#things that make me angry enough to chew through steel actually!

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

ah yes. much pity party. so evil narcissist. very school shooter

me: hermes is a painfully accurate example of how some ways of defending yourself against certain kinds of insidious emotional abuse, gaslighting, ableism, and therapy speak can warp you into a person whose learned helplessness and lack of perspective can result in doing really shitty things, and who passes that abuse along in different forms (hi meteion) + lashes out in disproportionate ways + can be deeply hypocritical.

me: as a disabled person in a society where our systemic mass murder via pressure into government-sanctioned suicide is on the rise, the ancients' society is beyond fucking upsetting to me. i have zero sympathy for anything to do with them pre-apocalypse except for the effects of living in that system.

me: that said, they are a good opportunity to remind oneself that there are children in that burning building; that a society being fucked does not mean they deserve to be wiped out; and that that does not mitigate the harm they do, nor mean that its victims are not allowed to be angry or resist it, including the victims inside it.

me, booboo the fool: oh, this youtube essay about hermes looks interesting--

[starlightsearches]

Heloooos! I've been sober from using tumblr for almost two years but your recent Hux post has me relapsing and its all your doing in the best ways possible. If it gives you any inspo, could you mayhaps write a modern!hux who has reader as their personal guard? My current job has me babysitting a higher up as punishment (the guy makes my life miserable but if was The Armitage Hux I would bark if he asked). Like an enemies to lovers and refusing to just be his friend due to too many feelings ?????

Sleepless Nights

Thanks for the request, my love! Sorry if it's not "enemies" enough for you, I have this insane fear of people being angry with me so I've never been good at the whole enemies to lovers thing. Anyways, let me know if you like what you see :0) Comments, likes, and reblogs are very cool!

Warnings: Kind of slutty, kind of rambly, hux is kind of toxic, language. I think that's it!

You're about three bites into your wilty Caesar salad when the alarm on your phone chimes.

You fiddle with the volume buttons for a second before silencing the noise completely, steeling yourself in preparation for the look you just know Veronica is sending your way.

It's worse than you'd anticipated. You actually flinch a little when you meet her eyes.

She stabs at her own food ferociously, but doesn't take a bite of the pad thai she ordered, bringing the fork level with her gaze. Being on the business end of those tines makes your heart beat a little faster.

"I thought you had twenty minutes for lunch."

You sneak the lid of your Tupperware in between your fingers, slipping it back over the top what's left of your food.

"No . . . I said the meeting would be twenty minutes. I have to be back at my desk before he's done."

Veronica chews at her bottom lip, and you just know that—if you were sitting anywhere that wasn't right outside her boss's office—she'd be cussing you out for, once again, letting Hux take advantage of your truly incredible work ethic.

Lucky for you, if there's one thing your friend likes more than violent outbursts, it's office gossip. The urge overtakes her, and Veronica leans in closer with a passing glance at Phasma's open door, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

"What's his deal lately, anyway?"

Interesting. You thought you were the only one who had noticed a change in Hux's temperament.

He had a reputation, of course—there was a reason he'd had five different executive assistants in the past year—and everybody checked over their shoulders before they bitched about him in the break room.

It hit you hardest—always in the blast radius, so to speak—with your desk just outside his door. You'd spent plenty of time rolling your eyes behind his back, or muttering curses under your breath when you heard his door latch.

But you'd put up with a lot more for a lot less, and you found you were able to take most of your boss's asshole-ish tendencies in stride.

So what if the hours are long? Sitting at your desk late into the night, filing memos and typing up emails between coffee runs was lonely, but your nights before the job were, too. At least now you were getting paid.

The past few weeks had been strange, though. Longer hours, later nights. His presence hovering over your shoulder or watching you through the crack in his door, that nervous energy always focused on you, waiting for you to misstep.

Then there were the calls during the few moments you were outside of the office, filled with reminders for routines you'd never once forgotten. Hux had been fidgety and restless during those morning debriefs and stumbling over his words half the time he passed your desk with some new directive.

"What's his deal ever?" you counter, and she snorts—then when that feels too mean, "he said he hasn't been sleeping."

Veronica purses her lips, smiling around the next word.

"Oh."

You really don't have the time to wait around for an explanation—the elevator up to the top floor already takes three minutes on its own—but, god, the way she says that word stops you like an ice pick to the heart.

"What?"

"Come on," she rolls her eyes, wondering how you could be so obtuse, "everybody knows that when a guy says he can't sleep it's because . . ."

She waits for you to fill in the rest.

"Uhhhhh . . ."

"It means," Veronica sighs, yanking you closer by the arm so nobody will overhear, "that he's been thinking about you. You know, like—" she mimics the beat of some cheesy porn intro, with the bwops and the chicka-waahs.

As if you didn't already get the message.

Your stomach rolls, and not with hunger—although you're wasting valuable time you could have to shovel the rest of your lunch into your mouth on the way back to your desk.

It takes a moment, but you manage a weak laugh, shaking yourself out of your stupor.

Hux didn't think about you like that. He didn't think about you at all unless he was reading his dictations over your shoulder while you were still writing them, just in case he needed to preemptively correct your mistakes.

"Uh, okay, you're insane."

Veronica's brows come together at the challenge—you know she won't stand for that. She scans the immediate area until she narrows in on a victim.

"Hey, Stephen."

The new intern's on his third trip past her desk since you got here, turning so quick to the side you're surprised his head stays attached to his neck.

He's been waiting for this moment all day.

Stephen's cute—dark, fluffy hair and big eyes—eager like a puppy with his clumsy, loping walk . . . and he's got no fucking chance. Veronica would chew him into pieces.

He runs over to her desk, totally clueless to that.

"What's up?"

Veronica smiles, leaning over her desk so the top of her button-down starts to split open. Stephen develops a twitch in his eye trying to keep his gaze level with hers.

"What does it mean when a guy tells a girl that he's having trouble sleeping?"

He relaxes visibly, like someone just asked him the color of the sky.

"Oh, yeah. It means he wants to fuck her."

Stephen gives the answer to you—well aware of his role—then looks to Veronica, waiting for a good boy and a dog treat and a pat on the head.

You feel like you've stepped into the twilight dimension. When the fuck did that become common knowledge?

"Okay, you're both insane, and now I'm running late."

Your steps are harried on the way back to the elevator, begging the engine to move faster or the second-hand on your watch to tick slower. Trying not to think about your boss, thinking about you every night, twisted up in his sheets.

Because, yeah, you had your daydreams. Everybody needs something to distract from the drudgery of all those fucking emails. It never mattered much to you who had you pinned against the shelves in the supply closet of your mind.

Just a little entertainment to wake you up during the afternoon slump—feverish hands and desperation and the crisp smell of copy paper.

But you've always had a thing for a well-cut suit. And Hux had plenty of those.

So what if you were kind of into him and his weird little hard-ass routine? You'd never dream of going any further than your daydreams.

But was he going further? And what did that look like?

Your palms are sweating when you get back to your desk, and you can't get the image out of your head—Hux with sweat beading down the taut skin of his neck, with his arms caging you against a wall, with his hips pinning yours against the hard edge of his desk.

You hardly have time to plant your ass in your chair before you hear the tell-tale footsteps around the corner.

Speak of the devil—or, you know, daydream about fucking him.

"Any calls?"

Hux barely glances in your direction—always on the move lately—no room in his schedule to actually stop at your desk and speak to you. You'd guess he's only got time for three directives before he's out of earshot.

Good news. Maybe you could make it out of here before midnight.

"I'm still working through them, sir, but I'll let you know if anything important has come through."

Total lie. You haven't even looked at the phone. And you can't look him in the eye either, feeling flushed and frantic.

Oh god. Do you look flushed and frantic?

Hux doesn't notice either way. Maybe Veronica was wrong and decided to ruin your entire life on a whim.

"Make sure you have a car prepared for the event on Friday. I won't stay longer than twenty minutes."

"Of course, sir. I'll call and let him know."

You had already made that call, but you'd have to update Mitaka, still. That's ten minutes less than the original time you gave him.

He's half-way into his office when he turns back for his last demand, "and I'll need you late, again, tonight."

Fuck. So close. You'd have to reschedule that date with your vibrator.

"Of course, sir. Whatever you need."

I'll need you late, again, tonight?

Could he make it any more fucking obvious?

Hux feels like slamming his head against the wall. He would, maybe, if he wasn't sure you'd hear the rattling window and come to see what his problem was. And that would only present more opportunities for him to make a fool of himself.

He certainly doesn't need any more of those.

It seemed like good advice when it was first given to him—"spending more time together" would be an easy first step, if it didn't also involve time-and-a-half for you. The paychecks he was signing were starting to look as ridiculous as the little infatuation he's been carrying.

Not that it mattered. If money was what you wanted, he'd give it. Anything to endear himself to you.

But the extra time—and the money—aren't helping. You're as distant as ever, maybe moreso, with the fog of sleeplessness and your inevitable irritability at his constant demands.

It's his own damn feelings that get in the way. He can't concentrate, not with the shape of your legs in those pencil skirts. He spends most meetings in wondering how to find out the name of the perfume you wear.

And where he can find a bottle of it for personal use.

Nights, still, are worse.

That's where this all started. Hux hardly ever had dreams, and the few dreams he did have in those short, unconscious hours were never memorable.

Then he woke with the feeling soft skin enveloping his cheeks, tasting you on his lips. And god, those noises you were making for him, your fingers through his hair, begging for him to come closer, to give you more.

It flipped the switch. You went from a passive—albeit attractive—body in a chair to a person. A someone.

A need.

He knew it was wrong. He knew, even with his sweat soaking the sheets and his heavy hand resting on his abdomen that this would ruin so much for him.

The mind can be reasoned with, if the body is hungry enough. And Armitage is so, so hungry for you.

On the nights he manages to resist, he imagines, wonders. Are you alone? Do you think of him? Or are you warming someone else's bed, rolling from their sheets with a heavy sigh every time Armitage's contact pops up on your phone screen?

That worry has him sick to his stomach.

So it's best to keep you close. Keep an eye on you.

Hux looks up from the stack of reports he's been reviewing, shifts in his chair just right until he can see you through the window outside his office without you noticing him.

It puts a god-awful crick in his neck if he sits like this too long. His chiropractor commented on it during his last appointment.

Normally there's not much to see—a Solitare window pulled up when you think he won't notice, the shape of your back curved gracefully. Sometimes your bra visible through the fabric of your thin, white shirts.

Not today, though. You're sitting ram-rod straight, one hand brushing some loose hair behind your ear. All your attention focused on the towering man in front of you, his arms propped against the top edge of your desk and a leering grin on his face.

Ren.

Armitage almost falls with the force of his shock, and then settles along with an empty rage in the pit of his stomach.

Of course Ren would have noticed Hux's preoccupation. And of course he would wield Hux's feelings against him.

There's an animal inside his chest, clawing to get out, giving him half a mind to stomp out there, chase Ren away with some biting remark and a hand on the back of your chair.

But there's a fear that runs deeper. Maybe you'd prefer someone like Ren.

A man who is in every way Hux's opposite. Volatile. Domineering. Powerfully built.

Could Armitage compete?

His inadequacy floods him with a distasteful anger. Armitage will put an end to it immediately. Call you into his office and berate you for socializing during working hours, shame you for inappropriate and obvious mooning over a superior.

He'll make you feel small, ashamed. The way he feels right now.

Too late for all his bravado. Ren steps away from your desk with one glance back, a knowing smirk on his face. Hux almost feels like it's a look meant for him, like Ren can find his gaze through the wall.

Armitage stands from the chair, unsure what his purpose is and knowing he'll defer to anger, as always. Knowing it will make you hate him more than you probably already do.

You don't start immediately when the door opens, and he can't tell from his view of the back of your head what you're thinking.

How many times had he wished he could delve into your mind, pull out gauzy strings of your memories, any thought or emotional tug you'd had in his vicinity? How many times had he hoped you might give him a hint or a sign that you felt anything for him at all?

Armitage coughs, and you jump, turning in your chair until you meet his eyes.

"My office," he tells you, and turns back without waiting to see if you'll follow.

Your steps are quiet in the already quiet office. Everyone else has gone home by now, leaving the two of you alone, and the lights buzz menacingly over the sound of your heels rustling against the carpet. You take your usual seat across from his desk. Armitage stays on his feet, hoping to channel his anxious energy somewhere, liking the way it feels to tower over you.

"Did you need something, sir?"

He knows you're nervous. You don't try to hide it, fidgeting with your fingers, chewing at your lip, avoiding his eyes. Armitage wishes that it was him that made you feel that way, not his position, not his reputation for anger.

"What did Ren want?" he asks.

Your lips part, and then come back together in hesitation, planning an appropriate answer, wondering how he'll react.

"His assistant put in her two weeks notice today," you tell him.

He hums, waiting for more. Your lips flush a lighter shade when you press them more tightly together, and he knows you'll acquiesce.

"He offered me the position, sir."

Armitage sees red, feels his hands curl into fists where they rest behind his back. That arrogant, underhanded, low-life bastard. Hux would . . .

He keeps a cool tone, arches a brow. "And?"

"I told him I appreciated the offer but I'd prefer keep my current position."

And that gives him pause. Has the strange, effervescent hope alight in his chest, but something else snuffs it out.

"Why?"

Hux can't hide the skepticism in his voice, the aching disbelief that you would choose him in any context, but especially this.

Everyone knew working under Armitage was . . . trying. He saw the looks of pity you received from other secretaries as they packed their bags for the night, knew they were taking some solace at your misery while sipping on their happy-hour cocktails. He's well aware that he is demanding, and stubborn, and always so exacting.

He's like that in his personal life, too. Which is why he is always alone.

Your brows come together in an obvious but uncharacteristic sign of anger.

"I'm not afraid of hard work, sir."

"I am aware of that, but—"

Why is he so desirous to argue against himself? You are the best assistant he's ever had. Unfortunately, pushing people away is a skill he's mastered over and over and over again.

"Do you want me to leave?" you interrupt him, arms crossing defensively over your chest.

Part of him wants to say yes. To rid himself of this weakness you've blossomed in him, to keep everything under his control and eliminate all other variables.

Your lips press tighter together—Hux would assume he's hurt you, if he thought he had that kind of power.

He's been silent too long. You stand from your chair, brush your hands over your skirt to smooth out the wrinkles.

"Alright, then." You speak without meeting his eyes, heading for the door.

Armitage isn't sure what makes you stop, not until you glance down at your wrist, and he mirrors the movement, sees his own hand circling it.

A perfect fit.

"Sir?"

Your voice is hazy, blurred out by the warmth of your skin and the smell of your perfume and the way your eyes go wide when Armitage makes his approach.

Without saying a word or offering a hint of an apology, Hux is kissing you.

[thearvariblues]

Sing Me a Song

“You Geralt of Rivia’s bard?”

Jaskier looks up from his notepad and grins at the man who’s just sat at the opposite side of the table.

“Technically, I used to be,” the bard says, taking a sip of his ale. “We had a tiny misunderstanding last year. I’m sure he’s gonna be fine, though, I’m just giving him some time to cool down and wallow in self-pity.”

Jaskier frowns, because his brain has finally caught up with his mouth and informs him that even though the man who asked the question is very pretty (and he is – a bit short, but lean and clearly very agile, brown-skinned, with dark, wavy hair and stunningly unnatural green eyes), he also has got two big, scary swords strapped to his back, way too many scars and has, in fact, only one green eye, the other being covered by an eye patch, presumably missing.

And then there’s the Cat school medallion on his chest.

As Geralt would say… fuck.

“Unless you’re here to kidnap me and torture me to lure him into a trap. If that’s the case, I’ve never met a Geralt of Rivia in my life. Also, if you harm a hair on my head, he will hunt you down and kill you, very slowly and painfully. Just a heads up,” Jaskier smiles, utterly failing to sound at least a little bit threatening.

“Thanks for the warning,” the Witcher laughs. “But I actually need you to write me a song.”

“Sorry, I’m afraid this bard already has a Witcher to praise,” Jaskier protests, shaking his head firmly.

“Ugh. Who says I want praise?” the man says, making a face. “I just can’t seem to find a friend of mine, so I need to make him find me.”

“With a song? Do I look like a fucking pied piper?” Jaskier smirks.

“A little, yeah.”

“Fair enough. What’s in it for me?”

“What do you think is going to happen once Geralt hears that his bard has found himself a new muse?” the Witcher grins.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, chuckling. “Oh, but that’s good.”

“Are you in, then?”

“Absolutely. And, uhm… What did you say your name was?”

“By the gods, where are my manners?” the Witcher laughs. “I’m Aiden.”

*

Geralt places two tankards of ale on the table and sits down with a grunt.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting old, Wolf,” his brother Lambert smirks and promptly pulls one of the tankards closer. “Because that almost sounded like Vesemir when he’s trying to get up from his chair.”

“You’re so fucking funny,” Geralt murmurs.

“I know, right?” Lambert grins, tucking a strand of curly red hair behind his ear. “So, how’s life on the Path without your beloved bard?”

“Not my bard.”

“So pretty fucking terrible, eh?” Lambert chuckles.

“Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You’re being very nice and friendly today, you know?”

“I bought you a drink. So shut up and… drink.”

Lambert shrugs and for once does what he’s told. Within a few seconds, half of the tankard’s content vanishes.

“If it’s any consolation, life without my Cat is also pretty fucking unbearable,” he says then.

“Hm.”

“Oh, really, Geralt? You’re using your famous hm against me? Me, your brother?!”

Geralt groans.

“By the gods… Why can’t I just run into Eskel for once? Why does it always have to be you?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess.”

“Lucky. Yeah.”

Lambert rolls his eyes and focuses on his ale again – until the local bard grabs his lute and starts playing a slow, romantic ballad. Lambert growls.

“Fuck, I hate that song!”

“Why?” Geralt blinks, because he’s never heard the song before, and to be perfectly honest, it doesn’t really sound that bad.

“A brown-skinned woman with dark hair who’s seemingly killed, then comes back to life already plotting her revenge, only to find out that her lover’s already avenged her? Always reminds me of Aiden.”

“Aiden wasn’t exactly… A woman, was he?”

“He also hasn’t come back to life, as far as I know,” Lambert mutters.

“Who wrote it?” Geralt frowns, listening carefully. “It sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Some Master Dandelion. Never heard of him, but it seems he’s very popular now.”

“Hmmm…”

“Oh, not again!” Lambert groans.

“It just… It really does sound like Jaskier’s song.”

“You just fucking miss the bard, Geralt, that’s all.”

“No. No, I actually think…”

“That might be exactly the problem,” Lambert says and places his empty tankard back on the table. “The second round’s on me.”

*

“Seems like your plan’s not working as intended,” Jaskier comments. He’s spent weeks traveling with Aiden, and they still haven’t even heard about another Witcher trying to find them.

“I’m aware,” Aiden mutters, chewing his dinner without even noticing its taste – which is, honestly, probably for the best. ���Could you be, like… less subtle?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“I suppose.”

“Fine,” Aiden nods. “Do it.”

*

“It’s a man now,” Geralt frowns, listening to the song he’s heard countless times already. “That’s new.”

“Looks like Master Dandelion might like to, uhm, dual wield,” Lambert snorts.

“It still sounds like Jaskier’s work.”

“Does Jaskier like to dual wield?”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dreamily.

“All the more reason to apologize, then, eh?”

“Oh, shut up, Lambert…”

*

“Still not working!” Aiden groans. He’s been waiting for three months for his Wolf to find him, and to no avail.

“I could, you know… Try something more obvious,” Jaskier offers.

“Please.”

*

“It’s a cat now,” Geralt blinks. “Dark-skinned, dark-haired… cat.”

Lambert sighs.

“Yeah, I hate those fucking metaphors.”

*

“I’m starting to think I should have just… kept trying to find him,” Aiden sighs, staring out of the tavern’s window.

Jaskier, cheeks still flushed from his performance, downs his ale and shakes his head.

“Don’t give up hope just yet,” he says. “I’ve already made a few changes to the song.”

“Oh, have you?” Aiden smirks. “Does it now say Lambert, I’m alive you moron, stop hiding and fucking find me?”

“Well, not yet… But almost.”

“Great. I can’t wait to hear it.”

*

Lambert is staring at yet another local bard singing the fucking ballad. He doesn’t even blink. Geralt is getting a little worried that his brother’s brain might have actually exploded.

“It says a Cat Witcher now,” he says, hoping it would get a reaction out of Lambert.

The redhead finally blinks. That’s probably good.

“A Cat Witcher who comes back to life only to find out his Wolf lover has already avenged him,” Geralt adds.

Lambert blinks again.

“And you know, I’m almost sure that this Master Dandelion is just Jaskier’s new alias.”

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Lambert mutters when the song finally comes to its end.

“Which one of them?” Geralt smirks.

“Both of them!” Lambert growls. “I swear to gods, if I find out your stupid bard stole my Cat…”

“Excuse me, madam,” Geralt says to the innkeeper who’s just brought them their dinner. “Where did your bard learn this song?”

“That sappy ballad?” the innkeeper frowns. “From this Master Dandelion himself. He passed through the town last week with a Witcher.”

“And Master Dandelion…”

“You know the bard that calls himself Jaskier? It’s him with a fancy hat on,” she smirks.

“About this Witcher,” Lambert growls. “Does he look like in the song?”

“Pretty much, yeah. Kind of small for a Witcher, and almost too pretty, you know, but we had a little griffin problem and he slayed that beast like it was nothing, so…”

“I’m so gonna kill them both,” Lambert murmurs while Geralt has to try very hard not to chuckle.

“Would you happen to know where were they heading?” he asks.

“I would,” the woman says and looks at the Witcher expectantly.

“I see,” Geralt sighs. “You have another monster problem, don’t you?”

“Well. It turns out the griffin probably had a mate…”

“Of course it fucking did,” Geralt nods and picks up his fork. He simply refuses to deal with this with an empty stomach…

*

Jaskier critically eyes the clothes he’s picked for tonight’s performance.

“What do you think, Aiden?” he asks his companion. “Isn’t the purple a bit too much? It’s a small town, after all. Wouldn’t the steel blue look better?”

“I don’t know, I like the red one best,” Aiden shrugs from his spot on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Reminds you of Lambert’s hair,” Jaskier says, rolling his eyes. “Melitele’s tits, I wish he’d find us already, because this is getting really–”

As if on cue, the door of the room slams open and a big, red-haired man walks in.

“You fucking bitch!” he yells when he sees Aiden.

The dark-haired Witcher beams and gets to his feet.

“Lambs!”

“Oh. Okay. That was fast,” Jaskier nods.

Lambert growls and grabs Aiden by the collar.

“Asshole!” he hisses. “I fucking mourned you!”

“Oh, honey, that’s so sweet,” Aiden smiles.

Lambert pushes him against the wall, so hard that Aiden grunts.

“I cried for you!”

“In my defense, it wasn’t exactly my fault,” Aiden smiles.

Jaskier inches towards the door.

“I guess I’ll just… leave you two to it.”

Needless to say, Lambert ignores him completely.

“I fucking avenged you!”

“Yes, that was very kind of you,” Aiden grins, utterly unaffected by Lambert’s angry face so close to his own. “You saved me a lot of trouble.”

Lambert groans, buries his face in Aiden’s shoulder and sighs deeply.

“You fucker,” he mutters.

“Yeah, I missed you too, puppy,” Aiden smiles, wrapping his arms around Lambert.

Jaskier, who’s already standing in the doorway, places his hand on his heart and takes a deep breath.

“Oh,” he whispers. “I shall write the most beautiful ballad about this… Ow!”

He’s unceremoniously dragged out of the room and this time it’s his turned to be slammed against the wall by a big, angry Witcher – but this one is white-haired and dressed all in black.

“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims, his face brightening up.

“You won’t write a fucking thing,” Geralt growls.

“Is that so? May I ask why, dear heart?”

“Because you’re mine. My bard. And if I ever find out you’re writing about another Witcher again–”

“Then what?” Jaskier asks, cocking his head. “But before you answer, I’d like to remind you that I am not yours anymore, as you have made it quite clear on the mountain that you are not interested in having me as a companion–”

Jaskier is effectively shut up by Geralt’s lips pressing against his with determination that makes it absolutely clear that Geralt hasn’t merely lost his balance and happened to be falling in Jaskier’s general direction.

“Mine,” he growls.

“Well,” Jaskier sighs, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair. “When you put it like that… Fuck the mountain, I suppose.”

“Fuck the mountain,” Geralt agrees. “But I’m sorry. For what I said.”

“Apology very much accepted,” Jaskier laughs. “I’d ask you to fuck me, but I’m afraid my room is currently… occupied.”

Lambert’s loud moan only confirms Jaskier’s statement.

“Hm,” Geralt hums. “Do you think this tavern has a bath? I think I still have some griffin blood in my hair from last week.”

“Oh,” Jaskier purrs. “Oh, yes. And I’m sure I could get some chamomile oil…”

They hear another moan, this time Aiden’s.

“What are we waiting for, then?” Geralt grins and grabs Jaskier’s hand. “Come on, bard. We have some catching up to do…”

[imaslutforremusandsirius]

Its my 3rd request already? Well shit. Could you do a dom Sirius and James and sub Remus and fem reader.. Punishment. In a classroom.. For not doing their homework- And just like... Put EVERY SINGLE ONE of the kinks that you have- When did I turn into a kinky bitch😫

Why are you being bad?

Ft. James‘ and Sirius‘ big dick™️

Read the username and knew the request was gonna be good, Enjoy!! <3

Warning: 18+

---

You had been busy all afternoon yesterday, planning some prefect stuff with Remus. Both of you had been so engrossed in the planning, that the potions essay had completely slipped your mind.

„Fuck they’re gonna be mad. This is the third time we forgot!“ Remus panicked.

„Shit!“ you swore „I knew that we had forgotten something!“

„I don’t want to be punished“ Remus whined „I barely healed from last time. My ass fucking hurts!“

You sat down on the bed and buried your face in your palms, silently thinking of an excuse.

„What if“ you hesitated „What if we just lie and say we did do it. And – and we say that some Slytherins attacked us from behind, vanishing the essays?“

Remus gave you a hopeful look. „You think that’ll work?“

You bit your lip. „It has to otherwise we’re fucked mate.“

Remus snorted. „Don’t call me mate, I’ve fucked you before.“

You laughed at that and took his hand in your own. „Right, lets go.“

---

Remus and you were in your seats, behind Sirius and James. The two doms had been in a sour mood all morning, something about Quidditch being cancelled. Remus‘ hand was squeezing your thigh hard and your leg was bouncing a fucking mile a minute.

„What if they know?“ Remus said.

„If you keep acting like a scared bitch of course they’ll know Rem!“ You whisper-yelled.

„Shut the fuck up, your leg is about to go into cardiac arrest!“ he hissed back.

You instantly stopped bouncing your leg and instead took his hand to calm yourself down. Remus gave you a shaky smile, gripping tight.

„We’ll be fine“ you said, not believing anything you said. Remus just nodded.

„Where are your essays?“ The Professor asked and it took you both a second to realize that he was talking to you.

You chose to answer. „Um- we don’t have it Sir. There have been some difficulties.“

The moment you said that the essay wasn’t done, James turned around to give you a hard stare, jaw already clenching. Sirius let out a small chuckle and nodded to himself, before he turned slowly in his seat to glare at Remus. Your fellow sub nearly crushed your hand.

„We can explain!“ Remus blurted out towards the teacher, but his eyes were trained on Sirius as he spoke. „Could we talk after class, Sir?“ The question was actually directed to Sirius and James.

Sirius just gave him a tight smile and turned around. James didn’t though, he kept staring at you until the Professor told him to turn back to his book.

„Alright, stay after class then.“

---

You told your teacher the same lie you wanted to tell your angry doms and nearly cried with relief when he said that you could hand it in the next day. The moment you two were alone in the classroom, James and Sirius came bursting through the door and threw their bags in the corner. James locked and soundproofed the room, before he stood next to Sirius, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Sirius took a breath to calm himself and cracked his neck. It was dead silent.

“We know you lied.”

Remus nearly fainted next to you and you chewed your lip anxiously.

“We didn’t lie, Sir.” Your voice was somehow steady and you kept eye contact, shivering a little.

James lost his cool and Sirius had to hold him back from slamming you against the nearest surface. Believe it or not, Sirius was the cold and detached type during punishments, while James lost control of his rage.

“I’ll give you one last chance to tell the truth.” Sirius said, voice still calm.

This time Remus steeled himself and responded. “We didn’t lie, Sir.”

“Alright” Sirius said, a little anger laced his voice now and he turned to the other dom “James, they’re yours.”

Not needing to be told twice, James ripped his belt and tie off and barked out a “On your knees, head down.”

You two dropped to your knees and bowed your heads. James took the belt and tied it around Remus‘ hands, pulling so taunt that the boy winced. Moving towards you he bound yours with the tie and stood up.

“This isn’t gonna be a fun punishment like you’re used to.” Sirius said as he made himself comfortable on the chair, crossing his arms, legs spread wide. He had the regal confidence of a king, looking down at you nonchalantly. “We will stay here as long as it takes for you to confess.”

James took over. “Forgetting your essays after you told us that it’s already done is one thing, but to look at us and lie twice?!” James voice was getting louder with every word and you both trembled “That’s blatant disrespect. We’ve been to lentient lately.”

He took off his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt, rolling up the sleeves. He crouched infront of Remus and grabbed his chin. Remus raised his head but kept his eyes casted on James’ chest out of respect.

“I know that she can be a brat” James mused and gripped harder, bruises already forming on Remus’ chin “but you should have known better baby.”

Remus sniffled and you saw his eyes gloss over, not because James was hurting him, but because of the scolding. Remus hated being bad.

“And you” James yelled, voice hardening when it came to you, knowing he could treat you a little rougher that the werewolf “just can‘t stay out of trouble huh? Do you like making us angry?”

Heaven knows why but James’ tone irked you, sometimes punishments made you feisty. It’s not like everything was your fault. Yes it had been your idea, but you never forced Remus to play along.

For now you decided to keep your mouth shut, not wanting to make it worse for Remus, you loved him too much for that. So you took the blame. Sighing, you nodded, albeit with attitude. James noticed and took off his ring.

Slap.

Your head whipped to the side and you bit your lip from making any noise, but you couldn’t help the little hiss that escaped you.

“Lets try that again” Sirius said this time, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. You glared at him from under your lashes, forcing out a “Yes. I understand.”

Slap.

You bit your lip harder and James noticed and slapped you for the third time. You heard Remus‘ distressed sounds and reigned yourself in. Bowing your head you let out a meek, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Yes Daddy, what?” James sneered.

“Yes Daddy, I understand that it is my fault and I will take my punishment like a good girl.”

“Atta girl” Sirius laughed “Stop trying to play tough.”

The biting undertone made you want to get up and slap them back, but you just clenched your jaw and swallowed your anger.

James stood before you two with his legs spread and hands behind his back. He was oozing dominance and the powerful stance turned you on and scared you at the same time. Remus was affected as well, not daring to move a single inch.

„We have decided to let you do the work“ James grinned menacingly „Skirt off and bend over the desk.“

You stood and flipped your skirt up, struggling a little with your bound wrists.

„God, can you do anything right?“ James groaned and flipped the skirt up, pinching your skin. He couldn’t help it, you just made him lose his mind.

As James was taking off your restrains Sirius took something out of his pocket. You felt him press the toy on your clit and whined a little, pushing back against him.

„Stay still greedy girl“ Sirius muttered and pressed the toy inside of your wet cunt, pushing it in so deep that it pressed against your sweet spot.

Your hands were free and you stood up straight again, gasping when the vibrator turned on. You knees buckled and you had to steady yourself on the desk behind you.

The two doms watched you, biting their lips, veins in their arms flexing as the balled their fists. Sirius and James just wanted to fuck you so bad, but they had a point to make.

„Look at her“ Sirius teased „can‘t even hold herself up.“

James chuckled, licking his lips as he watched you throw your head back and moan loudly.

„Well she is a slut Pads, m‘not surprised.“

You looked at them again, wincing when the vibrations got worse and your legs trembled.

„Don‘t you dare come little girl“ James warned „you‘re already in enough trouble. C‘mon get up, time to pay attention to Remus.“

„Yes, Daddy“ you whimpered, voice breaking.

„Up, boy“ Sirius commanded and Remus scrambled up, head still bowed. He quickly unbuttoned Remus‘ pants and pulled them down, forcing him to bend over the teachers desk by his neck and held him there.

„We have a little game for you.“ Sirius drawled. „Our darling girl is going to punish you with the belt Remmy.“

Remus whimpered softly as Sirius dragged his palms across his sore ass, the skin still red from another punishment. „Hush, I‘m not done. Your Daddy is going to put your favorite vibrator in your tight litte hole.“

Remus was panting now, the way Sirius was whispering in his ear made him leak precum on the table. „If your cum, she doesn‘t get to.“ James finished, giving you a mocking smile when you gaped at them.

„But Remus can‘t hold back for shit-“

James had your head bend backwards in a flash, your neck cracking with the sudden movement as you were forced to look up at the ceiling.

„I‘m done with your fucking games“ James roared at you and your eyes glossed over because of the painful tilt of your head.

„Daddy-“ Remus tried but Sirius spanked him hard.

„I‘m sorry! I‘m sorry! Please, I‘ll be good“ you wailed as James bit down hard on your shoulder, sharp canines drawing little pearls of blood.

„If I hear one more complaint out of your whore mouth we won‘t touch you for an entire month. You won‘t get our attention at all. Do. You. Understand?“

„Yes!“ you sobbed „Yes! Please don‘t!“

He let you go and you knelt down in front of the dom, leaning your head against his thigh as you cried for forgiveness.

„I didn‘t m-mean to“ you hiccuped and James stroked you head lightly. „Prove that you‘re a good girl and your daddies will forgive you.“

Yes, you would prove it. You would make them proud. That was all the motivation you needed and you got up, wiping you tears as you made your way over to Remus. Taking his face in your hands you gave him a slow kiss, whispering a secret „I‘m sorry“ and bend him over the table again.

Remus grit his teeth when he felt the first punishing slap of Sirius‘ belt on his already sore ass. He wasn‘t weak by all means, he is a goddamn werewolf, it was the pleasure he was worried about. See, Remus had a thing for pain.

Both of your vibrators came to life at the same time and you let out simultaneous moans. You nearly dropped the belt and your knees buckled, Remus forhead banged against the table as he groaned from the back of his throat.

„Keep going“ Sirius commanded, the doms watching you closely.

You started to spank Remus again, the other boy was a whimpering mess, sweat dripping down his back.

„Ah please“ he begged, legs clenching to hold his release „please, enough!“

„Five more Rem“ you pleaded „please hold it, five more then you‘re done!“ Youe own voice cracked with the threat of an upcoming orgasm, the vibrations so strong you felt them on your clit.

„I can‘t!“ Remus cried, words garbled. „Ah- no!“

The belt had directly hit his swollen balls from behind and Remus came hard, his cum coating the teachers desk.

„Fuck“ you whined when James arm wrapped around you waist and pulled you back to his chest. His other hand slid inside of your clenching hole and pulled out the toy, taking away your privilege to cum.

„Please“ You were a mess, dripping tears and shaky legs.

James directed you to sit on Sirius lap, the latter cooed and kissed your tears away.

„Hush baby, you know Daddy hates crying. I‘m gonna give you a choice now“ Sirius said, a dangerous glint in his pretty eyes.

„Either we punish Remmy again and you get to cum“ you heard the boy plead in the background, not able to handle another punishment „or we don‘t and you won‘t get cummies. What will it be baby?“

The doms knew that they weren‘t being fair. They were far to agitated to play nice, angry because of the cancelled game and your disobedience. They wanted to be merciless.

Through the fog of your despair you glanced back to make sure Remus was alright. Seeing him all bruised and teary made your heart ache. Fuck, you thought, fuck you Remus Lupin. Fuck you and your cute face.

You decide to not cum and spare him.

„Don‘t punish him“ you said with a heavy heart „I won‘t cum.“

Sirius gave you a pleased smile and kissed you hard. James dragged Remus with him, sitting down and made Remus kneel on the ground at his feet.

„Good choice puppy“ Sirius said, stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs „only good girls put others needs before their own.“

Youwere confused as you stared at your dom. „Daddy?“

„Cum whenever you like“ Sirius said and you felt him push inside of you with a hard thrust.

You gasped, holding onto his shoulders as he pushed up inside of your hot pussy, groaning at the feeling of being so deep inside of you.

„You gonna tell Daddy the truth now?“ Sirius pressed, wanting to hear you confess.

„I‘m sorry Daddy!“ Your voice was high pitched and it was difficult to breathe with the force behind his thrusts.

„Try again“ Sirius moaned, pushing you down to meet his thrusts and you shrieked when his cock hit your sweet spot brutally.

„We lied!“ you wailed „We‘re sorry please!“

They had been torturing your body and mind the entire afternoon and you just wanted to cum. You just wanted to sink into the haze of your release.

„Good girl“, Sirius growled before his hand came down to stroke your clit swiftly. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as you screwed your eyes shut, cumming hard around him. Sirius‘ balls tightened at the sight and he came inside of you, teeth biting over the same spot as James did.

„God puppy“ Sirius praised, his voice trembling „take my cum fuck yes-“

You heard James let out a shout and saw him cum in Remus‘ mouth, forcing him down so deep that you couldn‘t make out his face from the side.

„Swallow or m‘not lettin‘ you up boy.“

Remus‘ choked as he swallowed eagerly, pulling away to show James his empty mouth. James gave his cheek light taps as he murmured a „Good bitch“

Grabbing him under his arms James pulled Remus up, cuddling him against his chest. You sat there for a while, enjoying the manly smell of your doms and their hands tracing your bodies.

„What have you learned?“ James voice still had an edge to it, but it wasn‘t as aggressive anymore.

„We won‘t lie again.“ Remus and you said in unison.

„And?“ Sirius pressed.

„We will tell you when we can‘t finish our essays on time.“ You said, hiding your face in his soft neck.

„We forgive you.“ James said now, reaching over to coax your face out of its hiding. „You did good.“

James‘ praises were always comforting because the dom was a lot harder to impress that Sirius. His voice was completely relaxed now and you saw Remus already fast asleep on his chest.

Maybe lying wasn‘t the best idea after all.

[firefly-in-darkness]

Go For Broke

Pairing → Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Characters → Brief mentions of Knives Out characters (maybe?)

Summary → A little bet has big consequences.

Word Count → 2.7k

Warnings → 18+, Swearing, Smut, Angst

Betas → @kalesrebellion // all mistakes are my own.

Prompts → Bee's 7K of the Week Challenge; Monday - Ransom Drysdale, Tuesday - Smangst, Friday - Work Function, Saturday - The Dating Bet, (a blink of a praise kink for Sunday).

AFG2021 Square Fill→ "I said 'be sexy', not be a fucking blowfish" @anyfandomgoesbingo

A/N → As I mentioned above, this is for @negans-lucille-tblr writing challenge - congrats on 7k baby!! (I even kept it under 3k for you it wasn't going to be!) This is my first time writing for Ransom, and it doesn't have any connection to Knives Out, it's an AU.

As always, comments and reblogs are appreciated💕

Firefly’s Masterlist

You carried two steaming mugs of coffee and nudged the ajar door open with your foot to Ransom’s office. He had leant back on the large leather chair and was taking in the views through the floor to ceiling windows.

He spun round in his chair and you were hit with the scent of his cologne, it had your stomach fluttering with butterflies. His legs parted wide, and the sight was something to behold; the thickness of his thighs and the way his large hand rubbed the top of one.

It was never going to happen between you two. He was Ransom Drysdale, a well-known playboy and skirt chaser. And you, you were his assistant.

He wasn’t the type of man you were after. You wanted someone permanent, someone, that wasn’t just a fuck buddy. But at least you got a little something for the spank bank every now and then.

“Like what you see?” You were caught red-handed by his crystal blue eyes and the lopsided smirk that you adored.

You brought the iPad in front of him to life, “This is your schedule for today. Harlan said that he’s rescheduled the board meeting with Walt to next week so we can relax a little bit. Said there was something to do with taking a risk or gamble?”

Ransom’s head snapped up, and his tongue darted out across his lip, a nervous tick that you’d long ago discovered. You felt a warmth bloom at your core and tried to hide the way your thighs nestled together to ease the growing heat.

Ransom scooted backwards in his chair and announced, “I need to get out of here.”

“You’ve just arrived, you can’t play hooky, you’re the boss.” You protested.

“That’s exactly why I can,” Ransom asserted and pulled his coat back on. “Let’s get lunch at that diner we went to last month. It’s quiet and nobody knows me there.”

You had become used to the whirlwind that Ransom brought with him the second he entered a room, but this was different. He seemed on edge rather than angry and you weren’t sure what had happened in the ten minutes you were away making a coffee.

“But I just made us coffee.” You pouted at him; he knew that you needed that delicious nectar.

“I’m buying lunch now get your coat,” Ransom demanded.

You rolled your eyes and did what you were told, much to your chagrin.

Ransom had driven like a mad man in his classic beamer to get you to Ruby’s Diner in record time. You scolded him once or twice when he just missed the red lights. But he didn’t seem to relax like he usually did when he entered.

All was forgiven when the waitress placed two steaming plates of burgers and milkshakes on the table. You were in heaven and thanked the waitress as you dunked a chip in the sauce.

“What is wrong with you today?” You asked.

“What are you talking about? I’m just being my usual self.” Ransom shook his head and threw the raggedy napkin across the table away from him.

You remained silent and continued to eat, allowing him to stew over whatever it was that was eating at him. It didn’t take you long to demolish your lunch, but Ransom still hadn’t touched his food. All he had done since you told him off was chew on his lip and glared at the sugar dispenser.

“Okay, seriously, you need to start talking.” You challenged.

He sighed and dragged a hand down his face, “Okay, but you can’t freak out.”

“What did you do?” Your eyes went wide as your mind ran wild with all the crazy things that he could possibly do in the last twenty-four hours.

Ransom looked up at you and laughed, “I can’t take you seriously right now.”

“What?” You frowned, feeling a mixture of confusion painted across your features.

His hand gripped your chin and his thumb swiped away at the sauce that you’d long forgotten. The heat on your cheeks grew tenfold and you coughed when he hadn’t removed his hand from your jaw.

“Ah yeah sorry. Sauce.” He stammered.

You smirked, you’d never seen him this worked up before, what had gotten into him, “So?”

“Okay, don’t fucking freak out on me but someone in the office wanted to make a bet with me. About you.”

You stared at him, all of your thoughts emptied out into the diner, “I’m sorry, what? I think you need to say a bit more than that.”

Ransom explained how one of your co-workers approached him and placed a bet that he wouldn’t be able to bed you before the corporate summer party.

“Who the fuck was it?” You growled; hands clenched on the edge of the seat.

“I’m not telling, I don’t want you to start a fight. You’re my favourite pers-assistant.” Ransom shook his head and began to nibble on the fries. His face screwed up at the realisation they were cold.

“Hold on. You agreed, didn’t you?” Your heart raced.

“I did. I have a reputation to uphold.” He smirked, “and was worth it, you should see your face right now.”

You scowled harder, “how much was the bet?”

“Ten thousand.” He shrugged.

“Fuckin’ hell Ransom, you’re cocksure, aren’t you?” You laughed at him, “why did you accept it?”

“That’s loose change to me.” Ransom shrugged and brought the replaced milkshake to his lips, tongue curling around the straw.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But I want half.” You explained, mirroring his action with your own milkshake.

Ransom choked on his drink and quickly rushed out his words, “you what?”

“We aren’t having sex, Ransom.” You rolled your eyes and placed the drink down, “If they ask, I’ll just say we did. It keeps your reputation intact. No harm, no foul.”

“They want proof.” He raises his eyebrow.

“Fuck sake, okay. Come over to mine tomorrow night and we’ll take some fake dirty pictures.” Without waiting for a response, you stepped out of the booth, “Now, I do have some work to do and funnily enough, so do you.”

“Anyone would think you were the boss.” Ransom playfully sulked and placed some money on the table.

“I might as well be.” You gestured towards the door, “Move it.”

The black baby doll was just perfect for this photo session. It was a little see-through, but your modesty was covered with the lace detailing skimming the tops of your thighs. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, but you had to get this over with sooner or later. With one final look in the mirror, you steeled your nerves and opened the bathroom door and slowly walked to your bedroom.

“Hello,” You anxiously stuttered, “Where do you want me?”

Ransom’s eyes darkened at the sight of you, his large hands rubbing along his thick thighs, just the way you had admired yesterday. You internally berated yourself, this wasn’t sex. It was all fake. It was an easy win for you both - Ransom kept his reputation and you got a nice little pot of gold for a rainy day, or week.

“Just lay down on the bed and look sexy.” He commented, unhelpfully.

You nodded and shuffled around until you found a comfortable position, with your arms draped above you. It didn’t feel sexy, it felt awkward and uncomfortable. Why is this so hard? You took a deep breath and tried to relax your body and turned to face Ransom. He’d moved the left side of the bed, his phone in hand ready to take the shot.

“Ready?” Ransom asked, and you thought you saw a sparkle of sincerity in his eyes with his one worded question.

“Yes,” you said and gave him your best pout and ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“I said ‘be sexy’, not be a fucking blowfish.” Ransom snapped.

You bolted up from your position, kneeling on the edge of the bed to get back on his level but it was no use, the man was still towering over you, “I’m trying, I’m not exactly in the mood.”

Ransom raised his brow from above, and you hadn’t quite realised how close you were to him, his stomach mere inches from your chest. The lack of response grated on you, his face was irritating, and you were ready to shove the five grand up his ass.

“Actually, this could work.” Ransom pulled off his shirt and revealed the tight muscles. Your anger morphed into desire; you wanted to reach forward and touch him but kept your hands refrained at your sides. “Now, look up at me and bite your lip.”

“Perfect.” He smiled down at you and cupped your face. His thumb stroked the apple of your cheek and paired with his words; a shiver ran down your spine.

Instinctively, you bit down your lip and unbuckled his belt to the sound of the camera shutter. Hands traced Ransom’s abdomen and he sucked in a breath as you stroked a sensitive spot.

“Sorry,” you mumbled and looked up at him, “maybe we should have some photos where your face is in it too?”

Ransom didn’t need to be asked twice, he pulled down his chinos and exposed his thick muscular thighs. Your mouth watered and warmth bloomed in your tummy at the sight of the black Calvin Klein’s hugging his groin.

You rearranged your position to lie down amongst the sheets while Ransom crawled onto the bed to kneel between your legs. His hand cupped under your knee and hoisted one of them up to his hip.

“You might need to take this one,” he handed the phone to you.

Just as you went to take the photograph, Ransom’s other hand slid underneath the baby doll. It sent another wave of pleasure through your body. His smooth hands stooped just beneath your breast and it almost made you whimper. Almost.

With an attempt to gather your bearings, you decided to focus on his phone and snap a few pictures of this new position. But seeing those little images captured and whizz into the corner made you want more. There was no point denying it as you felt the tell-tale signs of your arousal between your legs. But did Ransom want it?

Ransom moved the sheer material up and lifted your leg higher, over his shoulder. Before you could ask what, he was doing, his body dipped down, his lips so close to pressing against your stomach. Oh god. Your body instantly betrayed you as your hand went straight into his messy short locks eliciting a deep groan from Ransom. His hot breath fanned across your skin, goosebumps raising in its flow.

You took some more pictures, feeling the wetness pooling in your panties, the heat growing and growing up your body. Ransom returned to kneeling and you noticed the prominent bulge in his pants, and you finally got your answer. He did want it.

A mischievous smirk replaced the smile on your lips, “you’ll want to take these.”

You sat up and turned around so that you were kneeling in front of him and giving a great view of your behind. Ransom couldn’t restrain himself, his hands instantly gripped at your hips and pulling you back towards him. He growled and you whimpered as he rutted between your cheeks.

“Ransom, the photos?” You sang out and smirked into the pillow.

“Oh yeah, right.” Ransom spluttered and began to take the photographs from this new position then you heard the soft thud of the phone dropping onto the mattress, “hang on a minute.”

Gracefully, he spun you around and managed to get underneath you to seat you just above his hips. You were entranced by the dark lust-filled eyes that studied your body, following the hands that skimmed along your waist.

His touch sent sparks across the exposed skin of your chest, his fingers toying with the lace trim as they descended the plunging neckline and over your breasts. You rocked against his stomach, giving you just a little bit of pleasure from the friction at your core.

Ransom bolted upright, one arm wrapping around you while his other hand brought you closer until his mouth met yours. The kiss was heated, it pulled you deeper into the need for more, to have him deep inside of you. Ransom’s tongue swiped along your bottom lip, demanding access and you obliged without hesitation.

You’d only thought of him, like this, late at night and alone. It was nothing compared to your wildest fantasies to have him kissing you like this or to feel him hard beneath you. You squirmed to feel him better, but he broke the kiss.

“Sorry,” He panted.

Your stomach plummeted at the thought of him regretting what had barely started, “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have,” Ransom avoided eye contact and ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more than you already had done, “we just got carried away.”

“Ransom, if you don’t fuck me right now, I will kick you out.” You raised your eyebrow in a challenge.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Chatter and laughter filled the gaps of the song blasting through the speakers set up around the roof terrace. The large projector screen reeled through photographs of colleagues, in and out of work, successes in the tabloids and social media. Pool water splashed over the edges with each dive-bomb or flirtatious swish between colleagues. You watched on behind the sunglasses and relished in the sunshine beating down. It was rare to have such perfect weather and you wanted to soak up as much of the rays as you could.

The moment you spotted Ransom talking to a few people over at the bar, you thought now would be the best time to approach him. It had been a few hours since you arrived, and you only last saw him the morning before, and a few weeks since that first night. You both wanted to take things slow, it wasn’t how you expected things to happen but neither of you regretted it.

The nearer you got to the bar, you suddenly felt like everyone’s eyes were on you. Side glances from the Marketing girls, a laugh, and a grimace from a few others. Then you saw Ransom rushing up to you but also looking behind.

Before he reached you, you spun around to the projector and saw a display of all the photos you and Ransom had taken that night. Your stomach dropped, nausea taking over until you were about to collapse on the floor.

Hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you on the spot. You looked at the terrified gaze of Ransom. His lips were moving but your ears buzzed with the hum of blood pumping through. Unable to process what had happened, you tried to escape. To get away from the people that were staring, gawking, at you. At you and Ransom on the screen and then down to the pair by the bar.

“Please talk to me,” Ransom pleaded, “I didn’t know that’s what she was going to do.”

“Did you sleep with her?” You asked, your mind reeling with how this could be a vendetta against Ransom, and you’re caught in the crossfire.

Ransom’s eyes widened, “Yeah, probably a year ago.”

“You fuckin’ idiot. Get out of my way.” You tried to walk past him, but he blocked your path.

“Can I come with you?” He asked face paled.

You scowled, “No. Move.”

Ransom followed you, weaving between the crowds of sniggers and laughter. You could hear him pleading, almost begging for you to stop but you refused. You needed to get out of there and he was making it more difficult.

You skimmed the edge of the pool and Ransom grabbed your bicep, attempting to stop and turn you around. Without a second thought, you spun and shoved him. He fell backwards into the pool with a great splash. It only made you feel good for a split second until he resurfaced.

“Consider this my notice, I quit.” You turned on your heel and left the party, your job and Ransom behind.

The End.

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[superanimeidiot]

Karma decks Gakuhou (or: the moment we’ve all been waiting for)

Haha, yeah, you know that time Gakuhou hit Gakushuu and sent him flying into a wall?

Yeah, Karma kinda has a problem with that.

TW: discussion of child abuse. Not super graphic, but be aware.

As a kid, Karma always thought he would be the one to first know the feelings of his father’s hands against his face. He’d longed for it, almost - that sign his father cared about him enough to get angry, to be angry enough to hit him. He’s constructed the entire scene in his head and played it on a loop: Karma, saying the wrong thing or moving the wrong way as he always seemed to do in his father’s presence; Gakuhou, frustrated and empty of patience; the sight of his father’s hand rising in the air; the helpless knowledge of what was to come; the numb acceptance of the blow; and, finally, the loud smack! and sting of flesh. Karma knows this fantasy like he knows the scars on his hands. Gakuhou never needed force to hurt him, though; his words and the ever-present look of distant disapproval was more than enough to leave lasting, if not physical, scars.

Still, if his father ever was to hit one of his children, Karma would have bet on himself. The idea of his father hitting Gakushuu - his precious, perfect golden child who mastered every lesson taught with haughty ease - has never even crossed his mind. Until today.

Karma stares at the bruise blooming ugly across Gakushuu’s cheek. He thinks he knows what it’s from and who caused it, but he doesn��t know. Gakushuu is staring right back, eyes hard as steel, and he wonders if this is how Gakushuu felt when Karma was showing up to class bruised and angry.

“Was it him?” he asks, and he doesn’t need to clarify who him is; they both know who he’s referring to.

“Yeah,” Gakushuu says. “Guess he finally got tired of using his words.” He smiles too, like this is funny. Like this whole situation - like the purple and green mark on his face - is one big, funny, ha-ha, hold-your-sides-until-you’re-crying joke. Karma wants to strangle him.

No, actually, he wants to strangle Gakuhou. Karma turns on his heel and moves to do just that, but Gakushuu grabs his wrist and drags him back.

“Stop,” he says, exasperated, as though talking to a child. “I’m fine. I’ve taken harder hits when sparring.”

“You think that makes it better?” he asks, incredulous as he tries to free himself from his brother’s iron grasp. “You know the difference between being hit while sparring and being hit by your father? One of them is illegal.”

Gakushuu frowns. Karma, sensing the waver in his brother’s certainty, takes full advantage. He twists his wrist away and breaks the hold, but immediately seizes Gakushuu’s own wrist, holding him still and demanding his attention.

“Gakushuu,” he says. He taps a gentle finger against the bruise marring his stupid, perfect face. “This is not okay.”

Gakushuu breathes - a long, slow inhale he holds for a few seconds then releases in a gusty sigh. “I know.”

Karma chews at his lip, hesitating, before asking, “Has he ever-”

“No,” Gakushuu denies, quick and firm and leaving no room for argument. “He’s never done this before.”

“You’d tell me?” Karma presses. “If he has, or if he does again?”

“Yes.”

“Promise me,” he demands. 

“Who’s the older brother here again?”

“Promise me.”

“Okay, okay,” Gakushuu relents, cracking a tiny grin that looks more real than any of the smiles he pastes on for his lackeys. “I promise I’ll tell you if he hits me again.”

Karma, solemn as a funeral, holds up a single pinkie. 

Gakushuu eyes it. “Seriously?”

He nods.

Gakushuu sighs again. Rolling his eyes, he wraps his pinkie around Karma’s. “I promise,” he repeats.

Karma releases his pinkie, mollified for the moment. “Okay,” he says, then abruptly changes the subject. “So I was planning on making you buy me ice cream since, you know, I scored the highest on finals.” He flashes a smug grin at his brother’s groan. “But now I feel bad for you, so I guess I’ll buy you ice cream. I am the kindest, most loving and adorable little brother in the world, after all,” he preens. 

Gakushuu stares at him. “You’re insane,” he says flatly. “You have so many screws loose, I’m surprised your head is still attached.”

Karma squawks indignantly, poking his brothers harshly in the ribs while crying mean! mean! while Gakushuu tries to fend him off. The tense atmosphere has faded, for now, and they’re both happy to see it go. 

The conversation isn’t entirely finished, though. Later, Karma will probe into what life was like with just Gakuhou as a parent, and Gakushuu will ask pointed questions about the origin of the injuries Karma would always show up to class with and brush off. They will both get angry, they will both shout, and they will both part ways frustrated and hurt and so, so scared. Even later than that, though, they will both apologize (with a hug) and all will be forgiven, but not entirely forgotten.

They both learned a long time ago to always look after each other, even when no one else would, and those instincts, while rusty from misuse, still hold as strong as when they were little boys whispering promises through the sound of their parents screaming.

****

Later, Karma knocks on the front door of his childhood home. He hasn’t been there since he was eight years old, and maybe if he could feel anything other than the ice cold rage flowing through his veins he would be afraid or lost in the melancholy of past memories, but he can’t and he’s not. He pounds on the door again. 

He expects a maid to answer the door, but when it opens he’s greeted with the sight of his father, barefoot and dressed casually, blinking at him in surprise.

“Karma?” he says. Maybe he was going to say something else too, but that’s all he gets out before Karma punches him in the face.

Karma has had a lot of practice hitting people. He’s good at it. He knows how far to pull his arm back, how to keep his wrist locked against impact, how to twist his hips for more power, and how to pour his whole body into a punch that leaves his target breathless (or, once, unconscious). He was good at it when he was fighting thugs on the street, and he got even better when Karasuma drilled proper martial arts concepts like form and technique into his head. Karma is naturally strong, and a year of hardcore physical training only added to that strength. 

The point of this being: when Karma slams his fist against his father’s face, Gakuhou, unprepared for such an attack and faced with a trained, rage-fuelled combat assassin, goes down like a sack of rocks.

Karma doesn’t follow him. He stays standing in the doorway, chest heaving with barely-contained fury. His father pulls himself up so he’s sitting rather than sprawling across the floor, staring up at Karma with wide eyes as though he’s never seen him before. He hasn’t, really - not like this, anyway. In his father’s presence, Karma had molded himself into the perfect child; he was quiet, and sweet, and well-behaved. He said please, thank you, excuse me, I’m sorry. He was everything he thought his father wanted, but it didn’t matter because it still was never enough. 

Karma hasn’t been that kid in a long time.

“That,” he says, flexing his hand and ignoring the sting of split knuckles, “was for Gakushuu. Maybe he won’t punch you back for your crap, but I will.” He crouches down, then, so he can stare his father right in the eyes. “This is your only warning. If you ever, ever, lay a hand on him again…” He flicks his wrist, and his switch-blade makes a brief, grim appearance before disappearing up his sleeve again. He looks directly into his father’s eyes, and he lets him see the resolve burning in his own. “I swear to God, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

Gakuhou nods, both an acknowledgement and acceptance. Karma smiles the cold, satisfied smile of an assassin and stands, knocking his knuckles against the door-frame as he leaves.

He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks off down the street, whistling merrily to himself. Gakushuu will probably be mad at him later - if he finds out, of course - but Karma refuses to regret his actions. No one, not even their father, is allowed to lay a hand on Gakushuu and get away with it. That is Karma’s promise, made to himself and sealed with his father’s blood spilled in retribution.

He’ll keep it until the day he dies.

[commonwealthoccurences]

HCs: How The Companions Confess/Date A Tsundere Sole

Note: Did my best to capture the tsundere personality! Please let me know if this is totally off base and thank you again for the request.

CW: The mildest of suggestive warnings

The Set Up:

Sole wasn’t the easiest to befriend. Sure, they had their personable side where they could calm any settler, convince any negotiator, haggle at every vendor, etc. Once things got past that, got personal, though? It seemed they shut down. They brushed off affection, went silent at compliments and reassurances, and struggled to be open with their emotions. There was no question it wasn’t a lack of affection, but a lack of expression. They defended their friends fiercely. 

Once the companions began thinking of Sole as more than a friend and started looking more closely at their behavior, though, they saw how flustered they became when shown affection. It wasn’t simply a dismissive personality; they felt something and immediately short circuited. Maybe it was a reluctance to show a sign of weakness, who knows? Regardless, the companions had their work cut out for them when it came to confessing and developing a relationship.

Cait:

The Confession:

The tsundere meets the next most emotionally blocked person of the Commonwealth

Cait didn’t have her own feelings under control, that’s for sure

She cursed loudly when she realized how she felt and how that would affect things

The worst part is, Sole was the only person who struggled with things like that more than she did

The urge to scream nearly overcame her self restraint

However, she steeled herself, and began dropping hints

She watched as Sole’s cheeks lit up red whenever she threw her arm around them playfully before they shrugged the weight off and moved away

The hardest part was reminding herself that she was right; they felt the same way about her

They hesitated to sit down when she announced she needed to talk to them

Never making eye contact, they listened to her as she stumbled through her feelings, searching blindly in the dark for the confidence she once had. The confidence before she was willing to let them break her heart

The first time they spoke, it was barely a mumble, and she leaned forward to hear better

They repeated themself, hardly any louder with a “Feel the same way.” before they abruptly stood up and walked towards the window, looking out as they chewed on their nails

Cait had to laugh to herself; they may be an emotionally constipated mess, but now they were her emotionally constipated mess

The Relationship:

The longer the relationship lasted, the more confident Cait became in seeking out affection even if they didn’t enthusiastically reciprocate every time

She would hug them from behind and they would bow their head, cheeks red for the nth time, and simply continue what they were doing before

When they did reciprocate she made sure to give obvious cues that she was happy about it; she’d grin even wider, hug them tighter, and press a kiss to their cheek

Once they got truly comfortable in their relationship, Sole began seeking out affection themself

They were fond of quickly side hugging Cait and taking off immediately, but the first time they did, it made Cait’s day

The day they crawled into bed beside her and curled up into her side without hiding their face she knew they were making progress

Curie:

The Confession:

Curie isn’t sure what to do or think at first

From what she knows of human body language, ever cue they give should indicate they don’t care for her, but then when someone tries to insult or hurt her, they don’t hesitate to put themself in the line of fire

At first she takes studying their behavior as a chance to become more knowledgeable

Then, she begins to notice their smaller, less noticeable behaviors

They get flustered when she touches them, brush off her affection, but with red cheeks and shaking hands

That’s when she realizes there’s more to their habits than she’d realized at first, and comes to the conclusion that they’re simply overwhelmed when they’re faced with caring for someone

Somehow this makes her feel even more fond for them; she came to terms with her own feelings long ago

She’s learned to be quite responsible with her emotions and sits them down to talk almost right after she realizes they feel the same way

She doesn’t expect a grand response

When Sole fumbles their words, messing with their own hands as they stare into their lap, she’s patient

Eventually they get out that they feel the same and she relaxes into her seat with a sweet smile

The Relationship:

Curie’s extremely open about affection, so she and Sole are polar opposites

She presses kisses to their cheeks whenever she passes them, pulls them in for tight hugs every time they return from a job, etc

They greet her with the same embarrassed, red face and mild response

They’re not big on PTA and by not big I mean they get completely flustered and struggle to respond in any way

However, they give her shy hugs and quick kisses when they’re alone, disappearing as fast as they appeared afterwards

She’s secure enough she doesn’t question whether or not they care, she just knows they have a different way of showing it

Danse:

The Confession:

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object

The world will stop spinning before something goes on between these two

All jokes aside, Sole will actually have to say something first

The two struggle to even look at each other; at one point Haylen threw her hands up and said “Jesus Christ, I think the only people here who don’t know you guys are into each other are you two”

Safe to say there was no longer anyone on the Prydwen who didn’t know about their feelings

After that it was a miracle if the two were within the same room

Maxson had had enough of the two best soldiers dancing around each other and sent them on a mission together. Only them.

They moved in complete silence almost the entire time- they knew each other well enough that they didn’t need to communicate verbally to have each others backs luckily- until a specific night

They were camped out, eating beans out of a can on the cold ground, and Sole suddenly said, “So.” looking extremely uncomfortable

Danse’s head shot up before he even knew it

They looked at each other for a moment before Danse nodded and just went “Yeah, I feel the same.” quietly

“Cool”

It felt more like a business transaction

The Relationship:

Afterwards, they returned to their normal short, business faces in the field

They were on the same page about physical affection and it took a long while before they were completely comfortable with showing affection

The upside to this arrangement was that they would often break into flustered, quiet laughter together whenever they were cuddling

It’s easy to be comfortable with your embarrassment and hesitancy when the other person’s just as embarrassed as you

Deacon:

The Confession:

Total opposite dynamic of Danse and Sole

Deacon loves teasing them, to the point where even Des had her head in her hands at some points

It’s a miracle Sole’s left standing after spending time with Deacon. He’s constantly flirting with them, teasingly leaning down to look them in the eye when they bow their head

When they have a stony expression in response to his affection, he just amps it up

Wants them flustered by the end of the of the interaction

Honestly, if they keep up their cold appearance, it makes them the perfect duo

Deacon loves messing with them and they never really break

He’s great at denying his own feelings; he convinces himself he only thinks he’s interested in them because he’s so in the habit of flirting with them

One day, Deacon’s been bugging them nonstop and they finally break, but not in a way that they show they’re flustered

Instead, they step into his personal space and kiss him to shut him up

(It works)

When they pull away their expression hasn’t changed even a little bit

They look him up and down for a moment and then turn and keep walking

That’s the first time they short circuit Deacon

The Relationship:

Not much changes between him messing with them and them being in a relationship

Sometimes Sole catches him off guard by getting brave all of a sudden but they always disappear right after

He’s often left calling after them, asking why they abandoned him so fast

It takes the rest of the Railroad months to realize anythings changed between the two

It’s when Sole has to leave for an extremely dangerous recon mission and they abruptly kiss Deacon so hard even he’s surprised that they realize they’re together

Gage:

The Confession:

Between Gage outright having aggressive undertones and Sole’s flat tones in response to everything Gage says, it’s hard for the raiders to believe they even get along

The pair know better though

They just struggle to make a move

Gage is terrified of letting someone in again, Sole doesn’t think they’re good enough, and together they make the world’s most anticlimactic mix

Gage has a little jealousy issue

When Mason makes some flirtatious comments, he gets angry

As soon as he and Sole get back to the Overboss quarters he faces them, “So are we coming to terms with this shit yet?”

“Excuse me?”

He moves slow enough that they can stop him, but grabs their face in his hands and kisses them

When they pull away they pause for a moment before replying, “Yeah. I can deal with that.”

They turn and return to business right away. “So what are we doing with the kiddie kingdom territory?”

They infuriate him in the best way possible

The Relationship:

Sole doesn’t particularly react to affection; they basically ignore it

Gage takes this as permission and often keeps an arm around their waist when they’re discussing something

Sometimes slaps their ass as he walks by just to get a reaction

They often turn and glare, or give him a flat expression

He knows they’ll tell him directly if he’s crossing a line, so he knows they don’t actually care

They show affection in the most nonchalant way

Often they’ll be talking about the plans for the raiders and just drop into his lap while talking to him, not reacting at all to their own movement

Hancock:

The Confession:

Quite similar to Deacon

Loves jokingly flirting with them but honestly can’t tell if they care for him in return or not

He comes to terms with his feelings quite easily; he knew there was something that was gonna draw them in about them when they walked through the gates to Goodneighbor and simply flicked their cigarette at Flynn’s threats, not changing their calm expression

They react to his flirtations the same way; they simply don’t

Eventually, he has to tell them; life’s short after all

When they listen to him, expressionless, but respond with a “Yeah, same.” he takes it as a win

The Relationship:

The only thing that changes is that Hancock knows they’re happy with the flirting he does with them

Their pushing him away eases and eventually they find themself relaxing into his embraces

They don’t particularly think about it. It just happened automatically over time

Still doesn’t approve of blatant PDA but they’re fine with him keeping a hand in their back pocket

MacCready:

The Confession:

Poor Mac

He has no idea what to think of the way they react to affection

On one hand they seem to hate it; on the other hand, they still stand closer to him than necessary and quirk their eyebrow, displeased, whenever someone hits on him

Eventually he realizes that’s just how they are, but it doesn’t particularly please him

He definitely wishes they had a better handle on their emotions

He’s one of the most notorious companions for getting flustered but Sole’s mannerisms get him so frustrated he ends up just blurting out how he feels, arms crossed, seeming annoyed

They nod. “Me too.”

The Relationship:

It sure as hell is a tricky relationship to navigate at first

Mac finds him frustrated a lot and eventually sits them down and has a serious discussion with them about expressing their emotions

They work on it after that to make things easier

It definitely helps

They still struggle when they’re around other people but they get a lot better about being more affectionate in private

Nick:

The Confession:

There’s… no confession moment

They kind of just ease into a relationship without discussion

They’re so casual about it and there’s so little discussion that they’re genuinely surprised when people as if they and Nick are together

Nick understood from the get go that they wouldn’t be obviously reciprocating his affection so when they didn’t react to them holding their waist, he didn’t think anything of it

Eventually this evolved and they were dating without realizing it

The Relationship:

At some point after everyone else in Diamond City starts asking questions, they do talk a little and decide, yeah, they’re in a relationship, just forgot to talk about it

Almost nothing changes when they do, though

Nick is in the habit of showing nonchalant affection without expecting anything back

When Sole does initiate it’s rare and quick, but he appreciates it all the same

They ease a little more into the affectionate side of things easily after they have the discussion about their relationship

Piper:

The Confession:

She gets flustered easily and Sole has a mask of stone when it comes to flirting

Overall, just a mess

She struggles to make a move on them and when she does they don’t even react which confuses her even more

She’s the type of person to try and hide her feelings and then it all comes rushing out one day, so that’s exactly what happens

“I have feelings for you, but I can’t even tell if you want to be friends still!”

“Oh. I have feelings for you too.”

Piper’s never wanted to fight someone and kiss someone so badly at the same time

The Relationship:

She definitely has a talk with them about expressing their emotions and not pushing her away

It can get upsetting to be brushed off when showing affection

Sole puts in effort and openly accepts affection in private, but struggles to initiate it for a while

Once they start initiating affection Piper relaxes and is much more reassured in the relationship

Preston:

The Confession:

Honestly doesn’t pick up any cues that they’re into him

He barely even thinks they’re friends a lot of times; sure, they defend him fiercely, but he assumes that’s just part of them defending the Minutemen/settlers in Sanctuary

They’re so straight faced all the time it’s difficult for him to believe there’s anything more than a work relationship to them

It’s when a settler comments that they’ve never seen Sole care for someone more than they do Preston that he starts questioning his previous views

Then he notices the little things they do to help him out; they pick up shifts as soon as he mentions there’s a watch slot that needs to be filled. They bring him coffee without a word when it’s freezing out. He wakes up and finds his gun cleaned and ammo restocked.

This is what gives him the confidence to come forward about his feelings

He gives a speech about how he hopes this doesn’t change how they work together and if it’s disrespectful to cross this line he apologizes

Sole just replies with a nod and says “Surprised it took you this long.”

The Relationship:

They remain completely professional in the field/in front of settlers

In fact, very few people suspect a thing

Preston gets a little confused by the lack of affection after their talk but he realizes he never should’ve expected things to 180

He simply adapts and starts showing affection the same way they do; he wants to make sure they know he cares for them by reciprocating in a way he knows they understand

So, considering he wakes up before them, he leaves hot coffee or tea by their bed every morning right before he leaves for patrol

When they get home from a tough run across the Commonwealth they wake up to the clothes they were wearing cleaned and folded on top of their dresser

Eventually they start showing traditional affection on their own

X6-88:

The Confession:

Obviously X6 is the king of a tsundere attitude, especially if he stays with the Institute

Affection??? Who’s that

They keep track of each other well and have each other’s backs and that’s how they show affection

There’s no super-forward gestures of affection

They both know about their feelings for each other; they have the same way of showing emotion, it’s hard not to know

If X6 stays with the Institute there isn’t a relationship; there’s certainly a lot of straight-faced pining, but no relationship

The Relationship:

If X6 eventually leaves, and so does Sole, then they slowly ease into a relationship after X6 gets settled in the Commonwealth

It’s a hesitant process, but happens nonetheless, and they also get more comfortable with showing each other affection (though only in private)

Overall way more understanding of Sole’s mannerisms than the rest of the companions

[plus-ultra-oneshots]

Why Do You Care? {BakugouXReader Oneshot}

Why Do You Care?

{BakugouXReader}

"Tch, didn't you fucking hear me?"

.:+:.

He told you to leave him alone

No, he didn't tell you- he yelled it.

Loud and biting and so full of anger and venom it sent an icy spear striking you through your very core.

The hallway went deadly quiet.... Hell, the whole school did. Everyone in earshot halted in their tracks, their words dying on their lips and quickly looking around for the source of the angry shout. Several of them poked their heads out of their classrooms and into the hall to try and catch a glimpse of the commotion, though few actually managed to pinpoint where you and Bakugou were in UA's winding corridors. But you were completely unaware of any of their eyes finding you, all of your attention was fixed on Bakugou a few paces ahead of you, your expression wiped blank by the words he snapped at you, and stiff in your place. He had his back facing you, his hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched, stewing and simmering with barely controlled rage.

"Tch, didn't you fucking hear me?" He hissed through gritted teeth, his shoulders hunching further with every second that he was aware you had failed to move. Your eyes flashed, swallowing back the lump that had formed in your throat and stiffening at the question.

".... Bakugou please-" you started softly, but the sound of your voice just made what little control he had on his rage disappear. He whipped around in your direction, fists clenched and eyes flinty, his face twisted in rage and anger and you shut your mouth in an instant.

"I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE DAMN IT!" He roared, much louder this time around, but no less cold or biting. You flinched, your breath catching in your throat as he snarled, his lips curling and icy cold rage igniting in his red eyes.

Another few seconds of silence settled again- again with you frozen in place and not budging even an inch..... You didn't want to leave, and you didn't plan to, even with him screaming at you.... You couldn't leave, not with him like this.

He was lashing out at you with anger born of so many deep and twisted things and thoughts he'd buried as far as possible- all things that hurt, and nagged, and made him doubt everything and everyone and even himself.... He was lashing out in anger and pain, and you knew it, but you couldn't understand why. Not really anyway, you could of course make a guess what it was that was eating him- but it was only a guess. The only real way to understand what was going on with him and why he seemed to suddenly pull away from you, and everyone else- was if he told you himself.

You wanted him to tell you, you needed him to, because you wanted to help him. In whatever way you could, all you wanted was for him to open up and let you in- make it possible for you to reach out and gently pull him back out of what terrible dark, and suffocating storm seemed to have trapped him.

He'd been so quiet for days now, completely reserved (more so than usual) and seemingly avoiding everyone, and especially you the whole time. He'd said little, and when he did he was gruff and incredibly quick to anger. His explosive temper had grown a million times more volatile than usual, and he'd grown so distempered he was almost downright malicious when he blew a fuse. He'd shut down any attempts on your part or anyone else's to have any sort of conversation with him, and he'd made an effort to keep out of sight in the off hours between classes so no one could try and interact with him at all. It wasn't like him, none of it, and it had been getting so bad you could practically see him suffocating. And the longer it went on the more you felt yourself suffocating with him. You were wound up in a giant knot of worry and concern about him, and the more he pushed you away, the harder you found it to focus on anything, and the more desperate you were getting.

That rising sense of worry and desperation is what had lead to this- he'd gotten straight to his feet and left the classroom as soon as school was done for the day, and you'd quickly given chase. You'd only managed to catch up with him a fair bit away from the classroom, and barely managed to get him to halt before he started heading down the stairs. However you catching him and asking him to wait hadn't pleased him in the slightest, and you trying to open up the topic of his off behavior had ended with him telling you to fuck off.  

It hurt, how angry he sounded and how much bite there was to his voice as he yelled at you to leave. If you hadn't known any better you would have thought he actually wanted you to go... And maybe some part of him did, but you being there was not the real issue.

So you swallowed, steeling yourself, and tried again.

"No, I'm not gonna walk away just because you're yelling at me." You told him lowly, "You've been avoiding me for long enough-"

"If you know I've been avoiding you, then maybe you should take the hint!" He snapped hotly, cutting you off for a third time now and you bit the inside of your cheek. "Are you dense as well as hard of hearing? Shut up and leave me the hell alone, I ain't talking to you." He growled, spinning on his heel again and continuing toward the stairs once more, and you felt yourself wince a little at the harshness of the words. But you stepped forward quickly after him nonetheless, reaching a hand out to stop him- big mistake.

He knew what you were doing, he could sense you trying to grab on to him, and his teeth had already been gritting at the sound of your footsteps behind him. You hadn't even managed to graze the back of his shirt before he whipped about and smacked your hand away, sending a jolt of pain up through your arm and stunning you into a complete standstill.

You pulled your hand back uncertainly, your eyes flashing as your gazes matched, and you saw nothing in him but deep-seated, writhing ire.

"Go away, (Y/N)." He hissed at you through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a growl and you felt your heart skip a beat. He huffed, waving the hand he had used to smack yours away and you reflexively stiffened at it, and he grimaced faintly, but quickly looked away again. "Don't talk to me." He grumbled, sticking his hand back in his pocket and descending the stairs quickly. You were left frozen and alone at the top of the steps, holding your hand gingerly to your chest and heart aching as you watched him leave.

Your eyes dropped to your hand and you frowned, your jaw clenching and hissing lowly in frustration and hurt.

Damn it Bakugou

Your fingers curled as you balled your fist, cursing yourself and the blonde several times over in your head as you quickly made your way down the stairs. You couldn't find him at the bottom though, and you dodged down hallways, and scoured the dorms looking for him with no luck. You knocked several times on his door at Heights Alliance and received no answer, and you heard nothing from the inside when pressing your ear to the door.

You wilted, your forehead resting against the door for a few seconds and quiet.

You had no idea if he was in there, and he could have been and was just ignoring you.... But either way the silence was painful, and you swallowed against the knot in your core.

".... Please just talk to me, Bakugou...."

You'd eventually given up and retreated to your own room with no thought of dinner. But once you were there you couldn't even begin to relax, you were pacing back and forth without end and damn near pulling your hair out from worry and agitation. Worse still your emotions were making your stomach twist into a thousand knots, and so much so you were beginning to feel sick for it.

Is this what he was feeling like? Bottling it all up and trying to ignore it?

But why couldn't he just tell you what was wrong? Why was he bottling it up? What the hell was eating him?

Was it something really bad....? It had to be right..? To have affected him this much....?

Or was it just a lot of things, all stacking up and getting too heavy to hold alone-?

-Shit

You gave up on being alone with your thoughts, and left your room, walking brusquely through the dark hallways of the building, but doing your best to be quiet. Everyone else was surely asleep, it was late now and the sun had long since set and let the moon take its place. You made your way directly to Bakugou's room and wrapped your knuckles against the frame quietly, your other hand reaching for the handle without skipping a beat.

"I'm coming in Bakugou." You called firmly through the door, and opened it quickly before there could be any protest.

But the room was empty and there was no sign of Bakugou anywhere, even his bed seemed untouched. You hesitated in the open doorway, chewing on the inside of your cheeks and mind racing- where the hell was he, if not here? It was way passed curfew.... Downstairs maybe?

You frowned and shut the door, quickly moving to the first floor and finding it as dark and silent as the rest of the building- so no Bakugou there either.

A stiff breeze blowing through the floor caught your attention, and your eyes snapped sideways towards the slightly ajar door at the front of the building.

He left....?

You were outside in the chilly night air and headed away from the dorms before you knew it, your bare feet making little noise on the cement. What little light was available to see by came from the moon overhead, and the sparse lampposts dotted on either side of the path.

You had no idea where you were going, and not really much hope of finding him in the cold and the dark, and with how big UA was. But even then, your feet wouldn't stop, not even when they began to ache from the rough terrain and the chill alike. You needed to find him, no matter what. You had to find him, and you had to get him to talk- make him even. You couldn't let him walk away this time, you needed to make him realize that he didn't have to be alone with whatever was going on.

When you spotted his blonde hair, almost white-washed from the light of the moon ahead of you, you had gone no small distance away from the dorms. Your pace picked up, nearly jogging now as you rushed to catch up with him, and his walking came to an abrupt and surprised halt when you called out to him.

"Bakugou!" You huffed, your voice breaking the quiet of the night and the blonde's shoulders stiffening.

"...tch.... You really are fucking stupid, huh?" He growled immediately, his back still turned to you and shoulders rigid. You grimaced at the words, stopping behind him and grumbling internally. "How many times do I have to say it, for it to get through your thick head? Leave me the hell alone, I ain't talking to your dumbass-"

"Enough!" You cut him off this time, and so firmly he jumped ever so slightly. "You can call me stupid, and tell me to leave a million times over, and scream and yell at me, and it won't matter! I am not dropping this, you have been acting really off for days now and I know something is bothering you!" You hissed, shaking your head a little in frustration. "I just don't know what it is, because you won't talk to, or hardly even look at me! I need you to explain why you're acting like this, and why you're pushing everyone away! I need you to talk to me!"

"... Tch, why?" He asked lowly, still refusing to turn and look your way and his shoulders still hunched against you. You paused at the question, your eyes narrowing in confusion.

".... What do you mean why?" You mumbled, and his shoulders tensed further, a low, strained, and almost shaky hiss escaping him.

"Why do you need me to talk to you?" He growled, "Why do you need me to look at you? Why do you keep trying to get me to talk to you about anything at all?" He asked lowly, "Tch.... Why do you keep pestering me? Why do you keep pushing and refusing to just leave me the hell alone? Or banging on my door for an hour trying to get me to answer? Why are you trying so goddamn stubborn?" He growled, hissing again and his voice getting more and more strained with every word. He was hunching further too, the ridge of his shoulders raising and his entire body stiff as a board and..... Shaking.

"..... Why do you care?" He hissed, his voice was shaking too and he sounded so agonized, and so incredibly unsure- like he couldn't fathom any possible answer to his own question...... it was heartbreaking.

You stiffened, your eyes flashing as a terrible ache swept through your very soul and you held your breath against it, and the way Bakugou was desperately trying to hold himself together now. His posture was failing him, his legs shaking and head bowing farther by the second- his breathing had picked up too, though he was doing everything he could to keep it somewhat steady.

"..... Damn it...... Why do you even care...? It's got nothing to do with you, it's none of your business..... So why..... Why can't you just.... Leave me be... (Y/N)....?" He grumbled lowly, ".... tch.... It's not like I've ever been anything but an asshole to you, or anybody else.... I ain't anybody's friend, I don't do 'chit-chat' or talk about my 'feelings'..... I blow up everything in my way and I don't care if everyone hates me for it.... I'm not someone that anyone would ever be worried over... So what.... Why are doing this? Why are you acting like you actually care, (Y/N).....? We aren't friends, so why are you pretending like we are....?"

For a few seconds you had no idea what to say, or even do. Everything he had just said had stunned you, your mind racing as you stood in utter stillness behind him and eyes glittering madly as you stared.

This was not the Bakugou you were used to, this was a version of him that was much more fragile, and one with a much lower self-worth that you could have ever thought possible.... Did he really see things that way? Himself that way?

Did he really think.... That he didn't have anyone? No friends at all, not even you...? And that everyone.... Hated him...?

.... Did he really think.... He wasn't someone that anyone would ever be concerned about? That there was no one in the world that did actually care about him? Did he really think that you were... Just pretending to care....?

His assumption that you were faking it hurt more than words could describe, and your heart twisted so painfully you almost gasped, but you held your breath. However doing so left something heavy and icy cold in the pit of your stomach, and that cold had more bite to it than even the cement on your bare feet.

You swallowed, your expression twisting slightly and shaking your head at yourself. You sucked in a deep breath of air, your fists clenching at your sides and straightening as you stepped toward him, destroying the space between you quickly. He heard you moving and stiffened, already about to move forward or turn and stop you reaching out to him- but this time around you were quicker. He didn't manage to turn hardly at all before your arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, locking him in place as he hissed at the contact.

"Lemme go damn it-!" He snapped hoarsely, his arms moving to unlock yours from around his shoulders and arching his back roughly to try and throw you off. The feeling of his spine slamming against your ribs was painful, as was his grip around your wrists- but you didn't give up, you just held tighter, pressing your nose into the crook of his neck.

"Quit squirming and listen to me, you idiot....!" You hissed, grunting a little when he fidgeted some more. "... I'm not pretending, I never would... I wouldn't lie to you, and I don't hate you and nobody else does...! And you are my friend...!" You hissed, your voice cracking on the last bit and he halted for a moment underneath you. ".... And... And you assuming I'm just faking is... It's terrible...! I've been worried about you for days, and it's just gotten worse every time you told me to go away, and when you wouldn't talk to me....! I... I've been so wound up worrying about you it's been making me sick....! How can you stand there and tell me I'm pretending.....?! Damn it........."

Your arms tightened around his shoulders, your body shaking now and he was trembling too, hunched over and his hands clasped around your wrists. You hiccuped, barely holding back a sob now and burying your face further into his shoulder.

".... I care about you because you're my friend, Bakugou.... I'm not pretending, I care about you and I'm so worried.... I just want to help you and you won't let me.... Please..... Please just talk to me...! Please... Please believe me.... I do care... I really care..... Because you're my friend, and.... And you mean so much to me.... I... I thought you knew that... I figured you had to...." You were rambling now and what little composure you'd had failed you. Your voice was borderline sobbing now and you were shaking so badly the tremors shook Bakugou too..... Though grant you, that was mostly because he was shaking all on his own now.

He could hear your voice breaking, and feel your hold on him desperate and failing all at once. He hated you'd grabbed him, and hated it more he couldn't shake you off easily- but he hated it more the way you were talking, your breath and body hot against him and your voice laced with pain, and regret, and guilt even.

He hadn't ever considered the idea that any of your interest in him was genuine, how could it be? He'd been an ass to you so often before, he'd never really been what could be considered kind either. He'd not come anything close to being considered a friend, by any means, and he couldn't even fathom that you thought of him that way at all. That's why he assumed you were faking it, that all these constant attempts to speak with him were nothing more than formality or born from some ulterior motive. He could not think of any reason at all why you would ever care about him- how could you?

You were a million times kinder than he could ever be, everyone in class loved you, and you made being loved and cared about seem so easy. You were this bright, burning sun in class 1-A and you overshadowed him at every turn, and made his gruff and violent behavior stand out and seem all the worse ... He didn't deserve your attention, or your pity, or your concern. He wasn't worth your time... someone like you shouldn't ever have any reason to give someone like him the time of day.

So why... Why did you sound so guilty? So sorry...?

He held his breath against it, his eyes locked on the ground and head bowed. He heard you suck in another shaky breath of air, swallowing back at the sob that halfway escaped you, and listening in silence as you fought to settle your breathing to no avail.

Why were you crying...?

"... I... Thought you knew..... I thought.... I thought you knew we were friends.... I..... Thought you had to know... At least a little.... T...that I cared.... That so many people care...." You stammered, ".... I'm so sorry.... I didn't..... I just.... I want to help you.... I want to do something.... Anything to.... Make you feel better.... I can see you're hurting, Bakugou, I've been seeing it... F...for days.... And I just..... Please let me help you....." You broke off, gritting your teeth against the way your breaths were coming in increasingly shorter bursts despite attempts to stop it. You hugged him tighter, swallowing hard and then stammering out the next bit, your voice barely above a whisper.

".... I care..... I care about you.... I care about you so much.... please.... Believe me.... I care because...... Because you're special to me, Bakugou......."

That was it, any amount of will he had to stay standing, and stay angry, vanished when you said it. That he was special to you, and he knew you meant it with every fiber of your being.

His knees gave out and he sank to sit on his heels, dragging you down with him. He hunched over, hiding his face in one hand and holding tightly to one of your arms with the other. You let yourself lean against him, settled on your knees and still hugging him from behind as the both of you sat there, sobbing still and Bakugou doing so silently. He never let go of your arm and you didn't dare pull away either, you could feel him crumbling underneath you, and you felt like you were the only thing that managed to keep him from falling apart all the way. You were his anchor in that ugly, suffocating storm of hurt and turmoil that had been slowly eating away at him these last few days.... and you kept holding him in place, even as the minutes ticked by.

".... (Y/N)..... I'm sorry...."

Bakugou's soft voice after a long time of nothing but quiet startled you, your eyes snapping open and your head lifting off his shoulder too.

Sorry...?

He shifted underneath you, making you loosen your hold- and you were about to pull back entirely but he grabbed your hand and made you stay put. He turned around to face you for the first time, pulling you into him and hugging you tightly. Your eyes flashed at the gesture, and the fact that he had initiated and uncharacteristic (coming from him) embrace. Your hands stalled uncertainly in air, before they found his back and you returned the hug.

".... I'm sorry for being such an ass... And pushing you away.... I'm not..... I suck at shit like this........" He told you quietly, his breath tickling your ear. ".... You're.... Gonna have to be..... patient.... But.... I'll try.... And try to.... You know....... So you understand..... What's goin' on....." He audibly swallowed and your heart twisted again at how hard it was for him to say any of that.

".... It's okay..... I'll be as patient as you need.... I just want to help you, however I can, or however you need......" You replied softly, sinking further into the hug. Bakugou blinked when you relaxed against him, eyes bloodshot and tired, and his lips pulling into a tight line at your reply.

Nothing could have ever described how much it hurt, and soothed his soul when you said that- that you would be patient, and do whatever you could for him. And because words weren't enough, he hugged you tighter instead, holding his breath against the ache for a few long moments.

He paused halfway through though, as his eyes found your bare feet and the way they were dirty and scraped on the bottom. He frowned, his jaw clenching slightly as a flash of both guilt and annoyance hit him at the sight.

Idiot.... You ran out here with no shoes on in the middle of the night? Your feet were probably blocks of ice by now, and he'd be surprised if you could manage to stand back up on them, being away numb as they probably were.

He shook his head once and settled his chin on your shoulder, sighing silently.

Stupid... but..........

....... Thank you....(Y/N)....

.:+:.

PLUS-ULTRA-oneshots Masterlist

[elfy-elf-imagines]

Used to Be Mine P.II | Finrod

Pairing: Finrod x Human!Reader

Genre: some angst; fluff 

Warnings: implied mention of suicide (very tiny mention)

Requested: Yes, but so far back idk if the original requester is even reading this

Prompt: --

Words: ~3k

It was cold that night. Not the, ‘the stars are out and the wind is gently blowing against me’, but the obnoxious kind where the wind was aggressively smacking against you as your hair blew all over the place. The kind that left bitter kisses all over your skin that would only be remedied with a velvet soft blanket and an even warmer person to snuggle closer with. But you only had a fur lined cloak and the distant memories of a roaring hearth. Perhaps running away in the middle of the night in the dead winter wasn’t a smart decision, but your mind was far too cloudy to make sound choices. 

You’d hurt Finrod, you knew you had. It felt like a barbed arrow had pierced through your chest everytime you wandered too close to civilization, seeing dozens of postings offering mountains of gold to anyone who had information on you. It felt like a thousand tiny blades were piercing your skin when you‘d look at the stars, only to be reminded of Finrod’s eyes that shined like ten thousand stars. Or when the sun's rays would dare be so radiant and bright, nearly enough to blind you, and remind you of the warmth and comfort his smile brought you. Only for that to be ripped away when you were left alone in the cold

There wasn’t a day you didn’t consider turning around. Every night you’d relive your fondest memories with him, feeling his phantom touches that would wrap around you, hearing his voice whisper to you in elvish as you drift off. And every morning, even as you set off further and further away from him you’d mentally prepare a grand and emotional speech to recite to Finrod in hopes of earning his forgiveness. But you didn’t. You didn’t even dare to look behind you most days, because if you did, you knew you’d crack. 

But you weren’t ready to face that yet, instead opting to increase the distance like a coward.

So you stood by the still river, watching the reflection of the stars in the water. Your camp fire rapidly burned behind you, casting everything in a warm glow, but doing little to nothing about the freezing cold. So entranced by your own thoughts, living in a fantasy that was just out of reach, you didn’t hear anything amiss. Until it was too late.

“Y/N.” a voice called from behind you, a voice you’d recognize anywhere. You froze in your place, back stiff as a board. Your heart hammered in your chest, so loud you were sure he could hear it clear as day. You know it’s him, it couldn’t be anyone but him. However there was a shadow of a doubt in the back of your head. That nasty voice that shouted to you he wasn’t really here, that this is just one big hallucination. 

Needing confirmation, you turn your body, your hands that lie limp at your sides shaking like autumn leaves falling from the trees. And for a moment you hope that the little part of your brain was right, prayed that Finrod wasn’t standing before you. You didn’t want to have to face the consequences of your rash actions, to see first hand how much damage you did. Yet there he was, regal and ethereal as ever, however something seemed… off. 

His pale skin that usually glowed with otherworldliness - something that clearly separated him from morals - seemed dim. He was still pale, yes, but not like the pale light that washed over the world when the moon came out or the scintillating glow of the distant stars, but more like the dead. His skin looked sallow and aged, deep set bags surrounding his eyes that looked like her ran a stick of coal under them. But worst of all was his eyes. His sapphire blue eyes that used to glitter like thousands of diamonds were dull and tired and defeated. You always knew what he was feeling or thinking just by looking into his eyes, and now you wish you hadn’t. 

But hidden in the depths of the sea of despair he seemed to be drowning in, there was a slight sparkle to them. A small smile tugs on his lips, but it isn’t filled with the usual radiance he carried himself with, this one looked… exhausted, like it took all his willpower to keep himself together. 

Taking all of this in, your heart stopped and your breath got caught in your throat. Your mouth grew drier than any desert as you watched him. Time seemed to grow still, seconds that used to tick by rapidly halt until it feels like a century before anything changes. You open and close your mouth, unsure of what to say. What could you say? It was written all over his face the effect you had on him when you left. 

“How did you find me here?” The words finally manage to leave your mouth, your voice hoarse and quiet. You continue to watch him, unblinking. 

“You always did like to be near the water. It was not difficult to find you when I began to follow the river,” he said. His voice, normally soothing and musical, the way you often imagined the gods themselves talked like, was rough and scratchy. 

“I did always talk about the water, I suppose,” 

The two of you stood there, silence enveloping you. It was awkward and tense. Once again you felt yourself growing antsy as the guilt crept up inside of you. 

“Why did you--”

“I’m sor--” 

Each of you speak simultaneously, cutting yourselves off upon hearing the other speak. It grew silent once more, the weight of your guilt burying you deeper and deeper into the ground. 

“You go first,” you finally muttered, sure that the noise would be carried off with the ferocious wind. But elves always did have keener ears than the race of Man. 

“Why did you leave?” he said. His words made you flinch, like a dog being scolded by its owner. Not because of any fury or fire in his words, the exact opposite actually. His tone was quiet and gentle, soothing enough to lull you to sleep right then and there. But maybe that’s what hurt most, he wasn’t angry with you, but hurt; hurt that you ran away from him. 

It was stupid, you thought. And shame burned bright red on your face, embarrassed that you wrecked his heart so quickly when you took the easy way out rather than facing the problems head on. At least then, he would’ve known you weren’t happy and had an understanding of why you’d leave. 

“I’m sorry. It just got too much, I guess.” you muttered as your eyes traced the forest floor a dozen times over, anything to keep your gaze from his. 

“What became too much, mime úrin ar elena?” he asked. You couldn’t help but notice the substantial amount of distance between you, like an invisible barrier he refused to pull down. It hurt, like a knife to the gut, but it was understandable. A part of you wished he’d left you to wallow in your guilt and pain forever, but he deserved closure, even if you didn’t.   

“Would it be too vague to say everything? I just-- I’m not made for high court, and this only proves it,” you said, trying to put more vigor into your words. Maybe if you convinced him you were better off in the woods, he’d leave sooner.

“Yes, it would. I’m not understanding you, mime mel” he said. The wind aggressively rushed past you, forcing your hair in front of your face. 

“I’m not made for elven high court Finrod. They chewed me up and then spit me out. I couldn’t stay there, not anymore, who knows what other damage it would’ve done to me.” you said. Invigorated with a rush of courage, you raised your head to meet Finrod’s gaze. You immediately wished you hadn’t. His initial appearance was bad enough to be faced with, but this was worse. His eyes were trained on you, pain on display to any who might glance at them. His lips were downturned and his nose scrunched up ever so slightly. It was the only vaguely human thing he ever did whenever he was confused by something. 

“Who mime mel. What did they do to you?” he exclaimed, his voice raising in volume just a hair. But it was enough to cause a shiver to run up your spine. Finrod hardly ever lost his composure and this is the closest you’ve been to seeing just that. 

“Everyone! They would dance around me like a lion stalking its prey! They mocked me constantly about anything that would come to their minds” you exclaimed, straightening your posture ever so slightly. 

“I wasn’t aware of this,” he muttered, to himself or you? You’re not sure. 

“Of course you weren’t, my love! You always see the best in everyone, blind to the malicious intentions behind their fair faces!” you said, you voice no longer a whisper, it was a roar, a lion’s roar. You were tired. Tired of everything that involved that stupid castle and now here Finrod is, dragging up everything you fought so hard to bury deep in you. It was irrational and wrong for you to be angry, you knew this. But you also knew you were human. 

A human tired of being treated like trash by the Fair Folk. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve--” he began, but you cut him off. 

“And do what? Get together all of the nobility and tell them to stop being mean to your wife? There’s nothing you could’ve done Finrod,” 

“And I suppose just fleeing from your problems is a better solution! To just up and leave with nothing except for a hastily written letter left behind?” he responded. His voice was no longer delicate like glass, but strong like steel. He straightened his back and squinted his eyes, carefully watching you. 

“I did what I had to do! Any moment longer in that castle and I probably would’ve--” you began, swiftly cutting off your sentence, refusing to admit how far you’d spiralled. 

“Death. You were considering death,” not even a second later and the steel left his voice. You couldn’t speak, you didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly, in fear of shattering the careful glass that encased the two of you. So you simply nod your head and clench your jaw. 

“Mime mel--” 

“Please, don’t,” you said, voice thick with emotions. It was taking all your willpower to keep any tears from falling down your face. You couldn’t crack, not now, not with Finrod so close. “I-- can’t. I’m sorry.”

Like a coward, you turned your back and began to run, disregarding your traveling pack and everything else at camp. However you’d only managed to take three steps before you felt a presence behind you. A hand tightly gripped your shoulder, not so tight that it would bruise, but enough for you to know it wasn’t the ghost of a caress caused by the wind. It turned your body, forcing you to face Finrod. He was only two paces away from you, so close you could feel his breath fanning across your face. His eyes that previously were filled with hurt and confusion still looked hurt, but there was a sliver of hope. 

And that’s what made it worse. He still wanted to be with you, for you to come back to the palace and rule by his side despite your careless actions. This only caused you to shake your head again, this time more frantic and desperate than before. 

“Please, we can fix this together. Just, don’t shut me out please. Our time is already so limited, why waste anymore time?” he whispered, his voice sounding like it was right by your ears. As if nature was in tune with Finrod and only him, the ferocious wind calmed down, opting for a gentle sway rather than an aggressive wave of air. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, the ability to stop your tears crumbling with your words. They slowly poured down your face, the liquid reflecting in Finrod’s blue eyes. Your voice was scratchy and rough, like you hadn’t spoken in a thousand years. You would’ve looked away from him too, averted your gaze so you wouldn’t have to see the damage you continue to cause, but his hand stopped you. 

They were soft and smooth, lacking any of the callouses his rigorous weapons training should’ve caused. He delicately cradled your face, as if you yourself were a silmarilli the elves coveted so ardently. His thumb traced your cheekbones and up to your temple, his warm skin a stark contrast to the bitter cold. 

“You can. I’m sorry I didn’t realise how hurt you truly were, but I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to ensure that will never happen again,” he said, the passion and fire in his voice nearly melting the frostbite you could swear was creeping into your toes. 

“How do you know? How can you promise that?” 

“Because I don’t know what else I can do. I need you, by my side. These past months have been proof, not that I needed to be assured of my love for you,” he whispered. You were wavering. You knew it; he knew it; even the stars seemed to know it, as they shined just a bit brighter in that moment. 

“And if I say no?” The question escaped your mouth before you could comprehend it. The nasty voice inside your head rearing its head, spitting at you that this is all some ruse, that he doesn’t love you. The delicate smile that creeped onto his face lowered just the slightest and his eyes dimmed a notch, and you couldn't help but notice the star matching their luminosity. 

“Then I will leave here heart broken. However, I shall not pester you any longer if you truly wish to be free. Just know that you will always have a home at Nargothrond if you ever change your mind,” he said. The words sounded like poison from his mouth, twisting the knife that had been embedded in your gut since he arrived. He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss on your forehead, his lips barely making contact with your skin before pulling away. 

Your heart raced in that moment, aggressively beating against your chest as it screamed how foolish you were. Head pounding and hands shaking, you make a decision in that split second. Finrod only managed one step away before your arms wound around his waist, urging him closer. He faced you, the grief melting from his face and being replaced with hopefulness and joy. The moonlight reflected beautifully off his golden hair and the urge to touch it burned in you. So you did. Removing one hand from his waist, you trailed it up towards his hair and touching any skin along the way. His hair was soft as silk and as fine as gold thread. 

“I suppose I’ll come with. No sense in wasting anymore time,” you said, twirling his hair in between your fingers. A small smile formed on your face, the first genuine smile to grace your face in a long while. Your eyes lit up with glee, small lines forming under your eyes and Finrod’s face perfectly mimicked yours. 

“Ni mel tye mime úrin ar elena” The moon shined just a tiny bit brighter, the stars dancing above the two of you.

“Ni mel tye too mime silme,” the flowing language of the elves felt foreign on your lips, but it was welcomed nonetheless. His smile brightened and then Finrod leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was warm and sweet and everything good in the world, filling you with a euphoric sensation that always followed Finrod like a ghost. You smile into the kiss as the tears continue to slowly stream down your face. 

At some point one of you pulls away, yet you maintain the same distance, neither of you willing to untangle from the other. Finrod pressed his forehead against yours, your noses touching as well. And you stay like that, basking in each other warm presence with big dumb smiles painted on your faces. 

But it was nice, well more than nice, but you couldn’t think of any words that could describe your feelings. 

So nice will have to do for now. 

You weren’t naive, you knew life in high court wouldn’t just magically be better now. But the grin on Finrod’s face and the look in his eyes, a look you surely mimicked, it all seemed worth it. 

Your grin widened and you leaned forward, losing yourself in another kiss. 

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~

Translations from Quenya (apologies if this is wrong, I used a translator): 

~ Mime mel: my love

~ Mime úrin ar elena: my sun and stars

~ Ni mel tye mime úrin ar elena: I love you my sun and stars

~ Ni mel tye too mime silme: i love you too my starlight 

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAGS: If at any point, you no longer want to be tagged, just shoot me a message! :D 

@atenr​ |  @aearonnin​ |  @emiliessketches​ |  @vibratingbones​ | 

[noodlewright]

Characters: Clockwork, Danny Fenton, Maddie Pairings: None Rating: G

-

“So will it be between seventy and a hundred, or lower?”

“No. Keep working.”

At the heart of Clockwork's lair, Danny stared unseeingly at the math worksheet in front of him. The numbers were starting to blur together. 

Today, Danny was visiting Clockwork after having a fit of homework frustration that was quickly becoming routine. He was lucky to have found a mentor in Clockwork and studied with him as frequently as he could. Danny had quickly found that the ghost was, apparently, scary good with numbers, but there was nothing to be done to make math less mind numbing.

“No, as in it'll be higher?”

“You know perfectly well Danny.”

Danny wanted to know if all his extra study sessions would pay off when it came to Friday's big test, but he knew what Clockwork was getting at. The spirit was concerned that knowing his future test score would make him slack off, either because of an expectation that he would do well regardless, or that he would see no point in studying with failure to come anyway.

He needed to study for now and later exams, Clockwork insisted.

Danny huffed in annoyance and stared harder at the problem that gave him such grief.

It didn't yield.

“Do you want to go over it again?”

Danny hung his head in defeat. “Yeah.”

Clockwork left his terminal and made his way to Danny's side with a spare sheet of paper, half of it covered in a scrawl from earlier.

Halfway there, the spirit paused. Clockwork stared just over Danny's shoulder, as though a thought had just occurred to him.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. Just the other day, while Danny visited, Clockwork had done a similar action. He hadn't given it much thought then, or the ones before. Everyone did it on occasion. In Danny’s case, it usually happened when he walked through a doorway. Most people though, Danny considered, didn't do it this much.

Maybe Clockwork was a little scatterbrained?

-

It was, by now, what Danny recognized and referred to as one of Clockwork's “Moments”.

Danny had come to learn that Clockwork had these frequently.  Clockwork didn't have all knowledge of all things, the spirit had once explained. Clockwork knew of the past, if he cared enough to know it, and knew of the present, but not all of the present. If he wanted, he could learn it all but there were, he said, very many things that were dull and unimportant, and taking the time to see every bit would be a torture unimaginable.

The future was similar to him, in that he didn't endeavor to see every scrap of it, but even if he tried, it wouldn't have the same easy clarity.

The real take-away was that, when it came to the future, all things weren't set in stone, and as Clockwork explained, the ghost often felt that some events got lobbed at his head and he needed a moment to sort out the new information. Danny could understand that. He had trouble grasping the rest of the hour-long, complicated discussion that included half a dozen different metaphors and some math chalked onto the wall, but he could get that at least, and was glad to gain a little more insight on how Clockwork's abilities functioned.

-

“Are you okay?”

Clockwork’s attention snapped to Danny. The intense gaze made him uneasy. Was Clockwork mad? He got the feeling like he might have interrupted something.

“Uh, sorry.”

Immediately Clockwork's eyes widened, “No no, I’m sorry. I just realized something. I need to go-”

“What?” They had barely started!

A wink was sent his way. “It won't even be a moment.”

Oh right. Well, it wasn't like Danny could just forget the last fifteen years of rigid physical laws that applied to his and everyone else's lives. Clockwork would probably only disappear and reappear between blinks.

A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, have you been disappearing on me this whole time?” he asked. He shouldn’t be surprised, it would be so easy to ditch and return without anyone being the wiser. 

“No, just when you’re already engaged in something.” Clockwork admitted.  

So basically, any time Danny wasn’t actually talking to Clockwork.  Which was a lot.

He shouldn’t be bothered by it.  He hadn’t even caught onto it until just now, but still, it sat unwell with him that Danny was someone who was to be put aside for a later date.  Couldn’t it wait until after Danny had left?  It wasn’t like Clockwork couldn’t just go back to whatever time period he pleased.

It would be polite at the very least.

But what was Danny going to do about it? Clockwork was nice enough, and Danny wasn't about to voice his disappointment when it wasn't actually that big of a deal to begin with. It would just have to be another mannerism to add to Clockwork's growing list.

“Uh, okay. So what's got you in such a rush to go?”

Clockwork opened his mouth to answer, but paused for another faraway look to overtake his face. “. . . Well, how do you feel about coming with me to find out?” he finally said.

There was hardly a thought before Danny agreed. “Sure!”

They set off.

-

Clockwork's portal led them to a large, immaculate kitchen.

“Very nice.” Danny said as he stepped out and oggled at the sheer size of the room. The number of cooking ranges and pots suggested that he was at a restaurant. “Do you come here a lot?”

Clockwork gave a distracted noise of affirmation as he walked over to a glowing red stove top and fiddled with the knobs until it was completely turned off. 

Had he just stopped what could have been a fire?

The ghost then grabbed at unsightly cords that littered the countertops and tucked them into less noticeable places.

“Danny, there is a set of knives to your left. Would you please place them in the cupboard?”

The cutlery in question had been loosely kept in a stainless steel container, not very dangerous in his opinion, but he obligingly shut it away.

From Clockwork's direction, Danny could vaguely make out senseless muttering, “-idiot thinks he's a chef . . . ”

Yeah, no kidding. Idiot was an understatement. Who left a stove on?

Danny startled at a sensation that brushed across his ankles.

He looked down to see a purring cat. “Um. Hi.”

It was long haired, and an obviously very well-kept animal. It was incredibly out-of-place for the current location. The cat gave him a lazy, silent meow. 

“I didn't think cats were allowed in restaurants.”

“It isn't a restaurant,” Clockwork clarified. “This is the home of Vlad Masters.”

Danny suddenly snapped alert and floated off the ground in a battle ready stance. His eyes darted around in search of an unwelcome presence. 

“He isn't here right now.” 

Danny immediately relaxed and found his footing again. He regarded the cat and kitchen before him once more. Now it was looking familiar. This wasn't his first jaunt uninvited to Vlad's house, but he had never paused to really look at the rooms he was darting through.

“Okay, so what are we doing here? I mean, I know fire-safety is important and all, but a blazing house and that guy isn't the saddest combination that I can imagine.”

“I understand,” Clockwork said as he made his way to a nearby window and began working its unyielding frame closed. “Masters has done you a great deal many wrongs. He is, what most would determine, unsalvageable. Unforgivable. Unethical and unrepentant.”

“Yeah. All that times a thousand.”

“He is also incredibly unstable.”

“I could have told you that.” Danny wondered where this was heading.

Clockwork ceased his fiddling and picked up the cat that had only been too content to loll on the ground. It wiggled, displeased at the graceless hold. 

“Before you is the crux of all of Masters’ affections.” He lifted the cat further with emphasis, and spoke with sincere solemnity. “The warmth held for you and your family is but a shrinking mote compared to what he has fostered with this animal.”

Shrinking? Anything that lessened Vlad's attention could only be a good thing. “Really? Does that mean he'll leave us alone now?”

Clockwork didn't entirely look him in the eyes when he said, “Not exactly. Masters is the very definition of passion and he can never entirely drop something once he's set upon it.”

“Not in all the timelines?”

“Most of those are currently closed and the few available are too . . .” Danny thought that Clockwork was about to have another Moment, but the spirit soon found his words, “-dreadful. Which is why it is very important that we curtail his fixations, in what ways we can, and direct him to better . . . things. This cat is crucial to that. He's poured all his love into it and should anything happen to it, Amityville will be a flaming crater, and its residents, crumbling charcoal.”

“He'd kill people for a cat?!”

“He'd kill someone for kicking it.”

“Oh my God. I mean, that's a really mean thing to do to a cat, and they deserve something, but the town is innocent. Why would he hurt them?”

“He’s an idiot when he's angry. And a part of him has always wanted to watch the world burn.”

Danny pulled the, now fed-up, cat out of Clockwork's arms and held it with complete reverence. “We have to protect this cat,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“We need to keep it inside and never let it out.”

“I know.”

“Sam can watch it when I can't-”

“Masters will be consumed with rage should it go missing.”

“Right. Okay. Well, it's- it's a cat, and it's been alright so far, right? It should be okay here. It's happy here and Vlad's happy.”

“But there's a problem. It's why I have to come here almost every blasted day. The cat is suicidal.”

“ . . . Is there a therapy for that?”

Clockwork gestured to the room, heedless of Danny, “She keeps trying to kill herself. Last week she was roadkill and the week before, mauled by a pack of dogs. I stop her from eating poisonous plants and she goes right back to them the next second. I keep her from chewing power cords and she tries and tries again- last time she did it while soaking wet from nearly drowning in the toilet. In fact, had we not been here, at this very moment, she would have deep fried herself! I am confident that I have now seen every possible misfortune that can befall an animal and I grow tired of it.”

Danny scrambled to absorb the dire information. “But . . . the deep fryer isn't even on.”

Clockwork glared at the animal pointedly. “And yet.”

Danny looked at the yowling cat in horror. “What can we do?”

“I'm doing all that I can.”

“But isn't there something we can do that is less hands-on? More permanent?”

“I've been scouring the timelines for that very answer and have come up short. Other possible solutions will show themselves eventually, but we're not at the right stage to begin exploring those.”

“Okay, well if we can't do anything with the cat, what about Vlad? Can't we just stop him?”

Clockwork rubbed his face tiredly. “Danny, a future where Masters has that sort of melt-down, and the city regardless saved, is not a future either of us want.”

Danny wished he could fact-check that, but he wasn't the one with foresight. “Are you suuure?” he needled.

“Yes.”

Well, Danny supposed that was that. He didn't entirely believe Clockwork. It was hard to judge when he knew so little of the information as a whole, it could just be that there was something that had been missed. However, he did trust that it was what Clockwork believed.

“Clockwork?”

“Hm?”

“This future you have in mind, is it a really good one?”

“. . . It's not all good, but it has a great deal many good things, yes.”

Something niggled at Danny. It was a thing that had long been bothering him, and it reared its ugly head whenever altering timelines came up, but he had never earnestly voiced it. Mostly because he had yet to see any bad come of it. “Clockwork, I know you can do all these cool things, but do you ever think that maybe you shouldn't be doing all this? Changing the timelines, I mean. I get wanting to have a better future for people, but what if you don't make the right choice? Why not just let it go?”

“Instead, how about you let it go?”

Danny's mouth dropped open in shock at the sheer rudeness, until he realized that Clockwork was pointing at the cat. She writhed in his arms and gave him warning bites to his gloves. 

He guessed Clockwork's answer wasn’t as much a brush-off as it was a diversion then. Fine.

He, gently, released the cat and planned to get right back to the questions at hand, but Clockwork addressed him before he could open his mouth.

“I've let things go a time or two before, Danny.” Clockwork had taken an interest in one of his many watches, his head tucked down so that shadow eclipsed most of his face. “And contrary to what some would have you believe, I have learned that it is better to do something, even if it's not the very best, than nothing at all. Inaction and apathy are things that I have fought hard to stay buried, and to embrace them again would be inexcusable.”

What could have possibly have happened? How bad did it get? Did he really want to know? 

“What-”

“So, will you help me keep this cat alive?”

And Danny did drop it, just like that. Clockwork clearly didn’t want to talk about it. That didn't mean he wasn't still curious. He was. But for today, and probably for a while, he would leave it be.

-

Vlad returned to the center of his current frustrations. He had been trying to recreate an old family recipe, when suddenly, he had been called away on business. It wasn't a long meeting, but he had felt the need to rush. A thought had dogged at him since he left.

Had he left the stove on?

He swung the kitchen door open and immediately calmed at the lack of raging flames and burning stove-tops. 

It seemed he did remember.

There was also a lack of general mess that often accompanied his random acts of cookery. His ingredients were laid out still, as well as a number of random bowls, but the utensils were nowhere to be seen and the deep fryer had been dumped. Curious. He didn't keep his cleaning staff this late, and even if he had, they wouldn't have been so lazy as to not properly clean up a clear mess.

“Who the shit has been in my kitchen?”

-

More

[celosiaa]

hi i just found your blog and I love it?? so much??? you're a super talented writer!! if you want prompts: i'm a sucker for Tim and Jon being friends (or ex-friends) in hurt/comfort scenarios (but if you prefer Martin that's fine too!!) so how would you feel about Tim asking Jon for a favor despite that he knows he hadn't been feeling well the previous night, and Jon agreeing because he's JON and making Tim regret even asking lol. if you don't like this, I can try again!!

I!! Loved!! This!! Prompt!!!!  Literally so honored to receive a prompt from you!  Hopefully this will do it justice. :) 

This is set at the very beginning of season 2, before Jon gets super paranoid.  Tim’s thoughts are formatted in italics.

“Closing tiiiime, one last call for alcohol, so finish up your whisky or beeeer!!”

Martin rolls his eyes at Tim where he’s draped himself across his desk, singing both passionately and tunelessly into an air microphone.

“Closing tiiiiime, you don’t have to go home but—”

“Tim, it’s only just quarter past noon!  I hate to tell you, but we’re a long way from closing time, mate,” Martin giggles, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Yeah, well, that just means it’s lunch time!  And it’s your big day!  So—where are we going?”

Martin’s grin falters ever so slightly.

“Er, well…actually, I don’t know if—”

“No no no, you do not get to back out of this one.  You’ve got to celebrate!  It’s not every day a man gets cleared for top surgery!” Tim replies fervently, sitting up properly on Martin’s desk.

Martin sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“I know, and I really appreciate it Tim, it’s just…Jon asked me to look over some stuff, and I’m already behind because of my appointment this morning, and…you know how he can get.”

“…yeah.  Unfortunately.”

Tim glances over at Jon’s office door, which is fully shut with the blinds closed.  Truth be told, he’s been worried about Jon since he came back from leave.  The man had always been a little reclusive, a little awkward, but…this was something else entirely.  Nowadays, his door remains perpetually shut, intentionally closed off from the rest of the archival staff—and Tim doesn’t like it one bit.

He’s broken out of his reverie by Martin’s stomach growling.

“Ooh, sorry—”

Tim claps his hands together with a grin.

“Ha!  That settles it, then.  I’ll give him a distraction and he won’t even notice you’re behind,” Tim replies jovially.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.  It’s a good one, I’ve been saving it for a time of need.  Leave it to me.”

He gives Martin a wink as he stands, knowing that it will make him blush—and he’s delighted to be proven right, pink rising at once beneath his dusting of freckles.

Nothing if not predictable, Tim thinks with a fond grin.  As he passes by his desk, he grabs the file he’s been saving for the past few weeks and raps on Jon’s door.

No reply.

Tim’s brow furrows at this, concern beginning to rise.  He calls out and raps on the door again.

“Jon?  You okay?”

Still nothing.  He can’t hold down the anxiety rising in him now.

Something’s wrong.  Fuck.

“I’m coming in.”

He swings open the door, heart pounding, praying to whatever gods there may be that he’s not about to find Jon on the floor, covered in worms again.

The room is entirely Jon-less.

Sweet Jesus.

Tim takes a moment to breathe, allowing the panic to settle back in as he leans over, bracing his arms on his knees.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he fights back against the onslaught of memories—worms, blood, infection, pain, pain, pain—that flood incessantly through his mind.

He’s not here. 

He’s not here, and he’s fine.

You’re fine.

You’re fine.

Taking one last grounding breath, he stands to his full height, rubbing at his shoulder where the worms had dug into it as he exits the room.

Alright, you bastard, where’d you run off to?

He checks the break room next—not because he thinks Jon would be there, but because Sasha may know something he doesn’t.  As usual.  To his utter surprise, however, there stands Jon—leaning heavily against the countertop, fixing himself a cup of what looks to be more honey than tea.

Tim can’t help but laugh, causing Jon to jump at the unexpected noise.

“Ha!  Caught in the act!  Finally decided to take matters into your own hands, did you?  Martin will be so upset!” he booms, leaning casually against the door frame.

Jon’s only reply is to glare daggers at him over his shoulder, before turning back to his “tea” with a sniff.  Tim’s smile falls in confusion.

Odd.

Sweeping his gaze over Jon, he notices with rising alarm the way he’s braced against the countertop, his left leg shaking even as he leans onto his uninjured one.  Even more concerning is the presence of his cane, also resting against the counter within his arm’s reach—as Tim knows he doesn’t typically use it to walk short distances within the office.

Ooh, this is…not good.

He softens both his voice and posture carefully as he approaches.

“Jon?  You alright?”

Whipping his head back around, glare still in place, Jon sneers at him.

“I’m fine, Tim.  Leave off.”

Tim’s eyes go wide, and he steps back slightly, hands raised in consolation.

“Woah, boss.  Jesus.”

He remains frozen for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.  As he watches, pondering, Jon’s hand shakes so badly that tea sloshes over the rim of his mug, and Tim’s had enough.

“Jon, really.  You’re shaking.  Are you in pain?” he says lowly, crossing his fingers that this gentle tone won’t earn him a chewing-out.

Jon sighs and looks up, a gesture Tim recognizes as a plea for patience from whoever is listening.

“I said I’m fine, Tim.  Just leave it, please,” he says, his words carefully measured.

As Tim inhales to reply, Martin steps through the doorway, freezing for a moment when he sees Jon’s attempt at making tea.

“Oh!  Jon!  I was just about to make some.  Sorry I didn’t get it to you this morning, I had to—”

“I don’t need excuses, Martin.  And I can make my own tea.  Just get back to work,” he snaps viciously, never turning around to look at him.

The way Martin’s face falls at this sparks an anger in Tim that he hasn’t felt in a long while.

“Oh.  Um.  Right, sorry.  I’ll just—I’ll just go then.  Sorry,” he stammers as he hurries out of the room face beet red.

Oh, that’s it.

I’m going to kill him.

Jon at least has the graciousness to blush, regret pooling ever so slightly behind his eyes.

Tim throws his arms wide, glaring at him.

“You’re really going to snap at Martin, right in front of me, and not expect me to get angry?”

Sighing yet again, Jon does not reply, refuses to look at him.  Tim’s ire only grows, and his tone steadily ticks upward until it’s very nearly a shout.

“You know, if you paid attention to anything he’s told you, you’d know that he’s been trying to get an appointment with that top surgeon for nearly a year.  He’s been counting down the days on the office calendar for months, and he finally had it today, and you can’t even be bothered to remember?  To cut him any slack?  Are you joking?”

Jon meets his eyes at last, his glare sharp and cold.

“I do pay attention.  More than you know,” he hisses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Jon looks away once again, staring into his tea.

“Just…just tell me what you wanted, Tim,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper.

God, I could punch him right now.

He throws the file he’s holding on the counter instead.

“You know what?  Fine.  I was just starting to feel sorry for you, and I was actually going to fix this problem for you.  But since you insist on being a complete arse, fine.”

He points forcefully toward the file folder.

“There’s an inconsistency with the date on this statement and the follow-up.  I tried everything I could to reconcile it, but we just need more data.  I need to know if there are any other statements about this house or the surrounding area so I can cross-reference them.”

“R-right, I’ll take care of that,” he says, voice still low, and takes the file. 

Tim’s anger very nearly abates when he reaches for his cane, then limps slowly and painfully to sit at the breakroom table.  But he cannot shove it down, no matter how much he wants to.

No, you know what? He can deal with whatever this is himself.

He ought to feel ashamed.

He can’t keep speaking to us this way.

Steeling himself, Tim locks his gaze on Jon once again.

“Look, I’m taking Martin to lunch today, and I don’t care if he’s behind on his work.  I don’t care what you think of it, either.  He deserves to celebrate, and you can just sit here and wallow.”

He turns immediately on his heel and strides out the door to collect Martin.

---

(7am, the next morning)

The brewing cold of autumn seeps into Tim’s bones as he walks from the gym, freshly showered and aiming to drop his things off at the Institute before grabbing coffee with Sasha.  It’s the first time he’s worked out on his own since he was discharged from physical therapy, and he cannot deny his frustration about the performance of his weakened muscles—muscles that had once been so strong.  Still, it had felt good to be back, and Tim had certainly not gone easy on himself.

Perhaps I should have, he thinks, feeling the shoulder beneath the strap of his gym bag beginning to seize up.

Dumping his bag on his desk, Tim flops down unceremoniously into his chair.  He can’t help but wince as he rubs at his sore shoulder, finding with dismay that he can no longer turn his head to the left without sending shooting pains to the base of his skull and across the top of his shoulder.

Damn it.  Overdid it again.

He spends a few minutes this way, breathing through the pain as he works his fingers over the knots, over the countless scars—testing his neck’s range of motion every so often.  It helps in part, but he ultimately finds himself still unable to turn his head by the time he’s finished.  He groans in frustration.

As he does so, a sharp sound echoes from deeper within the archives, and Tim is immediately set on high alert.

Fuck fuck fuck

He stays stock still, eyes blown wide, listening for any indication that something unwelcome has joined him here today, when—

A series of harsh, painful-sounding coughs floats from the direction of Jon’s office, where a light has been left on.

Vicious anger flares up in Tim instantly.

Oh you have got to be kidding me.

Standing up in a rush, he marches over to Jon’s office door, which stands partially open.  There sits Jon, hunched over his desk, staring intently at the pages scattered across it without really seeing them.  The deep black under his eyes tells Tim that, without a doubt, he has been here all night.

And he is furious.

“What the hell are you doing, Jon?”

Jon’s head snaps upwards, expression momentarily widened in shock, before it melts quickly back into his usual scowl.

“I’m only doing what you asked me to do, Tim,” he rasps, voice sounding decidedly small.

“I did not ask you to stay here all night,” Tim fumes, his hand slamming down angrily on the corner of Jon’s desk.

He jumps again, and guilt twinges in Tim’s chest—a twinge which deepens the longer he regards Jon’s complete bewilderment.

“It’s…morning?”

Silence hangs in the air for a moment as they stare at each other. 

Something’s wrong. 

Tim tries to swallow down his concern, remembering that he’s supposed to be angry.

“Look.  If I tell you to go home, are you going to listen to me?”

Jon drops his gaze at once, picking at the scars on his hands.

“Right.  That’s what I thought.”

Tim shakes his head briefly, looking away for a moment in frustration, when his eyes land on a small, wrapped present set on a shelf—on top of which stands a handmade card.  Squinting at it, Tim can just make out the front: “Congratulations” is scrawled across the bottom in forcibly-neatened cursive, above which sits a messy drawing of a Highland cow, shaggy hair hanging down over its eyes.

Tim quirks a smile at this, his anger dissipating immediately.

“That for Martin?” he asks, jerking a thumb toward it.

Jon looks up, eyes bleary.

“What?  Oh—yes, yes it is.”

“What is it?”

“Er—just some tea from my family in Jordan.  It’s…quite good, actually.  I thought he might like it.”

Tim is grinning smugly now, doing his best impression of a Cheshire cat while leaning over Jon’s desk.

“What an interestingly personal gift, Mister Sims.  In fact, one might even mistake it for flirting—that is, if you’re capable of such a thing.”

Predictably, Jon’s face flushes beet red at this, and Tim’s entire body tips back in laughter.

“I—you—it’s not flirting, Tim.  But I will have you know that I am capable of doing so, when I wish.”

Tim laughs again, so utterly pleased with himself at how flustered Jon has become.

“Right. Of course, silly me.”

After a moment’s silence, Jon sighs and rubs a hand into his temple, and Tim knows that the fun is over for now.

“So?  Do you want to come grab a coffee with me and Sasha?  Might do you good to get out of this place for a moment.  Maybe get some caffeine and try to look a little bit less like death warmed over.”

Jon shoots him a sharp glare, which Tim thoroughly enjoys, before turning his eyes to his cane where it rests against the desk.  Considering it for a moment, he worries at his bottom lip before reaching out to grab it.

“Fine.  If you—”

“If I insist, right.  And I do.”

“Alright.”

Jon braces his left hand against his desk, the right gripped tightly around his cane, and lifts himself to half-standing.

Panic laces up every nerve in Tim’s body when he gasps, shifting all his weight to his good leg and swaying alarmingly.  He grabs onto him immediately, steadying him by the upper arms with some difficulty.

“Woah, Jon, woah woah—”

Jon blinks rapidly, face growing ashen.

“Sorry, I…” he trails off at once, eyes closing.

“Sit back down, here—sit down, Jon.  God.”

Tim guides him back to his chair as the cane clatters to the floor, forgotten.  His eyes remain closed as he sits, prompting Tim to shake him gently by the shoulder.

“Jon?  You with me?”

After a few moments, he opens his eyes obediently, moving to nod before thinking better of it.

“Sorry, just—head rush.”

Tim rolls his eyes and stands to his full height, placing his hands on his hips.

“Bullshit.  What’s wrong with you?”

Jon holds out his hands, palms facing up.

“Nothing!  Just…change in the weather.  Affects my…affects my leg, that’s all.”

As he says this, something that looks suspiciously like a fever chill runs the length of his body.  Tim snorts in derision.

“Right.  Sure.  And there’s nothing at all to the fact that you’re literally shaking right now?”

Jon’s eyebrows furrow in annoyance at this. 

“I’m not—”

He breaks off as he looks down—finding that he is, in fact, shaking.

Unbelievable.

“Right.  I’m going to ask you again, and you’d better not lie to me.  What’s wrong with you?”

At this, Jon sighs, looking away with an expression that shows he’s at least considering honesty.  

Suppose that’s all I can ask for.

His considerations are cut short by coughing, which he muffles quickly with both his elbow and his closed mouth.  Tim can’t help but wince at the sound—so dry and wheezing and painful that he can almost feel it in his own throat.  As the fit comes to an end, Jon lowers his elbow and heaves out a wet sigh.

“Just…not feeling well, that’s all.  It’s nothing.”

Tim is momentarily shocked by the candor of that statement, and feels his chest swell with responsibility.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

Though he knows Jon will be distinctly annoyed by it, Tim places a hand on his forehead—quickly realizing what a useless thermometer his hand makes.  Jon scowls up at him especially unpleasantly.

“What, it works in the movies!” he says defensively, dropping his hand.

Jon’s scowl only deepens, but he remains silent.

“Fine.  I’ll just go get the thermometer, then.”

Tim walks quickly toward the break room to grab the first aid kit, which he knows Martin has recently restocked with just about everything his money could buy.  Tim had made fun of him for it at the time—both for the absurd nature of his worry, as well as the extremely limited number of potential office uses for things such as a satellite phone—but now, he felt nothing but gratitude for his foresight.

Should really listen to Martin more. 

Maybe then I wouldn’t have ended up with worms in my shoulder, and I’d still be able to turn my head properly.

He grabs the thermometer and walks briskly back down the hallway, hearing Jon’s coughing resume—the painfully hollow barking no longer contained by his shirt sleeve.

Jesus, he sounds awful.

When he arrives back at Jon’s office, he finds him braced over his knees, trying to catch his breath in the wake of his fit.  Every inhale is drawn heavily, his lungs seemingly starved for oxygen. 

Tim’s worry grows with every passing second.

“Alright, Jon, put this under your tongue,” he orders, holding the thermometer in front of him. 

He takes it resentfully—but puts it under his tongue nonetheless.  They wait for a few moments in silence, Jon struggling to breathe through a blocked nose until the thermometer beeps, and Tim takes it out to read it. 

“38.3.  Not too bad, but most definitely there.”

Jon does not reply, instead dropping his head as he resumes pulling in labored breaths in through his mouth.

Christ.

Tim sighs, replacing his hands on his hips.

“Alright, Jon.  What else is there?  Besides all of—” he gestures vaguely at him— “this, and the hacking up a lung?”

It appears that Jon had not heard him, his breaths still coming in heavy and wheezing.

“Hey.”

Tim snaps his fingers in front of Jon’s face and kneels in front of him, trying to draw his gaze.

“Hey—look at me, Jon.  What else is there?”

His eyes turn vague and glassy as his breath hitches, catching a few times before he turns, grabbing wildly at the box of tissues set on his desk.  He manages to press one against his nose just in time, facing away from Tim as he sneezes thrice—harsh and wet—before it morphs steadily back into awful barking hacks.

Jesus, Jon.

Tim shifts his weight back to sit cross-legged on the floor, waiting out the fit with his head resting against his fist.  Nearly half a minute goes by before Jon turns back to him, still visibly shaking.

“Leg hurts,” he whispers weakly.

Tim lets out a soft laugh.

“That much I gathered.  Head too?” he asks as Jon begins to rub at his temple again.

Jon only sniffs and nods in response, closing his eyes.

At this, Tim stands, folding his arms sternly across his chest. 

“You should really go to a clinic, Jon.  You look absolutely dreadful.”

“I’b fide, Tib,” Jon mutters, and Tim can’t help but outright laugh.

“Ha!  Sure.  You’re right, case closed, totally not struggling to breathe or anything.”

Jon glares at him once again before reaching for another tissue, blowing into it with some difficulty and little relief.

Something about his misery pulls at Tim’s chest, and he takes pity.

“Really, boss, that looks like the flu to me.  And if you won’t do it for yourself, then take one for the team and go home.  You don’t want to get us ill, I can promise you that.  Then you’ll find us even more insufferable than usual, me especially.  And yes, that is a threat.”

The corners of Jon’s mouth quirk up faintly at this, and Tim feels like he’s won the lottery at last.

“Fide.  I’ll go.”

“Excellent.”

Tim picks up Jon’s cane from where it’s fallen to the floor, handing it to him and bracing the opposite elbow as he stands.

“Come on, now.  There we are.  Have to get you out of here before Martin arrives and starts fussing.”

Jon huffs out a laugh, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

“Tim?”

“What?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

Tim sputters in mock indignation, jaw dropping as he turns to face Jon.

“How dare you even suggest that?  I’d never do such a thing.”

Jon’s shoulders shake with muffled laughter as they walk, and Tim feels like the luckiest person in the world to be able to witness it.

[vintagevalentinex]

Decode, IX

Long time no see guys!  I was finally able to get this together.  I apologize for the wait, but I certainly hope the wait is worth it!

This one is intense.

Decode, IX by vintagevalentinexx Mycroft Holmes x Reader ~1300 words

What the hell?

You furrowed your eyebrows in confused, your head whipping around to meet the concerned gaze of Mycroft’s.  He merely shrugged, gesturing for you to take the empty chair in front of Lestrade’s desk. What could this possibly be about?  The air began to feel thick; the humming from the cheap fluorescent lighting complementing the rapidly increasing beating of your heart.  You chewed on your lip.  If someone didn’t start talking soon, you were afraid that you were going to hyperventilate from the unknown.

“Do go on, Detective Inspector.  This melodrama isn’t beneficial to anyone.”

Finally able to take a breath, you mouthed a “thank you” towards Mycroft’s general direction.

Rolling his eyes, Lestrade pushed a packet of various documents towards your side of his desk. He wrung his face with his hands, his eyes betraying his lack of sleep.  His eyes cautiously met yours, trying to figure out what to say.

You looked down at the documents, your eyes growing larger and larger as you page through them, your jaw going lax.  You look up at Lestrade, your eyes demanding an explanation.

Grimacing, Lestrade pulled some of the documents towards himself, holding them up.

“We received yet another package from the serial killer we’ve been investigating.  This one was significantly different from the others. Trust me, I am just as astounded and shocked as you are…”

Mycroft, seemingly curious now, stepped forward; the intake of breath was nearly inaudible as he scanned the photographs and letters.  He made to place a hand on your shoulder, but becoming aware of what he was doing, he quickly withdrew his hand, thankful that you or Lestrade didn’t take notice.

You steeled yourself, gathering the strength to look down at the photographs yet again.  They were absolutely disturbing.  There you were, giving a lecture back at Harvard, just before you left to come to London.  Another photograph of you in the hallway of the formerly secure hotel room. Photographs of you from behind, walking down the street as if the photographer were right behind you.  A photograph taken from a bit of a distance, seemingly from outside, of Mycroft and you when you went to the small café to talk.  A photograph of the inside of your hotel room, a menacing hand on top of your suitcase.  Your hands stopped on the last photograph in the pile.   It was of Mycroft and you when you were at the fountain in the park. Some of these images would actually be considered quite lovely if there weren’t writing and scribbling all over them. In some of the images you were circled, in others you were x-ed out.  Mycroft was vehemently crossed out of the images, the strokes from the pen looked angry and frantic.  This was distressing enough, however Lestrade flipped the images over.  Amongst the scribbles was the same code you’d been deciphering since you’ve been consulting for the Scotland Yard.  Lestrade laid them out all in front of you, your mind instantly translating the ciphers.  You gripped tightly at the armrests of your chair, your fingers going numb.

Lestrade spoke, breaking the tense silence.  “What do they say Professor?”

You looked up at him solemnly, trying to gain composure over yourself, but struggling.

“They say a lot of things.  A lot of terrible things, Inspector.  Mostly about how I apparently ‘belong’ to this person, and that they will stop at nothing until we are ‘united.’”

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Mycroft furiously texting on his Blackberry.  You picked up the document that had come with the images, quickly scanning the cipher to relay its meaning to Lestrade. Taking a deep breath, you continued, your eyes welled up with tears, a lump threatening to form in your throat.

“This…this reads as a confession.  Your serial killer apparently has been killing women who fit my profile, not in terms of physicality, but that of what he deems to be ‘status.’  The first woman ran her own IT business.  The second one was an up and coming banker.  The most recent woman was a sports journalist. And me…I’m a Harvard professor. All women working in male dominated fields…I don’t know how you didn’t connect the dots on that one, but that’s not important right now.  He continues to say that I am meant to be his, and that no one can have me but him. He is growing tired of his ‘cat and mouse’ game with the police and he is finally ready to make his move, so he says…”

No one spoke.  You sat back in the chair, completely exhausted, the giddiness from just a mere few hours ago completely dissolved.  You heard Lestrade blabbering to himself as Mycroft stood stoically, observing you, his eyes betraying absolutely nothing.  You ran a nervous hand through your hair, standing up, excusing yourself from the room.

Everything felt like it was too much.  Sounds were too loud, smells were too overpowering, the thoughts in your head too frantic.  Why was this happening to you?  What had you ever done to anyone else?  You knew you didn’t deserve this.  You had worked so incredibly hard to be the successful person that you were today and now some monster of a man was trying to…what?  Take you?  Kill you? You didn’t even know.  What you did know was that this was all too much all at once.  The last few days had been nothing but a whirlwind and you were completely exhausted mentally and physically.  

You sat on the floor in the hallway, nearly curled into a ball, your head against your knees.  What were you supposed to do now?  You couldn’t go back to that hotel room, knowing that that monster was there, knowing that he was touching your belongings.  A silent sob wracked your body as you held yourself.

It was minutes later when you heard the footfalls of expensive dress shoes moving in your direction. You looked up, seeing Mycroft approach you.  Rubbing at your face, you found whatever strength you had left to stand up, leaning yourself against the wall.  He looked uneasy himself, but you were unsure if he was as shaken about your predicament as you were, or if he was uncertain as to how to comfort a distressed person.

He thrust a bottle of water in your direction.  “Drink, (Y/N).”

Well, that solved that.

You held the bottle, your hands shaking as you took long pulls of water, feeling the cool liquid travel all the way to your stomach.

“I told you that no harm would come to you, and I intend on keeping my word, (Y/N).  It is abundantly clear that you can no longer remain in that hotel room.  I shall be having several words with the men I had watching over you—“

“I’m sorry, you did what?”

“—Their incompetence will be dealt with—“

“Are you even listening to me?  You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?”

“I think it would be best if you were placed in protective custody for your own safety—“

“No.”

His eyes met yours, as if challenging you.  You pushed yourself off of the wall, squaring your shoulders.  His lips quirked only slightly.

“I knew you’d say that. Which is why I made alternate arrangements.  But I dare say that protective custody would probably be a far more pleasant experience for you.”

You looked at him inquisitively.  “What does that even mean?”

He started to walk towards the exit, motioning for you to join him.

“We must make one last stop for the evening, (Y/N).  I’ve already sent for your things to be brought to the new location.”

“And where, pray-tell might that be?”

“Nowhere of particular interest.  Just a flat.”

Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be mad?

Next Part!

[yeeharley]

6 and 10?? For the Halloween prompts hehe :D (I thought of it with parkner but whatever ya wanna do is good with me! ❤❤)

Absolutely! I really hope you like it 🖤🖤🖤

6: Pranked the wrong person on accident

10: Accidentally scared a kid and their adult is angry

warnings: a little bit of making out (very mild, PG)

So, contrary to popular belief, Harley definitely hadn’t meant to make the kid cry. 

And, in the end, can he really be blamed for scaring her so badly that she’d burst into tears the minute she’d seen him? Absolutely not.

He should be the one receiving an apology for the black eye her (very cute) older brother had given him.

That’s right. He’s the victim here. Suck it up, crying child, Harley’s the only one who’s actually been wronged.

Children are too fragile nowadays, anyway. They simply don’t know how to take a good joke. Harley had been the butt of more cruel pranks than he could count (being the only out gay kid in a conservative southern town will do that to you) and he had turned out fine, right?

(Maybe not. Almost definitely not, actually, considering his plethora of mental health issues and traumatic experiences. But still, the kid is going to be fine! Whenever she stops crying.)

Halloween, he thinks, is pretty much the national holiday for mean-spirited pranks. And eating so much candy your stomach hurts, but definitely pranks more than that. 

Harley’s been pranking Abby for longer than he can remember, ever since he’d been old enough to watch the horror movies that she so vehemently despised. She tells him to quit every time, but he knows she secretly likes it. Who wouldn’t?

Morgan Stark, apparently, but whatever.

So when Harley had been invited to come visit Tony Stark (that’s right, the Tony Stark) for the holiday season because his mother had been having a hard time financially (taking care of two kids while working a nine-to-five at the local grocery store isn’t anything to scoff at, of course) he had immediately started wondering who he was going to mess around with.

These are just the things he thinks about.

Everyone has different priorities.

Tony comes to pick him up at the airport with Peter Parker, his latest intern and apparent genius (and incredibly handsome, look at those muscles, dear God) and his daughter, Morgan. She takes a liking to him pretty quickly- he’s just a likable person- and so does Peter, even if he tries to hide it.

Harley knows Peter likes his accent. He makes it a point to say ‘ya’ll’ as often as he possibly can and relishes at the way Peter smiles.

Yes, he likes Peter’s little accent, too. Irrelevant.

But he’s starting to wonder if Peter is ever going to want to talk to him again, and the shiner on his left eye says all signs point to no. He hadn’t known Morgan would be with him! He definitely hadn’t known Peter would get so scared! And he had no idea that Peter could punch so damn hard.

“Oh, my God,” Peter gasps, slamming his hand over his mouth with one of the most horrifying expressions Harley’s ever seen a human being make. “Oh, my God.”

Morgan, sitting on the carpeted floor of the tower’s living room, wails for the third time in as many seconds. She sounds like a dying cat. Honestly, someone needs to toughen up a bit.

He doesn’t mean it, he’s just really sore (emotionally and physically).

Harley braces himself against the wall and reaches up to prod at his eye, brow furrowed so hard that he’d be unsurprised if his eyebrows were touching. There’s a dull ache in the bones around his eye- his cheekbone, all that shit, he didn’t take anatomy- and he’s starting to wonder if coming here was a mistake.

“Ouch,” he mutters, dumbfounded. “O-wie.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Nope, just me.” Harley pokes his eyebrow and hisses as a spear of pain shoots through his head. “Strong right hook, sunshine. I’m impressed.”

It’s the first time Peter hasn’t blushed when Harley’s called him a nickname. His stomach drops; that matters more to him than it probably should.

Morgan sobs again, a guttural, heart-wrenching sound. Harley winces; maybe three years old is a bit too early for Halloween pranks. 

He’s so glad Tony and Pepper are out watching a horror movie marathon right now and not in the tower, because they’d rip him a new one if they knew.

Peter looks like he’s going to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he yelps, quickly stepping around Morgan and grabbing Harley by the shoulders. Warm hands burn through the fabric of his shirt, forcefully pulling him down to eye level. He places a gentle hand on the side of his face (oh, no, no, no) and Harley stands stock-still as feather-light fingers dance across his tender skin (no, no, no). Peter’s face is so close, so close, he could kiss him right now if he wanted to-

“We should probably check on her,” Harley says, pushing his very gay thoughts deep, deep into his head as he points down at Morgan bawling in her pumpkin costume.

Is it his imagination, or does Peter look a little bit disappointed? He can’t tell because he turns away and picks his sister (?) up, bouncing her in his arms like a parent as they dance around the living room.

Harley sits down on the couch and waits.

It takes a while to calm her down, but when she finally starts to breathe like a normal person and Peter’s able to change her into her pajamas and put her in her crib for bed, Harley starts to prepare for his inevitable death. 

Peter’s gotta be mad, right? Most people would be livid if some guy impeded on their family unit and scared the living shit out of their baby sister. Harley’s ready for a violent chewing-out, steeling himself for what’s to come, but when Peter walks back into the room, he doesn’t start screaming.

Instead, he sits down on the couch only a few inches away from Harley and presses something cold and soft to his sore eye- an icepack. 

Harley doesn’t move as Peter hums to himself, eyes fixed on his work. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, can feel his cheeks steadily reddening, and he wants to, wants to, wants to-

“I want to kiss you,” He blurts out, barely in control of his mouth. Then, digging even deeper, “Can I?”

Peter’s eyes go wide. The icepack drops from his hands and he stands, shifting to face Harley fully. Harley looks up at him, sure he’s ruined everything, sure he’s going to be angry and he’s going to lose one of his only friends.

Without even a second of warning, Peter leans down and, swiftly planting his hand in the center of Harley’s chest, pushes him back onto the couch cushions before climbing onto the couch in front of him and slamming his lips onto Harley’s. 

Oh.

Harley leans back as Peter leans forward, arms snaking around his waist and meeting at the small of his back to hold him close. Peter’s lips move against his once, twice, three times. He pulls away. Looks at Harley through curious, half-lidded eyes before leaning in again and smirking- smirking- against his lips.

There are hands in his hair, twisting into his curls, and Harley’s leaning forward eagerly, one hand meeting a warm strip of skin just under Peter’s Spider-Man t-shirt, and he takes a deep, deep breath of lavender laundry sheets and fall air and-

A loud wail rings out through the penthouse.

Peter groans, still pressed up against Harley’s chest, before pulling away and hauling himself to his feet. 

“I’ve gotta go take care of her,” he mutters, chucking the icepack at Harley, who catches it easily and presses it against his eye. “Be back in a second, okay?”

“Yeah,” Harley breathes. “Yeah, alright.”

Peter smirks. Pecks him on the cheek. Turns to walk away.

“Wait for me.”

He will.

[kuuderekweenfics]

Coalesced

Well hello everyone~

I wrote a short piece. It honestly took everything to get this out of me. I got bit by the nasty writer’s block bug and drained all the motivation out of my body. But I managed to make it sweet, despite having a cold, empty void of a heart. 

Because my headcanon of Levi is that he is actually super warm in the sheets (pun DEF intended).

There is deffff some violence in here. So yeah. Let’s do it.

Sweltering steam plows into you, hot and heavy. The spray of blood misses you by a fraction of an inch as you maneuver your way to the nearest, safest rooftop. No one ever talks about the smell: the putrid decay that emanates from oversized, severed napes. They told you it would get easier to bear over time.

After a few years of wearing death’s perfume, you conclude that it really doesn’t.

You check the gas on your ODM gear. Halfway through and your blades are still intact. You take the small reprieve to stretch out your back before scanning the area for your next move.

It’s surreal, seeing Wall Maria claw at the edges of survival; people run every which way to avoid the onslaught of infiltrating titans.

A surprise attack, you had been informed by your squad leader, Zoë Hange, had devastated the defense. It collapsed under the siege of two abnormals: one, larger than any titan anyone had ever encountered in recent history, and two, an armored titan with incomprehensible speed. Hange had directed you and the rest of their squad to clear as many people into safety as possible. Thankfully, the emergence of titans was concentrated to one location, leaving a large portion to find shelter within the inner walls. But those in the Shiganshina District and around its immediate perimeter were not so lucky.

“Yo, it’s time for us to move out,” Lauda barks. Your mission was to save as many lives as possible, not to eliminate titans. You were told orders were final. You were told not to engage once the call was made to clear out. To continue fighting titans was pointless, Hange had said. Not when there wasn’t a single ray of hope to reclaim Wall Maria.

The hair on your neck raises as you hear the high-pitched cry. You are obedient, by all means a great soldier, but you simply cannot ignore the shrieks made by a child. Two stories below, no older than five or six, is a jumping boy, his desperate attempts to reach you failing with each hop. Your eyes connect with his, distressed but hopeful, and he reaches out his arms up toward the sky, toward you, his only willing savior.

To your agitation, you are not the only one to notice the boy. A titan crawls its way over, eyes hollow, appetite insatiable. A small string of curses come out a huff from your lips. You look over your shoulder, Lauda a distant star in the late afternoon sky among the rest of the survey corps. You drop down in the opposite direction, aiming your grapple-hooks into a crumbled wall and fly forward, then swivel immediately left, aiming steel to neck. Because the titan is a crawler, therefore completely exposed, your kill is quick work. You run to the boy, reaching your hand out to take hold of him, eager to get back. Only, his tearful smile is obscured by large teeth that clamp down on him, spattering your dumbstruck face with his blood.

No. No, no. No, no, no, no.

You can feel the hot breath of the titan, an overwhelming smell of corpse, as it hovers over you. It’s too close. You quickly glance to the right and left but all you see is its flesh.

Think. You have to think. Don’t focus on the poor boy you failed to save. Don’t worry about his blood dripping from your hair and cheek.

Move.

Live.

You shoot your hooks into its eyes and propel yourself up to avoid its mouth. You find purchase on its nose and grab a lock of hair, heaving yourself up for an opening to escape. You know its hands will be on you soon, your muscles screaming as you pull yourself up, up, up, racing against time. An opportunity presents itself. Hooks launch and lock onto the wall and you spring to your freedom.

_____________________

“You disobeyed orders.”

“I was trying to save a kid,” you retort.

Hange pouts, their brows furrow with obvious sympathy, but they stand their ground. “I know it’s hard seeing people die. Children die. Hell, I would have probably done the same thing.” They cross their arms. “But Erwin made the call. You were reckless. Some are blaming your previously pampered lifestyle.”

You scoff. Of course someone would bring that up. It was a constant reminder among the Scout Regiment.

Yarckel, the western-most district of Wall Sina, was quaint and content. While it was not as lavish as other areas of the innermost wall, it was an extremely comfortable place to call home. You squashed your mother’s heart the day you told her you had no intention of marrying an old, stuffy politician and all the resolve to enlist in the Survey Corps. Your dear mother nearly turned into a titan herself with how earnestly she chewed you out, spitting names like “wretched girl” for having “silly thoughts of chivalry” in your head.

But you couldn’t imagine yourself locked away in a gilded cage, ever so often forced to be held by too-soft, weathered hands and bred to deliver another generation of vain and greed.

You’d rather die free.

“What’s my punishment, then?” You concede, there’s no way you’ll get out of this one when Erwin has the last say. Hange grimaces.

Uh-oh. This won’t be good. “Let’s hear it then.”

“Latrine duty. For a full month.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. Latrine duty is, by far, the worst assignment when living with barracks almost completely inhabited by men. You cringe at the mental image of what you found the last time you were tasked to clean the toilets.

You hold back the bile that threatens its way up as you nod your head. “Anything else?”

“Levi will come in each week to approve your task completion.”

Fuck. “May I ask why a Captain is overseeing my work? Doesn’t he have more pressing matters to see to?”

“I think you know why,” Hange chuckles. “Make sure to get into every nook and cranny. I won’t have you making me look bad. Otherwise, Levi will come badgering me.”

______

This might be worse than facing titans.

You scrub the inside of the toilet bowl in the spot most often neglected: the underside of the ring. Grime flakes off in chunks, and you cant help the gag that makes your way up.

The smell burns your eyes. It could also be the sweat. But you’ve decided against touching any part of your face while you’re forearm is deep in toilet water. When you sit in front of the fourth and final stall, you’re thoroughly convinced the northern barracks’ latrine is utilized by heathens.

You’re busy brushing the hinge of the toilet seat when you hear the door swing open. You’re sure you placed the sign on the door barring entry. “Sorry, still cleaning in here.”

The calm tap, tap, tapping of the boot heel sends a shiver down your spine. This isn’t the footsteps of some eager scout who waited much too long to do their business. You keep your eyes forward, staring at the porcelain which provides a full view of what’s behind you in its shiny, white reflection.

You hear him enter the first stall. Each second feels an hour long. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs sting for air.

The second stall is next. Then the third. And finally, after an eternity in limbo, he steps behind you. By this point, you had gone back to brushing, mechanically moving your arm back and forth without the same gusto you had earlier. Your heart threatens to break out of your rib cage with each thunderous beat.

“Are you having a heart to heart with each toilet before you clean them? I thought I’d given you enough time to finish up with these.”

“I wanted to make sure I did a thorough cleaning, Captain.”

He clicks his tongue. “Step aside and let me check your work so I can get the hell out of this dump, Scout.”

You stumble out, scraping your back against the edge of the stall; he doesn’t move from his spot and you don’t dare touch him.

As he inspects the last toilet, you hear the soft “‘hmm” roll from his mouth, and you hope this is a small sound of approval.

He walks toward the exit, but turns to you with a recognizable disgust that scares you more than the stare of a titan.

“Good work. I hope you can apply the same level of cleanliness to yourself,” he rumbles. “Look at you. You’re absolutely filthy.”

You should be angry. You should be boiling over at the insult. Instead, you attempt to keep your smile contained.

And all at once you began to enjoy your moments with the Captain, infrequent as they were.

The small exchanges in the mess hall.

The glances in one another’s direction as you file out of meeting rooms.

The quiet, strained growl in your ear as he penetrates you in his quarters as the moon makes its way over the horizon.

It all happens so, very quickly; Levi’s one-off encounter with you. One second you were discussing various teas and which best suited a savory meal, the next you’re hungrily lapping up the precum from his stiff cock, ever acquiescent and flushed.

You bob your head, each time pushing your boundaries as he hits the back of your throat; every gag only adding to his pleasure.

And before you have the satisfaction of watching Levi, Captain of the Survey Corps and Humanity’s Strongest, unravel in your hands (or mouth, rather) he takes hold of your elbows and shoves you on the bed.

He’s surprisingly gentle. The way he manhandles even your own boss makes you think he would be more aggressive, unrestrained.

And while he does hold you with a vice-like grip that will surely leave your hips bruised tomorrow, you realize it’s to assure that each meticulous thrust hits the switch that lights up your brain, igniting your nerves and sending a wave of pleasure crashing through your entire body.

The heat that burns in the pit of your stomach intensifies as he pistons into you, never losing focus on that area that surely makes you see stars.

And you beg for him to go harder, faster, as you clutch at the sheets desperately and push into him in a fruitless attempt to swallow him whole.

But he’s already there, deep within your core; the pumps connecting all the wires to push you both over the edge.

He sputters forward, his seed coating your walls hot and sticky. It’s all you need, his desire to fill you entirely, to drive you into your own divine pleasure. Your breath hitches with the final pump as you both settle on the bed.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This is not love. Of course it isn’t. You are no fool. But for a few hours, you allow yourself to be tethered. Allow him to stroke your hair with a fondness that is so pure, so different from the usual Levi.

Your breaths in sync, the seconds of comfort engraved in your mind for the rest of your miserable lives. One fleeting moment cemented in time.

And in a blink of an eye, it’s gone.

So as you stare, wide-eyed and frightened, at the Titan who holds you captive in its clutches, inching forward into its acrid breath, you allow yourself to draw back into the depths of your memory.

Your mind takes you back to that night.

And you close your eyes and smile as you relive each second of the night that you and Levi Ackerman coalesced.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness: I Let You Die IV

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

Of course, we argued the whole way there about which we would follow once we arrived. “You just told me you think it’s the second most dangerous Grimm you’ve ever seen.” Her eyes narrowed at me and her nose did too, and she leaned forward. Forward into her walk, not at me.

I watched her slowly speed up and pass me. “Now you want to go chase the bandits? You just told me that they won’t kill again. That makes the Grimm the clear and present danger.

I didn’t speed up to match her. That would trap me in a cycle. I had to wait here and stand my ground. For a certain definition for somebody walking, that is. Besides I couldn’t really outpace her. She’d hopefully meet me in terms of pacing and more.

“Rationally.” I clarified. “If they’re behaving rationally that is.”

“They’re bandits.” She got a little quieter, I stumbled over my own feet. She didn’t turn around, but she probably heard it easily. “What’s so rational about that?

“Not crime in general.” I resumed my walk. “I meant what they want now. Theoretically they just used the Grimm as a weapon to destroy three places. They don’t need food or water or money for a while and if they want anything from the ruins they can realistically go and get it.”

“But the Grimm could kill now.” She wasn’t deterred. Maybe I wasn’t explaining right.

“I know.” I pleaded. She slowly fell into my rhythm again. Her pace coming to match mine beside me. “But they didn’t need to destroy three.”

That made her hesitate. “What?”

“I mean one is plenty, if they just wanted those things.” I tried to explain. “If they were just looking to survive, then even destroying a single town seems excessive. In the past-before the kingdoms, I mean-awakened-horseback-archers riders viewed civilized groups as livestock.”

“Where?” She wondered.

“Uh… everywhere I suppose. The steps of Western Vacuo and Equatorial Mistral, really, though. It’s still the dominant lifestyle in some of those places.”

“Pillaging?”

“No, well, maybe now.” I tried. I knew she was getting frustrated. “But before they just milked horses because that was the only way to live.”

She gave me a curious look, a small smile. “It was on a documentary I saw.” I defended. “Anyways, that’s not the point. Now we may see a return to those kinds of mind sets and lifestyles.”

“But that’s not happening here.” She caught on. “They’re doing something else?”

“Purposelessly killing people.”

“There’s never a good reason to kill somebody, Jaune.” The steel was back.

“Please let’s not get into that,” I begged. “And using the Grimm to do it, maybe.” I confirmed for her with a nod. She released a shaky breath and relaxed her shoulders.

“So, you want to go after them first? You think they’re going to do it again?”

I nodded, glad she was seeing my perspective. “I think we should double back to GaiLong again. I want to make sure they haven’t been watching us this whole time and waiting for us to leave.” I explained, talking even faster.

Her mouth opened a little at me, eyes drifting up at me. “But the Grimm and the tracks… it’ll just get worse if we wait any longer.” She leaned in, “besides they can handle it right?”

I was already shaking my head. “I don’t trust all of the guards back there. If our enemy are just bandits, why did none of the riders get intercepted? None of this makes any sense.”

“Jaune you can think yourself in circles if you worry about every minor thing. We have to trust that Beihfing has his situation under control.” She worried her lip between two fingers, looking far away in thought.

I really wanted to kiss her…

“Do you know where the bandits or whatever are going to do now?”

“I don’t know what they want.” I blinked it away and refocused. Besides there would probably be time for that later, maybe. We were on the job but…

She was staring at me.

Focus up, moron.

“If I did, I would tell you. I can only guess at their motivations.”

Her face grew tight, “so you don’t even know either, but we do know the Grimm.” She was getting a flow to her now. “And they kill all the time. Besides you said they used it as a weapon, right?”

I wanted to get an edge in. “Ruby-“

“Right. So, once they can’t do that anymore they’ll have to do something else, we can find them then or…”

“Or let them go?” I wondered. “Ruby they’re malevolent.”

“So are the Grimm.” She was unrelenting and didn’t even look at me.

“Not with this kind of intent.”

“At Beacon the Grimm were coordinated.” Ruby pressed me more. “Even besides the ones the White Fang dropped. They moved together.” When I didn’t say anything, she looked over. “At Beacon when the Dragon showed up.” She waited for me to figure it out. “They sort of shuddered in unison. You didn’t see?”

What the fuck.

I told her as much.

She just nodded looking grossed out. “They have motive and focus. I know I sound crazy, but Cinder was talking to it. I heard her.”

She gave me this challenging look. It wasn’t some cute flirty thing, like about my sword or something. It was sharp and full of focus but more than that it was angry and a little scared. Her eyes were hard but the corners of her lips and eyebrows were turned out.

She actually seemed to want me to fight her on it, but I just raised my hands in surrender. “Ruby I believe you.”

“So, the Grimm are the enemy.”

“Its sounds like Cinder was somehow in charge to me.” I tried. Her sideways backwards glance conveyed a deep annoyance.

“You’re always so focused on Cinder you can’t see the Grimm for what they are. These bandits are just people, but the Grimm are always, always the enemy.”

I suddenly realized I was walking much faster than I had even a few moments ago, Ruby was already speeding up again.

I sighed.

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Before, the two of us had been distracted as we’d approached Shion. This time we were both wary and ready. Ruby had felt the danger even before the destroyed village came into view. She’d casually pulled her weapon in the middle of the road, not even extending the scythe.

By the time we’d seen the place even I had felt it and we both knew it would be as empty as we’d left it. The recent dead would draw Grimm here like a beacon, spawning them? Summoning them?

It hardly mattered to Ruby because as soon as we approached the gate she’d disappeared in a blur of speed. A haze that seemed to shift from building to building.

It didn’t look like anything worth spending ammunition on to her, so she didn’t. Instead she almost lazily bounced from place to place, leaving bisected Beowolves and Creeps in her wake.

For my part I drew Crocea Mors and let them rush at me. Before, in Vale, I’d been forced to nearly wrestle the wolf-caricatures behind my shield. I was stronger and faster now, and the range afforded to me by the upgrade allowed me to cut them down before they could really approach me.

I stepped aside and Ruby landed next to where I had been standing to cover me from the sides.

“Doesn’t seem like too many.” She reported, “nothing big, either.”

“Heard.”

We slowly and efficiently worked our way through the weakest Grimm, clearing a path to the foot prints. She whirled around my sides, cutting anything that came too close into ribbons. For my part I held my ground against the monsters to anchor us.

Two swings removed the head and leg of a Beowolf and I stepped on a Creeper’s head as it tried to bite me and crushed it easily.

By the time we arrived at where we knew the footprints began, the Grimm were nothing but curls of smoke.

“Jaune!”

“Hm!” I looked up quickly, trying to spot whatever it was that she wanted me to see. I glanced towards her to look where she was looking and look over there so I could look out for whatever it was she saw.

She was just staring at me, though.

“What are you doing?”

“What?” I wondered.

“How are you doing that?”

“Ruby what are you talking about?”

“You’re glowing!”

I looked down at myself. Odd bands of blue light were trailing around me. They almost looked like fire but if they were hot, I couldn’t feel it. The wisps seemed ignorant of gravity, clinging only to me and my skin in soft trails of blue and white.

Ruby walked up to me. “What is this?"

She rolled her eyes. “That must be your semblance!” She reached out and traced a hand through one of the tendrils.

“Um…” I didn’t want to sound too disappointed. She was so excited. I was kind of hoping for more than ‘glow a little.’ “Neat?”

“How does it feel?”

“The same.” I thought about it. “I don’t know. Is it doing anything?” I stepped back from Ruby as though it would give me a better look at myself for some reason and the light faded away.

“What did you do?” She wondered. “It went away.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

She frowned. “Well it didn’t seem immediately obvious.”

“Was yours like that.”

“Um…” She turned an awesome rosé. “Kinda.”

She turned away to examine the hoof marks in the ground trailing away from the village.

I kept a watch, resting Crocea Mors against my arm, while Ruby peered down to get a better look at the print. It wasn’t like she was unfamiliar with it or couldn’t tell which way it was going. “I forgot how big it was… do you think the villages were just destroyed by a horde-phenomena?”

I shrugged. “It seems unlikely, the villages were in a non-linear order. It would have taken an awful coincidence for it to be just a large group of Grimm chasing the closest sadness and growing larger.”

“The bandits.” I nodded at her words. She chewed her cheek for just a moment. “Let’s go, we’re already almost a week behind it.”

It wasn’t like Ruby had really compromised my plans. Not truly, it was always really a toss up which we followed and which town would be destroyed next seemed just as random. Sure, I had some suspicions about GaiLong but Ruby dismissed it when I tried to bring up doubling back one more time.

“Jaune if they are watching us and waiting for us to go far enough away, then you won’t catch them like this and what are we going to do, we can’t stay in every place we go.”

Hopefully the two of us could track it and slay it together. Or, failing that wound it, track it, and try again. It would heal but Ren implied that its regeneration wasn’t a factor in the mid-game of a fight. Only if it actually escaped us would we regret having wasted our resources but wounding the creature and forcing it to flee wasn’t a waste, per se. It could be a tool, too. We had a lot of ground to make up. We were almost a week behind it when we left GaiLong and unlike us, it didn’t need to sleep, eat, or do anything but wander.

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It was after the fourth day of tracking that it finally rained. We’d known it was going to happen, too. After the first crack of thunder, Ruby let out a low whine.

“No,” she just pleaded. It would still be hours before the rain came and washed most our tracks away.

She was tired and wet and cold. And I really wanted to get her into the tent and into her sleeping bag.

I didn’t know what to do or say. We could both see the storm coming, feel the wind pick up and the humidity increase. I could do nothing but start to look for a good place to set up a tent.

Ruby and I had done some light training, but you really didn't push yourself or work out much when you were trying to catch up to something like this. For my sake it was time to take watch and just to top my night off I had to be especially on guard tonight.

It was unusual for me to stay focused on watch, but I had to. I could feel something. It didn't feel like a person or anyone I knew so it was probably not nothing but the equivalent. Grimm.

I waited until it got close enough that I was sure I could destroy it without letting my senses drift from where Ruby slept.

I was sitting out waiting for the creature to stop nagging at my range and actually enter. It was just pacing around my range and eventually I'd had enough.

I kept my body low and my limbs out, but stealth wasn't my strong suite. It jumped through the bracket at me rather than I at it.

I moved in a burst, sweeping the long blade between us to stop its approach. It pushed me back a step and my ankle caught something.

I tripped and it fell on me. My armor held out it's claws buts its teeth snapped at my aura. I grunted and threw it off of me.

It was an Ursa. a different bone structure for a different part of the world but that seemed to be all the difference between those here and those in Vale.

It landed but rolled towards me quickly with a snarl but as I stood, I held my ground. I already knew how to deal with these. I swept Crocea Mors downwards over my head and cut its face diagonally and deep enough that I'd opened up large sections of its ribcage.

It fell and began to dissolve. I stepped back warily. I felt nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I listened and heard no song of Grimm. The animals had gone quiet, too. Fearing a battle between two distant predators might involve them, but it was already over.

Then distinct, in the cold night distant, the zip of the tent.

I sighed.

"Jaune! Jaune, what was that." She was in thick socks that probably didn't feel good in the wet, icy, muck.

She had Crescent Rose ready though. Her biceps and triceps stood out in her shirt. She had nothing on but her simple T and some long bottoms in the night.

I stared at her white clothes in the sleet before coming to my senses. “It was just a small Grimm.

Everything’s fine.”

She breathed hard. “You're supposed to wake me up.”

You needed sleep and it was nothing I couldn't handle.

I looked her up and down. There was brisk and then there was being in PJs, in negative ten, with a wind chill, and at ninety-five percent humidity.

I walked over and dragged her into the tent. I flicked the flap open, but the inside was frigid. Just a few moments of being open had sapped whatever warmth was inside. “You can't act like this was my fault.

“You're supposed to wake me.”

I nodded and rubbed her hands in mine. I pulled her wet socks off too. Her feet were just chilled to the absolute bone. I was considering trying to start a fire.

“Say something!”

“Huh what? You're right. I should have woken you up. Come on get some new socks on and get warm.”

“I feel like I need a can opener with you; you’re just so it's like -ugh. Aren't you frustrated?”

“No, I am.” I assured her.

“Well why aren't you showing it?” Ruby wrapped her arms around her knees under her covers. “And your semblance too, you’re not excited at all when it activates when we train.”

“It only activates when I’m losing, doesn’t last long, and doesn’t do anything but make me glow.” I shook my head and laughed a little.

It was fitting though, if I’d had this power at Beacon I would have been just as able to help Pyrrha.

She hit me hard, enough sting. I gasped, my hand going to my chest where her hand hit my side, through some gap in all my armor she’d casually exploited to jab at just one of my ribs past a strap.

“You were thinking you were useless again. Weren’t you, Jaune?”

Fuck.

“I’m sure it does more than make you look good.”

Whiplash.

I waited.

“Well.” She wondered.

“Well to what in all of that?”

“All of it!”

“I was trying to keep up the pace and find it and be on our way to Haven.”

“So, it’s because I need to get to Haven.”

“Well that is your plan.” I laughed and turned to look at her.

“Ugh.” She murmured and looked down.

Huh?

“What is it? Is it something I said?”

She didn't look impressed by that. She crossed her arms confidently and set herself sideways. “Then what's it like? I forced you out here. To come with me to Haven and trek all the way across the world with me. Even though I had no idea how far that was.”

"Ruby I did know how far it was. And I did know that if you hadn't…"

If she hadn't what, exactly? I was trying to fight but it was hard. It was a little like Weiss had rubbed off on Ruby, in some of her best ways. I'd found that confidence and authority attractive before but when it was directed at me it was hard to fight.

What could I possibly tell her? That I needed her to tell me what to do and give my life direction? She just told me how stressed she was I couldn't add to that. Couldn't have. I clicked my jaw in thought.

My teeth clacked together audibly.

She looked from my eyes to my jaw. Like I'd just bit her hard. “You shouldn't do that to yourself.”

I laughed. “That's what I mean. What would I do if I didn't have you right now? If you hadn't taken me in, I don't know where I would have gone.”

“You would have found something.”

No. My family. I stole this from them. I can't go back. And Nora and Ren they got in with like a scholarship for hunters-to-be without parents or something. They were homeless again. I think they thought I'd abandon them.

“So, when you asked me to come it was just-it was a no-brainer. What would I have done? What l alternatives would I have had. And if I hadn't gone with you, would I have found Pyrrha’s armor even? Would I know for sure what happened? It was like destiny. And this is too.”

“You really think so?” I watched her hands fidget through her hair, somehow plucking at the red ones even out of the corner of her eye. “Well no, it’s more like I need to make this the timeline where I succeed, but we can. You know?” She shook her head. “You think if we're smart and hardworking enough, it'll be enough? That's not like you.”

“Ruby this is just a setback. Even if it takes months. We have no timetable for getting to Haven. No tournament. No obvious target beyond the school and city which should be in a state of high alert.”

Supplies still got traded as far as here so we know the blackout-panic hadn't destroyed the place.

Haven was probably still there, Just waiting for her, even if it didn’t know it.

“But what about your semblance?” She pressed me. “You and me. Are we making progress there?”

“We’ll have to time figure out to use it.” If it had a use.

“Tss” I let out as I clutched a rib.

“You and me.”

“Us?” I wondered stupidly.

“What are we, Jaune.” She glanced at me. “What am I to you?”

Good question.

I thought about it. It wasn't like I could just say she was my partner because that had connotations to huntsmen. If I just blurted out, she was my new partner it would hurt everyone. Besides she had made it clear that Weiss was her best friend. Whatever that meant to her.

"You're my oldest friend for sure." I told her. I knew that much. Whom was there before Pyrrha? Family didn't count. "Things are rough for me right now but it wasn't like I didn't think about you before, too.”

“That's not fair,” she whispered. “Pyrrha was…She made it clear she liked you a lot.”

Ouch. But…

“You were so nice and sweet to me when I didn't deserve it. I could always count on you for advice and it was always good. “

“I don't know…” she trailed off. She pinched her lower lip between her index and thumb. She was listening close, her eyes intense on my every word. “Even if it wasn't what I wanted to hear. So, it sounds dumb to say something like boyfriend, but you can if you want.”

“We're a couple.” Ruby translated listening closely. “You make things so complicated.”

“The thing about that is-“

“Do you love me?”

“Uh, yeah”

She smiled flushing, but she managed to roll her eyes and look right at me. For a moment I could hear nothing but the rain against the tent.

"Jaune I need you to better than 'uh yeah.'" she smiled adorably. It took me a second to realize she was teasing me. By the time I did so, my eyes flicked down to her lips and back up to her eyes. It was too late. Her smile roared across her face.

“You really want to kiss me, don't you? You can. You know. Maybe not all the time but you can kiss me.” I did. I pushed her back against her thin mattress. I could feel her hip bone against my abdomen and the smooth curve of her sides. I put my hands around her back and pulled her in close to my and she let out a tiny sigh.

Her mouth opened in the slightest way and I couldn't help my-self. My tongue went forward at the same time I rolled us more forward, pinning her more beneath me.

She groaned into it, smiling into the kiss as I sucked on her tongue, then lip, then pulled away. Or tried to.

I drew back slightly but she had a tight grip on my shirt with her left hand. I hadn't even noticed. And her other hand became nestled in my hair.

She just… giggled at me, and, without so much as opening her eyes, dragged me down again.

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I got down off the back of the animal before Ruby. She was already waiting for me there.

She called the its name and it came when called. She didn’t even need to pull her hair back as she rode, either, she somehow looked relaxed and focused. To be honest I was just so amazed to even watch her move above me.

She slung her legs up and over it and gently held the pommel in one of her small hands. The tips of her fingers just enough to reassure. She hardly needed it for balance she was so graceful.

Her other hand was firmly in the mane of the stallion’s mane. After the night in the rain, we’d returned to Higanbana where they’d offered us horses. They’d already been made aware of our affairs and the local Dono was not to be out down by GaiLong, evidently.

I’d explained to them that an unless they had an awakened horse, they would not be able to carry me, let alone the both of us. Mei-Chi had smiled at me and I knew I would regret it.

“Who taught you how to ride?” I wondered.

“Oh, my mother showed me how when I was young. It’s easy if you know how to care for it.” Or you’re a Nisdy Princess. I watched how easily she controlled it and made it calm. Sure, it was trained but when I’d been encouraged to take the lead on the animal it had given me nothing but contempt.

“Do you know how?” She wondered. “You’ve somehow expertly dodged climbing on the back of one.” She stroked it gently with her hands. Enjoying the sensation.

“I… know the basics,” I hedged. “I have ridden before.”

“Yikes, that bad, huh.” she teased me, and I groaned. “But not in a while and with someone else.”

I shook my head, “this’ll be a first for us.”

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-WG

[ortegatrash]

FH:R Fic - Bright as a Warning

Name: Léon Bellandini | Puppet: Simba | Villain name: Pride

Daring/arrogant/fighter/lots of contacts/gang leader.

— You talk a lot these days. Talk; because sometimes you remember phantom muzzles on your jaw (because you were just as much of beast as the hounds.)

They taught you to be plain. Forgettable. Blend in with silence and dullness and being as memorable as a rock. Maybe it's your own way of rebelling against that, taking up bright colours like a peacock and trying your best to stand out. Deliberately pulling together the most eye-catching, blindingly horrific outfits in your civilian disguise as a final fuck you....

Who are you even fucking kidding? You were always best at lying to yourself.

The truth is bitter as any cyanide pill on your tongue. Makes you resentful, a little too harsh, a little too eager to lash out when people manage to get anywhere near your still bleeding wound of a heart.

At least when they're looking at you, you matter. You *exist*. If they won't acknowledge you, you'll make them.

Now it's time for you to have the power.

Now, they'll never be able to look away again.

But humans are such domesticated, soft fools. They see your bright bursts of colour and think such things are good and safe for them to reach out and handle, like the world's their very own idiot-proofed padded room of an enclosure. They've forgotten the teachings of nature; the coral snake's strikingly bold colours all but screaming out a warning to the other creatures of the wild - Keep away, I'm venomous.

Keep away, if you know what's good for you.

(Ortega is such a domesticated fool.)

You've managed to keep from being collared like them, see the way each of the Rangers struggle with the short leash, see Angie snarl and chew at the line. See how resigned Steel has become to his situation, an attack hound that grudgingly rolls over on command and never dares leave his too-small enclosure. Little puppy Danny who would looks at you like you put the stars themselves in the sky and do anything for a little praise and a pat on the head.

And then there's Ortega. Ortega, the stupid, foolish stray that you fed one day before he decided you were his new favourite person and followed you home. And no matter how many times you tried to shoo him away, he just kept coming back. Too domesticated to truly understand how dangerous you could be to him when you bear your teeth- too sharp, too much of a snarl to be truly friendly- and he decides it's a smile.

Idiot.

(What does that mean for you, That you keep skirting the edges of civilised just hang out with him?).

—

Ortega looks at you like you're a dying star. It does feel that way, sometimes. You've always known that you were living on borrowed time, it's just a matter of going out in the most spectacular way you can.

He frowns at you over his drink and tells you, ever so softly: "You're going to burn yourself out." Says it like he actually cares. You almost believe it.

"I'm fine," you say. Except it's not the usual empty platitude that comes out of your mouth. It leaves your lip with more of a growl, more real anger and tiredness and frustration than both of you expected that is makes the table falls into a silence.

He looks so pained. Like he wants so badly to help you but he has no idea where to even start. "...I think you just proved you're very much *not* okay,"  he tells you, a half-hearted smile twitching at his face.Still trying to smile. Still trying to make light of things even as he's so damn swollen with pity at your sorry sight.

"Shut up. Shut...up!"  It's the only thing you can think to even say. You're too raw, too wild, too exposed to even pretend at acting like everything's okay when it's so clearly not okay.

Deep breath in. Nope, still angry. You start up again. "Why do you even care?!  I'm not dead, you've more than done enough to fulfill whatever dumb guilt or obligations you feel towards me so if that's why you're still sticking around-" you stick your arms out wide for emphasis, "-Fucking stop. I don't care about it anymore." Lie. "So just forget about it. Forget about all this and forget about me and we'll all be better for it!"

Ortega just gapes at you like- like some sort of dumb land goldfish, his eyes looking suspiciously shiny. "But-"

"No!" You smack your hand down on the sticky booth table, narrowly missing your half finished lemonade. "Stop chasing me around like some sort of stalker ghost-"

"-Stalker ghost!?" You weren’t aware his voice even went up that high.

“-and mind your own damn business." Because he keeps orbiting you, near enough that you know it's all but inevitable he's going to scorch himself. That he's gonna get caught in the fallout when you eventually implode and take out everyone near you.

And you're really fucking selfish sometimes. You want to protect him and also enjoy his company. Ortega did always talk shit about you wanting cake and eating it. (But isn't that the point of cake?)

There's a cough from beside your table before someone slams down on the table. You both turn at once, immediately rising into combat ready positions back to back, despite how many years it's been.

"HEY!" Owl scowls, looking pissed. "No shouting in here. I don't care about your status-" eyes narrow cynically darting between the both of you, "-but I'm not gonna deal with a commotion in here."

"Sorry-"  Ortega of course tries to deescalate the situation with his charm. You're having nothing of it.

"Fine. I'll go,"  you tell them, pushing past Ortega. "I've had enough of this place."

"-Léon-"

"Oh! Also, Owl," you spin on your heels to give a one fingered salute in farewell, taking sadistic joy in the way they splutter at you. "This place sucks and you suck too."  Always was petty in holding a grudge.

...Yeah, maybe you do deserve that plastic cup Owl hurls at you. So what? You got the last word.

— 

You don't have friends. You don't need such things. They're just foolish notions for actual people from when you were stupidly naïve enough to believe you could be one of them.

Ortega is not your friend.

He's going to end up bitten by you one day and it will be his own damn fault.

You still twitch reflexively when your burner phone rings, though.

You should let it ring out. Dump it in a lake the first chance you get.

A deep breath in.

God, you’re dumb.

“...Hello? Is that you, Léon?”

“...Shut up, Dickardo.”

You slam the phone down on your bed, face burning,

and the sound of tinny, muffled laughter reverberating through your sheets.