#this better not be another ‘blonde girl kicks it brown/black girl has to pick up all the pieces’ narrative

[laniidae-passerine]

well while I’m sorry to hear we’re losing Millie Gibson at the end of this season I damn hope that RTD can treat Varada Sethu’s companion character better than he ever treated Martha

[blackstarchanx3new]

Creations AU FNAF 4, But I obnoxiously over explain it 2

Pages 30-59

The sad story of Cody and his miserable life.

I know for a fact some of these pages were lined don't remember if they colored any by @akdrawsandwrites thanks AK. ^w^

More NPC dialogue.

In FNAF 4 game: There's an oddity with the NPC with a green shirt and brown hair, he has a STRIKING appearance to one of the "bullies" older brother's friends. But the one in the green shirt in the game has blonde hair. Idk if they're meant to be the same character and the sprite was just bonked up or what. FNAF color pallets being consistent is NOT something this series is known for lmfao.

I made these two characters brothers and modified his dialogue to suit that he knows Cody by "Josh's brother". Either way this character should know this kid's name lmfao.

The party coming up is apparently Cody's. The last NPC is debated to be the character "Susie" from the games....I color picked and this girl looks black to me. (Susie is white with styled blonde hair) Like they both have bows and wear pink so MAYBE it was meant to be her but idk. This was the design I went with. Retconning design and inconsistent colors in FNAF again: Is not new.

Susie is used as a character in another place in Creations anyway and it wouldn't line up timeline wise. (This makes an animatic with her as the Chica we meet in Mike's story outdated and incorrect but there's LOTS of ideas in the animatics that were abandoned going over all of them would take hours lmfao.)

Exposure therapy, I say as a joke.

You might have noticed an itty bitty detail of Josh getting set off every time Cody starts shouting. Bro does not handle that shit well.

Yeet the child again, damn it Josh you gotta kick that habit.

Josh's main response to dealing with Cody: Lock him somewhere where he doesn't have to deal wit him.

Oh dear. This looks familiar.

Creations readers and FNAF players alike know where this shit is going.

HI MIKE! ❤️ Yes that's Mike without his dyed hair lol.

Reasonably avoiding confrontation but uh, to the determent of others oof.

Dude proceeds to never stop throwing himself in danger later so I guess he decided to slam to the other side of the two extremes lmao.

HAH.

Well that explains Cody's creepy ass stalker crush on Mike.

He didn't really SPECIFY he recognized Mike verbally when talking to him in the main comic but here we get conformation he for sure did.

Again Cody/Golden Freddy doesn't consider himself a 1 to 1 with the original Cody. Rather just a robot with the kid's memories/soul.

They don't feel like his memories.

Lol. Cody and his Para-social relationship with Mike Schmidt.

We can tell this genuinely amuses him as his eyes aren't red.

Hah he says something to the same affect in thee FNAF 1 Arc...with a lot more body horror involved.

"It was just a prank bro"

Daddy's gonna make it all better.

Cody stop that. We've talked about how the faces you make are unsightly.

Also Puppet. She's here.

People didn't really GET Cody's reality bending abilities: So he explains it pretty plainly here.

He's powerful as hell. X'D

Basically the most OP character in Creations much like the cannon Golden Freddy.

So I'll give ya some writing advice: If you're gonna make an OP character, just make them lazy as fuck.

Easiest way to nerf them: Make them just not care about fighting. X'D

Cody's got a mixture of laziness, apathy and fear of daddy to keep him from being helpful much in the plot.

Because if he wasn't he'd clap Afton in 2 seconds and that'd be no fun. So he's a coward lmao.

He was gonna snap that bitches neck while he slept. And not a single one of us would have blamed him. UwU

Casually hides in his brother's closet XDDD

Also I pointed it out before but Josh's room is Michael's room in main story.

Cody's cowardess is on full display: He bent to NOT killing Josh when he realized how badly Josh was coping with his brother's death.

Just like his daddy!~

Jokes aside this is my fave page in FNAF 4. It was lined by AK. I drew the sketch

I like, never draw the nightmares but the ended up so good here. Props to Ak for translating the sketches real well.

This is another instance of what I mean when I say there's no real good "Starting" place for the Creations AU.

This is smth that happens in Sister Location, but I feel Josh's character is more interesting with this context.

Buuuut this scene makes no sense. Aaaaand FNAF 4 shows more chronological events.

Agh.

Honestly whenever I get around to doing "Spring Bonnie's friends" I'd argue that is the best place to start chronologically but we'll see.

Anyway Cody saving his dumbass brother is so funny to me.

It's also really sad to think that he saved Josh because he knew how much Josh HATED the idea of dying in a springlock suit. Cody shows empathy quite often, especially towards Mike but this extends to helping Josh too.

His little "Now who's the cry baby?" is just the icing on the cake. XD

So Josh IS dead...?

Kind of?

His "remnant" is just kinda all over the place.

Will pick up in part 3 since PAGE LIMITS.

[pcvensies]

*.• Si vis amari.

II. The Sun.

in which 18 year old gojo satoru is left in charge of 6 year old fushiguro megumi and 8 year old tsumiki fushiguro, with the help of 17 year old nanami suki (oc).

word count: 3280

I. The Moon.

Soft light crept through the curtains, and Suki turned around to protect her sleepy eyes, stretching her whole body as she groaned, legs shaking as she did. She scratched her head, hair falling on her eyes, and the blonde sat up, eyes getting used to the new light of the room before a voice interrupted her awakening.

“Gojo I told you you’d sleep on the floor, get the fu-”.

Kento opened his eyes, hair messy and an angry expression plastered in his face. But his sight found only his twin, instead of the white haired boy.

The blonde was as confused, looking around and finding herself in a room different to the one she had fallen asleep into.

They both got up, Suki opening the windows and Kento making the bed.

“Though you were taking the couch”.

“I did”, she answered, looking through the window, rolling her eyes at the thought of Satoru changing places with her.

The blonde walked to her bedroom, opening the door to a sleeping Fushiguro on her bed, the kid snorting peacefully. She closed the door again, and this time walked to the living room.

It was empty, and so was the kitchen, and Suki felt her stomach sink. Had Gojo simply left them with the kid? It didn’t sound like him, but neither did this whole situation. He was acting very strangely, honestly, maybe…

She shook her head, shaking the thought away, and walking to the kitchen to make breakfast.

“Any idea where Gojo is?”, she asked out loud, making coffee.

“Nope”, her brother replied, rubbing his eyes as he sat at the kitchen table, “But he better be back to get the kid”.

Suki poured two coffees, one with milk and the other black, and sat in front of her brother, as he opened a bag of croissants that rested on the table.

“Can you get the juice from the fridge?”, Kento asked, earning a groan from his twin.

“Could have said before I sat down, couldn’t you Ken?”, she complained, as her hand found the fridge door.

Stuck with a magnet, a note caught her attention: “Call me when u wake up, we have something to pick up. Bring hedgehog kid! -Toru xx”. The girl sighed, throwing the note to her brother’s head as she sat back down with the juice box.

Kento read it and didn’t bother asking, he simply poured two glasses of juice, croissant hanging from his mouth as he did so.

The twins had breakfast in silence, still waking up, throwing glances at each other that they understood like words.

“This is crazy”.

“I mean, it’s Gojo we’re talking about. Of course it’s crazy”.

Kento snorted softly.

“You sure it’s a good idea? You can handle it, Sue?”.

The girl looked away, rolling her eyes in the process, and got up to prepare a cup of chocolate milk, ignoring her brother’s worried glances.

But Kento couldn’t ignore his worry. His sister and himself had been through enough, and the past months had been very rough on Suki. He didn’t want her to put any more pressure on herself, with all the missions they were giving her.

He couldn’t ask her again before Suki had already left the room, opening the door of her bedroom again, and walking to open the blinds slightly.

The sun filled the room with small squares of light, just enough to allow the blonde to locate everything around her.

She crouched next to the bed, gently shaking the kid, calling him softly as he started to open his eyes, covered by his messy raven hair.

“Good morning, Fushiguro… Breakfast is ready, and I’ll run you a bath. We’ll meet up Gojo later”.

The kid rubbed his eyes as he sat up, looking at his surroundings in an initial post-sleep confusion, but soon nodding at her words.

Suki noticed he had one of her old plushies next to him, a fluffy panda whose left ear had been lost to a dog in the park, but she didn’t say anything, simply getting up again and fully opening blinds and windows this time.

She made the bed as the kid left, and closed the door to put on some clothes. She then did her make up (there’s no reason why a strong sorcerer shouldn’t look good, if death is always around the corner anyways), and braided her hair, before heading to the bathroom to prepare the bath for the kid, and brush her teeth.

It wasn’t that different from her usual morning routine, she realised, and it hadn’t even been that much work to get Megumi to get up. He maybe wasn’t the sweetest kid, but he was as well behaved as one could expect.

And, being honest with herself, as he walked in the bathroom with sleepy eyes, and chocolate milk all over his face, Suki didn’t even mind having him around that much.

She put some towels in the towel warmer, left the kid’s clothes in the sink, and exited the bathroom to pick up her car keys, and her phone from the couch, eyes opening wide at her new lockscreen: a selfie Gojo had taken with her sleeping figure that night.

She unlocked it, searching for his name on her contact list, while Kento washed the dishes in the kitchen, the sound of the water making the girl walk to the balcony.

“Oh good morning, Susu”, Satoru greeted her through the phone.

“Morning, Gojo. Fushiguro is taking a bath, once he’s finished and ready we’ll go… What’s all this about? You didn’t stay for breakfast”.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry about that. Needed to do something first thing in the morning”, he simply said, avoiding the main question, “I’ll send you an address, yeah? And we’ll meet there, let's say… in an hour?”.

“Mhm, sounds good to me. Want us to bring something? I’m taking the car”.

“Stop to get something sweet for breakfast… It’s very important- no, crucial, to the plan”.

Suki rolled her eyes, but agreed, and she hung up when the bathroom door opened. She chuckled softly at the kid, wet hair falling on his eyes, and put her phone in her back pocket to grab the towel from his hands.

The kid looked up at her through the wet strands, like a cat who’s been caught by the rain, and Suki threw it over his head, drying his hair gently.

“If you don’t dry your hair well, you'll catch a cold, kid. And it will look weird”.

“I don’t care how it looks… Are we going to get the big baby now?”, the boy said, referring to Satoru, and earning a laugh from Kento.

“Yeah, Gojo wants us to go to an address… Here”, the girl explained, showing the kid the message, “We’ll go in my car and-”.

The kid’s face had changed, and Suki stopped talking, confused. He looked away from her and the phone, his energy switching to a weary one.

Just then, the blonde girl looked back at the text message, clicking on the address. It was a primary school.

“Fushiguro… Do you know why Gojo is sending us to a school?”.

“It’s not my school, I was kicked out…”, even his voice was different, “But, uhm-...”

“It’s my sister’s”.

( . . . )

The white haired boy waited outside, back pressed against the wall of the school’s entrance.

Mothers and older sisters were starting to gather around, waiting for their kids and siblings outside, some of their eyes caught by the handsome boy that stood unbothered under the sun, scrolling down his phone.

He looked up, blue eyes shielded by his round sunglasses meeting a pair of brown ones. The girl blushed, looking away immediately, and Satoru smirked as he looked around, looking for Nanami’s car this time.

A black Citroen C3 took the corner, and Satoru waved at it, signaling Nanami to park in front of where he was.

He put his phone in his pocket, followed by his hands, and he started walking towards the car. But then he felt it, Six Eyes sending him a very clear message right there: Nanami was angry. Very angry.

“Gojo Satoru, how could you do this to us?!”, she yelled, followed by the younger Fushiguro.

Gojo opened his eyes in surprise, knowing exactly what she was doing. They wanted to embarrass him.

“I work TWO jobs just to keep us all going, I offered to help you with YOUR mistress’ kid after SHE left YOU, and you don’t even have the guts to tell me… there’s ANOTHER KID?!”.

All the girls that just minutes before eyed him up and down, now looked at him with disgust, and Gojo felt his cheeks grow redder by second.

“Nanami-san has done so much for us, and you still lied to her, you’re gross!”, Megumi added, pulling up his best distressed kid act.

At the entrance of the school, a teacher waited with the few kids that hadn’t left with their horrified parents already. Behind a tall, blonde boy, a small girl with a dark ponytail looked at Megumi with confusion.

Megumi ran to her, the teacher recognising the problematic child as her brother, and didn’t bother asking who the screaming teenagers were. She had heard about the Fushiguro sibling’s parents, so she wasn’t surprised nor doubted that everything the blonde was yelling was true.

It didn’t seem too strange for Tsumiki’s mother to have had an affair and fled, and it was known by everyone at the school that Megumi’s father had been out of the picture for almost a year now.

She did, however, feel bad about that poor girl. She looked truly hurt, and having to take care of a kid like Fushiguro…

“But Suki I-“, Gojo tried to get her to shut up, eyes apologising with urgency.

“Get in the car Satoru, I can’t even- I can’t even look at you right now. Let’s go kids”.

Megumi and his sister were soon sitting in the back of the car, followed by Suki, and lastly by Gojo.

The younger boy looked at Suki through the mirror, and the girl met his eyes, before they crashed into laughs, much to Gojo’s displeasure.

When they calmed down, and Suki apologised to Gojo with the cinnamon rolls she had bought, Megumi explained the situation to his sister. How their father wasn’t going to come back, and neither was their mother.

Tsumiki was very scared at the beginning, for the both of them, but when the pretty blonde senior pulled up at their apartment, and called Megumi by his name, she felt very relieved.

Megumi never let anyone call him by his first name, as he didn’t like it. Only she herself was allowed, as she didn’t really remember her mother or his father being around that much anyways. But if he let that girl do it too, then she was truly trustworthy.

“Megumi, why didn’t you tell me about Tsumiki, hm?”, she asked, and the little girl felt shy under her intimidating eyes.

“I dunno”, he shrugged a little, inexpressive eyes on hers, “I didn’t think I’d stay with you for too long, she’d have been okay with the neighbours until I got ba-”.

Tsumiki gasped when the blonde girl put her hand on Megumi’s head, messing his hair. But to her surprise, her brother didn’t do anything more than sighing and rolling his eyes, starting to walk towards the building, followed by the girl.

She looked at them with big eyes, then up at the white haired boy, who gave her a big smile.

“Did you know Toji?”, the little girl asked him, as they too started walking.

“Mhm. Before he decided to leave forever, he asked me to keep an eye on ‘Gumi. You know, ‘cause he can be kiiiinda problematic sometimes”.

The little girl laughed, nodding shyly, and the boy’s smile grew. At least this one liked him.

They walked to the apartment door, slightly open as Megumi was inside, while Suki stood in front of the door next to it, talking to an old woman.

She bent down, hands pressed together, as she thanked the lady who looked at her with a sweet, warm smile.

“Thank you so much for taking care of them these past months, Hosho-san. My husband and I will take on from here... We found out a few days ago about what happened to Fushiguro-san and his wife… and we came all the way from Kioto just yesterday. I hope they haven’t been too much work, and my husband is more than willing to help with any economic matter that they can have caused to your family”.

Gojo smirked at her words. Suki’s ability to create stories to get them out of trouble had been saving their asses for years now, and it never stopped amazing him. Plus, pretending that Fushiguro senior was a family friend, and they were a young marriage taking the kids, was the perfect story to keep away anyone suspicious of them.

“Oh, no, no, dear. They’re wonderful, please don’t worry about anything. It’s more than enough to know that someone will be taking proper care of them from now on”.

Suki nodded and gave the old woman a smile, before Gojo wrapped his arm around her, chin resting on top of her head.

“Megumi is already picking up his things, baby. Why don’t you go help him and Tsumiki while I thank Hosho-san here?”.

He also gave the lady a smile, a charming, sweet one, and the woman blushed softly with a chuckle. Suki smiled, rolling her eyes as she walked in, leaving the white haired boy to continue adding to their story so she could help the kids without any other neighbour coming around.

Tsumiki was sitting in the living room, a yellow bag with white flowers already prepared on the floor. It didn’t take too much for anyone to realise Megumi had prepared it for her, as he walked in first and was still starting his.

The blonde girl sighed softly, sitting on the couch next to the little girl, who put her hands on her own lap, holding them together to hide the way they were slightly shaking.

Suki wasn’t sure about Megumi’s plan, using his first name so Tsumiki would see her as someone of trust, but at least they had found her.

“Tsumiki-”.

“Thank you for taking us in, Nanami-san!”, the little girl almost yelled, head down.

Nanami looked at her with soft eyes, a little smile plastered on her face as she nodded.

“Would you like me to braid your hair like mine, while we wait? I think it’d look good on you, Tsumiki”.

Her hair was almost matted, knots making it impossible to even try to brush it. The little girl sobbed when the scissors started snapping, balls of blonde hair falling at her feet.

The also young boy sighed deeply as he continued to cut his sister's hair, both of them eight by the time.

“It’ll grow again, healthier”.

“I look like a boy!”, the little girl sobbed harder.

Her brother sighed, holding her in his arms, and shook his head.

“When it grows again, I’ll learn how to braid it okay? I promise. You won’t need mom to do it. I will do it”.

The little girl sniffed softly, rubbing her eyes with her little shaky hands, but nodded.

“Thank you, Ken”.

The little girl looked up at her with bright eyes, nodding her head fast and excitedly, and Suki signaled her to go get a hair brush and a ribbon, which the little girl ran to do.

Her hair was lighter than Megumi’s, not exactly black, but a dark shade of brown, very straight and shiny. She was too young to have any heat damage, and Suki brushed it carefully, as the younger girl looked at their reflection on the TV while sitting as still as she could.

From Megumi’s bedroom, Gojo stood against the door frame, moving his eyes from the kid to the girls. Suki had managed to calm down the little girl immediately, and she had gotten Megumi to collaborate with her all day.

She had a weird talent he didn’t have. He could make Tsumiki laugh, and could get Megumi to follow him, but he couldn’t get them to relax, to trust like Nanami had in a night and barely an hour.

Satoru opened his mouth to speak, just in time for Suki’s phone to start ringing. On top of the screen, a name popped up: Kitamura Nagisa.

Suki finished tying the ribbon to the little girl’s braid, and just then realised she had forgotten her plans for the day, a wave of anxiety hitting her like a truck.

“Your phone’s ringing, Suk- Oh”, Gojo spoke, watching her sit there, blocked, phone in hand, “What are you doing?”.

The blonde girl simply signaled him to shut up, taking a deep breath before picking up.

“Hey, Nanami”, the boy’s voice was raspy, and Suki sighed softly at it, ears turning red just by the sound, “Are you okay? I sent you like twelve messages, are we still meeting for lunch? I’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes now”.

Suki bit her lip, looking at the kids, both of them ready now as Megumi walked out of the room with his bag.

“I- Uh… I am so sorry, Kitamura, I should have called you but something important came up, and I… I forgot completely”.

The boy chuckled softly, Suki’s embarrassment noticeable in her voice.

“No worries, Nanami… Is everything okay? Anything I can help you with?”.

“Hm… actually just… a family friend passed away!”, she spit out, and in front of her, Gojo raised an eyebrow, not understanding why the Suki was so nervous.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Nanami, I had no idea”.

Suki sighed. She didn’t want to lie to Nagisa. But she definitely couldn’t tell him the truth.

“Thank you, it’s just… He had two kids, and he didn’t have any more family… So it was either Kento and I , or my parents taking them in…”, she almost whispered the last part, avoiding Satoru’s confused gaze, “So you know, we kind of had to do it. A friend and I are helping them with their stuff right now”.

All she got for a minute was a hum, and silence, her heart beating faster than ever before inside her ribcage.

“Why don’t we have dinner together then, yes? I’ll bring take out, and I’ll help you get everything ready”.

Gojo frowned at his words. He had heard Nanami and Shoko talk about that boy, Kitamura, before. But he didn’t know the blonde girl and him were close like that, to have secrets that he apparently didn’t know.

It’s not like it angered him, or anything, he’d explain, it just annoyed him that Suki hadn’t told him. Yeah, that was it, and that’s that.

“You don’t mind? Kento will be home…”.

“And so will I! Is it a problem, Kitamura, huh?”, Satoru’s voice rose over Suki’s, getting a death glare from the girl.

“Not a problem at all. Any friend of Nanami is of mine”, the boy replied, and one could feel the smirk in his voice, “See you tonight then, Suki. You too, dude”.

And with that, Nagisa hung up, leaving a cold ambience in the room between Suki and Satoru, that made even the kids shiver.

n/a: i did say slowburn and i intend on keeping my word thank u v much SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG ON UPDATING :( the ending was shit but im SO TIRED forgive me ily <3

taglist: @expectoscamander @tsun444mi @helvegen-s @theworldis-ahead @evans-dejong @crzyinluve

[bookishdream]

Hi darling!

Can I please request a sorta cute thing with Matthias?

Ps. I adore your writing! Have a lovely day. <3

A/N. Hii, thank you very much for those kind words! Hope you like it, enjoy xx.

TW: maybe some curses

Matthias Helvar x fem!reader

Ketterdam's street were never grisha-friendly. The danger could occur at every turn, thus you had to be as careful as possible, jumping all the time and looking behind your shoulder. Your powers were new, you found about them while escaping from Ravkan's soldiers. And because of your disliking toward second army, your mother country had become your greatest enemy.

The Kerch’s biggest city was dark, that was your first thought. The sun was shining, but it didn’t make the town brighter, the exact opposite – clouds that sun was behind were, successfully blocked its shine. Your hair was messy, caused by days of laying down in the ship’s storage, your body was bruised and ached you at every step you made.

You cursed under your breath, when you stumbled. Your ability to walk started to disappear, but you pushed it harder, you were determined to find some quiet and dry place to sleep. If it was even possible to find here place like that.

“Hi,” someone said, her voice sweet as sugar, she even looked like sugar. “I think you got little lost.”

“Nah, I’m good. Who are you?” you asked, making a small step back, only to meet with a torso of someone. You eyed them and you saw a black skinned boy, with black hair and a smirk on his lips. “Shit.”

“We can help you,” The brunette girl said, once again trying to gain your trust. “you’re like us.”

You muffled a laugh. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble or your help, I told you I was fine and you should’ve left it after that.”

“Oh, darling,” the boy said, his voice flirtatious. “We don’t do what we should.”

The brown-haired girl clenched her fist, and you felt a little bit sleepy, even though you tried to fight the urge to fall onto the floor.

  You woke up, your back was pressed to the cold walls of some weird looking place, your hands tied behind your body. You shivered.

“You are a fighter, aren’t you?” the boy who helped the girl capture you, voiced from the corner of the building. “What are you?”

“I– “you couldn’t say another word, because three other boys who you had never seen came, with this sugar-looking girl and a slim, looking like a shadow girl.

“She woke up, great.” The guy in the hat, and long coat said, his voice raspy, making you shiver. “We need your help with our next work.”

“What?” fair-haired boy, asked confused. “We had two grishas with us, why we need another one?”

“Matthias, I think you should shut up, or I, personally, am going to kick you back to Fjerda.”

“Demjin.”

“You shouldn’t have kidnapped her.” Girl with black, braided hair, told him, while turning her knives between her fingers. “You should’ve asked like a civilized person would do.”

“I’m not a civilized person, Inej.”

“Can someone tell me what is happening, and why are you talking like I’m not fucking here?” you tried to free your hands from ties, but rope only got deeper into your wrists. “If you’re from the second army, I will not help you.”

“You’re from Ravka?” the fair-skinned girl started making her way toward you. “Why did you escape?”

“I did not escape, I just went temporarily missing.” Your cheeks heated, you could feel the blood seeking out of your wrists.

“Do you know what would have happened if Fjerdan’s army had found you?” Inej asked, eyeing you up and down. “They hunt grishas.”

Matthias coughed, everyone looked at him, under their eyes he only lifted his one arm and placed his eyes on you.

“Everyone hunts grishas, Ravka, Fjerda and Kerch. You probably are not better than them.”

“She’s right,” Matthias agreed with you. “You aren’t.”

“Matthias, you’re scaring her. Jesper can you untie her?” the guy in the hat ordered.

“What if she punches me?” he commented, but still undo the knots. “She has a spirit.”

You sighed, not having enough strength to even think about kicking him in the guts, but maybe later.

“You said you wanted my help.” You directed your words at the hut guy. “Why do you need that?”

“I knew you’d listen” the boy said, his hands were coated in some expensive-looking gloves, one of them were laying lazily on a cane with a crow head at the top of it. “I’m Kaz, and the girl beside you is Nina, the one who untied you is Jesper, the young looking one is Wylan and the buzzkill is Matthias.”

You eyed the last one and you couldn’t say he wasn’t handsome, his face was all sharp edges, short blond hair was slightly falling onto his eyes. You were sure that under the clothes he was muscled. You quickly looked at the others and you noticed the sugar-looking girl – Nina, was looking at you like you were a pray.

“What are you?” Inej asked, her eyes never leaving your figure. “We have a Durast and a Heartrender.”

You let out a heavy breath, cold needles of ice were poking your cheeks. “I’m a Squaller.”

“And you didn’t want to help your country?!” Nina exclaimed, appalled.

“I owe this country nothing.” You answered, frowning. “They didn’t do anything to help me and my family, I will not let them take me against my own will.”

“She’s a fierce one.” Jesper said, walking toward you, and picking one strand of your hair, turning it slightly between his fingers. “And a pretty one.”

“Let go of me.” You sighed, getting your hair out of his fingers. “No one said I’d help you.”

“You will if you don’t want to go back to Ravka.” Kaz said, clicking his walking stick on the floor of the tomb. “You don’t have much of a choice.”

“Not like I’d be able to help, I found out about my power,” you trailed. “Like a few days ago.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’m sure Nina will be more than happy to help one of hers.” Kaz made a step and walked out of the tomb with Inej and Jesper, Wylan a step behind them.  

Nina nodded her head like she was truly happy about that fact. Your hands were still aching, red stains of blood around your wrist bone. You nodded your own head even though Kaz had already left. Nina looked at you one last time and walked out herself, leaving you with Matthias.

“You’re braver than you think you are.” The boy said, taking your left hand into his and using his other one to wipe it clean with a piece of material he took out of his pocket. He looked into your eyes and took your right hand. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Proud because I ran away from my duty?” your face went blank, you hadn’t regretted your decision. “I should be fighting with them, and here I am, helping bunch of criminals.”

He laughed slightly, patting your hands gently with his fingers. “You’re brave, because you looked Kaz straight into his dead eyes and didn’t flinch. That’s an achievement.”

“He doesn’t look so scary.”

“He just acts like that, I bet he’s like a kitten under this coat.” Matthias said, helping you walk out of the tomb, “kitten who scratches all the time.”

[binniesthighs]

can u do an enemy to lovers au with han jisung where they are in a hidden fwb relationship? thank u~ 🥺

I really look some creative liberties with this one HA but the product...hehe, I hope that you enjoy it love! I also kinda accidentally made it a period piece??? Like 50′s-60′s? Idk how this happened but the vibe and the music I was listening to while writing really put me in that mood haha

blue velvet | reader x jisung |

Paring: self insert, gender neutral reader x han jisung

Genre: smut n’ angst

Tags: stripper!jisung, stripper!reader, bi!jisung, enemies (competitors) to lovers, secret relationship, friends with benefits, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, degrading names, choking, spanking, v mild spit play, unprotected sex (wrap it before you slippity slap it friends), creampie, cum eating, scratching, oral (reader receiving) semi-public sex, hello yes this one is kinda filthy ooooops

Word count: 3.2k

Recommended listening: Blue Velvet by Bobby Vinton

Fuck. It’s hot in here. Too fucking hot.

Reconnaissance. That’s what you were doing. It was fucking disgusting. Everyone in the room was just as fake as the pleather belts that held their guts in. You had never seen anything more embarrassing in your whole life. Desperation was sweating off the walls and sunk into your skin. It made you feel sick.

You scoffed and took a long sip from your drink.

“One more?” An attentive maître d' asked you--if he could even been called that in a place like this.

You covered your hand over your glass. You refused to pay for any more of that cheap tasting shit.

Next to you a rapt group of men in suits wagged their tails at the view. She wasn’t even very pretty.

Rolling your eyes, you scoped out the rest of the room, adorned in red velvet and gold nearly everywhere. What was this? A high school musical? Even those had more class than this place.

You checked your sliver wristwatch lined by dainty diamonds. You always did like gifts. Too bad rarely anyone would get anything in return.

The girls on the stage twirled around, giving the audience the best view that they could, tiger-prowling to those waving bills in their grabby hands. They were tanned and fashioned into strappy and lacy pieces that looked like they all must have shared them. Pathetic.

“You come here often?”

He swirled some clear looking liquid in his crystal glass, the little string of olives clinking the side.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“No, I’m talking to them.” He head nodded to the same group of greasy businessmen. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“It’s my first time...and likely my last.”

“Huh. Tough critic.”

He didn’t look like the rest of them. Younger, reeking less of starved attention. He had golden blonde hair, and a silk white shirt unbuttoned far into a deep V. He was toned: the muscles on his arms were visible under the thin fabric and his abs made a show thanks to the abandonment of buttons. He wore dress pants perfectly fitted for his thighs. He was...attractive...but not your type.

“What’s not to like? Beautiful people, drinks to make you forget your mistakes? Not your scene?”

You rested your chin in your palm. “It’s my scene, but not this scene.”

“Suit yourself.” He took another swing, pivoting his body towards you, legs spread wide. “I think I know someone who can change you mind though.”

“In this place? Unlikely.”

“Come on...just stay a little bit longer and they’ll come out. They’re the last act of the night for a reason.” He signaled to the maître d' and whispered something into his ear. “Drinks on me. If you’ll stay?”

“Free drinks?” You put down your empty glass. “I suppose I can’t say no to that.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was thirty minutes till closing, and you had stayed much longer than you had liked. After all the drinks you had to pass the time, you were starting to feel a little buzz, but nothing much really phased you these days. You started to wonder if he had been pulling some kind of prank. Nothing you had seen was what he had hyped it up to be.

The lights dimmed behind you, making the room dark enough for the tiny white candles at the tables to provide the only light. Spotlights flashed on from behind you too, illuminating the U shaped stage. With the lights, the music faded into something much more sultry.

The first two girls stepped out, both of them wearing white sets that were nearly identical with sheer robes. Two others stepped out after them, this time wearing red and black. It was the same thing you had been seeing all night.

The spotlight tightened.

It was him.

He was wearing a button down and those same pants, everything seemed so tight on him, accentuating every curve of his body. Strangely, when he walked out, he was greeted with wolf-whistles and hoots. He winked back at his spectators, nearly falling out of their chairs to see him better. It was even stranger considering the audience was filled with men.

He walked around the girls on stage as if he was inspecting them, his eyes eating up every bit of their skin. He confidence was unparalleled. He would run his hands down their sides, digging his fingers into their hips. They circled around him until his body was covered with their hands, teasing the audience, just barely touching around his dick, which with his pants...there was little room for imagination.

Silent moans left his lips once they started undressing him giving him their full attention. The cheers grew even louder. Before long, he was nearly fully undressed swaying to the music. He wore nothing special, just some briefs, like any normal person would. It was...confusing.

He took turns “giving attention” to every girl, looking at them like he worshiped the ground the walked on. They would grind their bodies together, or he would pick them up in his arms, and they would wrap their long legs around him. He would pantomime fucking them from behind, screwing up his face as if he really was. Everyone went crazy for that.

It didn’t last for very long and the lights soon went all the way down, leaving the stage scattered with sweating bodies, panting as if they had just cum, entangling themselves all in eachother.

You were a bit unenthused, but it was different. There was something about him that was different.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Were the drinks enough for you?” His voice called to you just as you were about to leave. This time, he returned wearing the same silk shirt.

“I hope that I didn’t make you pay for too many.” You pouted with faux empathy.

“And the show?” He grinned a little.

“Interesting. Considering a place like this.”

He laughed a little. “I help with...the imagination.”  

“So they pretend that you’re them. I’ll admit, it’s smart.”

“You’d be surprised, somedays I get more male customers compared to most of the girls here.” He bit his lip as if recalling a memory. “They pay well too, pay for whatever they aren’t getting at home. Who am I do deny them that when it’s my job?

“You sleep with them?”

“The ones I like.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“Can be. In a good way.” He let out a sharp laugh. “So. Did I prove you wrong?”

“Hmmm. I could do better.”

He popped his brows up. “You could?”

He was intriguing. You decided to give him a bite. “I dance at La Rose Rouge.”

“You dance at that overpriced, snotty ass place?” His words turned poisonous.  What’s it like dancing for a guy who’s got a stick so far up his ass--”

“--The price is right, and you get what you pay for there...especially if its me.”

“How am I not surprised?”

“I need to go, I’ve seen all I could here.” You bowed at him a little.

“Wait.” He grabbed at your arm. “I’ve still got one more thing to show you. Follow me.”

 ╚ ——————————————— ╝

Your insides were on fire as he fucked into you. Every time that he thrust into you, he was relentless and unforgiving. He was going so fast you could barely catch your breath. You were bent over some dusty old sofa in an equally dusty dressing room. You would kill him if he left bruises on your hips from how hard he was holding you.

“fuck. shit.” He panted, then reached one of his hands around to rub at your sensitive sex, slick with your excitement.

He was so fucking cocky, but he knew what the hell he was doing. He bent over your back, sucking into your skin, wrapping his arms around you to tweak your nipples. He was wrecking you from the inside out, devouring you like he had never tasted anything like you.

He kicked your legs open even farther. “Fucking moan for me, slut.”

You had barely let him hear more than a few gasps, he didn’t deserve it. You wanted him to moan for you.

“Who are you calling slut?” You said with venom.

You shoved off of him, and he looked devastated. He was cute. He even frowned regretfully like he had done something wrong.

The metal of your rings dug into his neck when you grabbed it, squeezing as hard as you could. Your hot breath snuck into his ear, “No, you fucking moan for me...slut.”

You attacked his lips, tracing the insides of his mouth with your tongue. He moaned right into you and grabbed handfuls of your ass with his two hands. Your teeth bit his lip and pulled. His dick trembled between the two of you and he rutted against your stomach to get some kind of relief.

He took one of his hands to your hair before resting his glossy brown eyes on you. “I’d do anything for you.” His voice quivered. “You ruin me.”

“Get on the floor.” You commanded him, and he did as he was told without a question, laying his bare body on the cold concrete.

The chill of the stone stung your knees, but that didn’t matter, you just wanted to see him unravel. You straddled down onto him, taking him in as you sunk down.

“oh shit,” slipped off your tongue without you having much control over it.

You rolled your core over him, back and forth, circling yourself and bouncing up and down as he rolled his eyes back, licking his lips while you did everything that you wanted. As you bounced he held on to your ass, digging his fingertips in. You had your eyes closed, so you didn’t see it when he rose is hand to slap you hard. It burned beautifully.

“—Jisung? Are you done yet? The rest of us are going out.” A female voice called, and rattled the locked door.

“FUCK OFF.” He groaned, and held onto your ass even tighter.

You let out a unamused tsk. “Jisung? That’s your real name?”

He didn’t say anything, but instead swiftly took you in his arms to lay you down. The chill of the floor startled you into wince, but it felt amazing compared to how hot you were. He entered you immediately again, then slung your legs over his shoulders. His blonde hair appeared to bounce a little with each thrust.

You knew exactly what you were doing when you dragged your nails down his arms, waterfalling pink, perfect, lines. His whole body seized at the sensation, sending him into a fury. He licked his hand from palm to fingers, not breaking your gaze as he used it to rub relentlessly at you.

You were on the edge.  

“Want my cum, you whore?”

You were close as well, and it clouded your senses--you felt yourself slipping into him after holding back for so long.

“ye-yes, I want it.”

He came in seconds, doubling over you when he did, panting like a dog, with you gasping just as hard from your own orgasm. He seemed to shake a little as he came down, nearly suffocating you with his body weight. You jiggled your hips just a little to get a rise out of him. You had guessed correctly, someone like him couldn’t take overstimulation.

“Fuck, wait, wait. I-I can’t take anymore.”

You laughed a little and stopped. “You’re no fun.”

“I thought I literally just proved to you that I’m loads of fun.”

“Mmm, I suppose.”

“You liked it?” He ran his hand through his sweaty roots.

“You made me cum, so...usually I have to fake it.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

“I’m honored.” He grinned a little pridefully.

You reached down to your hole to catch a few drops of his cum on your fingers, stretching it out a little and playing with it. He watched you as you did so, eyes wide. You stood to grab his jaw, sticking your fingers in his mouth which he eagerly sucked.

“Where have you been my whole life?” He looked up at you in wonder.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that...Jisung.”

He watched you then as you dressed, careful not to forget your gorgeous silver wristwatch.

“I won’t be coming back, so don’t expect that this will happen again.”

“Wait--” He stopped you before you grabbed the door handle. “You didn’t tell me your name--”

“--That’s something you don’t need to know.”

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darling, is there anything that I can get you?”

Your manager swept a caring hand to hold you by the small of your back.

“No, thank you though, love.” You shone brightly back to him.

“Just let me know? So far we’ve got a queue for you. Four gentlemen and three ladies. I expect that the tips tonight will be generous...it’s payday.”

You politely nodded. “Of course.”

“Have you been having a hard time with any of the new faces?”

You took a sip of your brandy. “Some of them have some mouth, but I’ll make them dignified. You can trust me.”

“I always do.” He gently kissed your cheek. “Ah, I forgot to mention, one of your customers brought you a gift. It’s in your dressing room; he wants you to wear it for your dance tonight.”

“I do love gifts.”

“Go get ready darling, you haven’t got much more time.”

Once you were in your dressing room, a medium sized white box waited for you on your vanity. There was no labels; no indication that it was from a luxurious brand. You opened it, and the shirt was wrapped in light pink tissue paper. It was too short to be a robe, but it was silk and white with buttons that looked more decorative rather than useful. You figured it must have been your customer’s: many of them got off to you wearing their clothes. It wasn’t your usual style, but you knew how to make anything work.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“And for our last act of the night: the wonderful, the illustrious...”

You walked out to the silent stage: meant only for you, the stage lights yellow, shrouding you in their brilliance. Your chest was bare, save for the silky shirt falling off your shoulders. They were cheering for you, throwing paper bills at you and calling your name, but you couldn’t hear them at all. You had never felt so whole in your life since being on the stage. It seemed like the rest of your days were just spent chasing some kind of feeling that merely resembled that.

Barefoot, you pranced along the stage, twirling like a ballerina even, letting the shirt billow up just so they could see your perky bottom. With all of their eyes on you, you felt like an absolute vision--like an ethereal being, desired, but impossibly attainable.

The jazz song played on by the live players, a muted trumpet and violins accompanied you. Your eyes swept across the blue velvet curtains of the booths, to every man and woman looking at you in awe. You let the shirt slip just a bit farther, revealing your back, winking. You never had to show them much. It was your charisma that they thirsted for--and that they could only get a small taste of.

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“Darlin’ you’re a catch, an absolute catch.” Your manager snuck up behind you taking your makeup off to hand you the ridiculously fat stack of bills. “You keep us afloat baby, you know that I can’t thank you enough.” He bowed.

“Stop flattering me.” You remarked with a smirk. “I know.”

Your manager left, then the curtain to your room screeched again. He slowly stepped into the light, applauding slightly.

“He’s right you know? Even I can’t get enough of you.”

It was him, cocky smile, swept blonde hair and all.

“You again? I’m surprised that you even made it in here at all. Considering who you are.”

“What? The competition? You didn’t tell them about me, did you?”

You patted some serums into your face. “Better leave soon before they rid you of that handsome face of yours.”

“You saying that I’m handsome?” He snarked.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

“Seeing you, I thought I made that clear? Isn’t that what you were doing when you came to my club?”

“Like what you saw?”

“I stand corrected.” He let up, advancing towards you at your vanity. “And you look just as stunning in my shirt as I thought you would.”

“Your...this is yours? How the hell did you mange that?”

“I have my ways.”

“I suppose you want it back then.”

“No...you can keep it...if you promise me one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

He reached out for your hands, which you tentatively took. He swept you up, pulling you into his chest with eyes dipped in lust.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.” He spoke onto your lips with heated breath.

You would’ve been lying if you had said his lips didn’t look appetizing.

“One more time.”

“Bold of you to assume that I’d want to fuck you again.”

“You haven’t been thinking of it too? My hands on your body...”He caressed your body down, “My lips on yours?” He pulled you in by the chin to carefully part your lips with his. “My dick filling you up?” He pulled you in closer to feel his pulsating dick. “You don’t think about it?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you want me. All you have to do is say it and I’m yours.”

“You’re looking to get killed if they know you’ve touched me.”

“I’d happily die for you.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that...Jisung.”

His lips fell to your neck where he pressed slow kisses onto it. “Just say it...”

The cool of his saliva on your skin met the air, tingling. You couldn’t believe you found yourself considering...

“I know you want to...”

“This won’t be a common occurrence.” You got out, suppressing your moans.

“Is that a yes?”

“...yes.”

“And we’ll see about that.” He slyly grinned, meeting your lips once again.

He swept you up, and your legs naturally wrapped around him. He carried you out of the dressing room to the main hall, pulling you both into the nearest booth, drawing the blue velvet curtains behind him. His eyes devoured you, casting aside his silk shirt that loosely clung to you. You threw your weight onto the table, opening your legs for him, inviting him. He chuckled a little at the action.

“I can imagine you must’ve been thinking of this as well then.” He kissed down your stomach, removing what underwear you were barely wearing. He kissed and sucked at the skin in your inner thighs, kindling your excitement. Spit gathered on his tongue, which he let drip down to your sex which glistened for him.

Your core begged for that feeling once again, that feeling only he could give you: the one that made you feel alive, like you weren’t just chasing some impossibility.

He lapped at you slowly with his tongue, awakening your whole body.

“I fucking want you.”

[jelly-belly-fish]

I wrote another story. My friends really wanted me to post this one, so here it is. Be warned, it has my own headcanons in it too.

TW: Cursing, Bullying

The First Meeting, Pt. 1

“C’mon, ‘Dreadgory’! Hurry up!” Xavier yelled at the boy.

“I-I’m coming,” Gregory sweetly stammered in response to his fellow classmate.

Giving the Glamrock Freddy plush he was holding a final squeeze, Gregory placed the bear plush back down on the gift shop shelf. He wanted to buy it so bad, but guess it’ll have to wait until later.

“I’ll come back for you,” he cooed softly, giving the plush a soft pat on the head, “I promise.”

The plush only gave silence as a response. Just the happy little expression sewn on its face. Gregory smiled softly back at the empty response.

“C’mon, sissy!” Gregory heard Jaxon call out to him next, “The meet and greets are starting soon! We don’t want to be late because of your slow ass!”

“Language...” Gregory whispered as he ran over to his group of friends. They all slouched and sat around the giant fountain near the grand entrance of the PizzaPlex. There were four of them: Xavier, Jaxon, Zachary, and Ian.

Xavier was a ginger with an undershave haircut. It was both smooth and spiky at the same time. Gregory always thought that the fashion trend of the boy was too mature for his age, but he didn’t question the leather-jacket-wearing 4th grader, less he wanted a bruised jaw again like last time.

Jaxon was the oldest fourth grader in Gregory’s class. With his almost-white-blonde hair and being the fastest one in gym class, he was a crush for every girl in their grade. Gregory couldn’t think of one girl who didn’t want to spend reading time with him or trade food with him at lunch. Anything to get his attention.

Zachary was probably the nicest to Gregory. Then again, that’s not saying much given how many times he dunk Gregory into sinks and dumped food all over the boy. The African American boy wore a white, zip up hoodie and blue shorts. Zachary stuck his tongue out at Gregory as he approached.

Last there was Ian. He always wore black and blue and had green eyes that always seemed like they were emotionally dead. He laughed at the most random things and told terrible jokes. And if Gregory didn’t laugh, he always got what was coming to him...

“Took you long enough, egghead!” Xavier hissed as the boys started to get up from their resting positions, “I swear if we miss these events, I’ll—“

“Xavier, shut your face!” Zachary sneered, “The more you complain to Gregory, the higher chance we’ll miss the shows! C’mon!”

As the boys started making their way to the escalators, Gregory felt a tight grip on his arm. He nervously turned to see Xavier squeezing his arm. Gregory gave Xavier a fearful look.

“This isn’t over, Evans...” Xavier hissed, thrashing Gregory’s arm down before going to join the others.

Gregory shook his head quietly, kneading his arm.

“They’re my friends...” Gregory reassured himself. Then he started to follow the group of boys up to the other parts of the PizzaPlex.

XXX

“Does everyone have their tickets?” Jaxon inquired the group as they approached the Green Rooms.

Ian giggled slightly.

“I don’t have any tickets! I’m gonna see Moondrop!”

“Seems like you guys would get along...all creepy and tell weird jokes...” mumbled Gregory under his breath, looking at the glossy, tiled floor.

“You got something to say, Dreadgory?!” Ian snapped as he grabbed the boy’s shirt collar, pulling him in close.

“You need to be nice to us, Evans,” Jaxon snarled, “you don’t want to be a crybaby who plays by himself at recess again, do ya!?”

Gregory’s heart pounded fast. He could feel the tension in the air as Ian tightened his grip on his shirt, still glaring at him with those dull green eyes.

“I-I’m sorry...” Gregory’s eyes started to sting. His brown eyes were now squeezed tight as he prepared for their punches.

Gregory didn’t get any punches, but the floor greeted him with a harsh slap as he fell onto it. His breathing hitched as Gregory shakily got onto his hands and knees. Head still low, Gregory looked back up at his group of friends. They all towered over him now.

“We’ll let you off this time, shorty...” Jaxon sneered, “It is your birthday after all.”

Ian broke out in hysterical laughter.

“Awww look at da little baby! Is he going to cry?!”

The rest of the boys started to snicker along. It was true, Gregory was going to cry.

Gregory could feel tears start to drip from his eyes. He tried to stay strong, but he could feel himself cracking.

“C’mon guys, let’s leave the birthday boy to his birthday tears!” Xavier cackled.

They all started to leave, talking amongst themselves about what animatronic they were going to see. Jaxon to Roxanne Wolf, Xavier to Montgomery Gator, Zachary to Glamrock Chica, and Ian to Moondrop.

The only one left was the main star himself: Glamrock Freddy.

He was for the birthday boy.

He was the only thing Gregory was looking forward to seeing on his birthday. The only thing to make his day better. Gregory looked down at the blue and white Fazbear Entertainment ticket in his tiny hands. Gregory then held a small smile on his face. Wiping away his tears, Gregory stood up and made his way to the Green Room of the one and only Freddy Fazbear.

His heart started jogging in his chest again. He was both excited and scared at the same time. He wasn’t the biggest fan of animatronics, but there was something about Glamrock Freddy that he loved so much. His kind demeanor, the way he cared about every child he met, his powerful vocal chords when he spoke and sung, he was like everyone’s dad. Everyone’s weird, robotic, bear dad.

As Gregory approached the green room for Freddy, he saw a red curtain draped in front of it. His pulse quickened. Why were the curtains closed? Picking up his pace, Gregory ran to the front of the curtain. There was a white sign in front of the sparkly, red curtain. Gregory’s heart dropped to his stomach.

“OUT OF ORDER.”

No.

No!

NO!

NO! NO! NO!

Gregory’s teeth gritted together. He sucked air through his teeth as tears poured from his eyes.

This had to be fake. It couldn’t be real.

Gregory could sense the teasing and humiliation coming already if the other boys founded him like this. Founded the only dream he had for today to be crushed.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.

He just wanted to hide away forever.

Without even thinking, Gregory dashed into the curtains and into the room behind.

It was a dark room. The only light was the little sliver coming from the cut between the two curtains. Not seeing anything around him, Gregory fell onto his face. A pained grunt slipped past his lips as his face squished into the firm, velvety carpet.

That was the final straw for him.

Curling up on the floor, Gregory hiccuped the smallest of sobs. He laid there for awhile, silently crying over his birthday being ruined.

“It’s not fair...” Gregory pulled himself into a tighter ball, “It’s not fair, it’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair?” A mocking tone asked behind the boy.

Gregory snapped up and scuttled backwards.

In the darkness, the only light being their phone flashlights, were Xavier, Jaxon, and Zachary.

They were all different however, and certainly not for the better. They were all wearing masks of the characters they all went to see. There were not visible eyes in the masks, making them look like empty voids in the darkness. They stared at him eerily, sending chills down Gregory’s spine.

“Did the baby boy not get what he wanted this year for his birthday?” Xavier questioned further. “Did he want to be forgotten?”

Gregory shook his head quickly. No...

“You know, Xavier,” Jaxon said, in a overly exaggerated thinking pose, “I heard there’s something special about these animatronics...especially Freddy...”

Gregory didn’t like where this was going. He slowly started to scoot back.

“Freddy has a special way to treat sad birthday kids!” Jaxon laughed. “He EATS them!”

“Wh-Wha...” Was all a shaken Gregory was able to say before getting snatched up by the bullies.

“And we gotta keep the bear happy and STUFFED, now don’t we Gregory?”

They flashed their lights onto the animatronic who was hiding, decommissioned in the shadows of the room.

Gregory kicked and screamed for them to let him go.

“You did this to yourself, runt,” Jaxon warned, speaking through his Roxanne mask’s wolffish grin, “You just HAD to be upset on your birthday!”

As Gregory continued to cry out louder now, Jaxon clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, muffling his screams.

Zachary jumped on top of the small stage that Glamrock Freddy stood on. He felt around the animatronic’s chest and stomach like he was searching for something.

“Hey Jax!” He called out over Gregory’s muffled cries, “How do you open this?”

“Press his bowtie, stupid! Just like how my mom showed us!” Jaxon scoffed, struggling to keep a grip on Gregory’s squirming torso. Xavier did his best to control Gregory’s legs.

With a click and a hiss, the bear’s broad chest opened. With only the phone lights as his guide, Gregory stopped struggling for a bit and stared at the now opened chest. In the harsh lighting mixed with complete darkness, the chest cavity of the animatronic looked like a dark void...ready to swallow Gregory whole.

Gregory thrashed about even more now, like a fish trapped in a net. He wanted to cry and scream for them to stop, but Jaxon’s hand only made him make suppressed yelps.

They brought him closer...and closer....

Finally, with a good and quick shove, Gregory was forced into the tight darkness. Gregory quickly turned his head around to see the opening of the chest cavity snap close behind him. Gregory was now soaked in enclosed darkness.

“NO!” He cried.

Gregory pressed himself against the sealed entrance. Sweat made his hands clammy as he pounded against the plastic wall. Tears flooded his eyes as he anxiously knocked against the fake material.

“PLEASE LET ME OUT!!” He begged, choking between sobs, “PLEE-EEASE!!”

His cries only got muffled chuckles in response. Those chuckles made Gregory grasp onto reality. A silent fearful look took over Gregory’s tear stained, sweat covered face.

“Listen to him, the fuckin’ idiot...” A softened Xavier cackled.

“Oh, if only Ian was here,” Jaxon wheezed, “He would be laughing his ass off right now...”

Gregory’s good heart wanted to remind them of their language, but he forced himself to stay silent. That didn’t stop his tears from flooding though. Hitched breaths were sucked in through his teeth.

“Guys... I think he’s been in there long enough,” Zachary whispered, “I don’t want to get in trouble with my dad about this.”

“Oh shut up, Zack..” Xavier snapped, “The little bitch just needs to learn that him crying is so annoying..”

“Yeah,” Jaxon agreed, “No wonder no one is friends with him.”

Gregory’s heart froze. The dreaded reality finally sat in. The one he fought so hard to not accept. Tears continued to flow as he leaned against the plastic wall, sobs ripping from his throat.

Gregory truly was all alone in this world.

As he sat there, bawling his eyes out in the darkness, Gregory couldn’t help but feel something, or someone, watching him. Watching him...and watching the bullies outside his tomb. He felt the omnipresent stare on him. It felt angry. It felt judgmental. It felt...protective.

Gregory looked around the tight space. There was no room for anyone else to be in here. Heck, there was barely enough room for him to be in here. His knees ached with cramps. His feet were pressed against the metal wall behind him. Gregory wanted out...and he wanted out now. And he wanted the feeling of being watched to go away too. It certainly wasn’t helping.

Despite his silent pleas, Gregory continued to stay in that chest cavity, and the feeling of being watched only got worse.

“C’mon guys,” Jaxon sarcastically laughed, “Let’s leave the little birthday boy to his little gift from us. I’m sure he’ll want to be alone to enjoy it alllll to himself.”

That one sentence brought back the fear and dread Gregory had only mere moments ago.

“WAIT!!” Gregory shrieked, “YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME IN HERE!!”

He continued to knock and slam his hands hands against the plastic wall. They seriously couldn’t be leaving him here...they couldn’t be...

“Oh, I think he’s loving it so far,” a much more distant Jaxon called out, “Have fun in there, Dreadgory!”

A burst of the boys’ laughter erupted again, suddenly being even more muffled by a curtain swooshing. Soon, the laughter faded away, only leaving Gregory in complete darkness. Complete, eerie darkness. The only sounds were Gregory’s cries and pleas, hopelessly trying to get their attention, to make them come and get him out of this stupid chest cavity. All he got in response was his cries and knocks echoing in the tight space...

After what seemed like forever of begging and tears, Gregory’s screams dialed down to soft whimpers. He hugged his knees and held them up to his chest. Gregory’s body was soaked in sweat. His forehead was beaded with the salty liquid. The dark air and his clothes were now dampen from the sweat and his tears. Still in utter darkness, Gregory continued to sob quietly, thinking of what just happened. Were his friends right? Did he really deserve this?

The little birthday boy sighed, wiping his tears from his eyes.

“Maybe they’re right...” he croaked, “M-Maybe I...I do deserve this..”

Gregory then buried his face into his knees, his eyes beginning to sting again.

“I’m all alone...” he shuttered, “Tr-Trapped in here... forever.”

“You’re not alone.”

Gregory’s head shot up. His heart began to pound quickly again. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Who...” Gregory panicked, “Who’s there?!”

“Do not be afraid, little one,” the voice softly continued, “I’d never hurt you.”

The voice...it was rumbled like thunder and as gruff as rusty metal, but it was gentle and quiet as a butterfly. And most of all, it sounded familiar.

“Gl-Glamrock Fre—“ Gregory started, only to be interrupted again.

“Let’s make this more comfortable,” the voice proposed, “They’re gone now, so it’s safe to come out.”

There was a soft click outside. A click of a button? Gregory’s heart fluttered. Could this really be him? There was a hiss and more clicks. Gregory could feel cool and new air flush against his face. The chest cavity was now open.

Part 2 coming very soon!

[misslilli]

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 21 - The Halloween Fair

[ DS ]

On the afternoon of the Halloween fair, I take out the costume that Miss Hannigan picked out for me from the closet. Ever since I’ve got it, I’m beyond excited to wear it. It’s a black low-cut shirt, a white, checkered suit with a blazer that ties at the waist and a flaring skirt. As I put on the blonde wig and the black beret, I turn to the mirror channeling my best inner Faye Dunaway and say to myself in a breathy, southern lilt: “My, my, don’t you just look dandy, Miss Bonnie Parker!”

My friends have been roped into manning the booths of the fair and somehow, I’ve slipped under the town people’s radars, which leaves me able to roam around the fair, albeit alone. Since I’ve known most people in this town ever since I was little, I’m never actually alone at these happenings, people tend to just pull me into their conversation as I walk by. But as luck will have it, as I’m rounding one of the booths of the fair, I find myself face to face with the one person I had secretly hoped to see.

He’s wearing a brown tweed suit with a matching waistcoat and over the white collared shirt he’s tied an emerald green tie. Perched on his head is a white fedora. ‘Shit. He’s Clyde. What the fuck?’

We stop in our tracks and stare at each other for a moment, taking in our respective costumes. He’s the first one to regain his ability to speak.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” His Warren Beatty impression is perfect right down to the Texan drawl. ‘God help me…’

“Gosh, I hope you’ve parked the getaway car around the corner, Clyde!” I’m putting on my best Faye Dunaway impression again as I add a wink to my statement and just continue to walk past him. My heart thumping hard against my chest betrays my cool exterior, but that’s my secret and my secret alone.

----------

[ FM ]

When we finally get to the Halloween fair that Felix has roped me into, dressed up in a costume I didn’t even pick myself. We trail the grounds together and we’re drawn to the candy apple booth. Well actually, Felix draws us to this exact booth, the little sneak, but I can’t resist his pout and pleading eyes, so we end up getting an apple each. Munching away happily, his mouth full, he asks the question I’ve been too scared to ask myself: “Hey dad, do you think Miss Scully is here too with her friends?” I hope she is, if only to see what kind of costume she has picked out for herself, but I can’t tell Felix that. Instead, I just shrug and we continue our stroll across the town square.

When we round another booth, we both stop in our tracks as we see a blonde woman appear before us , dressed in a checkered suit and a beret on her head. ‘Bonnie. She’s the freakin’ Bonnie to your Clyde. Your sidekick. No, your partner in crime. The woman you love. In the movie of course. Insert awkward cough.’.

Felix is oblivious of course, he hasn’t seen the movies and I doubt he even knows what my costume is, let alone Miss Scully’s. I scrape together the last braincells that are left in my head and a stupid movie quote is the only thing I can think of at this moment.

“Hey Bonnie, the laws are outside, they’re blockin’ the driveway!” The retort she gives me combined with her wink render me speechless until she’s well past me and Felix, mingling with the small crowd that welcomes her into their midst just a few feet away from us.

Felix does the thing I wish I could bring myself to do, staring at her retreating form in wonder and he also speaks the words that have sprung to my own mind.

“Wow!”

----------

[ DS ]

Countless conversations later and a little tipsy on the delicious apple cider they always serve at the Halloween fair, I wander along the booths when I hear a voice I haven’t heard in over a year. And could’ve gone forever not hearing again. It’s my ex-whatever Steve, talking to one of his friends.

I’m hidden pretty well in the crowd of people due to my shortness but I can still catch flashes of their conversation. When I hear my name, I stop, straining my ears.

“Dana? Oh God, no. She’s not even close to being a serious contender for a relationship.” I wince at his statement as well as the tone of his voice. “She’s just always there, you know? Like a well trained Golden Retriever, I say the word and she comes running. Such an easy lay!” When they share a laugh I can feel the flush of shame and anger crawl up my neck.

The situation he describes is exactly what I’ve spent countless hours in therapy getting over. But what he says next really drives a stake through my heart. “It’s so pathetic, but if it’s what I have to do to get laid, whatever. She’s even dirtier in bed than any hot teacher fantasy you could ever imagine and what they say about good Catholic girls is very, very accurate, if you know what I mean!”

If he weren’t the demon I have to face every time I try to get over my past, I would’ve revealed myself and give his ass a good kicking for talking about me the way he has. But not knowing how I’ll react to being face-to-face with him, I stay hidden behind a group of mummies and zombies like a fucking coward.

I’m so furious with him and myself for not being able to stand up to him. Where the hell are my friends when I need them? I haven’t seen them all evening and I could really use their company to talk some sense into me. Since they’re nowhere to be found, I head towards the bar set up in the back and slide onto a stool, ordering a shot of Tequila. ‘Fuck it! That low-life is not even worth your time of day!’

On the surface, I’m so angry I want to set this whole damn place on fire, but deep down, the past hurt resurfaces to join the hurt from his words I just heard.

By the time I’ve downed my second shot, I’ve repeated the mantra that I’m a strong woman who’s better off without men in my head about a thousand times. I see someone slide onto the stool next to me out of the corner of my eye as I order another shot of Tequila to keep the two empty glasses in front of me company.

“A third shot of Tequila is just asking for trouble, if you ask me.” I turn my head slowly towards my bar-mate to tell him exactly where to shove his smart-ass remark when I’m faced with my supposed partner in crime, the charming one with the disarmingly innocent smile on his stupid face. I’m staring him down defiantly, my eyes never leaving his while the bartender places my glass in front of me and I grab it, downing it in a swift motion, daring him in my mind to say anything else. He doesn’t comment, good for him, and orders a shot for himself, just raising his glass silently and I clink it with my empty one – I’m tipsy, not insane, chasing one shot with another.

We’re staring straight ahead during our conversation, turning our glasses over and over between our fingers.

“Which guy seems to be the problem and how many rounds of ammo do I need to take him out?,” he asks after minutes of silence. I want to lean into him for just assuming that it’s a man that has me sitting here seething, but unfortunately, he’s right. This one time.

“How many rounds you got?” He scoffs at that.

“Plenty. And I know of exactly eleven ways to get rid of a body without raising suspicion.”

“And here I was thinking the FBI frowned upon their employees giving out top-level secrets on how to hide away evidence of a crime committed.”

“I’m not going to tell you, I wouldn’t want you to be held in contempt of Congress when questioned.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t rat you out when questioned by Congress?”

“Just a hunch… Talk to me, Red. What happened tonight?” He turns towards me and I can feel his gaze dancing over the skin of my face.

“You really want to know? Well, turns out the asshole of an ex of mine decided that today might be the perfect time to make an encore appearance in my life and reminded me again why I should’ve kicked him to the curb a long time ago instead of hoping I could change him.” Looking down at the bar, I trace my finger through the condensation drops, my anger slowly dissipating and my voice growing more and more quiet. “I heard him say some pretty awful things about me tonight.”

I relax into his hand when he places it comfortingly on my back, right between my shoulder blades, and huff out a sigh. “I’m sorry.,” is the only thing he says, but doesn’t add anything else, giving me the choice if I wanted to elaborate or not.

“What I witnessed today was the way he’s always been but I just couldn’t see through the masquerade of the sweet guy, he was so kind and said all the right things and he quite literally wooed the pants off me from the get-go.”

“Love bombing.” ‘Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a profiler. You probably already got one worked out for me, trust-issues, anxious attachment style, possibly daddy issues, in short, a hot mess. Avoid at all costs.’

“Pretty much, yeah. And I was stupid enough to believe it.” I raise my hand to call over the bartender for another round.

“You’re not stupid. It’s hard to tell the difference between genuine interest and love bombing in the beginning.” ‘Yeah, no shit Sherlock. It’s exactly why I’m sitting here torn between wanting you to make a pass at me and being absolutely terrified that you actually will.’

“How about we pass on the shots and get some water instead before calling it a night?”

“I think that’s probably a good idea, Mr. Mulder!”

“You know, after tonight, what do you say we just drop the Mister?” I nods slowly, pursing my lips.

“So just Fox?” He makes a pained face.

“No, please don’t. Just Mulder is fine.”

“Mh-hm. I guess since we’re dropping the titles, that that makes me Scully? Little odd, but alright!”

We get the check and argue back and forth about who gets to pay, him putting an end to it with a firm “Will you give it a rest, you’ll get to pick up the next check!”.

In my attempt to slide off the barstool gracefully despite three tequila shots, my heel catches onto the rail at the bottom and I stumble over the stool, knocking it over in the process. I have only his quick reflexes to thank that I don’t follow suit, his arms catching me around my waist and pulling me upright again.

He has the audacity to laugh, the bastard, and I’m beyond mortified. “Easy there, partner! Do you need a ride home? Felix is at a pajama party at his friend Suzie’s house, so I’m free to be your pumpkin carriage for tonight.” ‘NO! Yes? No. Get your hands off me. Don’t let go just yet.’

I’m so confused at the tug of war in my fuzzy head but I hate getting a cab alone and I’m in heels on top of being tipsy, I don’t want to walk home alone at night.

As we walk out, his hand finds his way to the small of my back guiding me through the crowds while making sure I don’t stumble again.

On the drive to the beach house, I manage not to fall asleep despite how tired I feel, too afraid of snoring or, God forbid, drooling onto myself. His hands find my back again guiding me up the stairs to the front door and I turn to face him at the top, even more nervous.

“Thanks for the ride, Mulder. And for listening.”

“Anytime, Scully. Good night!”

When he leans in, I start to panic that this is it and I think it shows on my face, because he only kisses my cheek, just like I did after the birthday party before getting back in the car and heading home. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed.

I can’t ignore the flutter of excitement every time his hands land anywhere on my body but what I will absolutely deny, even to myself, is the way my heart constricts in my chest when he gazes at me that way and the sense of comfort that settles over me when we’re together.

Bodily reactions I can deal with, it’s when it comes to emotions is where it gets scary.

I just don’t think my heart can survive another Steve.

[mintmatcha]

10 Months - Chapter 4

9 months, 1 day

Matsuhana

CW- Angst, mentions of death

Chapter 1-3 on AO3

A/N: i think all the pieces are set now.... 

“Are you all caught up with My Hero?”

Matsukawa catches the bottle cap against the corner of his counter and, with the heel of his palm, slams down against it, hard enough to pop the cap off. It flies halfway across the room, clattering against the floor before sliding halfway under the fridge. As he walks by, sipping off the foam of his beer, he kicks it deeper into the unknown with the rest of the bottle caps. It would be a nice surprise for the next tenant: a private little collection of bottle caps stashed under every appliance.

"Nah, I'm a couple chapters behind," Mattsun replies as he leaves the kitchen, grabbing the remote along the way. "I'm surprised you're all caught up. Aren't you, I dunno, busy torturing athletes?"

"I have to be!" Iwaizumi groans, propping his feet up against the coffee table to bury himself further into the couch. He's still in his work clothes, the polo shirt struggling to stretch over his thick biceps as he buries his chopstick into the takeaway for another bite. "Bokuto spoils the new chapter for me every week!"

"That guy’s too excited for his own good." Mattsun takes a long swig and sucks air through his teeth, trying to savor the less than appealing flavor of IPA. It’s much too bitter, heavy enough that it sits in his stomach- but it does the job. "Sure you don't want a drink?"

"No, thanks. I have to be at the gym at 5am." Iwaizumi can barely rip his eyes off the screen long enough to pick out the mushrooms in his meal, placing them on a side plate, just like he does every week. As he flops down beside him, Mattsun unpauses the program and music fills the room.

Mattsun isn’t sure how this became a tradition, Wednesday night anime binging, but it was something he really looked forward to. It was a good break from the usual stress of the work week. They could just sit in silence for a couple hours, watch the anime they had recorded through the week, and relax; a rare treat for both of them.

The day sticks to him. It clogs his throat and makes every breath labored, every swallow thick. Usually, he can just ignore it, leave it in the corner of his mind to be lost to time.

But the coffin was so small.

Youth doesn't protect you. It gives you a fake shield of longevity, a shallow promise of tomorrow.

That little girl, face painted with a thick layer of makeup to make her cheeks seem rosy with live, probably had plans for the future, just like Makki does-

He tips the bottle back hard and takes a long drink. Iwa’s eyes meet his over the brown bottle before returning to the screen.

By the second episode and third beer, he’s feeling better. His brain can focus on the fuzzy numbness that pulses through his gums instead of how the parents today were his age, except they looked so much older, aged by tragedy -

Fuck.

He gets up mid-show to grab another. Iwaizumi doesn't look up, even when another bottle cap flies across the room.

The faux marble countertop is marred with multiple jagged chunks missing from the edge, cut all the way down to the wood. He wasn’t getting his security deposit back, but that was fine.

The alcohol must be hitting him already, Mattsun tells himself. That's the only reason his eyes kept wandering to where the hem of Iwa's shirt had ridden up, exposing just a whisper of skin and the middle of a happy trail. Sure, he had always known Iwaizumi to be an attractive guy, but the years of physical training certainly showed. Iwa wasn't his type, but he could definitely appreciate-

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fuck. Mattsun shakes his head like a dog, trying to knock away whatever sort of nonsense was possessing him. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Mattsun traces the half circle mark that’s formed on his palm. "I saw Makki the other day," he admits, "We talked for a while."

"Wow, really?" Iwa has forgotten all about the show. He’s moved up to the edge of his sheet, looking at his friend with disbelief. "Didn't think that would ever happen."

"Yeah, me neither," Mattsun drapes himself over the counter, knocking over the empty plastic containers, "He looks like shit."

"Did he tell you?"

Iwa doesn't need to clarify.

"Yeah."

Iwa nods solemnly, nibbling on the end of his chopstick as he thinks about what to say. It’s no secret that Iwa and Makki had stayed friends since graduation, but it was definitely a subject that wasn’t discussed.

A splinter of wood is pressing against Mattsun’s stomach, piercing through his shirt, but he doesn’t stand up. Instead, he digs more of his weight against it. The sharpness of the pain detracts him from the guilt.

“It’s sad.” It’s the only thing Mattsun can think of. “Tragedy.”

Iwa and Mattsun's friendship was usually based on being quiet. They were always surrounded by louder personalities, people who demanded attention, so they usually just enjoyed shutting up with each other. Mattsun can't remember talking about anything of merit with Iwa. Ever.

And that's the way they liked it.

"I'm glad you hung out. I think he's been lonely since-" Iwa stops himself.

"Since what?"

"It's not my place to tell you, just…." he says, "It's been a pretty bad year for Maks. I bet he's glad you made up."

"Let's not go that far. We just talked."

He doesn't mention the planning. Something about it feels sacred between them.

A question nips at the back of his mind. He shouldn’t address it, but-

"Hey, did Makki ever talk to you about me? About why we fought?" Mattsun, pretending to watch the television, rests his head in his hands. His palms are slick with sweat, nervous about the answer.

"No," he can see from the corner of his eye that Iwa is still watching him and yet a wave of relief crashes over him, "Whenever it came up he told me it was 'Mattsun's story to tell'."

Good. The secrets are still safe.

"Maybe I'll tell it at his funeral," Mattsun raises his empty bottle in a fake toast, "Make a whole big speech about why the man of the hour hates my guts."

"Matsukawa! That's- that's not funny. What's wrong with you?" Iwa sneers, "I don't want to think about that."

He shrugs. "Me neither."

The early morning is still painted black, the sun still tucked away behind the city’s skyline. The only light that peers into the room is from under the door, a low glow that creeps all the way from the kitchen. If he listens, Mattsun can almost make out the voices of Makki’s parents, keeping their voices low so as to not wake the rest of the house. From his place on the floor, nestled in a lumpy, half stuffed futon, Mattsun stares at the ceiling. The glow in the dark stars had long lost their color, but he could still make out their borders. If he really focused, he could ignore that strangling tightness in his chest-

.

night

.

"Issei." Makki's voice cuts through the silence, groggy, "You awake?"

.

“Yeah.” he sighs, "Can't sleep."

"That futon sucks," Makki shuffles in his sheets before peering over the edge of his bed. Strange planes of his face are illuminated but the low light, and yet that tightness in his chest only gets worse. Sleepovers weren’t uncommon- in fact, they did them almost every night before a game, so they could make it to school together- but lately they were changing. More awkward pauses, more knees brushing against each other under the table as they did homework together, more quick turns away when the other was changing.

"Sucks major dick." Mattsun agrees.

Maybe all friendships go through this.

"Just sleep up here. We've slept closer on-"

Mattsun doesn’t let him finish justifying himself. He gets up, toting his pillow under his arm, and stands at the edge of the bed where Makki lays. The eagerness of his actions are so embarrassing, but that doesn’t slow him. Under the covers, Makki’s form was just a long, misshapen lump.

This is what friends do.

"Move over."

Friends sleep next to each other sometimes.

"This is my side."

"I'm not crawling over you- move over."

"Or what?” Makki teases under his breath, quiet enough not to be heard in the hall.

"Or I'm going to sleep on top of you."

"You wouldn't dare." He says it like an invite, with a smile.

Friends joke around like this.

Mattsun lifts his knee onto the raised part of the blanket, accidentally (accidentally?) separating Makki's legs. Time seems to stretch as he lowers himself down onto his elbows, giving Makki every chance to protest, but the blonde just watches with wide eyes and parted lips. He uses a melon flavored chapstick during the day. Does the flavor linger?

Chest against chest, so close yet parted by layers of fabric. Makki lets out a groan when the weight finally fully drops. It's an innocent sound, just a protest, but suddenly Mattsun is thankful for the space between them because he hides the way his body shutters.

This must be what a stroke feels like. Pressure builds behind his face, like his brain can't process everything happening right now.

Friends do this. Friends rough house, friends sleep.

“Would you still be my friend if I do something stupid?" Makki interrupts his thoughts with a hand. It hovers inches away from Mattsun's cheek, cupping the air. His fingers are trembling and Mattsun thinks, despite his confident grin, Makki might be nervous.

“How stupid?” Mattsun’s voice cracks, despite how low he keeps it. His face would fit perfectly in the palm of his hand if he were to just gather the courage to close the gap. He tries to repeat to himself, friends, friends, friends, but there’s a louder voice in the base of his head that asks for more, more, more.

“Like, actually stupid.”

Mattsun closes his eyes with a deep breath and headbutts Makki’s hand. The trajectory is off, his chin barely scrapes by his fingertips, but the touch is cool against his blushing skin, so cool that it burns into his memory. “I’ll always be your friend, even if you’re stupid.”

His left leg is halfway off of the bed, dangling there, but he doesn’t dare move. Makki’s trying his best to shift under his weight, pressing up onto his other elbow in sudden, jerking movements. Nothing happens for a moment and Mattsun worries he’s misread the situation, that the electricity in the air was all in his mind.

Then, so gently that he thinks it’s his imagination, breath tickles his nose right before lips meet his. Neither of them move at first, but waiting for a protest-

Friends don’t do this.

Makki doesn’t taste like melon, he tastes like sleep. The drag of his stubble against his chin is rough, so harsh compared to the plush softness of his lips, but he wants to feel more of it- feel it against his entire face, his neck, his chest-.

Excitement takes over. As he tries to deepen the kiss, teeth clash against teeth. Makki flops back down, holding his mouth.

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“Sorry- I’ve never-”

Makki runs his tongue over his front teeth, checking for any chips. “You suck at this.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“It’s fine,” His hand is pressed against the small of Mattsun’s back. His fingers are thick, yet long, the span of his hand taking up nearly half of his back. “We can practice.”

“I’m fine.” His voice is flat, far too blunt.

He doesn’t turn to face Mitsuri as he gathers himself, heartbeat still racing right under the skin, but he arches away from her touch. The bare skin of her thigh rubs against the back of his and he has to swallow back his sneer.

“You sure? I-”

“‘Kawa, sweetie.” a small hand, curled into a ball, is pressed into the center of his back when he jolts awake. “You’re talking in your sleep- are you okay?”

“Positive.”

“Oh,” she swallows. “I love you.” Dejection clings to her voice as she withdrawals back to her own side.

He doesn’t respond.

“I said I love you.” she repeats.

“Love you too.” he says, out of obligation more than anything.

What kind of monster wouldn't tell his fiance that he loved her?

[meowdymista]

For my first RDR2 event, I was paired with @sunspott / @polybigbang. Their art was for a playlist on spotify called Going’s All We Know, and I’ve tried to incorporate the mood of the playlist into my first impression of the art.

You can read my submission on AO3 or follow through with the read more :)

Still No Rest

Feet are itching again, plus it ain't like we can stick around much longer. Going is all we know, even if we ain't got nowhere else left.

Things had been too steady of late. They had been too safe, had slipped away far too easily, had pulled moneybags out of places that should have fought back but hadn't even batted an eye.

Arthur pushes back his hair, greasy and long, off his brow. The clouds above are smoky and dark - a storm, just as anticipated.

Maybe he jumped a little too far too fast today. Maybe if he hadn't been so on edge waiting for something to go wrong, they could have deescalated the situation. Maybe lives could have been spared, but it’s not like the guilt isn’t scratching the ridges of his brain like a dusty gramophone needle.

What makes you any different? You who's always scraping for a scrap of some sort. Them trying to do the right thing and crossing your path to do it. Better you than them, right? Like Daddy always said, if they didn’t want to die they should mind their own business.

A new start: isn't that what they had promised themselves? A new state, a new town, a new camp: a clean slate that he had managed to bloody in a record three days.

Every bullet that screamed past his ear left his bones ringing with that too familiar dull tired ache. Every blade that snagged his clothes instead of his skin embittered him. The tiniest of voices hummed with the thought that maybe, maybe, he should fight that craving for carelessness and even tell someone about it… but the beast he’s become scowls and reminds him with a low growl that then they would stop him. They would take him off the front line, teach the gangly adolescent John - who is a far worse shot - to replace him.

It's not even jealousy really, he reasons as he slips his journal away and stretches into a stand. They need him. Need his gun, his eye, his blade. Worrying them isn’t an option, especially right now. He doesn’t need to make them doubt his reliability, or question whether they’ve misplaced their trust. He knew in his heart that if anyone in the gang confessed the same, he would refuse their gun, even if he needed it - and afterwards? In the weeks, months, years to come? He would always pick someone else. Someone less vulnerable. Someone he never doubted or needed to protect.

Which is how he ended up going out with the feller Dutch had picked up when they were up North. He’s had a few too many close shaves under Hosea’s watchful eye of late as he struggled to conceal the beast's rearing head. The old man was onto him, his brown eyes still boring into him, even after Copper found his way to him.

Bill, on the other hand, is always game for a ruckus. He has as much of a temper as he does, and can match him drink for drink. Some of the stories he lets slip prickle him - like the beast recognising a party equal, a fellow host. He says nothing. Doesn't validate them, doesn't acknowledge them or aim to empathise, he just accepts the added weight of tar and grudges home with another bottle.

“Arthur?”

"M'tired," grunts Arthur, walking past Hosea, boots scuffing the dry red earth beneath them. “Besides, you know how it is. Sometimes bullets fly no matter what you do.”

Hosea doesn’t dignify his excuse with a response, and despite the poker face, Arthur can feel the guilt twist a little tighter in his gut as he sets about washing his arms and face in the barrel by the food reserves. He knows nothing good would come from trying to explain the truth of the situation... How a glimpse of a little boy in his peripherals is as sure a sign of upcoming thunder as lightning flashing in the distance. His not-brown-not-blond tussle of hair brushing the wind with fat drops of rain… rain that never came, leaving Arthur to water the ground with blood, like somehow it could make him feel less like he’s drowning in the driest desert outside of New Mexico.

He pats his pockets for the cigarette he had rolled earlier, until, retracing his steps mentally, he sighs in disappointment. He had been about to light it when it all kicked off. Or rather… it had been in his mouth whilst he tried to align yet another match to the tobacco when he had caught the eye of another patron and decided to swap the nicotine for some adrenaline.

His fondness for Bill always grew at moments like this. Bastard heard one cross word and his guns were out before he found his balance.

Deflated, he uncaps a beer instead, emptying it, tossing it aside and grabbing another, before spotting the girl devouring a bowl of stew a stone's throw away.

"Who's she?" he asks before Hosea can try to raise the day’s events.

"Your new ward."

Arthur stops, scoffing, growing angry when the elder doesn’t back down. "Nuh uh! No way! I just got rid of Johnny! Get Williamson to do it!"

"You'd trust him with her?"

"Sure! Why not?" He glances back at the girl despite himself. His index finger is itching again. "Or get Marston on it. Ain't like he's doing much else."

"John is still learning how to take care of himself, and Bill…"

"He ain't gonna beat up a little girl." Restless, his feet shuffle beneath him, his beer swapping hands before touching his lips again. "And ain't like he's gonna have interest in her."

"You think he wouldn't do it just to prove a point?" Their eyes meet briefly before Arthur's gaze drops. "People who are insecure are far more dangerous than those comfortable in themselves, never forget that Arthur. Besides, I'd rather not expose her to the prejudices she can get any day of the week. She ought to feel safe here, don't you think?"

He finishes the dregs and tosses the bottle, preferring to change the subject than admit he’s right. "Where’d she come from? She got any family?"

"She left her cousin back east. Came this way looking for her mother but she’d passed meanwhile."

"So… what’s the plan? We taking her back east?"

"Sure as shit you ain't!"

The girl has stepped around the table, legs planted apart, hands folded across her flat chest, her hair as free and untamed as her temperament. She is glaring something fierce, making the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in a fight or flight instinct.

Hosea chuckles softly, eyes bright with pride. "I reckon she's one of us now."

"Well, does she have a name?" asks Arthur, incredulous.

"Jackson." She jerks her heart shaped face in a defensive greeting. "My name is Tilly Jackson."

"Well, Miss Tilly Jackson, you always so fierce?" He stalks the couple of steps to the nearest crate of whiskey and pulls one free.

"You always this stupid?"

"Hey now, Miss Jackson," interrupts Hosea before Arthur can bark. "We don't talk to each other like that here."

"He started it!"

"And you’re sitting with Mrs Matthews when you’re done so she can keep an eye on you!” He ushers her towards Bessie to keep her out of harm's way before turning back to his first product of adoption with a raised brow.

"You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

"Try coming back just half soaked some time. Might make them go easier on you."

Arthur scoffs, his rebuttal dying in his throat. He dampens the ash with another swig.

"I want you to take her with you when you go out."

His scoff is solid. "No way."

Hosea straightens up, watching him, using his body language to ask the questions.

"I ain't taking her out. You want her shot?"

"You intend to shoot her?"

"No, course not-"

"Then what's the problem?"

Arthur's eyes roll in exasperation, his finger flexing around the neck of the bottle like it's a button that will win the argument if he squeezes tight enough. "The problem is other people shooting at us."

"You intend to get shot at?"

"No, but-"

"Then I see no problem."

"That don't mean we ain't gonna get shot at!"

"Why would you get shot at?"

'Cause that's what I set out to do most days, he wants to counter. And if I ain't likely to get shot, I'm likely in jail or black out drunk in a saloon someplace.

Instead he closes his mouth, any excuse dead before it passes his lips.

"I'm not asking you to take her with you to rob a bank, Arthur." Hosea's tone is firm but still soft - a talent of his. "But while you're out looking for leads, or even looting a homestead or something… She's nifty."

"Hosea, I-" He trails off, distracted by the clip of notes Hosea is picking through, and downright thrown when he passes him the thinned out clip. "What's this for? I gettin' paid to be a nanny now?"

“This-” Hosea holds up a couple of notes before putting them in his pocket. “-is for arguing with me. This is for the box, as it seems you’ve forgotten to pay the camp's share, and this-" He casually holds out the last few dollars to the side like he’s ashing a cigarette. A small brown hand slips it away as both Hosea and little Miss Tilly regard him smugly. "Is for a mark well scammed."

"You mean-?" He checks his pockets, ears growing hot. "You son of a-"

“Ah-ah! Language!” Dutch swaggers up with a smirk like he has been watching the introduction unfold in its entirety. “C’mon, Arthur, you have to give it to her. She’s talented!”

“Might finally have picked up a smart one, eh, Dutch?” winks Hosea. Arthur scowls and turns on his heel, leaving them laughing and praising their newest addition.

****

Arthur remains cool and calm the next few days, hunting local and sticking close to camp. Every time he approaches his horse, the little girl is waiting, watching him with her fierce brown eyes.

"Where we goin', Mr Arthur?" She asks as soon as he's within earshot. "Do I need anything bringing?"

Every time he offers to pay double what Hosea has offered her, and every time she refuses to discuss the terms of their negotiation. Every time he curses everything under his breath, keeping his language savoury for the child nearby. Every time he scowls, and every time he gives her a grunt of "naw, we ain't going far" before mounting up and lifting her onto the rear.

"I can ride myself, ya know?" She shoots one morning as Arthur leads his stead into a trot away from camp, heading towards the softer, greener terrain that’s barely visible on the horizon. "Properly. Not side saddle."

"Good for you."

"If I had a horse I would show you."

"And run off with the money we got, huh."

She bristles. "I ain't no snitch."

"Sounds like somethin' a snitch would say." He pops the cork from a half full bottle of rum and takes a swig. Replacing the bottle, he notices her scrunching her nose in disdain. “Got a problem? I can take you back to camp.”

“You sure don’t drink much water,” she comments drily. “You ain’t worried ‘bout heatstroke out here?”

“Liquor’s hydrating,” he scowls, pushing the horse into a canter.

“Pretty sure it ain’t, but you do you. Besides, I got dibs on your things. We all gotta start somewhere, right?”

Arthur snorts angrily, adrenaline prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “You sure as hell do not, princess. I ain’t going nowhere!”

Miss Jackson hums sarcastically. “Sure you ain’t. You don’t eat, don’t drink anything under forty proof, don’t talk to no one-”

“If you don’t like it, I can drop you right here!”

“Go ahead.” Her tone is defiant, but it doesn’t escape his notice that she grips his sides a little tighter. “Mr Matthews was pretty explicit about what he’d do to you if you tried.”

He stews the next mile or more, not speaking up until he finally dismounts for a break at the change of terrain.

Wide open spaces always helped to ground him, even though it could make vanishing into thin air difficult. To some extent, it forced him to not be so careless. In others, it made it easier to kid himself that he had never crossed the threshold into civilisation, let alone crossed a kind faced waitress.

Listening out for creeping cougars and restless rattlesnakes, he crouches down by the water’s side and splashes his face, washing off the worst of the sweat and dust that’s caked itself into every pore available. The girl makes no move to dismount, so he takes it upon himself to refill her canteen as a gesture of goodwill.

“You don’t got to stick to us, you know.” She turns her big brown eyes from the sky onto Arthur’s face. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, focusing his attention on brushing out the biggest clumps of dust from the horse’s mane before they continue. “If you need me to take you somewhere-”

“And what’s a girl to do then? Hit the road with a couple dollars?” She fixes him with a look that is too old for her face. “Naw, I think I’ll stay with youse a little longer.”

“That’s alright, but we’re gonna have to be moving on real soon.” He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the unspoken reminder that it’s because of him and his actions. “It ain’t like we can promise to be back up this way any time in the near future. If you change your mind-”

“I won’t change my mind about them, Mr Morgan.” She shivers in a breeze that only seems to touch her. “No, sir. They had me bound real good for real long, but I don’t need ‘em. I won my freedom, Mr Morgan, an’ I ain’t going back.”

He risks a glance, curiosity getting the better of him. Her eyes are sparkling as bright as the water's surface, but her jaw is clenched tight. He debates riding further, doing what he can to get them set up at the fishing spot Hosea had heard about as they moved through the state to their current set up, but the child looked too old. Too tired. Too existentially exhausted.

Plus, when you get low enough, it's like some things will follow wherever you go.

“Let’s stop here a while.”

As predicted, Miss Jackson double takes. “Don’t you want to get to where we’re headed?”

Arthur shrugs. “Ain’t like there ain’t food to be foraged here. Nothing to come raising any hell or bother us into raising it for them. Reckon this spot’s as good as any.”

He turns his back to her as she dismounts warily, focusing his energy on starting a small campfire they can add to.

"I ain't goin' anywhere if you wanna swim." He grimaces as his words come out gruffer than intended. "I got clean clothes in the saddle bags here if you want 'em for the trip back or to swim in even. Can't imagine that skirt is the lightest when it gets wet."

"You ain't wrong, Mr Arthur, sir. Thank you for the offer but I think I'm just gonna stick to paddling for now."

"Sure."

It's not his first choice. This land is a little too dry for his liking, but that's what comes with being so close to the desert. Money means nothing to nature, besides she provides everything and more than what shops and butchers supply. Who needs civilisation when there's the wilds to retreat into? When there is wild carrots and rhubarb aplenty, fresh meat, shelter, all for the low cost of taking what you need as you need it?

The fire started, he sets out to look for fuel and food. Crouching down to check dung and disturbances in the foliage, he finds the damage is minimal. He swears again, taking a swig of whiskey from his satchel.

He doesn't really remember a time he didn't drink, but he knows this is different. He knows this isn't a choice on his behalf. The demon demands fuel as a child demands milk, and like the fool he is, he provides without much hesitation. Anything for a glimmer of peace from the screaming child in his mind.

He scoffs at himself and straightens up, looking around on the off chance some animal is dumb enough to be caught out in the open - and as luck would have it, a pronghorn buck is grazing a stones throw away.

He inhales deeply, taking aim with newfound focus, and fires.

The pronghorn bolts, but it's no contest for the bullet soaring his way. A mournful cry bleats through the undergrowth as it flees. He follows, as loud as he likes given the rip of the shot would have blasted a warning to anything within earshot. Breaking through a wall of cacti, he spots Miss Tilly aghast in the shallows as the buck splashes into the lake he had washed up in on their arrival.

He keeps going, realising the buck is heading for a wet escape. Shedding his guns as he runs, he wades in after it, shouting.

The buck is swimming in deep water, leaving behind a trail of blood behind with every baleful bleat, leaving Arthur with no option besides taking a spur of the moment swim or going home with an empty stomach.

"C'mere!" he cries, breaking into breaststroke. The buck is slowing, every cry growing more lamenting and mournful. "Stop! I can make it stop, just come a little closer."

It's crying weakly by the time he manages to reach it. He throws an arm over its neck and fumbles for his hunting knife, but the blood proves too thick and one small fumble sends it disappearing into the depths.

"C'mon," he grunts, tugging the wounded animal with him as he kicks his way towards shore. "You ain't gonna get any lighter."

He struggles towards shore, gasping assurances every chance he gets. When his boots finally scrape the bottom, he whistles for his mount with the last of the air in his lungs.

He finally releases the animal, using both hands to search for a knife or a pistol - something to end its suffering quickly. Drowning the thing felt too callous, too slow, too-

"Will this be enough?"

Arthur, still gasping for breath, hair dripping into his blue eyes, pauses, surprised. A small hand is proferring a flip knife, her small face reflecting the distress of his own. Recovering, he nods quickly, thanking her as he takes the tool from her and advising her to look away and cover her ears. Obeying doesn’t lessen the heart wrenching last cry of the animal, but on opening her eyes again, she decides it is less painful than watching the poor thing struggle as it drowned.

Arthur is holding the animal, counting, as though held to some strange code to make sure it is dead before removing the tool of choice. He shakes the knife under the surface and folds it up, passing it back to her with a grunt of thanks. She takes it, still in shock at the unexpected show of violence.

He pushes the carcass out of the water, promising to be back soon before swimming back to where he caught the animal. Watching his head disappear under the surface, she is left with the silence of the cooling body nearby. It looks strangely peaceful staring off into the east.

Arthur swims back, pushing back the sodden mop of brown hair as he wades out with sopping boots and a shiny carving knife he must have dropped earlier. He advises her to leave him to it if she’s squeamish, and she refuses up until the animals guts plume onto the sand.

From a distance, she watches him carry them away from their makeshift camp, covering them up with some leaves and branches to disguise the worse of the mess but leave it readily available to the creatures due a feast. Returning to the body, he begins to carve with care, piling steaks onto canvas. He wastes as little as possible, even wrapping the exposed neck of the head in canvas before tying it onto the horse. He turns to the water, notices her watching and walks over.

“Reckon we’re almost done here,” he calls as he gets close enough. “Just gonna wash up and we can get going.”

“You always butcher your kill before going back?” she asks.

He huffs, a twinkle in his eye. “Sure, when I don’t plan on walking back. Figured you’d rather hitch a ride than straddle a dead deer.”

She shudders, making him laugh as he kicks off his boots and setting them aside to dry from earlier. He doesn’t remove his clothes, just pulls a bar of soap from the saddlebags and asks if she minds if he doesn’t dry off. She herself finally admits internally that she feels grubby. She had washed and washed and washed, and eventually came to accept the grime was not going to wash off her. Too much dirt, too ingrained, too repeated to ever shed properly…

She follows him, still keeping her distance. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just keeps scrubbing suds under his nails, over his forearms, into every fibre of his shirt. When she finally feels brave enough to speak up, she takes a deep breath, and on a whim decides to splash him.

He turns around, frowning, before picking up on the giggles and grinning himself. His arms are stronger, thicker, longer - the retaliation engulfs her with a responding tidal wave that leaves her gasping for air. In the small glimpse she makes of him, she notes the guilt and the apology on his lips as he believes himself having gone too far, but she’s too quick. She pushes him in the chest and tries to swim away as quick as she can, squealing the whole way.

Their laughter disturbs the birds in the branches, and they take flight, not that either of them notice. They play until the sun lowers to kiss the leaves around them. They share the bar of soap, and Tilly takes refuge in his disinterest. He lets her wash. She lets him wash. Both of them keep their distance when appropriate.

“Perhaps we oughta ride back in the morning,” Arthur muses when he notices how much she is shivering. "It's only gonna get colder, and at least we've got a fire going here."

“I don’t mind making the ride.”

He chuckles, eyes soft. “Miss Tilly. You’re dead on your feet, and sure as hell will be dead in the saddle. I can fall asleep just about anywhere if you’re alright with the tent and bedroll? Hell, it’d make a nice change to waking up to Susan and Dutch arguing, huh?”

“You ain’t wrong...” She is still hesitating. Arthur tried to shake the thought of what she must have been through and instead tells himself that it's standard practice to be wary of new folk. She could feel safe in camp because there were more people to keep tabs on one another. Out here, it was just him, her and the stars, and since when did the stars ever do anything to help?

“Listen. Choice is yours. I’ll ride through the night if that’s what you want, but I promise you’re safe with me.” He checks the barrel of his revolver, counting the six bullets nestled inside before snapping it in place and holding it out by the barrel. “Here. I can’t give you both in case we get jumped, but I’ll stow the long arms on Wyn if that makes it easier.”

She sits in silence for a long while before nodding slowly.

“Alright then. You get to eating your fill while I set you up for the night.”

*****

She wakes up, well rested and warm. She takes a few minutes to lay there, watching the shadows of the flies buzzing on the canvas above before finally crawling out in search of fresh air.

Owain is grazing not so far away, but Arthur is nowhere to be seen. His long arms are still stashed, the fire just ash now. Panic rises in her throat, torn between the fear of him being jumped and him abandoning her willingly.

She frets, pacing, checking their reserves. No, she has no clue where the hell he has taken her so she doesn’t know where to even start on trying to return to Mr Matthews and Mr Van der Linde. She curses him for being so spoilt as to be threatened by a little girl.

“Mornin’, Miss Jackson.” She flinches, immediately retreating from the greeting. Arthur is frowning under the brim of his hat as he dismounts the small bay coloured horse. “Everythin’ alright?”

“I thought you left me,” she admits, still choked up. He seems surprised, then bashful, trying to hide it by patting the neck of the horse he has with him.

“Naw. There was a herd moving through here early this morning and I remembered about you wantin’ a horse of your own.” He gives her an awkward nod. “Whaddaya reckon? She rides pretty nice. One of the smaller one, but she seems friendly enough. If you wanna keep her, I’ll set you up on mine until we can get this one broke in properly if tha’s alright?”

“Sure.”

“Awesome.” He begins to pack their things away, tacking Owain and bribing both steads with sugar cubes.

“We going hunting again?”

Arthur puts away the brush and pats his horse’s neck. “Naw. Today we’re headed to Greyhound Station.”

“Why?”

“Boring stuff. Check to see if anyone’s tried to write us. Check for bounties and that we ain’t most of ‘em. See if there’s any jobs goin’, keep an ear to the ground in case there’s money to be had. You know, standard outlaw stuff.”

“I ain’t ever been on a wanted poster yet,” she muses. “That I know of anyhow. Knowing the Foreman Brothers, they’ll be tryin’ to frame me for something.”

“The Foreman Brothers?”

“The… gang. The ones I was with when Dutch and Hosea found me.” Arthur hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t press it. It’s like he knows it’s a big bruise still there after months of riding with them. “They was wrestlin’ to hang me or bury me alive. Never did find out which since I managed to wriggle off the wagon without them noticin’. So much for family.”

“Y’all were related?”

“Yeah.” She spits off the side. “Good riddance to ‘em.”

He hums. “If anybody tries to pull that with you again, you lemme know. I’ll get ‘em before they blink.” He rummages in his saddle bag and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid. She frowns as he takes a greedy few gulps before offering it to her.

“I ain’t much a fan of the bottle, Arthur.”

He throws her a look of befuddlement over his shoulder before understanding befalls him. “It weren’t my first choice, Miss Jackson, but I’ve yet to learn how best to store water if not in a bottle of some kind.”

“Water?”

“Water,” he repeats with a shake of his head. “Whiskey’s the other side if you want some.”

“I’m good for now, Mr Morgan,” she smiles, raising the bottle to her lips, squinting at the sunburned strip that’s the back of his neck. “Maybe some other time.”

[no-whump-on-main]

Apartment 307-8 (Grabbed by the hair)

Hi guys!! I'm so sorry it took me so long to update. School and work have been crazy but luckily I'm out of school next week so I'll have much more time and be posting more frequently! Apologies for the short chapter, I have no idea why but it just kicked my butt lol. I tried doing some cool multimedia stuff, I hope you enjoy! This is @sableflynn's BTHB request, grabbed by the hair.

TWs: Creepy, possessive whumper, mention of branding, also this chapter made me sad bc I love my mom and Elora's mom is sad so warning for that lmao

Elora was still lying there crying hours later. The tears had slowed from her initial keening sobs, but they still fell steadily down her face, accumulating in a small puddle on the tile by her head. She could see a bit of her reflection in the salty water; just her eyes, mostly. She saw green eyes that had once been so full of hope and life that were fading, the slow abandonment of hope almost making them gray out. She wanted to lie there forever, staring into her own eyes, until oblivion took her. If she cleared her head enough, she could pretend she was elsewhere, somewhere warm and loving; the blanket draped over her body did help with the fantasy, though she always knew somewhere in the back of her head that it was just that: a fantasy. She was still here. With him.

Clyde tried to give her time to recover, but his patience wore eventually. He began to get antsy after a few hours of watching her lie there, doing nothing but cry. Admittedly, he did enjoy it at first-seeing her so weak, so docile, because of him-but it eventually grew tiresome. Watching each tear drip down into the puddle became like watching paint dry.

He stood up abruptly. Elora was startled by the motion, flinching before stilling and watching him very carefully. What was he going to do?

“Get up,” he said simply.

Elora froze. She still felt sick, dizzy with pain and the lingering scent of her burning flesh in the bathroom. But why would he care about that? Why should she disobey him, when she knew what would happen?

Yet pride and pain got the better of her again.

“I can’t,” she whimpered. She felt weak. “I hurt. You hurt me.”

The piercing sound of a loud, sudden laugh began to echo through the bathroom. It reminded Elora of the laugh of a hyena. She winced.

“Darling, did you not think that was the point?”

Her expression hardened and her heart thumped in her chest. That was the point. She wanted to say something, but her mouth suddenly got dry.

The man simply grinned. “Get up,” he repeated, but she didn’t. She just laid there, dumbfounded.

He groaned angrily, rolling his eyes. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Be that way.”

He gathered up her hair in his hand, locked his fingers in a tight fist, and pulled up. Elora yelped and scrambled to get to her feet to relieve the pain, but he didn’t give her the chance; he carelessly dragged her off, out of the bathroom, through the hallway, and into the living room. She screamed and thrashed wildly, her hands desperately trying to push him away as her scalp burned like fire. Again and again, her feet scraped the ground to no avail, kicking and kicking but never able to gain enough traction to stand as she was mercilessly dragged. The man finally dropped her on the floor at the foot of a worn leather couch, releasing his death grip on her hair. Her hands immediately flew up to her head, applying gentle pressure to her scalp to try to ease the burning pain as she looked around the new room.

The living room was barren, like the man had half moved into it then given up. There was a dusty box in the corner, the couch, a worn coffee table, a small stand, and an old TV. Other than that, it was empty, in an eerie way. The aged carpet spanned the floor like an ocean.

The pressure didn’t do much and Elora dropped her hands, still wincing as the man plopped himself on the couch behind her, the leather making a loud crackling noise as he sat. She whipped her head around as her shoulders raised up to her ears instinctively. The man made a sour face, his features twisting into an ugly frown.

“Relax,” he commanded, forcefully pushing her shoulders down. At first, she tried to wiggle away, but that idea was abandoned when he tightened his grip, clearly as a warning. He grabbed the TV remote from the arm of the couch and turned it on. It started on some history channel documentary about cars, but Clyde quickly flipped through channels until he found the local news station.

A grin spread across his face as he read the blue banner spanning across the bottom of the screen. They were just in time.

UP NEXT: CAPE COD GIRL GOES MISSING; DESPERATE MOTHER PLEADS FOR HER RETURN

His hands wandered to Elora’s scalp and began to gently card through her hair. She inhaled sharply, and it took everything she had in her not to immediately shove him off. Somehow the gentleness felt worse than the pain; the false sense of care disgusted her. He was a maniac. He hurt her, he branded her, and now he was sitting on the couch petting her hair, pretending like none of it happened. It didn’t escape her attention how he set her on the floor instead of the couch, below him, like a dog.

The banner was bad enough, but she felt sick to her stomach when the station cut to a reporter sitting at a desk with a picture of her on half of the screen. It was the picture her mom took of her at the orchard last fall. It was candid; she remembered it. She was intently focused on a butterfly off on a tree, ignoring her mom as she snapped the photo. It was one of her favorite pictures of herself. And now, it was plastered all over the news.

The reporter on the TV began to speak. “Tonight, a desperate mother pleads for her missing daughter’s safe return. Elora Larkin, nineteen, of Barnstable county, Massachusetts has been missing since Friday night. She was last seen walking home from her job at Agathangelou’s bakery, wearing khakis, a black t-shirt, and black sneakers. The police have opened a tip line and are offering an unspecified reward for any information that leads to Miss Larkin.”

Elora felt a lurching sensation in her stomach, so visceral she wanted to throw up. That was her. On the news. Gone. Missing.

Behind her, the man chuckled.

“Look at that, baby. You’re all over New England.”

“I’m not your baby,” she snapped, turning around. But her head was spinning. All over New England? It wasn’t the Cape Cod news station on the TV. It wasn’t even a state news channel. It was entirely unfamiliar, the reporter’s face one she’d never seen.. So he’d taken her across state lines, making her chances of being found lower yet.

The man shushed her and put a finger up to her lips. “Watch.” She almost bit him, but decided it wasn’t worth the inevitable punishment that would follow. Besides, they might say something useful, something that could help her. She needed to pay attention.

The screen changed, and a missing persons poster popped up. Hers.

It was up for a minute before it faded away as the reporter came back on the screen.

“Such a sad story. Everyone in the studio is hoping and praying for her safe return. Unfortunately, vigilance is so important in this day and age. Up next, we have a recording of a press conference with the girl’s mother.

The girl’s mother. Her mother. Elora felt her heartbeat thumping in her chest.

And there she was. Jodie was standing at a podium in a building that had to be a police station. Demetrios was standing by her side, offering support by merely being present. While Elora hadn’t seen him cry even once in all the years she’d known him, he now looked like he was on the verge of tears.

Her mom started to speak. She looked so sad. Withered, like the life had been sucked out of her, from fear and overthinking and sleepless nights.

“My daughter-My daughter Elora has been missing since Friday night. She’s got-she’s got blonde hair, and green eyes, and she’s real tall. I’m sure pictures have gone around by now. She was walking home from work and-and then she disappeared. We were supposed to have dinner Sunday and she never came. It was supposed to be her weekend off. I- If someone has her, please, I’m begging you, let her go. Bring her home safe. She’s a good kid, she works hard, she rescues cats in her spare time...she doesn’t deserve this. And Elora, if you’re seeing this, I love you. I love you so much, honey. If you chose to leave, please just tell us you’re okay. It’s okay. You can go see the world, just tell us you’re okay. And if something-something bad happened, we’re gonna find you. I promise, baby, I love you and we’re gonna bring you home. Promise.”

At that point, she set the microphone down and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she hurried off to an exit, the cameras following her for a few moments. Elora’s heart twisted in knots. Seeing her mom’s face brought her so much joy, yet knowing how worried she had to be made her feel sick with guilt.

But she promised. She promised she’d find her.

“That your mom?”

Elora stilled. He already knew the answer.

"She’s kinda pathetic. Could barely keep it together long enough to tell them about you.”

She went cold. “Stop,” she seethed. Her voice was eerily calm, given her anger.

"Or what?” he replied, twisting her hair up in his hand and giving it another tug.

Elora was silent. There was no or what. She knew that.

The reporter came back on the screen.

“Well, folks, that’s all we have on the case for tonight. Remember to be safe and vigilant. This has been Hannah Brown with News12.”

The man released her hair, picked up the remote, and turned off the T.V.

“Notice how they only talked about you, not me?”

Elora turned her head around. She was crying.

“What?”

He scoffed. “I said, notice how they only ran their mouths about you the whole time. Never said a word about me. You know what that means? They don’t know jack shit about me. They don’t know who you’re with or where you are. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but we’re in Connecticut. We crossed state lines twice. They’re never going to find you, you know that?

She tried to hide it, but he could see her expression falling with every word he said, hope beginning to seep out of her. She shook her head vigorously, her bottom lip trembling.

“N-no! No, they will, you’re just crazy! You’re just fucking crazy!”

A scowl formed on his lips. “No, they won’t.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but in a split second, his hand was gripping tightly around her throat, cutting off her air. Her eyes went wide.

“No one is coming to save you.”

Elora swallowed, fear bright in her eyes. She tried to rip herself away, but the man raked his fingers across the fresh brand on her collarbone, sending her to the ground, keeling in pain.

“We could’ve had a nice evening if you behaved. Listened,” he grumbled, standing and once again grabbing her hair tightly before dragging her off towards the bathroom.

Tags: @exploringspaceinpyjamas @all-whumped-out @badthingshappenbingo

[honesthammie]

Te amo

I am working on a few of the other prompts and a part 2 to prompt 4 the soulmate au I just recently got another puppy and I still have uni work to do so I'm a bit behind schedule with these and I'm so sorry. Hopefully this little kinda songfic makes up for it.

13th doctor x female reader

Warnings: swearing as usual, fluffy, sad thoughts, twist the original songs meaning, long as fuck.

Probably terrible as its my first songfic

I don't know much Spanish so some of the examples later on are Google translated and I know it can be wrong so I do apologise for any mistranslations

This is based off Rhiannas song Te Amo but I'm switching it up a little. I dont why 13th doctor came into my head when I was listening to it but it gave me this lil oneshot idea so enjoy! The picture is not mine but the rainbow effect added is done by me! Same for the picture later on.

I've been travelling with this amazing alien for a whole year now. The adventures are always amazing if she's there! The others sometimes complain and say its boring, especially on a junk planet but to see her face light up with excitement makes my day and it well worth the dirt we cover ourselves on by the time we are done. And when she finds something that she thought was useful and it turns out, it's not her scrunch is amazing.

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm in love with this alien. I know, weird, a human and an alien together? But I can't help it! I'm completely besotted with her. If she even looks in my direction, my legs go to jelly and I get butterflies. I know, cheesy. But thats exactly how I feel around her. I barely want to touch her because I nearly fainted the last few times. And I fear she may pick up on how I'm distancing myself from her. I don't want to break her heart and leave, the thought of her look kills me as is so I'm trying to get her to kick me off.

It doesn't seem to be working though. I've been distancing myself since I found out about how I feel, which is now 6 months ago and she's trying to get me to be as close as I was with her.

I'll tell her. On one of our amazing adventures but I can't do it straight forward, it's making me sick with anxiety just thinking about it. I'll fancy it up, make her work it out. Whenever we are next to each other and the moment is right, I'll tell her in another language!

I finally get out of bed after I finished writing in my diary. I slip some comfy clothes on and head out to the TARDIS library and hope no one is there, especially her. I'll be distracted and right now, I need to concentrate. I wonder the warm halls, grateful that the TARDIS had considered my preferences. I think the TARDIS likes me more than the others because I talk to her and show her gratefulness for taking us somewhere amazing and I chat to her regularly and I try to involve her in my conversations. The others find it weird, except for the Doctor, she just smiles and joins in with me. Im still learning how to translate her but I think I've sort of got it.

I reach my hand forward and grab the aged bronze doorknob and open to the giant room. There were so many floors that an elevator had to be used to access some of them as the Doctor said "walking would literally take weeks to reach some floors". Thankfully the TARDIS organises them to make them easier to find. I looked forward and saw an interactive map in front of me. My hands touched the screen and many subjects and categories came up. Anything ranging from kiddie tales to straight up smut, I have a feeling either River or Missy are to blame for that addition.

I've never met them but the TARDIS showed me videos from her database and brought books to my attention about them. They both seem very dirty minded people so I'm not surprised those are there. I wonder if the Doctor has ever stumbled upon this section or is it for none Doctor eyes only? If she does know about them, has she ever read one? No, don't go there you stupid brain! She probably doesn't know!

I quickly stop that train of thought and catch my breath. I've never thought about those kinds of things about anyone before. Stupid Timelord, making me go all weird and think dirty things. Now my face is all red, I really hope I'm alone in here. I quickly focus back to the task at hand, finding a new language to learn. The TARDIS seemed to know where to go and blue arrows appeared, guiding me to the right section in what could be a maze.

As I walking, I felt excitement rise within me. What if she felt the same way? What if she was impressed by how far I wanted to go just to say those 3 words? Would her hazel honey eyes sparkle with delight? Would she scronch her nose in amazement?

Before I knew it, I'd arrived at the language learning section and there were many alien languages but the TARDIS seemed to have a better idea of what would be perfect for me as a white hardback book fell off the 4th shelf onto the wooden floor. I picked it up and noticed how smooth the cover was and how old yet unused it looked. The white was a little off, almost a dull cream from ageing which made the gold writing harder to read. The title was simple:

Spanish basics and need to knows.

I did always find Spanish in school fun to learn, more than French or German anyway and I don't wanna stereotype this into a typical French is the language of romance. I never really found it romantic sounding compared to Spanish.

I picked up the book and quickly flicked through to the right page and took a note on my phone as to what the translation was and put the worn book away. I quietly thanked the TARDIS and rushed out of the library and back into my room where I could practice without getting caught.

A few weeks have passed since I picked up the new words and practiced them until I was confident and had the TARDIS' approval that I was saying it right. Today the Doctor wanted to take us to this party in the 18th century and we all decided to dress for the part once we landed.

Yaz was wearing a beautiful black and red ballroom gown, accented with little bows around the bottom and lace cuffs. She had her black hair curled into a ponytail. It was simple and cute, much like her style normally. Graham and Ryan wore similar suits but Graham wore green accents and Ryan wore yellow accents.

I let the TARDIS pick my dress. She picked a black and dark blue ballroom gown with blue roses on the bottom. It had black lace underneath and blue lace as the cuffs. The gown also seemed to glitter slightly in the light making me sparkle very subtly. I put my comfy boots on as you couldn't see my shoes as I walked anyway so why did it matter? With all the running we do, I'm not risking my ankles with heels, thank you very much. I had my (h/c) hair in (fave style). It suited my dress perfectly.

I nearly choked on oxygen when I saw how hot the Doctor looked in her suit. It took me a few moments to realise we match. We both blushed at the realisation. Of course the TARDIS makes us match! No wonder why she was more than eager to help me pick an outfit! Stupid sentient ship, shipping us already!

I quickly cleared my throat and complimented everyone on how amazing they looked but I just couldn't take my eyes off the Doctor for long. She was like a magnet for my eyes. Someone help before she realises!

"Don't we all look brilliant? Perfect for the party! 18th century Yorkshire to be exact! What a great century for you guys. Now then, this party is for Nobles and higher, as per usual in these times. Ryan, I suggest you keep in mind about any racist comments that may come out. But as long as you say your Graham's personal butler, you should be welcomed with little resistance. And Yaz, I want you to be (y/n)'s personal maid. That does mean you'll have to follow your so called "masters" around and do anything they ask unfortunately and Graham, (y/n), please act like the others around you and use them. Unfortunately this is the only way all 5 of us can join the party. You'll be fine as long as you bite your tongues. Now the Noble Edward Collins is the host so be sure to thank him for inviting you, even though you technically weren't. And try not to get too drunk, I know what you humans are like! Now follow me." The Doctor explained. I was going to tell the Doctor today, but I guess, I'll have to wait.

The Doctor opened the doors and we were in a cupboard under some gorgeous marble stairs. As we walked towards the party I noticed some family portraits along the walls. They were a very beautiful looking family. The mother had long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The father was buff, long brown hair and daring brown eyes. There were two children, a girl and a boy. The girl had long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes, whilst the son had blonde hair and brown eyes. They also had a brown greyhound dog laying by the sons feet. The son must be the host, Edward. He looked not much older than 10 in the last painting but the daughter was no where to be found in the portrait and theu all looked mournful. Is she dead and is that the picture capturing the moment of grief? Why would anyone want that? It's so strange, even for this time period.

The Doctor held me and Yaz close, stopping us in our tracks. My heart was racing at the simple touch. But as soon as the touch was there, it was gone. "I hope its okay with you (y/n) but you're going to have to be married to someone."

My heart stopped for a moment and I nearly choked on air. "What? Why?"

"Because women like yourself would have been married as young as 13 or 14. Now your only choices are me and Graham. You can't choose Ryan as he's supposed to be a butler and you can't choose Yaz as she's your maid. The choice is yours, I just need to know wether or not I should refer to you as my darling wife or not?"

What. The. Fuck.

Why did her even calling me that l, turn me on? Obviously, I'm going to choose her but I'm going to have to perfect my reasoning here.

"As much as I love Graham, it's going to be awkward if I have to kiss him or anything because he's like my grandad! I guess you'll do Timelord. Come on then husband, we don't want to be late to the dancefloor!" I spoke clearly hoping she didn't notice how excited I actually was to have even a hint of a relationship with her. It may be fake but ill take anything when it comes to her.

We arrived at the welcome committee and handed our cards over, aka the psychic paper. We were going as Mr and Mrs (last name). The Doctor was holding my hand this entire time and it's driving me insane. I don't know if she can feel my racing pulse under her fingers but if she can I hope she puts it down to excitement! We walked down the most grandest staircase you would ever lay your eyes on.

First we walked around, greeting everyone as they came up to us or if she dragged me to someone she knew, but not personally. She was cute when she was fangirling over these people. Yaz found it annoying as she just wanted to party but I couldn't help it. The way her eyes shimmer with recognition was more beautiful than any galaxy she could ever take us. Sometimes her eyes flickered with admiration and it did make me have jealousy for just a moment before I remembered, I'm staying with her and they aren't .

As the party moved on we met the host Edward. He looked a lot different than in his paintings. He was around 20 years old now and his blonde hair was below his shoulders. He looked a lot like his father with his muscley build. And he was very charismatic which I did not like as he poured all his charm into the Doctor. Does everyone here know that he's gay or does he see through the Doctors disguise? Either way, it was rubbing me the wrong way. I quickly excused myself with Yaz and walked into the bathroom.

"I did not like him. I do not like this Edward guy. Something about him rubs me completely wrong. He's handsome but something is telling me he knows the Doctor isn't a man."

"I felt the same way. He knows something we don't. Before we go out there again, do you mind if I ask you a question?" Yaz asked. My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour. She knows. The jig is up with Yaz. "How do you feel about her, honestly? One minute you 2 are inseparable, then you distance yourself and now you are a nervous wreck around her! I won't judge but I just want to make sure my theory is correct."

Shit. I guess I really was obvious. Does she know?

"If your theory is about me falling hopelessly in love with the Doctor then you'd be correct. I can't help it. I'm going to tell her how I feel without being completely stupid. I just need a right moment to say it." I spoke with a heavy sigh. Hopefully, Yaz can help create that moment thay I need. She nods her head and opens the door. We walk back to the Doctor and notice Edward has gone to other guests and she was talking to Graham. I looked around and saw Ryan flirting with a pretty lady near the food table. Why am I not surprised?

A few hours had passed and the Doctor seemed bored with standing and talking so I made a plan in my head. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dancefloor as the next song came on. I didn't quite know how to dance properly but I knew the basics if it. She has to lead and I simply follow suit. It took a few moments but I got the hang of it with the Doctors help. Soon we were dancing so gracefully underneath the most beautiful candelabra that lit up her face perfectly.

Her hair swayed to our perfect dance ever so gently. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and her lips were in a permanent smile. She even laughed a couple of times. Then as the music slowed down to a pace that was perfect, I grabbed her waist and looked her. My heart was going crazy and my legs were about to buckle but I had rehearsed my lines. I can do this.

"Hey Doc. Its been an amazing time with you but I can't continue this without being honest with you. But everytime I get close, I back down in fear. So I'm going to let you figure it out. Doctora te amo. Entiendo que si no sientes lo mismo y me iré si quieres. (Doctor i love you. i understand if you don't feel the same way and i'll leave if you want.)" I spoke with as much passion and intention as I could. I looked into her eyes and saw her confused and trying to work out what I said. I would find it cute if my heart was beating right out of my chest. "Well, I've had a great time but I'm fucking knackered. I'm calling it night. I'll be heading to the TARDIS if you need me."

"I'll come with ya. I'm knackered as well and we both need each other to undo the corsets and mine is starting to hurt a little bit. How we used to do this for a full day, everyday, is beyond my understanding. As beautiful as we look, I don't think its worth the pain this will bring in the morning." Yaz spoke with a slight mumble as proof of her mental state and finishing with a yawn. I chuckled at her state and walked back to the TARDIS with a small amount of chat along the way.

She is right though. These corsets really do hurt you after a while, I'm glad I chose not to wear heels or else I'll be fucked for in the morning. I would literally scream. I think the Doctor had the right idea in wearing a suit, no pain. I do feel bad for leaving her but I just need some space after basically admitting everything that's been built up within me for too damn long. Maybe I should tell Yaz how it went and maybe she can help determine if the Doctor is happy or not.

We walked back into the wardrobe room and I helped Yaz out of her corset. She immediately sighed in relief. She finished getting herself into comfy clothes and started to untie my ribbon.

"So did you tell her?"

"Sort of. I basically told her everything but in Spanish. I just hope it doesn't change anything, except in a positive way, of course! If she wants me gone, I've told her that it's fine and I understand. She's very socially awkward and as cute as I find it, it may not help me in this situation. Do you have any clues on how she may react once she figures it out?"

Yaz stopped untying my corset for a moment and placed 1 finger upon her chin in thought. Her eyes were almost shut and seemed almost completely black in the light. After what seemed like forever, she took her finger off her chin and beamed a toothy smile. Her eyes sparkled as she remembered something and seemed to gleam slightly menacingly. A smirk replaced her smile soon after.

"There's a few times she's shown affection towards you. And I mean romantic affection. She always chooses to hold your hand over anyone else's if given the choice. She always steps I'm front of you when an enemy threatens to kill us all or hurt us in anyway. When you go wandering around on your own, she's terrified thats she's lost you forever to an enemy we don't even know of!" Yaz starts explaining carefully as if she's worried on how to word it.

"Those are just friendly affec-"

"I wasn't done. I was warming up." Yaz interrupts me as I was about to go into a self deprecating speech on how I'm just a friend to everyone and never a lover. "She always looks to see your face on adventures because she secretly loves your reactions, bad or good. When the Master revealed himself, she looked straight at you for support on how she should react. When she came back from the Kasavin, she ran straight to you and made sure you were ok first before any of us. When we were in the Tsungra medical ship, the first person she asked for was you! Whilst she was unconscious on board the ship, she kept mumbling your name, over and over again. When she saw how gorgeous you looked today, I thought she'd take you right there on the spot! She fucking loves you (y/n)! You're just so unbelievably blind to it all!"

Yaz was almost red with rage. Did she really do all that, for me? The TARDIS mustve read my mind and seemed to hum positively in reply. If everything Yaz said is true then she'll be so happy about it and maybe we can be a thing! But then again, maybe losing so many in a similar position as me will turn her away. Maybe her soul is awry and she's asking why right now.

Once I had gotten changed I went to sleep almost straight away, I suppose all that dancing and social ques having tired me out more than I thought.

I woke up to a soft knock on my door. I rubbed my (e/c) eyes and told them I'd be a few minutes as I've only just woken up. It wasn't until I finished brushing my (h/c) hair that I remembered what happened yesterday. All the panic rushed within me at once and I nearly threw up. I took several deep breaths and opened the door.

"GRAHAM THANK FUCK ITS YOU!" I almost shouted at him. He looked a little bewildered for a moment before he seemed to remember what brought him here in the first place.

"Hello Love, I'm here because Doc wanted to speak with you privately in the library. She says that the TARDIS will guide you to her location. She seemed a little off after you and Yaz left. Did something happen? Is everything ok?" Graham asked cautiously. He must be so confused.

"Sort of. I'll explain more when I get back but what do you mean by "a little off"?"

"Well she seemed lost in all sense of the word. She kept muttering "Te Amo" all the time. She was all over the place aswell. She got me and Ryan back here not long after you guys. Something about not trusting Ryan to not get alcohol poisoning without her around. She hasn't really left the library since if I'm honest. She's been in there for 12 hours. I only know she wants you because she whattsapped me on my phone. Whatever is going on, please sort it out, she's starting to really worry me. She hasn't been the same since that Master guy came around." Graham spoke clearly, albeit confused. I nodded my head and walked in the opposite direction to him and hoped the TARDIS would take me there quicker than normal. I want to treat this like a plaster, rip it off in one go.

Sooner than I realised, I grabbed the all too familiar door knob of the library. I took a deep breath and walked in. A blue line appeared towards the interactive map. I awakened the console and I saw a black screen with a few words on it. It looked like a message with how it was presented.

Hello (y/n)! Don't walk until you calm. Breath deeply and try not to panic. I promise you, all will work out in the end. I see more than you realise and I know my thief better than anyone whoever stepped foot into my being. I know of her main problem about the situation. If she loves you, drink this. It won't hurt, she'll know what it is.

The TARDIS

I should have been surprised by this new knowledge that she could speak to me, in a way, but I've seen so much and I am so tender hooks so I didn't take much notice of it. I quickly sat down and tried to control my breathing. After about 5 or so minutes, I felt calm enough to finally meet up with her and hear what she has to say.

I followed the blue line carefully until I spotted her in a comfy room. She mustve gotten changed at some point as she was wearing her usual rainbow outfit, minus the jacket. She was sat on a deep purple sofa, legs curled into her body. Her shoes were on the carpeted floor underneath her, seemingly forgotten for the moment. There were many books surrounding us from many cultures and spieces. One wall had a cozy wood burning fireplace crackling within the silence that surrounded us.

Her face was scrunched within deep thought. Her eyes sparkling with an emotion that I couldn't quite put my finger on; hope, sorrow or excitement? Her lips had a small smirk gracing them and her teeth had bitten a small part of it. Her hands were holding a book in a way where I couldn't quite see what it was.

I didn't want to disturb her as she looked so ethereal with the warm glow of the fire highlighting her in the perfect way. Unfortunately, it's plaster time and I wanted this sorted sooner rather than later. I took a deep breath took in the picture for memory.

"Hey, Graham said you wanted to talk to me? Is everything ok?" I asked gently and as softly as I could so she was carefully brought out of her little world. I didn't want to scare her. She raised her eyes from her book for a moment and bookmarked the page she was at with a little TARDIS paperclip. She placed the book on the table at the side of her and patted the seat next to her.

As I sat down my nerves were through the roof. She gave nothing away as she stared at me for a minute, as if assessing something about me.

"Why are you so nervous? Calm down. You are right, It is to do with last night. You left pretty abruptly after basically confessing your feelings to me. I was so confused, not just about what you said but about myself and what I wanted to do about you." The Doctor spoke monotonously. Did she mean get rid of me? "I had to first of all, find out what you said, well done on learning a new language by the way, one even I'm not fluent at. I'm guessing the old girl had something to do with that idea. Not that, you aren't smart enough but you don't know what languages I do or don't know."

The Tardis seemed to chuckled at the accusation and I simply nodded my head. "I wanted to buy myself time and to impress you."

"You impressed me a long time ago Miss (l/n). That is just a cherry on top. After I figured out what you said, no thanks to my old friend here, I went through a lot of thinking. I've not been in many relationships and you know my history regarding the ones I have been in. You know, River and Missy? And I have such a bad past with it ending in nothing but tears for me. I always lose those I care for deeply." She spoke with tears spilling from her gorgeous eyes. I grabbed her face gently and wiped away the stray tears that managed to escape their home.

"That was when you were a man. You're a woman now, everything is so different. Relationships can be heartbreaking. I know what you're main problem is and the TARDIS has a solution to that. I just need you to tell me the truth. How do you feel about me? Do you want me to stay or not?" I stated holding the small shot glassed amount of liquid in my hand. The liquid was golden and sparkled slightly in the light. There were specks of orange and silver within it and it was as hot as a nice cup of (hot drink). Her eyes sparkled with hope and shock. Her lips were smiling wide. And she seemed to giggle at the sight of it. She held it for a moment as if examining it like a rare artefact, maybe it was. Either way, I trust her judgement and if she's happy about it, then so am I. Once she had analysed the drink, she practically leapt into my arms and pushed me down on my back. She smelled of custard creams and the TARDIS which was odd but completely her and I couldn't imagine her smelling any other way.

"That does solve our problem! What she has just given you is the rarest liquid in the universe seeing as only one thing in the entirety of space can produce it. That drink is known as the nectar of the chosen ones. It's rare as the race that used to make them has practically gone extinct. There's only 3 left in the known universe and you're living in one. That drink is the blood of the TARDIS. It grants you immortality if you drink it. It is said to resemble your favourite beverage no matter who you are. However, it only lasts 100 years and you must drink it every century or else your body clock will kick in and you will age and be as mortal as you are now." She speaks with a warning as we sit up holding holds.

"I have no problem with that. I would sacrifice everything if it meant I got to call you mine. Just please tell me and I'll drink it." I told her with adoration in my eyes.

She held me close and planted a soft and gentle kiss to my lips. It was short but it sent more fireworks than you can imagine through my body. I knew I had found her. She grabbed my waist and whispered next to my ear:

"Te Amo"

[horrorslashergirl]

Chromeskull with the teenage reader (15-16) after she runs away from her abusive home. He meets her after she kills someone in self-defense and he takes in as his daugh...I mean apprentice.

Chromeskull x Teenage!Reader (Platonic)

Hunting is the practice of seeking, pursuing, and capturing or killing wild animals, and in Jesse's opinion, humans were just that, especially the female kind. In his 40 years of life, he saw all types of predators; leeches that sucked the life out of people with some good looks and a promise for a good time in luxury hotel rooms.

Many men fell for the doe-like eyes and cute pout, but Jesse saw through the fake facade that tried to impress; he was mute, not blind and he saw right through them, just skin-bags full of bone and guts wrapped up in glittery cocktail dresses.

That's how he found himself into a more abandoned part of Jacksonville with a platinum blonde piggy by his feet with her tits cut off and fingerless; the bitch had the audacity to slap him across the mask. It didn't hurt Jesse, but sure as hell ignited the fire and it was a quick kill in his opinion. Usually, it took hours and he savored each cut of the flesh, but this one took up just one hour.

His car was just outside the deserted building, so he exited to get a black bag from the trunk to stuff the body of that rude piggy, when he heard a cry, more like a whimper coming from across the street from a dark alleyway. Nitrile covered hands were onto the handles of his knives tucked inside his dress-jacket, ready to slice if he had too.

Another whimper.

Probably a homeless person; most likely.

He stepped with precaution across the street and into the alleyway, expecting anything, but the scene before him; a dead body of a man with a switchblade impaled into his neck.

Dying by massive external hemorrhagic.

Brown eye moved from the corpse and his gaze stopped on a much smaller body, this one alive, whimpering into the corner.

It was a female, but inspecting her better, Jesse could tell she was a teenager, perhaps no older than 14? What really pulled onto his curiosity were the bruises and cuts; her lower lip was busted, long bags under her eyes, she probably hasn't slept in days, then the purple almost black bruises on her neck and her shoulder looked so out of place, surely dislocated.

Her dull eyes looked up at him, half-lidded, trying to stay awake, but she was exhausted. Jesse took a step towards her, her lips parting, trying to say something, but her throat hurt and she let sleep overtake her.

Jesse huffed, ready to get back to his actual business and he did that, turning away from her, but stopping, glancing back at her. Jesse wasn't feeling pity, that wasn't his style, but when he glanced back at her, it was like he saw himself.

He wasn't one that has to endure physical abuse directly with fists and kicks, but he knew what it was like to be small and insignificant. That's how he found himself picking up the girl in his arms and marching towards his car, putting her into the backseat.

Most would say that he was getting soft with a piggy, but she was no piggy. In Jesse's book, there was a difference between piggies, women, and little girls. He never went for little girls; sure, he liked them young, but he wasn't one for abducting kids and in his eye, the girl in the backseat was a child.

Jesse sighed, looking at her from the mirror then his gaze moved to the road, starting the engine and driving off into the night.

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

You could feel fingers digging into your neck and you tried to pry them off you, but there was nothing, perhaps an invisible force; all you could see was blackness then a scream pierced your ears.

You jolted up awake from the bizarre nightmare, eyes wide opened and trying to keep your breath even, our eyes taking in your surroundings. You were laying on a bed, very comfortable, unlike the hard mattresses you were used to sleep on. The room was very clean and everything was put together.

Your gaze averted from the luxurious furniture to your hands, seeing them bandaged, as was your shoulder. You were completely confused.

All you remembered was running away from your foster home if you could even call that hellhole home. There was also a guy trying to chase you down and you started to panic. Did he kidnap you? Did he rape you?

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the door opened and in stepped a man; tall, bald, and his face seemed off, but you tried not to stare, knowing it would be rude. He looked at you then he set a silver tray on the nightstand. It was a glass of water and some pills.

'Painkillers. They will help with your headache and shoulder.' an electronic voice spoke, startling you.

You nodded, taking them and gulping the water down, your sore throat still hurting, more so from the bruises on your neck, you were afraid your throat might be broken.

'You know what happened?' that makeshift voice was eerie and it gave you the chills. Maybe the guy was mute.

"I run away from the foster home. All I remember before I blacked out was someone trying to crush my neck." you replied with a raspy voice, trying not to force yourself that much.

'You killed a guy.'

Your eyes widened at that; sure you did remember that you tried to fight back, but killing?

"I-I.....I was afraid." Your response was pretty dull and the man huffed.

'No shit. What's your name?'

"[Name]..." you replied, looking down.

'Jesse Cromeans.'

There was a dead silence following then he moved towards the door.

"H-Hey! Where are you going?" you asked, a bit afraid.

He stopped and turned to look at you over his broad shoulder.

'Work. You should rest.'

With that, he left you all alone and all you could do was lay back on the bed and rest, millions of thoughts running through your head. At one point you were afraid because you don't know him and the other part was a little relieved. You guessed that if he wanted you dead he would have left you in that alleyway and he wouldn't bother himself to patch you up.

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

Jesse was leaning into the armchair, scrolling down the information about you that Spann sends him. Your father was unknown and your mother died of a drug overdose, and since you had no relatives you were left in a foster home. He could only guess what kind of life you had in there.

Taking a sip of whiskey Jesse debated what he should do with you; surely you were no piggy and children weren't into his type of victim list. In his eye, children were only pups, little things that still needed to learn to walk through life and make a choice.

You were still a pup, an innocent little thing that had experienced probably things adults haven't. He knows what is like to experience the morbid at a fragile age, but he ignored the memories. It was the past.

Then one idea crossed him. Adopting you?

Sure, he always wanted to experience fatherhood, but ever since his wife blew her brains out, killing herself and the child, not to mention the events that made him lose his face, he gave up on that dream.

What women would be willing to have a family with him?

Maybe he didn't need one. He had you and slowly he started to think of yourself as his daughter. He always wanted to have a baby girl, one that he can protect and guide in life so she wouldn't end up like these piggies that waltzed the streets at night in skimpy clothes.

No way were you going to end up like that. You weren't a piggy.

All you needed was someone who could guide you in life.

[dontmindmyshadowhunting]

The new Shadowhunter Academy (Fan Fic) - Chapter 1

In the mood for a bit of Shadowhunter Academy drama so there goes chap 1 of my new fic (it's part of my "To never being parted series" though it can be read as a standalone story).

Ao3 link here.

*****

This is how I die, Ash thought. He was surprised by how indifferent he was to the news. He had always imagined he would have more fighting in him.

If he were honest, it was not such a bad place to die. Green grass had started to grow again in the lands of Faerie, where there had only been wasteland and death before. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe Ash was exactly what he had been named after. Ash, the symbol of rebirth, his blood fertilizing the land and giving way to lush vegetation and the chirping of birds. Through his blurred vision, he could see Jace lying a few feet away, unconscious. He held on to the steady rise of his chest that told him he was still alive. But barely.

Ash coughed up blood in the already drenched soil. He tried to lift himself up, but the muscles in his arms were failing him and the slightest move equalled to excruciating pain. He felt as if all the bones in his body had been crushed into small pieces that were piercing through his organs.

He thought about the girl he had met in the weapons room, the girl in the drawing. Drusilla Blackthorn. There had been loneliness in her blue-green eyes, yet there had also been a fierce will to live despite everything. A hope beyond despair. You and I are the same, he told her in his mind. We witness the worst horrors, suffer the most intense grief, but keep our chins up and stand ready to fight to live another day. We do not give up.

Ash craned his neck sluggishly to get a better look at his opponent.

The new King of both Seelie and Unseelie Courts, a Herondale no less, who looked more like a Californian surfer boy with his tousled blond hair and unforgiving bright blue eyes, was standing before him, hands curled into fists against his hips, his white wings tipped with gold rustling behind him. He was glorious, an angel of death, and Ash idly wondered how someone so beautiful could be so cruel.

“Stand. Now. There is no fun in striking someone lying on the ground,” the King said, his blue eyes rolling in a very unkingly manner. Even his voice was not that of a monster. It was a nice, clear voice, that sounded like it belonged to a sweet boy. Ash knew, though, that he was anything but. He needed to distract him, to play for time.

“All these faeries that you have massacred,” Ash managed to utter through the blood in his throat. He flinched at the pain that the mere act of talking caused him. “And you call yourself their ruler… I don’t understand. Why this… bloodbath? What did they do to you?”

“What did they do to me? What did they do to me?” If the King’s face bore any expression at all, it would be pure hatred and contempt. “How about what did they do to my mother? And her parents, and their parents before that? Did they really think I would never find out, stay in the dark forever? Remain a blind and helpless mundane my whole life? I see them every single night in my dreams, you know… I am haunted by the cries and howls of my ancestors. Always running, always hiding, never allowed to rest, never allowed to live. No more. I crushed the faeries who stood in my way as if they were cockroaches under my shoe. If there was still such a thing as Shadowhunters, I would have them suffer the same fate, if not worse, for they have betrayed my bloodline just as much.”

As the Herondale King talked, Ash slowly moved his hand to clutch the folded paper inside the left pocket of his jacket. The psychopathic witch that had grown so fond of him – Annabel, the mere thought of her still sent shivers down his spine – had at least taught him one useful thing. How to get out of this hell hole.

He held on tight to the drawing in his bloody fingers. If he focused enough on creating an interdimensional Portal to her… Surely, he would go back to where he came from himself. The drawing had probably been made with material found in Thule, but the artist… the artist was from the other world. Maybe it could work. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he and Jace had.

My blood, willingly given. He had lost enough blood as it was, but it had certainly not been willingly given. Trying to grab his sword, which was lying a few feet away, would draw too much attention. A deep paper cut could work. That’s how potent his blood was. He brought the paper to the palm of his hand and sliced through the skin, murmuring the incantation.

As the Portal started shimmering before him, Ash heaved a sigh of relief, causing a sting in his lungs. That was the first step. Now, how the hell would he find the strength to haul himself and Jace through it, without being stopped by the Faerie King?

“Wow, you will have to teach me how to do that,” the Herondale King said, showing for the first time a flicker of emotion. “I mean, I probably have enough power for that – Aren’t you like a cheap knockoff of me?”

Ash was spared to give an answer as the King whipped around at the sound of swords being drawn out behind him. The Riders of Mannan. There were only five of them left.

“You again?” The King rolled his eyes. “Ever thought of a retirement plan? Aren’t you like, thousands of years old?”

One of the Riders shrieked. “You killed two of our brothers. It has become personal. We will never acknowledge you as our new King. So that leaves us with only one option.”

“Yep, got it. You pick option B. Getting your decrepit asses kicked by me, myself and I.”

The Faerie King advanced with a casual stride on the five Riders, drawing two longswords that he immediately started twirling as if they were cheerleaders’ batons.

This was Ash’s chance.

He crawled to Jace, grabbing their two swords - Heosphorus and Phaesphorus - on his way. Pulling on a strength he didn’t know he still had, he finally managed to stand, ignoring the ache in his limbs – he had known torture and pain had become a familiar companion – and hauled Jace’s body up and they both stepped through the Portal, with only two swords and a folded bloodstained paper as their interdimensional trip’s luggage. He let himself be transported in between worlds, drained and already fainting from the strained effort.

When he came to, he was lying on a sand beach, the sun barely peeking out from the horizon, casting a reddish glow on the sea. He inhaled deeply the clean and salty air, like a treat to his lungs, so pure compared to the one in Thule. He turned his head to find Jace’s limp body a few feet away. If only he had been taught how to draw the Angel’s Runes his uncle had told him about. The ones that could heal the wounds and ease the pain.

He heard voices and started to drag Jace’s battered body behind a nearby rock, breathing heavily as he did. The fresh air and the sound of the soft push-pull of the ocean made him feel better already.

He peered around to see three figures approaching.

He instantly recognized the girl. Drusilla. She looked a little bit older than he remembered but she had the same thick and luscious dark brown hair and freckled milky skin. She was wearing her pyjamas, black fabric with a pattern of white skulls. She was laughing carelessly, throwing her head back, and it made Ash smile, his zygomatic muscles almost aching as they awakened from their deep slumber. They hadn’t been put to such use in a while. She was holding the hand of a younger boy with rumpled hair of the exact same colour. Their eyes shared the same singular summer-blue shade. Probably her little brother. He seemed to be around ten years old, but Ash wasn’t very good at guessing age.

The third person was a very tall boy, with hair as black as a crow’s feathers, walking along the water’s edge. Ash couldn’t see his face because he was looking away, toward the sea. There was something fragile, almost poetic, in the graceful curve of his neck and the delicate line of his jaw. Something hypnotising about the careful yet purposeful way he moved his long limbs. Ash almost felt disappointed he could not see the face of the person they belonged to.

“Tavvy!” Drusilla cried out as the younger boy released her hand to run to the edge of a tide pool.

He picked something in the water and held it up in triumph.

“Starfish,” he yelled, hopping up and down excitedly. “I have found a starfish!”

Tavvy ran, though not in the direction of his sister, but of the older dark-haired boy.

The tall boy held out his hand and the younger one put the starfish gingerly into the other’s palm.

“Pisaster ochraceus, also known as the purple or ochre sea star,” the mysterious boy said, after a single, swift glance at the starfish. He had a deep, raspy voice.

“It’s beautiful! Please! Please! Can I dry it and keep it in my bedroom at the Institute? I could have it framed, and maybe even painted by Jules!”

“It’s a keystone species that controls mussel populations. It was nearly wiped out by the sea star wasting syndrome. In other words… Waste of a perfectly good starfish,” the voice of the graceful boy caught at his last words and he trailed off, his head still turned toward the sea, almost as if he was no longer talking to Tavvy. He lifted his free hand absently to grasp a shiny object - a silver pendant? - resting on his chest.

The three Shadowhunters snapped their heads in the opposite direction from where Ash was hiding, when a fourth person called. A blond-haired girl – probably a Shadowhunter as well, though she had pointy ears - was coming down the beach wearing slippers, an apron tied around her slender body.

“Breakfast is ready! I have managed not to burn the whole stack of pancakes this time.”

Ash heard his stomach growl. How long had it been since he had last eaten? Probably days. But much sharper than the pain caused by hunger or even by the battle wounds, he felt longing… Longing for a normal life, in a normal happy family. What would he not give for carefree strolls on the beach in the dawn, surrounded by loved ones, followed by something as simple as a breakfast of – even burnt he didn’t mind – pancakes?

The landscape swirled and changed into the dark, dirty and moisty walls of a cell. He was so thirsty, so hungry, and so cold. Two Unseelie guards were staring at him through the bars, with a smirk on their narrow faces.

“We are here to bring you to your bedroom. Yes, you will get a bedroom. How fancy is that? The King just wanted to make sure you knew it was in your best interest to fully cooperate. From now on, and for as long as you behave, you will benefit from the most luxurious accommodation befitting to your royal lineage.” Ash – the younger, clueless version of him – found he did not care for a fancy room. He had known the most decadent living conditions and the worst. Knowing the full spectrum, he had realized nothing really mattered but a place to call home. Mom, where are you when I need you the most?

The door rattled and one of the guards came in.

“You have a pretty face, skinny boy,” he said, as he opened Ash’s bloody shackles. “When we will have cleaned you up, maybe you and I could have a little fun.”

Ash spat on the rude intruder.

The faerie was about to slap him when the other guard grabbed his wrist.

“Careful… He is the Seelie Queen’s son. You can’t take liberties with him as you can with other regular prisoners.”

“He may be of royal blood, but his father Sebastian Morgenstern died leaving us alone to bear the consequences of his mad plans, to suffer the Cold Peace. The traitor is the reason why the Fair Folk are treated as if they are less than nothing.”

A wave of pure hatred – that he had not felt at the time, having never met his father – woke Ash up from his dreams, his whole body drenched in sweat. He almost sighed in relief as he realized he was in his wide bedroom, in the house in the hollow hill.

There was a pain in his stomach, different from the one caused by hunger. He immediately ran to his bathroom and retched above the sink. There had been no time to run to the toilet. He opened the tap and splashed water over his face. As he stared at himself in the mirror, he noticed there were dark circles under his eyes and that his features, although smooth and ageless as all faeries’ were, bore the permanent mark of having seen too much horror, suffered too much pain, loneliness, and sorrow before he had even reached adulthood. He swiftly schooled them into the mask he wore in public. He had become good at that.

****

“Riders of Mannan, tremble!” Mina cried out as she burst into the kitchen and started running around the table on her little legs, brandishing her Cortana baby-sized wooden replica. Her dark hair was now long enough that she could wear them in two tiny braids. It was Kit’s job, and Mina loved to barge into his room at ungodly hours with a hairbrush to jump up and down on his bed until he had performed his daily task. So much for privacy.

“Oh no, here comes Emma Carstairs!” Kit raised an empty pan from the stove to use it as a shield. “Quick, run! Or she will end us all!”

“Nooooo, Kit-Kat” Mina paused to strike a dramatic pose and rolled her eyes. “You are not a Rider.”

“No? What am I today?” He asked, putting down the pan.

“My fiancéééé!”

“Ooooh.” Kit drew himself to his full height, putting on a very serious don’t-mess-with-mine-and-I-won’t-mess-with-you face and brushed his hand through his hair in a mock nervous gesture. “Beware Riders, I will strike you with my wits, if not my crossbow.”

“No. Not Julian. I have changed my mind. I want to marry Tiberius Blackthorn!” She said and shook both her hands in front of her the way she always did when she was very excited about something.

“Oh. Oh. Well don’t tell Julian that, I am not sure he will appreciate the swap.”

“Do Tiberius! Do Tiberius!” Mina exclaimed, hopping up and down. Kit knelt in front of her and rested his hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Do him, please!” Mina whined.

“Sure, Min. I will imitate Tiberius but please stop shouting that,” Kit said, feeling heat rush up his entire face.

“Yeaaay! Do him!”

“SHHHHhhh,” Kit said, putting a finger on her pouty lips. “Understood, Min-Min. I will play Ty’s part.”

Their parents were in the room next door and though both knew that he and Ty were a thing now, Kit had obviously not gone into detail as to the physical part of their relationship. He expected that they would simply guess and leave it at that.

He had a vivid memory of the time he had been cornered to sit through the “sex talk.” Tessa and Jem had made some Earl Grey tea and scones for the occasion and had taken the opportunity during one of Mina’s naps, to go through the whole process of explaining to Kit that it was the most natural thing in the world and that he shouldn’t feel uncomfortable raising any questions he had on the subject. Kit had dutifully listened, his head bent and his ears red, slouched in the middle of the couch, fingers knotting and unknotting where they rested on his lap. As the awkward conversation had gone on and on, he had disappeared little by little into the plump cushions, wishing he could vanish entirely inside the furniture.

Jem had been the old-fashioned gentleman, talking about “mutual respect” and “the shared responsibility of contraception and adequate protection”, but had been clearly as red faced as Kit, while Tessa had been the modern mom, freely and animatedly speaking about “exploring one’s sexuality” and “ignoring peer pressure and imaginary standards”.

When Jem had started listing all the STDs he had encountered in his life as a Silent Brother, Kit had secretly hoped there was poison in the tea. Dropping dead in the middle of the living room would have made for an adequate diversion. Fortunately, Tessa had silenced Jem with a glare.

In the back of his mind, Kit had wondered if Ty had gone through the same ordeal. He had imagined scary-overprotective Julian discussing sexual intercourse and condoms and had suddenly been profoundly relieved that – where Kit was concerned – the task had befallen to Tessa and Jem.

Kit had to admit, they employed the same thoroughness and dedication in everything they taught him. With Jem, Kit had learnt how to fight, how to heal wounds, how to waltz and – though that part still required a lot of training to get over his bad habits – how to behave like a gentleman. Tessa had taught Kit how to drive, how to cook and how to uncover and harness his First Heir powers. Both his parents had given him history lessons and they were the reason why he now knew how to speak five languages. He had read more books since he had joined their home than throughout the rest of his previous life. While Johnny Rook had taught Kit how to pick locks and steal pockets, Tessa and Jem had taught him trust and boundless generosity.

Truth be told, they were the best parents he could ever have dreamt of. He had the best family he could ever dream of, he thought, watching Mina’s big dark eyes widening as her gaze caught the plate of homemade chocolate cookies.

“Oooh you baked cookies! Can I have one Kit-Kat? Pleeeeeease?” Thank God for her short attention span.

“You already had a croissant this morning, Mina. You can have a cookie tomorrow. Remember, us Shadowhunters must eat healthily.”

Mina raised her eyebrow at him, in a way that reminded him of his boyfriend. Kit slipped a cookie in her tiny fingers.

“One. And remember how generous I was when I am sent away to sugar-addicts rehab and I beg you for one last shot of candy for the road.”

Mina nodded. He loved the way she always acted as if she understood his ramblings.

“Kit?” Tessa called as she entered the kitchen, waving her phone. “It’s Jace. He tells me you’ve been dodging his calls.”

“I am not here,” Kit mouthed.

“He told me you would say that. So, he wants you to know he still has this picture of you from last Christmas and he will not hesitate to send it to a certain dark-haired Centurion if you don’t take the call.”

Kit shot out his hand, palm up, and Tessa handed over her phone.

“This is blackmail.” Kit tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he swept the plate of cookies away from sight.

“Never said I was above blackmail. Just make sure it’ll work if you are ever to use it.”

“Is it another one of your cardinal rules and guidelines to being a proper Herondale? I am pretty sure half of them are made up.”

“They’re not.”

“They are,” Tessa mouthed, grimacing, as she whisked Mina away from the kitchen.

“So, here’s the thing. I usually act as a guest lecturer at the Academy, you know, for basic stuff. Learning how to jump and fall properly, balance in swordfight, choice of weapon… I was scheduled for next week, but Clary decided to plan her art gallery opening at the same time. So, I was looking for the best person to fill my shoes and of course immediately thought… who else than Kit?”

“Liar. I know you asked Emma first. What’s her excuse?”

“She sprained her ankle during training two days ago.”

“She posted a video of herself dancing in a nightclub with Cristina and Mark. That was yesterday.”

“This girl sure knows how to put on a brave face.”

“She was doing backflips in front of a cheering crowd.”

“Like I said, brave face. So, you’re in?”

“Do I really have a choice?”

“Not really, but I thought it would be nicer if I asked.”

“Whatever.” Kit grumbled.

“Great. You won’t regret it. I will even buy you dinner in Manhattan while you’re in New York. Fancy restaurant with amazing desserts.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Jace Herondale?”

“Just lie down and let me do the rest.”

“WHAT?”

“Sorry, not talking to you. I’m in the middle of a training session. We’re stretching. Have you trained this morning?”

“It’s 2 PM here, Jace. I’m on my break. I already trained for six hours, starting at the crack of dawn.”

“You put us all to shame.”

“So, I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“I was not finished.”

“Raziel, what else is there?”

“The Scholomance is sending a Centurion to represent them and provide a two-days training course for the Academy’s senior students who wish to apply to join them after they graduate.”

“Oh,” Kit said, with a familiar flutter around his stomach. “Do you…” He swallowed. “Do they already know who they will send?”

“Probably that Joshi guy. But it’s not set in stone. Jia Penhallow told me they have been trying to convince their best Centurion to go for months now, but he keeps saying no.”

“Oh, so he gets to say no.”

“I told her Herondales can’t resist a challenge...”

“You didn’t.”

“… and that I had a secret weapon to convince him to go this time.”

“You mean me.”

“Use your body!”

“WHAT?”

“Not talking to you, sorry. Beatriz, use your whole body’s strength, not just the muscles in your arms!”

“Thank the Angel.”

“What was I saying?”

“You were using me to try to convince Tiberius Blackthorn – who absolutely loathes talking in public, by the way – to give a two-days training course at the Academy for Scholomance applicants. Jace, I don’t know how I feel about this. I don’t want him to feel obligated in any way, just because…”

“… just because you let him play with your sword?” Jace offered.

“God, Jace. I am going to pretend you never said that.”

“Make us proud.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you, too. Gotta go. Catch up later.”

“Jace,” Kit groaned in frustration, but Jace had already hung up.

Tagging @gabtapia <3

[tuffduff]

Rock Stars Make Bad Boyfriends (Vince Neil x Reader x Slash)

Pairing: Vince Neil x Reader x Slash

Words: 3,170

Request: anon! : “hi again! i’ve got another idea for an imagine so i came right to your blog - hopes that’s okay! i had an idea where the reader kind of has an unofficial thing with Vince Neil but he’s stringing her along - flirting with other girls and such almost in front of the reader’s face - & she ends up meeting slash when gnr and the crue are on tour. slash immediately falls for her & she falls for him too but slash sees how Vince treats her. slash eventually asks her on a date & vince ends up hearing about it & confronting the reader about it. she tells him she really likes slash and she’s done with him and eventually slash and the reader end up dating much to vince’s dismay. thank you so much!”

A/N: Yes, love; that is more than okay!! I love that y’all come to me with these ideas! I love this prompt and I think about this Motley/GNR tour a lot...even if it was short. Turned into a short fic, but hopefully y’all don’t mind that. Hope you’re all doing well!

Taglist: @ubernoxa​ @the--blackdahlia​ @reigns420​ @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker​ @rumoured-whispers​ @dustnbones​

“Vince?” The blonde kept his head turned away from you as though you hadn’t spoken a word. You felt the scowl on your face deepen as he sent a wave towards the girl working the outdoor bar of the hotel resort pool area. “Vince, are you even listening to me?” This time, your tone must’ve been enough to get his attention as he turned back to you.

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby. What were you saying?” You pushed your tongue against the wall of your mouth trying to summon patience; it’s not like you just spent the better part of the last five minutes trying to tell Vince about your day.

“I was talking about what happened earlier in the gift shop. There was a little girl who didn’t have enough money to buy this key chain, and a little old man bought it for her.”

“Mmm.” Vince’s head had turned again the minute you started talking. You frowned.

“And then the shop blew up. It was a huge explosion.”

“Mmhm.”

“The little girl and old man died.”

“That’s nice. Hey, I’m gonna go get us some more drinks, alright, baby?” Vince stood from his lounge chair without waiting for your reply. “Be right back!”

You sighed a little as you watched him unsurprisingly saunter over to the girl at the bar who was practically licking her lips.

All your girlfriends called you crazy for agreeing to go on tour with a rock star. Well, no; that was misleading. They encouraged going on tour, but expecting serious commitment from a rock star? In your dreams, they said. Rock stars don’t make good boyfriends.

You met Vince only about a month prior, so you knew it was nothing quite serious, but was it wrong for you to hope? You liked Vince. That first night neither of you could stop talking until the early morning hours, his eyes sparkling and unmoving from yours, his hand on your knee. But he was a humongous flirt. You tried not to let it get to you—after all, here you were poolside at a swanky resort in a room you didn’t pay for, going to concerts you didn’t have to buy tickets for. Tradeoffs, you supposed. Even still, you couldn’t help but glance over and over again as Vince stayed longer and longer at the bar. You tried to work on your tan and stay undeterred as you planned your outfit in your head for the show later.

That night, Vince complimented you already three times on the way to the arena, but that was only after he heard Tommy telling you that you were looking “hot as fuck, dude.” You still counted it as a win. Then you scolded yourself; were relationships supposed to be about winning?

You also heard Nikki saying something about how their new opening band would be starting tonight, kicking off this leg of the tour. Guns N’ Roses—you had never heard of them, but the name sounded cool. They must have been good if they were opening for the Crue.

Despite his sweet talking and possessive touch all the way to the arena, Vince soon abandoned you once you actually got there. You brushed it off; you weren’t a child. He did have a show to get ready for—you tried not to notice how many groupies you were already seeing walk by, though. There were more interesting things to see anyways. At least, you were determined to find them.

That turned out, again, to be wishful thinking. You didn’t have complete access to every part of the arena, and really, you felt bad about being in the way of all the crew members. That led to you finding the door outside, to the back of the arena, where you hoped to just find a quiet place for a moment.

It took two tugs with all your strength to actually pull open the heavy doors, but instead of opening a gateway to the outside, another body toppled into you. You let out a startled yelp.

“Oh, thank fuck, man!” You heard a soft voice say in relief. There was so much hair in your face that you couldn’t see behind all the black unruly coils to untangle yourself from this mystery guy. “I went outside just to smoke and like, chill before the show, you know, but the doors fucking locked—” you both finally untangled and you found yourself face to face with, well, still a whole lotta hair.

He had on black leather pants and a denim jacket with black sleeves, along with cowboy boots. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his curls, but you were sure he was staring right at you.

“Woah, uh...” he murmured. His voice never changed from the soft murmur. “I thought you were security or something.” You chuckled and watched as he pushed his hair away from his face, revealing pretty, brown, fascinated eyes that were, indeed, staring right at you. You could feel heat growing in your cheeks, but did your best to stay calm.

“No, just a lost soul.” You joked lightly. He blinked a few times at you, almost dumbfounded. He was adorable.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something fun.” A smile grew on his face at your reply.

“I can show you that. I’m Slash.”

“Slash?” You asked in amazement, and he chuckled.

“Yeah, well, my name’s Saul. But I’ve been called Slash for years.” Saul. Slash.

“Okay, cool. I’m Y/N.” You both exchanged smiles and he jerked his head, waiting to make sure you walked beside him rather than behind him.

He took you to where the rest of his band was gathered and introduced you to an eclectic group, all of whom were nice and chill. Less chaos than Motley, but still had that aura hanging in the air, that they were on the verge of destruction, that they were a gang.

Slash, though soft-spoken, asked you question after question—where you were from, what you normally did for fun, what music you liked as he strummed a guitar mindlessly. You watched his fingers in amazement, how effortless he made the action look. And then came his question, “why are you backstage?”

“Oh, well, I’m with—” Speak of the devil…

“Y/N?” You turned at the sound of the door slamming open and Vince appearing in the door frame. “Where the fuck have you been, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I’ve been listening to these guys jam. You guys picked a great opening act.” You replied coolly, and you couldn’t help but notice the way Slash smiled down at his guitar silently.

“Well, you’re supposed to be helping me with my makeup,” Vince didn’t hesitate to cross the room and pull you off the couch you were sitting on by your arm, giving you no chance in the matter. “Or, something more productive. Like putting that pretty mouth of yours to use.” You sent Vince a look and immediately snatched your arm out of his grip. No way were you going to tolerate being disrespected like that in a room full of people.

“If you wanted a sex toy to bring on the road with you, I’m sure you could have had plenty of other girls—that’s not what I am.” You replied, pushing around him and walking out of the room. Vince chased you down the hall.

“Hey! Y/N, wait! Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Vince cooed, pulling you to a stop and pressing his lips to your neck. “I just wanted to make sure they knew you were with me; I just get jealous. Especially when you look so fucking good tonight.” You let it go, but you didn’t forget the incident. And you especially didn’t forget the moment later, when you were watching Motley Crue perform from the side of the stage, as a hand gently touched your shoulder. It was Slash.

“Hey...you ever...want...someone...find...” you couldn’t hear him over Mick’s guitar.

“What?” You yelled at him. He laughed before leaning in close to your ear. He had to brush your hair back, and his lips were practically touching your skin.

“If you ever get bored or want to have fun with someone while you’re on tour, come and find me.”

The implication of that almost had you nervous; did all these guys just think you were a road groupie? But, sure enough, Vince ditched you once more at another show and you found yourself knocking on the Guns N’ Roses dressing room door. And there was Slash, answering the door with a smile as though you had known each other for years. “Hey, dude. Check this out, tell me what you think.” He played you a guitar riff he had been working on and waited expectantly to hear your thoughts after. And that was that, you were fast friends.

You weren’t sure how to explain the phenomenon, but you knew it was mutual. Just a special connection; even when you were both still learning about each other, it felt more as if you were remembering. It was like putting on a pair of boots that had already been worn in.

And you knew it was mutual because, according to his bandmates, Slash was pretty shy unless he was drunk. But not with you; he could talk your ear off. Somehow in just a couple weeks, it felt as if you were best friends.

That was an incredible feeling in itself; at this age in life, could you really meet another person out of the blue and grow so close so fast? But beyond that, there were little moments. These moments you quickly grew to live for, these moments made your heart race and your palms sweat.

Moments when you looked over at him, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he focused on the guitar, and you never wanted to kiss a pair of lips more. Moments when you thought maybe, just maybe, Slash felt the same. He would hug you in greeting every time he saw you, but sometimes leave his arm around your waist, effectively holding you to him until he had to let you go. When you would swear you caught him already staring because of how fast he turned his head away.

“Y/N, I can’t wait for you to meet Pandora.”

“Who’s that?” He smiled up at you, his head resting on your lap as it usually did, a guitar resting in his.

“She’s my boa.”

“Your...your snake?”

“She’s the sweetest—she’s gonna love you.”

He wanted you to meet his snake—or, snakes. You laughed, and for some reason, you felt such a wave of affection hit you at just the thought of his existence. You spent more time watching Guns open from the side of the stage than you did watching Motley—you were usually goofing off with Slash at that point. Suddenly, Vince’s continuing disappearances didn’t bother you so much. The only thing that actually did bother you was when Slash would walk you up to your always empty hotel room every evening. The both of you would drag your steps every time and take unnecessary trips to the snack machine, or stand out on the balcony to check out the moon. Just anything to prolong ending the night.

“Empty again,” you joked to Slash as you opened the hotel room door to dark and vacant room. You weren’t even sure why you and Vince kept up the charade anymore—he hadn’t even kissed you in days. At this point, you were riding to the arenas with Slash and his band.

Slash didn’t laugh like you thought he would. He was looking down, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Can I ask you something and you promise to not get mad?” He asked you. His words were almost rushed, as though he had to gather courage to even say them.

“Yeah, of course you can. What’s up?”

“Do you actually like him? Vince?” He ventured. “I mean, I know you don’t love him, but...”

“How do you know that?” You asked out of curiosity, certainly not out of disagreement. He was right, of course. Slash shrugged a shoulder.

“I would just imagine, you know...if you love someone, you would want to be around them. Tell them things first, eat with them, just kinda look to them first.” You listened to his words, realizing over the past few days you had been doing all of the above with Slash. You had given up trying to tell the nuances of your day to Vince, but Slash listened when you told him how you short circuited the electricity with your blow dryer at the hotel. He laughed at your jokes or when you tripped backstage because he was always watching you. He gave you his jacket when he saw you shiver once, he made sure you got food after the show if you were still hungry. When he was drunk and carefree, he wouldn’t chase after groupies. He would come and find you and fall asleep on your shoulder.

“I don’t love Vince.” You confirmed softly. “Vince...had me fooled into thinking he was someone else. That he cared.”

“Then why are you with him?” You stared back at him, unable to give him an answer.

“I don’t...”

“Let’s go out.” You felt your heart jump.

“We’ve...we’ve been out, though.”

“Y/N, Denny’s after midnight is hardly a date.” He said, though he was fighting a smile; that was a good memory.

“Depends on who you ask,” you chuckled, making him chuckle. “Wait, did you say a date?”

“Well, yeah. That’s what I mean.” He said softly. “Listen, Y/N. I think you’re pretty cool. And I dunno, I’ve never really...like, there’s a lot of pretty girls out there, right? But you’re so fucking beautiful I thought I was seeing things when you opened the door that day. Then, I found out you were with Vince, and I tried to let it go, but I see how he treats you, and it pisses me off. You deserve better. But you just, us, you and I, we click, you know? I know you feel it, right?” You nodded after a moment and felt your heart flip again when he smiled. “So, give it a chance. We have the day off tomorrow. Let’s fucking do something fun—I don’t know, we can go to the fucking zoo! Or go find some concert somewhere or just, go anywhere.”

“...Okay.” You agreed with a smile. He grinned back at you.

“Okay? So like, early afternoon? 4 or something?” You smiled; was he that excited to see you? Your heart hadn’t been this giddy in a long time.

“Yeah, that sounds great with me.”

It was barely 3 in the afternoon and you were towel drying your wet hair, fresh out of the shower, when your hotel room slammed open. Vince appeared for the first time since you’d last seen him before the concert the night before, staring at you with what you could only describe as fury. You stared at him silently.

“Can you fucking tell me why all the Guns N’ Roses guys are hyping up Slash for his big date tonight with Y/N?” He demanded. You looked down, waiting for the shake and guilt to hit you, but it never came.

“Vince, it’s not like we were in love with each other.” You said with quiet bluntness. Vince’s eyes grew wide.

“I brought you on fucking tour with me!”

“And ever since then you’ve left me night in and night out to go and sleep with every groupie that comes your way! We haven’t slept in the same bed in weeks! There are fucking lipstick stains on your neck right now, Vince!” He glanced in the mirror quickly before he cursed under his breath.

“Y/N...it’s just, the way it is, you know? That’s the life we live.”

“You just fuck other girls and have me waiting for you too? That’s the life?”

“Alright, I fucked up. I do care about you, Y/N, baby. I do. I’m trying. I’ll do better.” Vince’s voice was soft and sugary, and he walked over to you, grabbing your hand in his, holding your eyes with his. “Just give me another shot. We’ll have some fun.” This time, his smooth talking did nothing for you; your heart was already taken by someone else. You slipped your hand out of his and silently began gathering up your things.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Vince laughed as you shoved your clothes in your luggage. “C’mon, baby, just calm down. You’re not even dressed.” You sent him an incredulous look.

“I am more than calm. Goodbye, Vince.”

“Where are you going? Y/N, seriously! Oh, what—are you just gonna jump onto the next rock star? I thought you weren’t a groupie, huh? He just wants to fuck you and then he’ll drop you, just you fucking wait! That’s all we do!”

“No, that’s what you do. You don’t speak for him or me.” You snapped over your shoulder at Vince’s childish yelling. The door slammed behind you and you smirked a little.

You made your way through the hotel in your towel, barefoot and hair dripping, and knocked on the door you knew to be Slash’s. He opened it slowly in confusion, and felt your heart expand at the sight of him already dressed and ready to go much too early—clean hair swept out of his eyes, a flannel that was barely buttoned, and leather pants. He took one look at your bag and towel.

“It’s not 4 yet.” He said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Speak for yourself.” You said, fighting the urge to smile back. He leaned against the door frame, now smiling outright. “…You know, I think I just lost my backstage pass.” Slash laughed.

“It’s all good; I’ll sneak you in in my guitar case or some shit. And besides; this leg of the tour is almost over. We only have a few shows with them left. Next month, we’re opening for Alice Cooper.” He paused a little, his voice turning serious. “You know you can come, if you want.”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, looking down. Some of the things Vince had said were sinking in; you didn’t want to be known as just some groupie that jumped from band to band. Slash touched your shoulder in an effort to get you to look at him.

“I want you to come.” Your heart fluttered again, and threatened to soar out of your chest entirely when he leaned forward and gave you a light and sweet tender peck on the lips—your very first kiss together. He pulled back too quickly, laughing. “You look ridiculous.” You glanced back down at your towel again and laughed. Slash took your bag from your shoulder and stood aside. “You know, I’ve only got one bed in here.”

“That sounds good to me.”

[corvus--rex]

Semi-abandoned for now. I have a vague idea of the endgame, but absolutely no middle or coherent plot. It was originally meant to be another Omegaverse (which it still may be, idk rn), so it's a little weird not in that context. This one is modern magic and Lance and Keith are about 400 year old witches.

~*~*~*~

Crash. The sound of metal on metal. Muffled cursing. This was not what Keith was expecting to hear when he let himself into his apartment after closing the shop alone because Lance said he needed to work on a project. But that’s what he heard. And it was coming from the kitchen. He couldn’t help the soft snicker that escaped him as he kicked his shoes off and dropped his keys on the table. He silently padded across the living room to the kitchen, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. His boyfriend Lance had dropped onto the kitchen island. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he stared intently at his tablet while surrounded by disaster.

“Need some help with your project?” Keith asked, lips twisted in an amused smirk.

Lance shot up. His expression passed from panic to relief in a split second. “I have no idea how I managed to fuck this up. So, yes. Yes, I do.”

With a twist of his fingers, Keith cleaned up the mess Lance had made. Dishware was instantly cleaned and returned to shelves and cabinets, ingredients slotted back into place, utensils placed back into drawers. He sauntered into the kitchen and directly up to Lance, wrapping his arms around his long-time boyfriend and gently kissing him.

“Now,” he said, “How about I take care of dinner for us?”

Lance dropped his head on Keith’s shoulder. “Please. You’d think I would have figured this out after three hundred years.”

Keith just laughed. “Kitchen magic has never been your strong suit, love.”

“Well aware. But this was something Hunk sent me, so I figured that I’d at least be able to figure that one out.” He couldn’t hide the pout in his voice.

“Well, maybe all three of us can work on that. Do you not remember how much I used to suck in the kitchen?”

Lance snorted. “If by suck you mean how many hearths did you blow up, then yes.”

“Asshole. Anyway,” Keith said pointedly, “I’ll get started here if you could set the table.”

“Absolutely,” Lance answered. He kissed the tip of Keith’s nose before twirling away with a light laugh. He snapped his fingers, directing tableware across the kitchen to the table. He jumped, plates and silverware faltering in the air before returning to their path, when Keith smacked his ass on the way by. Lance let out a high-pitched scoff in mock offense. “Don’t make me drop everything!”

Keith just laughed again, violet eyes skimming over the tablet’s screen.

Elsewhere in the city of Altea, a lone figure sat at a workbench, hunched over the worn, pitted surface. Their hands passed over the herbs and crystals laid over a complex sigil, fingers twisting in precise, intricate motions. The lines of the sigil flared to life, silvery blue twining with pale lavender. The herbs smoldered to ash around the crystals, which absorbed the herbs’ essence and the light from the sigil, refracting the light around the room in a twisted, sickly rainbow. The crystals cracked, the lines breaking the rainbows into fractured pieces scattered across the walls. The cracks spread, splintering the crystals until they crumbled to a coarse sand and fell back to the bench’s surface. The figure chuckled softly, a wide grin spread across their face. The crystal sand rose and floated into a waiting glass bowl, raining down on a pair of miniature portraits.

Both portraits dated from the eighteenth century. One held the image of a pale young man in soft pink, raven hair pulled into a low ponytail tied with a black ribbon, the other of another young man with deep golden skin dressed in powder blue, soft, deep brown curls tied back with a navy ribbon.

The figure ran fingertips along the glass. “Soon it will all be over,” they whispered, voice hoarse with disuse.

“Oh, fuck me. Lance, we’re late,” Keith yelled as he sat up in bed the next morning.

Lance rolled out of bed, startled awake. He checked his alarms that should have woken him already. All three of them were turned off. He also noticed that they only had ten minutes before they needed to leave to get to the shop in time to open. “I’ll call Pidge. She’s closer and knows what to do. Um, my alarms were all turned off. Are yours ok?”

Keith grabbed his phone while pulling a shirt on. He checked, and his alarms were also turned off. “No. They’re all off. What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” Lance answered, pulling pants on with his phone tucked into his shoulder, “Oh Pidge, there you are. Hey, our alarms didn’t go off. We’re on our way, but can you open up for us?”

“What? Um, sure. I’ll be right there,” Pidge answered sleepily, “You owe me coffee for this.”

“Totally. Thanks, Pidgey.” He hung up, tossing his phone on the bed. “She says we owe her coffee, but she’ll do it.”

“Oh, thank fuck. We’ll swing by Allura’s on the way. Not like we have time for breakfast anyway,” Keith said, coming back into the bedroom with his shoes.

The pair finished dressing, ensuring they had everything they needed for the day. Keith reached for the table by the door for his keys, finding the table’s surface empty. The floor around and under the table was also devoid of keys. He searched his old leather bag, still coming up empty.

“You haven’t seen my keys, have you?” he asked.

“No, but I have mine. They’ll turn up. They’re probably just behind something. We’ll find them, don’t worry about it,” Lance said soothingly while rubbing his knuckles in circles on Keith’s back.

“Yeah,” Keith sighed, “Well, we’d better get going.”

Keith settled into the passenger seat as Lance pulled out of the garage, still upset about the alarms and his keys. He knewhe’d dropped the keys on the table the night before and was at a complete loss as to where they could be. And the thing with their alarms being turned off. That was even stranger. Soon he was lost in thought, his brain attempting to pick apart the how and why. Lance knew better than to interrupt the train of thought, especially at this hour. He let it go until they pulled up in front of Café Oriande.

“Hey, we’re here,” he said, nudging Keith’s leg.

Keith snapped his attention from the window and his thoughts. “Hm? Oh. Yeah.”

“Ok. I admit that the alarm thing is weird, but the keys will turn up. It’s not the first time shit like that’s happened, and it’s definitely not the last time. Please, stop worrying about it.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

Lance laughed. “That’s about as much as I expected. Come on, let’s go get breakfast and fuel for the beast.”

Keith snorted. “Just don’t let her hear you call her that.”

“No thanks. I value my life.”

Walking into Oriande, they immediately spotted Allura behind one of the two espresso machines. She had her thick silver hair wrapped in a braided bun that day, her dark skin standing in stark contrast to the blue and pink of her uniform t-shirt and white apron that never showed the slightest sign of wear. Beside her at the other machine was the perky blonde barista Romelle. Coran backed out of the kitchen carrying a fresh tray of pastries, followed by Romelle’s brother Bandor toting a full ice bucket. Coran wove his way through two new faces Lance and Keith had never seen before.

Allura looked up as they came in. “Lance! Keith! I didn’t expect to see you until later!” she shouted from her position.

Romelle looked up from the drink she was making and waved excitedly with her usual bright smile. Bandor turned around, greeting the pair with a wave of the now empty ice bucket. Coran finished refilling the display case leaving the tray on the counter.

“And how are you two today?” he asked cheerily.

“Yeah, we’re running a little late today. Pidge is opening for us,” Lance said to Allura before answering Coran, “We’re good, other than that.”

“Speaking of Pidge, our resident gremlin demanded a caffeinated tribute,” Keith added.

“Oh!” Allura said, coming to the counter by the registers, “You have to meet our new recruits. This delightful girl is Merla,” she gently held the shoulders of the magenta-haired girl at the register before tapping the man behind her, “And this is my cousin Tavo.”

Tavo turned around from the drip coffee machines behind the register. He was taller and darker than Allura, his ink-dark dreads pulled up into a high ponytail. He nodded in greeting. “Always good to meet Allura’s friends,” he said before returning to the coffee machines.

“So, I heard something about a caffeine tribute?” Allura asked.

“Yeah, Pidge is opening the shop for us,” Keith answered.

“And your usual teas, or do you need something stronger?”

“Nah, tea’s fine,” Lance said, “But we will need rocket fuel for the gremlin.”

“And Coran’s magical pain au chocolat,” Keith added.

Allura snorted at the double meaning and went about filling their order.

Breakfast in hand, Allura waved them out of the café. Keith held his very large cup in both hands, adjusting the tea’s temperature to something immediately drinkable. It was half gone by the time they reached their metaphysical shop Marmora. It had been named in honor of the first coven Keith had been a part of. One that was long gone, lost to the mists of the past.

Pidge, who was a part of their current coven, made sleepy grabby hands at the coffee cup in Lance’s hand as he and Keith walked in to the shop. She tripped over herself clambering down from the tall chair behind the counter, nearly faceplanting into the old wood floor. Lance held the cup just out of her reach.

“Gimme my coffee, asshole,” she grumbled.

“I’ll do you one better,” he answered, handing her the cup and one of the boxes containing Coran’s pain au chocolat.

Pidge grabbed both, cradling them to her chest as she darted back to the chair, climbing the rungs, and settling herself cross-legged in the seat, her coffee between her legs as she tore into the pastry.

“Remind me not to feed her after midnight,” Keith said.

“I can hear you,” Pidge said through pastry and chocolate. She took a long sip of her coffee before becoming slightly more human. “So, what happened with the alarms?” she questioned.

“No idea. But all our alarms were turned off and my keys disappeared. I’ll do a summoning spell when we get home.”

“Yeah,” she answered through more pastry, “But that alarm thing is fuckin’ weird.”

“No argument there,” Lance said.

Pidge dropped the empty box in the trash beside her and made grabby hands at Lance and Keith again. “Gimme your phones, I’ll check them over.”

They both put their phones down on the wood counter. Pidge may not have been as old as they were, but she was a highly accomplished witch. She also had an almost preternatural gift for mundane technology. If there was any meddling with their phones, magical or otherwise, she’d find it.

She laced her fingers together and stretched her arms, cracking her knuckles. Fluttering fingers stilled, passing over the darkened screens. Both came to life, Pidge’s magic searching through their inner workings. A dark iridescence like an oil slick spread across both screens, filling them.

“Oh, fuck. Who’d you two piss off? This is pretty strong shit,” she said, staring at the devices in horror.

“No one that we know of,” Keith replied, “Not lately anyway.”

Pidge gave him an unimpressed look. “Define ‘lately’.”

“Fifty years or so?” he guessed.

“Ooh. Yeah, but that got taken care of. That bitch colossally fucked up and managed to drain her own magic. Do you have any idea how hard that is?” Lance added, remembering the incident.

“Very.”

“How very?” Pidge asked.

“Nearly impossible. So that would make it more like a hundred years ago, maybe a little more. I think it was about the turn of the twentieth century, right?” Keith turned to Lance for confirmation.

“Yeah, about then. But that wasn’t to do with us directly. We just got caught up in it.” Lance dismissed the idea with a flutter of his fingers. “Doesn’t matter anyway. No one’s heard from them since then. Like, at all. They vanished completely.”

Pidge was downing her coffee at an alarming rate, but put her cup down at that. “I need you to tell me everything that happened.”

“Tonight,” Keith said, “This might take a while, and I don’t want to get interrupted. Can you break that in the meanwhile?” He indicated his and Lance’s phones.

“I can try, but no promises,” she answered, taking them and her coffee to the back room.

Keith moved around to the other side of the counter, duplicating the chair for Lance. They both settled in, Keith leaning back with his tea. Lance licked the molten chocolate off his finger and turned back to Keith.

“I really hope this doesn’t have anything to do with them. If it does, we may be totally fucked.”

Keith nodded in agreement, then sat up. “But wait, didn’t the others abandon him immediately after that? He’d gone so far over they wanted nothing to do with him anymore. They went into hiding to protect themselves from him, like we did for a while. If anything, it’ll be him on his own.”

“That might be even worse. No one to hold him back after over a hundred years? We need to warn everyone involved.”

Keith put his cup down and got up, wrapping himself around Lance. “Not yet. We need to be sure it’s him first. This could have nothing to do with him. I don’t know who else would want to get at us, but we can’t just go off because of something like this. We’ll figure it out.”

Lance returned the embrace, burying his face in Keith’s shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll let Pidge work and see what she comes up with.”

Ten minutes later, when Keith and Lance were finishing their tea, the door to the back room flew open, bouncing off the wall with a crack of electricity.

“OW! Shit! Sorry!” Pidge yelled, and pulled the door closed from her seat.

~*~*~*~

Links to the rest of the series:

1 | 2 | 3* | 4 | 5* | 6* | 7 | 8 | 9* | 10 | 11 | 12* | 13 | 14 | 15* | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19*

[elles-writing]

The Sounds of Home - Kili x reader

Kili x reader

Requested: Yes, by @terri205​

Request:  Hello there - I read one of your previous posts about taking requests so here i am asking for a drabble or oneshot with some domestic life / husband x wife with children with Kili even though his character died I really cannot get over him. Hope you are still writing for him . ( dwarf x human if that helps .. also can the height difference be erased for now ? Yk Aidan is a tall boy 😁🙃 ) wish you having a great day!

Word count: around 3k

A/N: Of course!! I write a lot for Kili, because I feel like there’s not a lot of fanfics for him, that people actually think more of Fili and Thorin, but hey, this little cute pup needs love too! (Just like Lindir. He’s also adorable.) And I’ve red somewhere on Pinterest that Thorin is actually tall 5′2 ft, which is like only solid 2 inches smaller than me (okay, I’m barely 5′4 ft)!! And Kili’s only a bit smaller than Thorin!! I’ll look for that picture and if I find it, i’ll put it here.

A/N II: I feel like my writting sucks at most of this one, I’m so sorry! I wanted it to be much, much better, but I just somehow don’t really know how to rewrite it, so I’m posting it anyways. I want to write something similar in the future, so I’ll tag you to it.

A/N III: I wrote some extra part and edited it, so now I can say I’m quite happy with it!

Tw: pregnancy, mentions of sex

Okay, so here it is. I found it on pinterest, but it’s from tumblr @richardarmitagequotes​ . Here is the link to it.

Playlist you don’t have to listen, but I was writting during listening to these songs: Taylor Swift - cartigan, Taylor Swift - exile, The Chainsmokers - Paris, Porcelain Black - One Woman Army, Taylor Swift - august, 

It was such a long time ago when did this happened...

This was how you started your children’s bedtime story, which was their favourite - it was the story of how did their parents - you and Kili - have met and long adventure that was avaiting behind them to reclaim Erebor. About you, a young human girl, who was curious and wanted to see the world, and him, young dwarf prince, who wanted to help to reclaim his home again. And surely wasn’t counting on finding love, but yet you were here - Kili, you and your children - living in a cottage a bit aside from Erebor and Dale.

It was a sunny day, you and your children working at the garden. You were in the middle of placing tomatoes to your handbasket, when a loud scream came to your ears. You looked up and sighed at the sight of your son scaring your daughter with earthworm on a stick, which was moving around.

“Vili, stop scaring Ainiel with that earthworm. Go back to taking out the carrots out, alright? And let Ainiel to pick the berries.” Your son shook his head and went back to taking out the carrots, putting the earthworm to his hand and mumbling something to it before putting it back to the hole, where was one big carrot before.

You looked at him by the corner of your eye. He has the same hair as his father, face features, very similar personality, the only thing was his eyes - they were brown with slight e/c in them. Your daughter has gotten her father’s hair texture, face shape and a bit of his joking personality, but from you she’ve gotten her bookworm-self, able to read all day, and thinking carefully about things. Otherwise, she would be your dupe.

You looked over to your youngest child - your second daughter, who was sitting in the grass and creating a flower tiara from daisies. When she was done, she jumped up and with squealing runned to her sister and putted the tiara on her head. She let out a bubbly laugh, as toddlers do, and runned to you.

“Mama, Ainiel is a princess! I am a princess! Mama is a princess!” And placed flowery tiara she finished earlier in your hair. You smiled and she sat down to you, looking up to sky.

“Is there going to be a storm?” You looked up and noticed the dark clouds, quickly approaching. You took your youngest daughter to your arms, your basket hanging from your forearm.

“Vili, take the carrots, Ainiel, take the basket with berries, Lila...” you looked in the toddler’s eyes.

“Hold your tiara, dearie.” You looked over the garden and noticed movement on the other side of the garden on your backyard. Then someting let out a ‘meow’.

It’s probably just some cat, you thought when a typical little furry tale glimpsed through the grass. It wasn’t unusual for cats to be wondering around your house, since in a Dale many people were having cats as pets.

When you were inside, a hard rain started. You sighed out, placed Lila and the basket with tomatoes down in the kitchen, and went over to fireplace to start a fire.

Once the room was filled with warm light and sound of cracking wood, your children started with washing and clearing the vegetables. Vili and Ainiel only, because Lila was sitting on the chair cuddled in blanket. She was afraid of thunders and storms, and even though there was no thunder, there was sometimes a lightning across the sky and she squealed and jumped up.

You made a luke-warm tea for Lila and while she was sipping it, you were cutting the vegetables and meat and cooking stew.

Once the meal was done, you looked out through the window. It was raining really hard still, so you decided to take your children and cuddle behind the fireplace with tea and either read to them or tell them some story.

Once you and your children sat down, blankets were all over the place and Vili and Lila fighting over one of them.

“Lila, give it to me, you have it all the time!”

“No, I want it! Give it to me!” Vili teared out the blanket from her hands and she squealed when she fell down. She started sobbing and then vailing. Vili’s eyebrows furrowed and he kneeled down to her.

“I’m so sorry, Lila, I didn’t wanted to hurt you! Look, you can take the bla-” She teared the blanket from his hands and stick out her tongue on him. He was surprised and inhaled, but Lila jumped on him and started beating his chest by her little fists.

“I’m as strong as you!” Vili squealed when she took his hair and started to pulling them. You quickly took her off of him, careful not to pull his hair more, but a few of them stayed in your daughter’s grasp.

“You’re getting way too energetic, young lady. What’s all this about?” You sat down and she was sitting in your lap.

“He wanted to take my blanket and I fell down.” She didn’t dared to look up at you.

“It’s because the two men in Dale two weeks ago were doing this?” She mumbled a response and you shook your head.

“Lila, that’s not how you are supposed to solve problems. First, you need to talk about it. Don’t be that-” then a loud thunder and sharp lightning scrossed the sky and Lila squeaked.

“M-momma, I’m so afraid!” She nuzzled to your chest and you wrapped a blanket around the two of you. Vili and Ainiel sat next to you, wrapped in blankets.

“Will you tell us the story, momma?” Ainiel asked you, breaking the silence. A slight smile stretched your lips.

“You already know that one backwards.”

“That’s not true, I cannot say it backwards!” Vili protested and Ainiel shook her head.

“That means we already know it really well, you dumb dwarf.” Lila let out a laugh.

“Will you tell us the part with Master Baggin’s home? The beginning?” Vili made a pleading puppy look, that he surely got from his father, and you sighed.

“Okay.”

“And that one when you confessed your love?” Ainiel asked. You smiled and nodded.

“I will. So, I came here with Balin, and I didn’t wanted to be rude, because, as you know, hobbits are peaceful beings and they don’t like when someone is rude, so I just sat aside. Then, there was another knock on the door, and I told him I will open. I opened the door, and there were two young dwarves, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the other one with dark hair and brown eyes. Me and the younger one froze in spot and the whole Shire must’ve hear us, because we both screamed: ‘YOU?!’. It was that dwarf I saved from two orcs and kicked his butt before, calling him very...spicy names for doing such a stupid thing.”

“How did you called him?” Vili pleated. You’ve never told them, that first words adressed from you to their father were ‘What were you thinking, you fucking fool?! Two big orcs twice your size?! If I wouldn’t save you, you would be dead by now!’.

It was a few days since you’ve left your home for an adventure, where Gandalf invited you. 

You were thankful to the few of dwarves that lived near the village you’ve lived in, whom teached your father how to fight, which he teached you. You could get a few nice hours of sleep at night, because you didn’t have to worry about not being able to defend yourself.

The next day, around a down, settling down your things to prepare for a camp, a loud scream cutted the silence. You looked up. It sounded as if somebody needed a help.

You quickly and as quietly as you could, runned to that spot. You looked through the bushes and noticed somebody - a male - trying to fight with two orcs double size of him. One of them was holding his leg, the other one his arm and he was trying to fight with them, but you assumed they took his weapons, since he had nothing but a dagger. You quickly let out an arrow, which went straight through orc’s head, and he fell dead. You jumped out of your hiding spot and the other one chuckled darkly in black speech. You growled and jumped aside when he was trying to catch you. He tried to stab you with his sword, but you were way too quick. You jumped up at tree stump and stabbed him by your sword in it’s back. The orc fell dead, down to the ground.

You looked over to that male - a dwarf, you thought, because of his ears and he was as tall as you - and he was staring at you with awe in his eyes. Adrenalin was still in you from the fight in your veins and you got angry.

“What were you thinking, you fucking fool?! Two big orcs twice your size?! If I wouldn’t save you, you would be dead by now!” He snapped from his expression and quickly started gathering his weapons.

“I didn’t needed help, you know?! I could-I would be able to win over them!” You snorted in very un-lady like way while taking out your sword and arrow.

“Of course, but before that, you would be their dinner.” You looked over your shoulder and shook your head. No. He has just stupid brown puppy eyes.

“That’s not true!” He got angry, slightely offended. You smirked.

“All right then. You’d be their midnight snack.” You chuckled when noticed his face to redden and looked away to get to your place where you wanted to camp.

You couldn’t stop thinking about that man since then. And your angry behaviour, which you were quite sorry for.

“That’s not appropiate for your ears, children. So, where did I ended? Oh, I know!” Vili and Ainiel shimmed closer to you.

“Then, the blonde one looked at both of us and asked: ‘Where do you know each other from?’. The brown-haired muttered something under his breath and I sighed. ‘I didn’t wanted to be so rude, you know?’ He looked up at me, eyes wide, mouth slightely open and cheeks red. I got into house and...who do you think was that?” You asked your children and Ainiel, the quick thinker, was first one to answer that.

“Uncle Fili and Adad, mommy!” She grinned and you stroke her hair.

“Excellent. Now-” You inhaled to talk again, but Ainiel interrupted you.

“Now the wedding, mommy! How was the wedding? Was it big? Was it beautiful?” Her face lighted up in happiness, that was her favourite part. Vili just snorted.

“Girls. Why the wedding? It’s so boring!” You chuckled.

“One day you will find your own significant other and you won’t be snorting at the mention of weddings, because you will be the eager one to plan it all out.” Said voice behind you. You and your children turned around and found your soaking-wet, but madly-grinning husband. Vili squealed, excited, and while trying to get to him, be tripped over his own legs and blanket and landed at the floor. Lila’s fluttered open and she yawned as she woke up from her slumber, and once she noticed her father, she squealed in joy and tried to get to him, her arms opened for a hug.

“Adad! You’re home!” He picked Vili up from the floor and with a grin on his face, he picked up Lila too and spun them around. The sight of him with your children, his face lighted up with joy and absolute adoration for them was a thing that made you to appreciate every single moment like that you had.

Kili placed his two children to the ground, and even if all three of them were wet now, they didn’t really cared. You stood up.

“Now, I see, you are ready to change in something dry.” Kili looked over to Vili and Lila.

“Who’s going to be the first one changed, gets the most cookies!” Before you could even blink, Vili and Lila were already rushing to their rooms to change, and Kili went to your bedroom to change, too.

Ainiel turned to you.

“What about the wedding, mommy? How was it?” You sat down to her.

“So, at first, it was before the battle of five armies. Me and your father, your uncle, nobody knew if we will survive, so we decided to do it without unnecessary formalities. We just changed vows, gifts, kissed and braided each other’s hair.” And lost our virginities that night.

“After the battle and when Dale and Erebor was rebuilded, we got married with all of the formalities that are necessary in royal family. It was a big and eventful wedding, very loud, too. Something like celebration on Durin’s Day, but three times louder, with more dancing.” She nodded with a serious expression.

* Extra *

After the dinner (and promised cookies, which got Vili and Lila) and when your children went to sleep, you and Kili stayed together in the living room, cuddled under a blanket.

„How was your day, amralime?“ You asked him while making circles inside his palm. Kili softly kissed the top of your head.

„Uneventful and boring, givanshel. Meeting got longer today, and thanks to the storm, I was even more late than I would be. How was today for you, my precious queen?“ You felt his hand lazily making circles over the fabric on your stomach and smiled.

„Just like any other day, my dear husband. Two out of our three children took their personality after you, making every day an adventure,“ He softly chuckled and kissed your temple from the back.

„It all started with one adventure,“ He said in a low voice. You sighed softly.

„Yes, indeed it did. But I saved your butt before that adventure,“ His fingers started to make way to your hips and sides.

„Of course, my dear wife,“ He started tickling you, and you tried to giggle as quietly as possible to not to wake the children. You turned around, so you now faced Kili and sat on his lap. You kissed his nose, then his lips, and he smiled to the kiss. He pulled you closer.

„Mhmm, amralime,“ He whispered when you pulled away for air. You pushed a few strands of his hair out of his face, looking deep to his loving brown eyes

„You should go to sleep. You are tired,“ You said. He raised a brow.

„I can stay awake as long as you’d like me to.“ His eyes got that mischievous spark you knew way too well.

„I may be in love with you, but you cannot fool me, my precious prince.“ You kissed his cheek softly.

„So you want to say you’d turn down an opportunity for making love on the floor, or just right here, right now?“ You gasped and punched his shoulder softly.

„Kili!“ His sparkling eyes were watching you, while his lips tugged up into a smirk.

„You didn’t minded that when we moved in,“ He winked at you and your cheeks burned red.

„You’re right,“ You muttered and he laughed.

„But I wanted to talk to you about something...something else,“ You nervously rubbed your hands together. He furrowed his brows and cupped your cheek in his palm, making you to look at him.

„What’s wrong, Amralime?“ You felt his body tense. He was fully awake, and you just shook your head with a small smile.

„Nothing is wrong.“

„What is it, then?“ You placed his palm to your stomach. Kili’s eyes widened in realization, experiencing this for the fourth time.

„Are you-are you really-do you mean-?“ You slowly nodded.

„Around a week,“ A grin stretched across his lips and he took you to his arms, kissing your whole face, dancing around your living room.

„We’re going to have another baby, I cannot-oh Mahal, I can’t believe that!“ He kissed your lips with a smile.

„You need to rest, givanshel.“ He started walking towards your bedroom.

„I can walk on my own, Kili.“ You laughed and he kissed your temple as he kicked the door to your bedroom open.

„Well, you need to rest a lot now, so no walking for you, my love.“ He placed you down to your shared bed and you giggled.

„I need to walk at some point. Who will cook?“ Kili kicked off his boots and laid to you, placing you to his chest and resting his palm on your still flat belly. He kissed your temple and blinked, so he wouldn’t start crying out of pure happiness.

„You know how it ended up every time you ever tried to cook,“ You reminded him and he grimaced.

„Oh, c’mon amralime, I’m not that bad at cooking!“

„You cutted yourself while cutting the vegetables and then burned the soup.“

„Oh hush amralime,“ He muttered and you laughed.

„Amad was giving me a cooking lessons,“ He blurted out suddenly. You raised a brow and turned to him.

„When we were over for Durin’s day last year. Well, rather Amad was teaching me, while Lila and Ainiel were watching over the kitchens in general, and Vili, well,“ He looked sleepishly down on you.

„Vili was messing around with Fili,“ You rolled your eyes.

„I’ve noticed them, of course. I’m glad Erebor is still standing,“ You both chuckled and he started rubbing small circles on your belly. You sighed and hugged your husband closer. He kissed your forehead.

„Sleep, Amralime. You need to rest.“

„You too, Amralime. Good night.“

„Good night, my princess.“