the blood thirsty woman who he’d discovered she’d become after the end of the world. They’d barely been reunited a week and she’d already killed three people. 

“Ya know, it’s rude to stare, Dare,” She chuckled at him from the other side of the shower door, her body distorted by the glass but he was still able to make out her smile, “What’re you thinkin’ ‘bout?”

“Jus’ concerned is all,” He grunted, pushing himself off the doorjamb to step into the bathroom. 

“About?”

“You. Never pictured ya like this.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you.” She snarked, obviously annoyed with his judgement. Surely he had done what he needed to before to protect the people that had replaced her as his family, right?

“I jus’... I worry, s’all.” he rasped, opening the door to the stall to look Hunter in the face.

“You sayin’ I shouldn’a killed them?” She asked, rinsing her hair as the blood ran into the drain.

“I’m not sayin’ that.”

“Then what? You scared of me now?”

He snorted while trying to choke back a chuckle, “I always been scared of you, wife. Jus’ didn’ know how much I needed to be.”

“Well, now you know, Dixon. Don’t fuck with me.” She nodded her head sharply, stern look on her face before she cracked and let the smile take over. 

Many things had changed since the last time he’d seen Hunter all those years ago, but so many things hadn’t, either. Her smile still tugged at his heart and even covered in human blood she was still the most amazing thing in the world to him, besides his daughter. It didn’t matter how much she’d changed, how savage she’d become, how many poeple she’d killed. She’d done it all to portect her daughter, his daughter, and that just made him love her more. 

Hunter was about to suggest that he join her, smirk quriking on her lips as she watched his eyes darken with a lusty need that always made her wet for him, but the knock on the door inturupted her thoughts. Daryl shut the shower door and exited the bathroom, closing that door behind him as well and made his way to the front. He opened the door to reveal Carol, Ezekiel, and Jerry, whom he didn’t even know had been present, all three giving him beaming smiles that earned them his most confused expression. 

“Lord Dixon, I would like to present to you, Doctor Gerald Nguyen, PhD in bio-genetics. I do believe he is someone that your beloved would be interested in meeting.”

[ibukitten]

✰彡 stylish horror

[ ♬ ]—— Staying locked up in her house was, for a long time, the simplest solution to when things in the city got a little too wild because either the scientists were bored or some citizens themselves decided to lighten up things with large bonfire parties that burned down entire blocks. Sneaking out of harm's way is a skill Ibuki mastered in almost four years of getting used to the Hive's madness. But, evidently, she's still not very good at it considering what has just happened.

      In fact, her tendency to be comfortable in her own protective cocoon didn't save the front door of her house from getting blown out by a giant hammer. And spending years in a sort of twisted bliss far away from the island and its tragedies didn't prevent her mind from recognizing the owner of said giant hammer, that abhorrent half smile stamped on his black and white face.

      “Upupupupupupupu...”

      With her back flattened against the wall, face twisted in a true mask of fear and arms shaking as she hugs herself, Ibuki can't do anything to stop the little monster from stepping in, his weird laughter creeping into her ears and forcing her to remember everything he has done to her and her classmates back in the island; how he turned their fun school trip into a teenager's worst nightmare.

      He stops on his tracks, tossing the hammer behind him and ignoring the loud crashing noise it causes when it's sent to embed itself into one of the windows.

      “My my, if this isn't the Ultimate Musician... Mioda-chan. Upupupupu...”

      “You...” Ibuki hisses, pointing an angry finger at him. “Monobear! How did you find Ibuki's place?!”

       “Eh? Wh-Why are you speaking to me as if I'm a stalker? I-I just wanted to pay one of my students a visit!” Monobear feigns offence, joining his paws together and looking almost sad. Almost. Ibuki may have been way too naive back then, but she knows that everything that doesn't involve murder as a topic is probably all an act he constructs to make himself look funnier.

      “Besides,” he continues, the sadness in his face quickly twisting into a menacing stare made even scarier by his sharp red eye. “I should be the one asking what you're doing here, Mioda-chan. Have you forgotten that about the great, most wonderful high school life of mutual killing? Since when are you living a despair-free life? Such a disappointment! Such disrespect! This isn't how I raised you!”

      “... You're not Ibuki's dad,” she deadpans.

      Monobear widens his other beady eye in shock. “Huh... Then, I'm your mom!”

      “Nope, way too inaccurate. Try again... not.”

      “Well, then I'm your uncle, aunt, grandfather, grandmother, great grandfather, great grandmother, great grandfather from your mother's side, great grandmother from your father's si—”

      “Don't you go naming down the entire family tree just cuz you can!”

      Ibuki huffs, unsettled by the fact that she had to turn into a tsukkomi because the other party is being way more ridiculous than her. Amazing. Really, she isn't scared at all of black and white stuffed bear who can talk—what terrifies her more is the idea of returning to those horrible days where she had to watch her classmates and friends die in front of her, knowing she had great probabilities like everyone else to be the next one bathing in her own blood, dying for real and permanently. She lost sleep ever since she saw Byakuya's dead body under that table. It never came back to her until she appeared in the city.

      Monobear resumes his stance and chuckles again, setting the dramatic atmosphere back in place.

     “Family talk aside, I'm here to help you get back in the mood.” He rubs his paws together, not at all hiding his excitement for what he might be planning for Ibuki.

      She clicks her tongue, glancing over the monochrome bear to the broken front door. Rei hasn't returned yet, which is both relief and trouble considering that her girlfriend has more combat experience than her, and taking down Monobear shouldn't be difficult unless he does something crazy like exploding on them, or producing spears out of nowhere, or summon giant mecha animals that'd riddle you with bullets before you can say a vowel again. Maybe she's overestimating her enemy as of now, but neither of her classmates were able to do a thing against him back in the island, and some of them were much stronger than the average joe. Then again, if Monobear was made weak by the scientists upon arriving, even she could have some hope to subdue him.

      But as of now it's all guessing, and she's not intentioned to give herself a headache on top of suffering from her current misfortune. Taking a deep breath, she decides to challenge him.

      “How are you gonna do that? People don't stay dead here. Your little game would be pointless in a place like this!”

      “Upupupu... I'm aware of that.” He shakes under his own chuckles. “But there are a million and more ways to make someone fall in despair! I'll just have to use trial and error to see which one affects you most! For example—” He rummages with one paw behind himself, then produces a pair of scissors. “How would you like your beautiful long hair cut? My favourite one is where you become bald with no chance to grow your hair again!”

      Ibuki stiffens up, locking her jaw. That would be terrifying. Staying bald forever, unable to show the amazing flow of her hair as she headbangs on stage... that'd be so bad! Not actually super bad if she decided to have her head tattooed with some badass design, but still quite terrible!

      Before she can retort, Monobear sighs and tosses the scissors away. “Nah, so boring. People fall in despair over such dumb reasons, it's too easy. Let's see... maybe I should go greet your loved ones too...” At that, Ibuki widens her eyes in horror. “BUUUT that's also a cliché cop out. Super boring! So boring my insides are going to rot from the sheer amounts of boredom I'd feel.”

      As the bear mumbles something to himself, Ibuki shifts her sights to the possible escape routes in her house. There are stairs leading to the first floor, which continue towards the roof. Worst case scenario, she'll have to jump off and probably break some bones in the 100% possibility that Monobear will follow after her. Thinking it over, going to the roof is the dumbest idea ever, so she discards it quickly.

      Then there's the window by the kitchen. Best route, yet pretty dangerous as there are knives and other pointy things around there. Monobear will easily play pincushion with her as she tries to run. And then he'll surely burn her house down, and her whole collection of guitars along with it. No! Ok, that's actually the single most despairing event that would happen. Bad, very bad! Scratch that!

      She's seconds close to sighing in defeat when the creature calls to her attention with a peep.

      “Ha! I know!” He clasps his paws together in a way that indicates beating the palm with a fist, making a weird pop sound. “There's one thing people from all universes hate and fear more than despair itself. Big shot, isn't it? I surely HOPE you cower in fear and DESPAIR properly!” He pauses, then lowers his voice. “Wait a sec, I think I've got them somewhere.” He reaches behind himself again, the sound of clattering objects caught by Ibuki's perceptive ears. It makes her wonder if there's some hammerspace in his rear.

      When he pulls the objects out, he wears an oddly bashful expression as he holds them up to her.

      “Um, Mioda-chan... w-would you wear these for me? O-Onegai...”

      Ibuki bristles. “Huuuh? Why are you saying that in a way that sounds like marriage propos—”

      “.....”

      “................”

      “ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? NO! WHAT THE HELL, NO! ANYTHING BUT THOSE! EVEN A STRINGY BRA THAT BARELY HIDES THE NIPPLES WOULD BE BETTER THAN THOSE! NO NO NO NO NO THIS IS TOO FUCKED UP GOD NO I CAN'T!”

      Monobear gasps in an almost genuine shock, the pair of white crocs dropping from its tiny paws. “Eh?! You won't?! B-But I handmade them for you!”

      “WHO EVEN ASKED YOU TO DO THAAAAAT?” Rage laced with fear shake her whole body, as she realizes that the fight or flight situation at the start of their altercation might as well have become a desperate kill or be killed by the mere account that she can't. Let him. Wear crocs.

      “Um—hold on! Maybe you don't like the colors?” He reaches behind him and pulls out a different pair of crocs. “These are black, just like your soul? Ahahaha, I mean, a metalhead like you might as well have a dark soul. Besides, you were one of the—” A ceramic vase crashes into his face before he could finish the sentence. “Ow, rude! That's not even a spoiler anymore!”

      “GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I MAKE YOU!” By now frothing from her mouth, Ibuki conveniently found a frying pan laying nearby and it's now wielded in her deadly grasp.

      “Oh! Right!” He hides the horrifying footwear behind his back, only to come up with a new pair. “Blue and pink like your hair? They'd look hella matching with your socks! The tone is slightly different but nobody cares, right? Colorblind people won't even tell the difference~ Upupu—”

      His laughter ends abruptly the moment a very pissed off musician smashes his head in with her frying pan.

      “IF YOU LOVE THAT SHIT SO MUCH WHY DON'T YOU WEAR IT YOURSELF AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, YOU SCRAPPED PIECE OF TRAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!!!!”

      One blow after the other, Ibuki reduces Monobear's head to nothing but a mangled mess with no more eyes, cotton and mechanical parts sticking out of it. She doesn't even care that he might blow up anytime and kill her—what he tried to pull out was horrible—HORRIBLE. Dying might cleanse her from the experience instead. She decides for the good of humanity to burn the crocs down afterwards... find a pair of gloves AND burn them down, as touching them could give her something close to allergic reactions that'd be hard to fix.

      Monobear is now a twitching bundle of broken exoskeleton, and Ibuki allows herself to let air inside her lungs again as she pants and wipes the sweat off her forehead. This doesn't count as murder, does it? Her unwounded conscience seems to agree. Tossing the now bent frying pan aside, she steps out of the house and looks for whatever she needs to get rid of the body—

      “Upupupupupupupupupu...”

      A row of red glowing eyes stare pointedly at her.

      There are a dozen more Monobears standing outside. Waiting for her. Crocs in each one of their paws. The half of their face displaying their creepy grin shows pointy shark teeth as they laugh in unison at her misfortune.

      Scratch that, it’s not just a dozen. There's more. Double dozens. TRIPLE DOZENS...?!

      Ibuki opens her mouth in a voiceless scream, and only as she starts running for her own life does she manage to shake the grounds of the city with the loudest howl she ever produced.