#this image is absolutely indecipherable

[fairlyabookie]

A Cat's Woe

Author's note: I've been thinking about cats lately...

Content warning: wholesome

A slobbering lump of fur snarls pitifully, its paws grabbing at air as a pair of hands gingerly lather its pelt with shampoo. A hand strokes at the crown of its head, tapping its nose as if to scold the feline.

“Calm down, Lucius. We must have you cleaned up for your papa.” 

The feline wallows in self-piteous meows, clinging onto your arm with a paw. A helpless chuckle bubbles from your lips, 

“What am I to do with you, you troublesome feline?” 

You continue coaxing the feline, hoping that it would be enough for him to calm down as you conclude his bath. The finished result came to a mob of black and white fur clinging onto your arm, Lucius’ features indecipherable from the slob. You couldn’t wait to take a picture for Trein to see, the sight truly pitiful from the usual enigmatic cat.

“Come now, Lucius. We’re done with your bath. Let’s get you dried up.” 

You coo once more, picking up the feline out of the bathtub. As if relieved to finally get out of the water, Lucius shakes off some water from his pelt, splashing you in the process. Much to his chagrin, you entrap him with a thick towel, capturing him in a cocoon of cloth. He mewls indignantly, his amber eyes glaring daggers at you. 

“[Reader], I take Lucius is finished with his bath?” 

You hear a muffled voice coming from the other side of the door. Lucius mewls, his gaze fixated at the door in anticipation for his master. 

“Yes, Trein. I’m about to dry him. You should see him right now. He looks absolutely miserable.” 

Lucius turns his gaze back to you, his expression even gloomier than the last. 

“I’m sure he is. When you’re done, dinner is ready. I’ve made the specialty: vichyssoise.”

A smile graces your lips at Trein’s statement. 

“Perfect, thank you, Trein. Lucius will be done with drying in no time.” 

“Thank you, [Reader].” 

You shift your gaze back to Lucius, where he shirks under the cocoon of blankets as he notices a sudden drop in temperature around him. 

“Now, my fair feline, be a good boy and get you all dried up for your papa.” 

A pair of hands close in onto the feline, his orbitals growing bigger as saucers, a diabolic image of you reflecting in his eyes. What he hated most from this bath time was getting dried; first, it was cold water harshly splashing him wave after wave and now, the frenzied assault of a cotton towel repeatedly tussling his fur with biting texture. A flurry of indignant mewls fill the bathroom, persisting to see his owner than to continue with this farce. 

“Hang in there, Lucius. We can’t have you walking around looking like a mop.” 

You gently chide as you add one more step to his routine, combing through his now dry fur. The feline doesn’t pay any mind, merely calculating his next move as revenge for this human’s handling of him in the wretched waters. His mildly wet tail swats at your direction, splashing you with mere droplets of water.

“Lucius!” 

~ ~ ~ ~

Emerging from the bathroom with a sleek layer of fur was a satisfied Lucius, resting on a disheveled [Reader]’s arms. As soon as he catches a glimpse of his owner, a loud purr rumbles from the feline, jumping from their arms to be with him. 

“I see that you’ve taken a bath, Lucius. Good job, good job.” 

Lucius purrs out his chest cheekily as he finds himself comfortable in Trein’s arms. 

“Now, let’s proceed with dinner. Goodness gracious, whatever happened to you, [Reader]?” 

The sudden shift of tone garnered the feline’s attention; much to his amusement, it was [Reader], splattered with water and fur, the victim of his petty revenge. You glare pointedly at the feline before answering with a smile, 

“Oh, Lucius was having too much fun in the bath. Don’t mind me.” 

Trein arches an eyebrow at his feline, who doesn’t pay his master any mind. 

“Now then, it’s your turn to get cleaned up, my dear. Come along, our dinner can wait.” 

Lucius sags on his perch, indignation written on his features. Meow I have to wait for this stupid human, c’mon! He can only wallow in misery once more as Trein guides [Reader] back to the bathroom. He spares a glance over to his nemesis, who smirks in his direction. 

[thdorkmagnet]

RIP Leo (Turtle Tots: Before the Rise)

@flufftober 2024 Day 1- Alt Prompt 6: Gravestone

Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Chapter Summary: Alass Leo, we knew him well.

A/N: Already behind it seems. I ended up getting Covid and spent all last week sick in bed so it's thrown off a lot of my schedule, haha. That was also gonna be my prep week so I could build a bigger backlog sooooo yeah. *shrugs*

I do have a small backlog built up but it's probably going to be a bit erratic when I manage to finish and post these. I'm not stressing too much about it though, since I'd much rather make good chapters than rushed ones anyways. Anyways hope you enjoy!!

The sound of shattering glass made all three turtles jump. Leo, Donnie, and Mikey all looked down at the broken remains of plate scattered about the floor, the once pristine image of Lou Jitsu now cracked into a thousand indecipherable pieces. 

After a moment of wide-eyed staring, the attention shifted to a sweating Leo, who just stared guiltily at the ground. 

“You broke dad's plate,” Mikey whispered in horror. 

“No!” Leo shouted, pointing an accusing finger at his twin. “It was Donnie's fault! He pushed me!!”

“Offended gasp!” Donnie huffed, giving Leo the stink eye. “Excuse me! You pushed me first! And it was your dumb idea to play in here in the first place!” 

“Nobody forced you to!” Leo whined, making a pouty face as he twiddled his thumbs around and around and around. 

“Dad’s gonna be so mad,” Mikey continued in a soft whisper, as if that would cover up the crime right in front of them.

“I concur.” Donnie nodded his head in agreement. His eyebrow raised as he asked, “How do you plan on getting out of this one, Nardo?”

“Uhhh,” Leo’s brain stuttered for an idea. “M-Maybe he won’t notice,” he weakly tried, anxiously shuffling from foot to foot as his fingers continued their endless spin. 

“Our father- the biggest Lou Jitsu fan on the planet- isn't going to notice his priceless, one-of-a-kind Lou Jitsu ceramic plate and the pride of his collection is missing,” Donnie deadpanned, he and Mikey giving their sibling a disbelieving look. The softshell rolled his eyes and added in his most condescending monotone, “Yes I’m sure that will happen and that there is absolutely nothing flawed in your logic whatsoever.” 

“Um, but didn’t you just say he would,” Mikey piped up, cutely pulling at the sleeve of his big brother’s hoodie. 

“That was sarcasm, Michael. He is most definitely going to notice.”

“We could buy him a new one,” Leo suggested, staring at the shattered bits like they might light on fire. 

“Does the term ‘one-of-a-kind’ mean nothing to you, Nardo?” Leo shot Donnie an annoyed glare which was met with a smirk from his twin. 

Leo crossed his arms with a pout, huffing dramatically. “Well why don’t you come up with an idea then, Tello!”

“Well since you will be dead meat when father finds out, I suppose I could get to work on your gravestone,” Donnie replied, rubbing his chin as if seriously considering it. 

Leo just stuck his tongue out at his twin. 

“Don’t worry Leo, I bet Donnie’s got a science-y thing that can make the plate fixed all good for you,” Mikey encouraged, hugging his blue sibling around the middle.  

“I do, it’s called glue.” There was no bite in his tone like there was with Leo, little brother privileges and all that. As he glanced back down at the mess of broken shards he seemed to be calculating something. “Though I doubt that will do much.” 

“I gotta try something!” Leo declared, eyes flashing with determination, pumping a fist heroically into the air like he’d seen Lou Jitsu do a hundred times before. To his little brother he said, “Mikey go get the glue.” 

The little box turtle nodded and skipped off to go get said glue. Leo carefully started sorting through the pieces, trying to figure out which fit where, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he worked. Donnie came over and crouched next to him. “I still think you’re dead.” 

“Just shut up and start sorting, Tello,” Leo snapped. 

“Well I am better at puzzles than you,” Donnie muttered, joining his brother in picking through shards. 

Ten minutes and a whole bottle of glue later,  the plate was fixed… kind of. 

It was in one piece at least? 

Okay no that was a stretch-

It was more to say that it now closely resembled what was once a plate but was still obviously an assorted jumble of broken glass haphazardly glued back together. Glue dripped from the cracks and there were small gaps of space where they had lost pieces, not to mention the once smiling face of Lou Jitsu was replaced with a distorted, lumpy thing that vaguely resembled a human if you squinted hard enough. 

So basically…

It wasn’t fixed at all. 

“Okay, that looks, um-” Leo grimaced as he took a step back to get a better look at their ‘creation’. After a moment of floundering for a good description his twin supplied his own.

“Horrible,” Donnie snarked, resting his chin in his hands. “And nothing like Lou Jitsu.” 

“It looks like mushed play-doh,” Mikey commented, picking dried glue off his fingertips.

Donnie snorted. “Or a poor Picasso imitation.”

“Or-”

“Okay I get it!” Leo snapped, pouting to hide his blush. “But, come on, it's dad!” He threw his arms in the air for emphasis. “There's no way he's gonna notice!” 

His siblings didn't argue any further so that must have been enough to convince them. Leo let out a little huff of relief and bent down to carefully scoop up the plate. “Now hurry up and help me get it back on the shelf before dad sees.”

“Wait, Leo, the glue hasn't finished-” Donnie’s warning came a second too late as the plate crumbled in Leo’s hands, chipped bits of glass swimming in sticky glue pooling on the floor. 

“-drying,” Donnie finished lamely before going silent. 

The three turtles stared for a beat, their hard work reset to zero. Or maybe less than zero since they now also had a puddle of glue to clean on top of everything else.

Finally, Donnie turned to Leo. “I'll go start on your tombstone,” he said, voice perfectly deadpanned even as his teasing smirk slipped through the act. 

That snapped Leo out of his stupor, bitterly retorting, “Ha ha, very funny.”

“Oh, I'll help!” Mikey offered, bright smile returning to freckled cheeks as he scooted closer to Donnie. “Imma paint a unicorn!”

Donnie nodded in approval, putting a hand on his little bro’s shoulder. “Good idea, Michael, I'm sure Leo would have wanted it that way.” He looked up at the ceiling as if reminiscing. 

“I'm not dead, you jerks!” Leo shouted, folding his arms in front of him and looking cross. 

“Ah, sometimes it's like I can still hear his voice.” Donnie continued, moving so he and Leo were shoulder to shoulder, a dramatic hand to his forehead. 

“Ugh, you guys are the worst!” Leo grouched, shoving his twin away. 

“Hey I think I can hear him, too!” Mikey said before covering his mouth to hide the giggle. 

“It's almost like he's still in the room with us.” Donnie was going pure thespian now, pretending to wipe away an invisible tear.  

“Can you stop making jokes and just help me already!” Leo hissed, slapping his hands against the ground in annoyance. 

“Boys! What’s going on in there?!” Splinter’s voice rang through the lair as if summoned by the loud commotion, footfalls getting steadily closer. 

“Nothing!” Leo yelled back, trying desperately to cover the mess on the floor with his hands. 

“RIP Leo, gone before his time,” Donnie mumbled before Leo lightly kicked him in the side.

[ai-or-not-ai]

These are AI generated.

on the left we see an example of what tends to happen when ai images are generated off of original images that had a watermark. It seems like these out of focus dewdrops are trying to form letters (and I can see someone hiding their watermark along an out of focus stem).

on the right I wanted to emphasize how even though the sharpness of the foreground flowers implies they are highly in focus, when you zoom in the shapes all blend together and become indecipherable in a way that would not occur in an in-focus photo.

Next time you see a photoset of flowers that are pastel and dreamy and absolutely COVERED in dew drops, I’d encourage you to take a closer look.

[notanotherreidgirl]

Ruin Me

Summary: Spencer has been very needy and bratty so Reader teaches him a lesson

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, handjob, edging, degradation, exhibitionism/public sex, ruined orgasm, mommy kink

Word Count: 1220

A/N: I combined this request with this one. This is part of the Mommy Kink Collection

You were gripping your wine glass in your hand so tightly it was a miracle it didn’t shatter. Saying you were mad was an understatement. Furious would be more accurate or maybe livid. Spencer would have a thesaurus full of descriptors for your current mood but if anyone asked you would settle for pissed. 

You were absolutely pissed and it was taking everything in you not to grab Spencer and drag him out the door. But you were in Strauss’ home in heels with half the department milling about talking about recent cases and budget cuts so you plastered on a smile and did your best to make small talk. Spencer popped another hor d’oeuvre in his mouth and shot you a cheeky smile from across the room, turning back to the gaggle of female agents fawning over him. 

He was trying to get back at you for denying him all day. He had been insatiable - constantly touching your arm, your waist, your hand. When you left the BAU he had slipped into the elevator behind you, pulling you in close enough to feel his prominent arousal. But you were resolute in your denial, pointing out that you were already running late and reminding him of how Hotch had reacted the last time you had skipped a departmental mixer. 

But he wouldn’t stop. Trying to get in the shower with you, pawing at you while you got undressed, kissing you while you put on makeup (nearly ruining your eyeliner), and whining when you pulled his coat on and ushered him out the door. But Spencer, ever the magician, had a few tricks up his sleeve. As soon as you pulled in he produced his glasses from his jacket pocket, smirking a bit as he put them on and slid out the car. Those stupid, beautiful glasses that perfectly framed his doe eyes and turned your brain to mush. Strike 1

To make matters worse he stayed away from you for the entire party, suddenly becoming a social butterfly and talking up every impressionable agent in his vicinity. He regaled them with stories of cases, filled their drinks for them, stood much too close for comfort. He was even doing magic tricks for god’s sake!

Nonetheless you kept your cool, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response. That was until one of them reached up and plucked his glasses from his face and put them on, striking a little pose and smiling up at him. His eyes darted over to you, knowing this was a step too far but he made no move to take them back. You held his gaze as you set your glass down and made your way to him. Despite his trepidation, you could make out the triumphant look in his eyes. The look that meant his plan had succeeded. Strike 2

You grabbed his arm harshly, pulling him to you and practically snatching the glasses from the poor agent’s face and tossing them in your purse. “I think Dr. Reid has forgotten something”

He stumbled a little. “Um I-I don’t think I forgot anything”

But you were already hauling him into an empty room and closing the door behind your back. “Really? Because it seems to me that you’ve forgotten who you belong to”

“And who’s fault is that?” he clamped his mouth shut as soon as he said it. Strike 3

You stalked forwards, forcing him to back up against a desk. “Watch yourself, baby. I will fuck that attitude right out of you” 

You expected him to launch into one of his well-practiced apologies but he only bit his lip, holding your gaze. It seemed your boy was committed to being a brat tonight. You gave him a sly, indecipherable smile as your hand drifted downwards. He whined, desperate to relieve the tightness in his pants and the ragged sigh he let out when you freed him lit a fire in the pit of your stomach. “Is this what you want? For me to stroke your little cock with the Director of the FBI in the other room?”

“Y-yes, Mommy. I want you so much. Wanted you all day” he squeezed his eyes shut, barely stifling the soft moans slipping out from his throat. There was no trace of his earlier arrogance in his voice now, just the desperate pleas of an exceptionally disobedient little boy. His hips bucked into your hand in anticipation of his growing release but you withdrew your hand at the last moment. He let out a low whine as his orgasm was extinguished. “No, no, no. Mommy please. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to be bad. I promise I’ll never do it again just please let me cum”

You pretended to consider his offer, tilting your head to the side. “Hmmm, you promise?”

He nodded his head emphatically. “I promise, Mommy!”

You grasped him once again, collecting the precum that gathered at the head and spreading it down his length. He threw his head back, knowing that his release would be doubly powerful as a result of your earlier denial. You pumped him faster bringing him closer and closer to the edge until he started to tremble underneath you. Then without warning you pulled away.

For an agonizing second, Spencer thought he had been denied once again but then reflex took over. The electricity running down his spine petered out at the very end for an inadequate finish, leaving him deeply unsatisfied and feeling completely wrong. His cock spasmed pathetically, devoid of any stimulation, and a weak stream of thick cum leaked out. His mouth fell open soundlessly, a whimper caught in the back of his throat. He was still hard. If anything his erection demanded more attention than before but he didn’t dare touch it, knowing that he was much too sensitive.

“You said I could come” His voice was thick with emotion. A spark of pity ignited in your chest but you were quick to recall the image of Spencer flirting with those agents earlier, effectively squelching any possibility of mercy. 

“And you did, didn’t you?” It wasn’t the same. You knew it wasn’t but you gestured to the cum on his boxers all the same. He wanted to protest further but he wasn’t willing to risk more punishment. Instead he watched wordlessly, wincing slightly as you tucked him into his pants and pulled him to his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, already feeling the cum soak his underwear and begin to run down his leg. He looked at you, face etched with worry. “Are we going home now?”

“Nope. Mommy’s got work to do.” Your earlier anger had prevented you from doing any networking but that wasn’t a problem anymore. You fished his glasses from your purse and slipped them back on his face. “Do you think you can be a good boy for me now?”

He glanced down at his pants and nervously twisted his hands together. His mind whirred, calculating how long it would take until his situation became noticeable while trying to deduce how long you were planning on making him walk around a house full of profilers and skilled FBI agents with his boxers full of cum. “Yes, I can be good”

“That’s what I like to hear”

Taglist: @thatsonezesty13 @rosienie @newyorkaqua @coldlilheart @spencerreider @newgirlinhell @ssa-natalya-reid @lauryn-need-help @spencerscumrag @gublerzwhore @beepbooptoop @stylesstreet @zoeygraygubler @deiondraaa​ @nct-nyny @optimisticcloudmoon @centiaaa​ @ifvckedurmom @6r4cie @dontcallmekittens​ @subbyspencereid​ @kuolonsyoja​ @goldengubler5 @reid-me-a-story​ @spencerreidsmommy @aharvey979​ @reidsbookclub​ @lunajoyce3​​

Click here to join a taglist and here to tell me what you thought of this one!

[jacquesthepigeon]

"Adrien has a responsibility to present a perfect image..." & "At the start of the show, Adrien is absolutely perfect." Even in the outline, the writers' thought process is indecipherable. Adrien can't have a facade of perfection and be perfect at the same time. With this direction, no wonder he's stale.

“At the start of the show, Adrien is absolutely perfect” is when I gave up reading his portion of the bib

[theright-sideofme]

Mate. C. San. [Part 1]

Werewolf!San x fem!reader WC: 3.7k Warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of past verbal abuse.let me know if i missed anything

series masterlist | main masterlist Next Part

As a child you were told stories about what lurked in the woods and why you were never to go in them alone. After all, “a young girl like you wouldn’t be able to protect yourself.” Those belittling words made you sick. You were very much capable of protecting yourself, you were just never allowed to. Your father made sure you stayed at home with your mother, learning how to become a “good wife” so he could wed you off as soon as possible. The old man was absolutely insufferable. Always commenting on how you were going to die alone if you kept up your stubborn antics, which only made you act up more. You didn’t want to be just someone's wife, you wanted to be your own person, with opinions that mattered and a voice that was heard, but that’s just not the life you were born into.

You remember the first time your father told you about the woods, it was around the same time you were beginning to realize your parents were utterly shit people. “Father, why can’t I go play in the woods?” “Those woods aren’t meant for little girls Y/n, it’s filled with all sorts of horrible monsters,” and that should’ve been enough to scare you, but it only intrigued you more. What type of monsters? What did they look like? Would they want to play with you? You were ready to bombard your father with all those questions, but the loud, whining howl cutting through the crisp morning air cut you off and had your father scrambling to get you inside. Ever since then you had felt drawn to the woods, a longing you felt in every fiber of you being. It was almost as if you were longing for a home you had never been to.

You sat outside, letting the sun warm skin as you leaned against the old oak tree in the garden, you felt at peace. This week had been hectic, lots of running around doing errands, getting ready for the arrival of a very well respected family. You were probably the least excited for their arrival, which was ironic seeing as you were probably going to be leaving with them. Their son had taken an interest in you at the king's annual Winter Ball and insisted that you be his wife. Even after turning him down on the spot, he was persistent. Eventually his father contacted yours and now they were on their way for a week of business talk regarding the arrangement of your soon to be engagement. You were sick, absolutely revolted at the thought of marrying this spoiled brat of a man who simply couldn’t take no for an answer.

Looking over to the woods, you sighed, wishing you could just run and just never stop. Run until you're so deep in the woods no one would ever be able to find you. What was really stopping you other than your father? Your own fears? No, it wasn’t that, you had more to fear at home than in the woods. The longer you thought about it, the more you realized nothing was holding you back other than the belief you couldn’t. Your entire life you were told you not to so you just believed you couldn’t, but in actuality there was nothing stoping you from standing up and walking right into the woods.

“Y/n!”--

-- Except your mothers shrieking scream of your names.

“Y/n where the hell are you! They’re going to be here any moment!” And your peace was broken. All thoughts of running off into the woods being pushed aside, deemed a silly escape fantasy as you stood up to go put your mothers worrying to rest.

--

“Where were you” Hongjoong asked, even though he already knew the answer. San had a bad habit of getting too close to town, almost being caught more times than the pack could count. But there was one manor in particular San loved visiting, the Y/l/n manor. A huge, beautiful house surrounded by acres of land that belonged to the most well respected family in the country. Hongjoong believed San had a death wish to be getting so close to a house that belonged to a family of that status. San’s excuse was he liked the thrill, which was partly true, but not the reason he visits said house almost everyday.

“Out” San shrugged his alpha off, walking right past him and into the kitchen. Hongjoong didn’t leave it at that, not this time. He was worried about San and what would happen to not only him but the rest of the pack if he got caught.

“You can’t keep going out there,” San scoffed, not even sparing Hongjoong a glance as he got himself some water. “I’m serious, you’re putting all of our lives in danger by going out there so often” “I know what I’m doing” “do you? Then enlighten me because I have no fucking clue why you would actively put your life at risk just to get a peak at that stupid house!” Hongjoong’s voiced boomed through the entire house, which caught the attention of the rest of their packmates who quickly came to the kitchen to see what was going on.

“You wouldn’t understand” San mumbled, feeling a bit more humbled after Hongjoong had used his alpha voice. Hongjoong very rarely used his alpha voice and when he did, it was terrifying. Everyone in the house could feel the fear in their bones when he did, along with an overwhelming urge to back off and obey their alpha. San was no different, feeling the immediate need to tuck tail and run after pissing Hongjoong off so much.

Hongjoong hated using his alpha voice. He never wanted any of his packmates to feel like he was ever unfairly using his alpha status against them, but he just couldn’t help it when it came to matters that involved the whole pack's safety. At first he was fine with letting San look around, sneak peaks at the town and the manor. He thought if he let him get all his curiosity out he would be fine and he wouldn’t need to go back again, but he was wrong. After his first time visiting the manor he immediately went back the next day, and the day after that and almost every day for the past three months, and Hongjoong was more than worried for what it meant for the pack if he was caught.

“Try me” the alpha offered, so angry but also so desperate to understand San’s apparent need to go back to the manor so often. He wanted to help out the younger boy while also keeping him safe. San averted his eyes to the ground as he took in a shaky breath. “I saw my mate.” His voice was so quiet anyone with normal hearing would’ve missed it, but in the house full of werewolves, everyone heard it.

Absolute chaos broke out among the pack, everyone shouting questions at San about how he knew and what it was like. Words jumbled up together as everyone fought to get their question answered and to understand what having a mate was like. They all knew they had mates, every werewolf did, but San was the first in the pack to actually meet- well, see, his. Hongjoong stood with an indecipherable look on his face that made San uneasy.

“I-I know it’s dangerous for me to keep going there so often. I’ll start going less! I just- I need to see her, it’s the best thing I have since I can’t be with her.” San felt his heart break at his own words. He’d never admitted that to himself out loud and hearing those words leave his lips made him want to crawl into a hole and die, but it was the truth. San knew there was no way he was going to be able to be with you, you were the daughter of a highly respected lord, and from what he heard from the servants today, you were soon to be engaged. It was a cruel joke fate had decided to play on him.

“What do you mean you can’t be with her'' Mingi asked from behind Hongjoong, him and the rest of the pack slowly making their way fully into the kitchen. “She’s lady Y/l’n, daughter of the highly respected Lord Y/l/n” San’s words left his lips with a certain type of sadness that made the rest of his pack members feel for him. They couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to find your mate and know you can’t be with them.

“San-” “please, no pity. I’ll be good, I promise” and despite his airy tone, the look in his eyes gave away how much he was really hurt. “Just, be careful when you go” was all Hongjoong said, not wanting to press him anymore.

--

It was another day of trying desperately to avoid every living soul who currently resided inside your families manor. You felt overwhelmed these past couple of days with everyone talking so warmly about the now settled engagement. Your father was more than happy to wed you off and your intolerable fiance just wouldn’t leave you alone. You could never find a moment alone, and moment to breath. But now, alone in your garden under your oak tree, you were calm. There was no one trying to remind you to keep up your perfect little image, no fiance rambling on about how excited he was to get you into bed on your wedding night, no father reminding you how lucky you were someone actually wanted to deal with you for once, it was just you and your tree.

Not too far away from you in the woods, unbeknownst to you, stood San. He kept an attentive eye on you, admiring you effortless beauty with total awe. There was a pang in his chest as he remembered his words from a few days prior, “- since I can’t be with her.” God it hurt. All he wanted was to hold you in his arms and protect you from everything evil and bad in this world. He wanted to shower you with affection and feel pride in his chest just from knowing you were all his, but you weren’t.

Almost as if you could feel his longing gaze on you, you looked up into the woods, head cocked to the side in thought. San was ready to duck down and hide, but then your eyes locked with his, and he was frozen, both of you were. You knew you should’ve been scared, you should’ve ran inside screaming for your guards, but you didn’t, you simply stared. You didn’t feel off put or uneasy by his presence, you almost felt comforted, as weird as it sounds.

San on the other hand was a total wreck, his heart beating out of his chest, sweat building up on the bone of his brow. He had no idea what to do, if he should do anything at all. And despite how scared he was of getting caught and potentially putting his whole pack at risk, he was happy to be able to see your face clearly. The calling of your name snapped both of you out of your little trances, San quickly ducking down, and you turning to see who was calling you. “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you” you fiance said as he quickly made his way over to you. “Your mother wanted me to come get you for dinner” you simply nodded, pushing yourself up off the ground, not expecting your fiance to pull you up by your waist. The sudden action had San growling from behind his tree, watching the man with absolute hatred in his eyes.

“What do you think you’re doing” you asked, quickly pushing his hands off of you. “I was helping you up” “I don’t need your help” “Stop being so stubborn, we’re going to be married soon, you’re going to need to get used to me touching you” “touching me?” “Yes, last time I checked sex involves-” A loud smack echoed through the garden. He stood there for several moments, shocked, trying to assess if that really just happened. “Our engagement gives you no right to touch or talk to me however you so please, do I make myself clear.” Your fiance looked back at you with a darkness you’ve only ever seen from your father. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I am the man in this relationship. You are the woman. My women, my bitch-”

Your fiancé was cut off by a large, sandy wolf jumping in between the two of you. Startled you jumped back, your back now firmly against the tree as you watch the wolf snap and snarl at your fiancé.

You were more shocked than anything, looking at where the sandy colored wolf came from, realizing it was the same place you had just seen that man standing not too long ago. You quickly turned your head back to the wolf and stared in awe. It was huge, much larger than any house dog you had seen before.

Your fiance was soon calling out for the guards which promptly broke you out of your awestruck state. “You have to go, now!” You yelled at the wolf, gently tugging on its fur, which in any other case would’ve gotten your hand bit off. The sound of boots pounding against the floor started getting louder and you were getting more anxious. Not having time to think about why you wanted to save this wolf so badly, you quickly made your way in front of it and started pushing it back. “Go, now!”

San looked up at you, his the red fading from his vision as he stared at your face. However, he didn’t get to look long as the sound of boots soon reached his ears as well. Sparing you one last glance, he turned around and sprinted back into the woods.

“What is it, what happened my lord?” One of the guards asked as soon as they had reached the two of you. “W-Wolf! There was a wolf right there! It nearly tore me to shreds!” Your fiance began to ramble on, the longer he went on, the more the guards looked unsure of his words. “My lady, did you see the wolf?” “Of course she did, it was-” “no, I never saw a wolf.” Your fiance looked at you in total disbelief, but you remained with the same stoic face. The guards simply told our fiance there was nothing they could do since the wolf wasn’t there and led the two of you inside.

The entire diner your thoughts were full of that strange man, who you were certain turned into that wolf. It had to be him, there was no other explanation as to how that wolf got there that fast. Why was he there? Why did he protect you? Why did he make you feel so safe? Those questions lingered in your brain the entire night.

--

San thought it would be best to stay away for a while after the incident. He didn’t want to risk getting caught in case they were on high alert. So he stayed home, pacing in his room, running circles around the house, roughhousing with his pack mates, pretty much anything to keep him mind off you. It was harder than he thought, especially after being the closest he’s ever been to you, he longed to be that close again.

“San, you need to slow down-” “I’m fine” he responded in a short yell right before turning into his wolf form to go for a run. Seonghwa let out an exasperated sigh as he watched San disappear off into the trees that surrounded their house. “Is he gonna be okay” Wooyoung asked from behind Seonghwa, both of their eyes trained on where the sandy wolf just disappeared. “He’ll be fine” Seonghwa tried to reassure, but it was obvious that even he didn’t know.

You, however, were handling things differently. You had left your family's manor. Year after year you longed to leave and disappear into the woods and all it took was a strange man who you felt oddly connected to for you to actually do it. Why were you so drawn to this man? You didn’t know, all you knew was you needed to find him.

You were running as fast as you could to get as far as possible from your family’s manor. They were going to come looking for you, you knew that much. So the more distance you could put in between you and them the better. As you were running you could barely feel the burning in your lungs or ache of your legs, but rather the wind against your skin and the overwhelming feeling of being free.

You were free.

You weren’t tied down to your wretched family who only cared about selling you like cattle or the rules all of the entailed. No, not anymore. It was like the chains had broken and your cell door was left wide open, and you were free.

--

San felt different. He was more anxious than he had been the past couple of days, but in a good way. He had no idea what had changed or why he was feeling this way. He didn’t care. All he knew was if he didn’t get out his pent up energy he was going to explode. So out the door he went, ignoring the calls of his packmates and disappearing into the trees.

He ran and ran, enjoying the rush of the wind flowing freely through his fur as he let this light hearted feeling wash over him. He was so caught up in the feeling of running, he hadn't noticed his body had gone in auto pilot, leading him astray from his normal path and deeper into the woods to a place he had never been- a clearing.

There was a crystal blue lake shining like a glittering star in the moonlight. Lily pads were scattered across the smooth surface and flowers bloomed beautifully all around the edges. San hadn’t noticed any of it though. As soon as he entered the clearing his eyes were drawn to a figure sitting on the edge of the lake. And as if you sensed his presence, you looked up and smiled.

“Well hello there.” San’s heart swelled at the sound of your voice and he could’ve sworn his eyes were the personification literal of heart eyes. Your smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, it was warm and inviting and everything he imagined home would feel like. One half of him wanted to scold you for being out here alone where you could get hurt, the other half wanted to run up to you and nuzzle into your side and let you run your fingers through his fur. He opted for the unspoken third option, slowly approaching you, watching you closely for any fear or discomfort, but he saw none. You looked oddly calm for someone who was now face to face with a giant werewolf.

“Why do I feel so connected to you?” You mused aloud with a cocked head as you scanned his face before staring into his eyes. The raw curiosity in your eyes was something of mirrored pure innocence.

San couldn’t answer, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was in his wolf form and he would rather not shift back in front of you. He figured this would be a conversation better with clothes on. So instead of answering, he nudged you till you were next to his back and then lowered himself to the ground, urging you to get on, and you did.

--

When you reached San’s house, you didn’t feel uncomfortable or out of place. You felt oddly calm, and it was starting to annoy you with how okay you were when it came to anything relating to this strange man. You should be running for the hills, calling the guards and wanting nothing to do with him. San lowered himself enough so you could get off his back and led you to the front door.

“San! I swear to- oh.” The man who was just yelling froze and just stared at you in shock, all of his prior thoughts gone. San noticed how you moved closer to him when Seonghwa had come out, your hands subconsciously reaching out for him and he felt like his heart could burst.

San simply looked up at the elder boy who seemed to understand what San wanted from him.“Um, hi. I’m Seonghwa. Let me get you something to drink while San gets changed.” You looked at San who simply nudged you forward. “That would be nice, thank you.”

You and Seonghwa sat in the kitchen just talking. You thought there would be some sort of awkward silence between the two of you, but in all honesty he was very easy to get along with. He asked you about your family and never pushed you to answer when you were feeling uncomfortable. He even made you a sweet honey rose tea that you fell in love with.

The two of you didn’t talk long though because San had rushed to shift back and get dressed so he could talk to you. San all but bursted into the kitchen, his lovestruck eyes landing on you in an instant. “I- wow, hi.” You couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he was. “Hi.”

Seonghwa sat there for a moment longer, watching as his younger friend looked at you with absolute adoration and how you met his gaze back with a sweet, caring smile. He thought the two of you looked like little lovesick puppies and you barely knew each other. Shaking his head with a smile, he made his way out of the kitchen to give you two some privacy, patting San on the back as he left.

“So, I’m a werewolf” “nice to meet you werewolf” “I- what no! I’m San! My name is San. Sorry, I’m kinda nervous.” You let out a soft laugh, the sound putting all San’s nerves at ease. You stood up so that you were now in front of him, holding your hand out for him to take. “Nice to meet you San, I’m Y/n.”

—

taglist: @itsyaapollochild

[redoing-rwby-right]

The Badlands

“The Badlands. Consider it the ultimate secret of all of Remnant- That we only take up 20% of the entire world. All of the landmass that we consider part of the known world, is, in fact, naught but a pile of sand compared to the lands that take up over 80% of the world.  Out of the 300 Excursions to scout and identify this strange land, only 10 have returned.”  ~ A leaked statement from Headmaster Ozpin, Leader of Beacon Academy on the topic of ‘The Badlands.’ Imagine for only a moment how big the world as you perceive it as. Infinitely huge, a single man could only dream of exploring all of it within a single lifetime.  Now, imagine how reality shattering it would be to learn that the world as you know it is nothing but a minor blip on the map- That the world as you perceive it is many, many magnitudes larger than you had ever learned. That is the dilemma that the Hunters and Huntresses of Remnant find themselves in. To keep a secret this huge under wraps for all the world, for, if it were to leak out, a schism would start. People would become confused as to what they thought was correct and what wasn’t.  Not to mention, many more would become curious as to what lies beyond their home nest, and venture out into the seemingly new world outside their own. However, their dreams would shatter the instant they enter the Badlands.  Many excursions have tried, and failed, to bring back any worthwhile information. However, the ones that have returned brought back incredible finds. Ancient texts, signs of previous human habitation- Perhaps from the reign of King Ozma- And even evidence of current human (or, at the very least, humanoid) habitation. The Ancient Texts, scrawled onto Tablets of Sandstone, depict what appear to be myths and legends of an ancient race- Or, perhaps, a developing one- That arose from what appear to be shadows. The text itself is indecipherable, as no translation key has been cracked. Only relying on the images shown, the next few images depict what appear to be these people crafting villages, tools, and even mingling with the native wild life. The last part has sent many scholars into furious debate. As observed within the Badlands by the survivors, there were no animals. In fact, there was no sign of life to be seen anywhere within the horizon. Just sand. Sand, rock, and mountains as far as the eye can see. The heat was purportedly unbearable, but what was worse was the absolute numbers of Grimm sighted within the Badlands. And, not just recognizable ones, no. Within the 2 days one of the scout teams had stayed within the Badlands, they had identified no fewer than 50 new Grimm Species, some taking the form of animals thought long extinct.  To this day, more scout trips have been planned towards the Badlands, in the hope that one day, they will be understood.

[glowinggator]

Friendly Competition

Request:  Now I can’t get the image of Mikey and Leo prancing around the lair to try to impress Y/N and Raph and Donnie just exchanging glances like wth in response to this X,D Wait, are you open to requests? Because then I’d totally request if you could do the idea of Leo and Mikey trying to impress Y/N in outdoing each other…

Characters: Leonardo (Pining)/Reader/Michelangelo (Pining)

Content Warnings: Swearing, really brief reference to The Walking Dead (Season 4). 

Word Count: 1946 

“Carl, Carl! Oh my god, dude,” Mikey squeals, clinging tightly to Raph’s side. Any other day, you might have laughed a little at his reaction - once a little brother, always a little brother - but you’re not in much better standing this time. The boy on TV backs slowly away from the zombies a little overconfidently for your liking, and you can’t suppress the rush of anxiety that courses through you. He’s a TV character, sure, but you’ve watched him grow up! He can’t die now, right? 

And when the third walker appears, grabbing onto the young boy and pulling him down, you could have sworn the whole lair screamed. The room is filled with the “no’s” and various swears of your friends as the kid fights for his life, and you press yourself further into the couch to try and put some distance between you and the TV. You flinch at the sound of gunshots as he pushes the walkers away, barely managing to stay alive, when suddenly the room is pierced with a noise that’s somehow even more jarring and terrifying. 

Battle alarm. Of course. Some yokai...alien… whatever it is... had to terrorize New York City now, of all times? 

"Couldn't this have been an email or something? Really, the nerve of some people. Interrupting The Walking Dead now, of all times," You groan jokingly, pausing the show for the boys as they rise to their feet. 

“If you unpause it while we’re gone, I will take you as a prisoner of war and treat the Geneva Convention as a to-do-list,” Donatello snarks. 

You stick your tongue out at him, but you can’t help but giggle. “Noted, D. Hurry back guys, stay safe!” 

“We will!” Raphael calls, waving to you with a smile before stopping at the exit of the lair, waiting for his brothers to catch up. Donatello walks right past him, balancing his tech bō over the expanse of his shoulders. You smile and wave back at Raph, but soon after, you’re met with the excited cheers of Mikey. He takes a running start at one of the nearby guard rails, grinning as he lines himself up at an angle. He jumps, grabbing the bar and spinning himself around it with ease to face you. In the brief second where your eyes lock, he shoots you a wink and a grin, before spinning himself back around and walking off. I mean, you know he’s a ninja and all, but has he always been that smooth with his parkour? Or like, that smooth in general? 

He waves quickly at you with a smile and walks straight past Raph and into the tunnels of the sewer system. “Later, angel!” He chirps. 

Leo boos before taking a running start of his own. Not to be outdone, he avoids the bar completely, instead choosing to flip over it entirely. He clears the bar with ease, landing on one leg and sweeping the other under him to perform a small rotation towards the ground. As he regains his balance, he pushes himself up with one hand and removes his feet from the ground to do another rotation before planting them once more and performing an angled flip. His movements are quick and fluid, as though such acrobatic feats were innate to his nature. As he lands he grins and shoots you a pair of fingerguns - which you laugh at softly - before backing out of the lair. “Later, sweetheart,” he coos, and turns around to walk out properly. You chuckle again once you hear Mikey’s voice echo from the sewers. 

“Show-off.” 

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

You swish the warm drink around in your mug and take a sip. You practically purr at the heat as it hits your tongue: it’s been far too cold for your liking lately. Or, maybe you’re spending too much time in the sewers. Maybe you should invest in some space heaters, if you’re gonna be down here all the time. You twiddle a pencil between your fingers as you fill out the tattered crossword in a vain attempt to wake your brain up a little. Who was Aphrodite’s son again? Did she even have a son? You suppose you’ll get back to that one. 

Raphael stumbles into the kitchen with a groan, fumbling around for a fresh mug. “Good mornin’, Y/N.” 

“Good morning, Raph,” you reply. 

He finally manages to find a mug, pouring some coffee and creamer and pulling up a chair next to you. He leans his head in his hands, clearly not awake yet. You chuckle. “Sleepy?”

He hums affirmatively and takes a sip of his coffee. You pat his shell gently and return to your crossword. You’ve never felt more like an adult, you think sarcastically. It’s like some scene out of a Lifetime movie. 

Out of nowhere, there comes a loud thump from the common area, followed by the quiet swears of Leo. You damn-near jump out of your seat at the sudden noise, barely managing to keep your drink in your mug. It sloshes around the rim, and you quickly put your hand up to steady it. Raph, meanwhile, stays glued to his seat, seemingly unbothered by the loud noise. “Good morning,” he repeats. You snort. “Good morning, indeed,” you reply. 

After a moment of thought, you set down your cup and rise to your feet. You might as well check out the noise and make sure everything is okay. You pat Raph’s head one last time before walking out into the living room, only to find Mikey and Leo whispering loudly at one another. Their voices are so hushed that it’s difficult to decipher what exactly they’re saying, although you can certainly hear them. But judging by the force behind the indecipherable words - and the overexaggerated hand motions - it clearly isn’t a friendly discussion. You clear your throat and wave gently at them, which catches their attention. 

“Everything okay?” You venture. 

“Yeah-” says Mikey. 

“Yeah- It’s- Everything’s all good,” Leo stumbles, only to be cut off by his brother.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He elbows Leo harshly, emphasizing some point to his brother that you’re clearly missing. 

“Hunky-dorey.” 

“Peachy-keen”

“Perfect.” 

The two keep stuttering and stammering, occasionally elbowing the other without warning. You raise an eyebrow at the strange behavior, and decide to intervene. “Okay,” you drawl, “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear… whatever that was. For your guys’ sake.” You joke lightly, attempting to lighten the mood a little and divert the attention away from that… trainwreck of an interaction. And the boys seem all-too-happy for the excuse, as Leo quickly jumps in with a quick question. 

“Hey, now that you’re here, could you do us a huge favor? We’re having a little…” he pauses, “brotherly competition, and we need someone unbiased to judge.” 

“Oh, that sounds fun!” You chirp, “What kind of competition is it?” 

“It’s-” 

“It’s a parkour competition!” Mikey interjects. 

The tension between the two turtles is thick, and you certainly don’t want to be the one to address it. Perhaps if you ignore it, it’ll go away on its own? Maybe they both woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or maybe this competition has high stakes? You sigh internally: it’s too early to be thinking this hard. “Sweet! I’m ready to be impressed,” you jest. “Who’s going first?” 

“Me!” 

“I will!” 

They reply in unison, cutting each other off for the umpteenth time today. You chuckle and roll your eyes, which catches their attention. You don’t miss the way their eyes light up… or the way Mikey begins to smirk. He looks almost devious, although you suppose such a mischievous look isn’t an uncommon sight with him. 

“Leo,” he starts, “How about you go first?” 

He takes the bait with a grin, clearly unaware of whatever plan Michelangelo’s formed. “Why certainly!” He rolls his wrist around in an overexaggerated motion, beaming with absolute confidence. “As the eldest brother in the room, I’d be happy to show you how it’s done.” 

And with that, he’s off. His movements are as smooth as silk as he runs towards the nearest crate, grabbing it at an angle to flip himself over once. He lands on his feet with a loud “thump” against the concrete, but he doesn’t waste a moment as he runs towards the nearest wall. He runs up its length the moment he’s in range, this time using his body weight to spin himself during his flip. He’s fluid in his movements, years of practice and training shining through in this brief moment. This time he lands straight up on both feet, although he doesn’t take any reprieve. Instead, he kicks himself up and over, sweeping the leg to enter a combative stance. A final flourish in his display, you assume. And just like that, it’s over. The show only lasted a matter of seconds, but it’s still enough to leave you starry-eyed and in awe. 

“That was fucking badass, Leo!” You clap. 

“Really?” He smiles, “Uh, I mean, yeah! Thanks!” He fumbles with his hands for a moment before finding a spot for them. He rests them behind his head, shifting side to side on his feet. God, that’s so fucking cute. 

You beam: You can’t wait to see what Mikey does! “Think you can top that, Mikey?” 

He returns your excitement wholeheartedly, shining back with something that seems like… so much more than his typical positivity. In most situations, he radiates so much positivity that one could liken it to a lighthouse for the hopeful. But his attitude seems different from that usual beacon of light. He’s excited, positive, and confident, but that’s not what’s throwing you off. Sure, they’re competitive, but what’s the motivator this time? Ah, you suppose you’ll find out soon enough. You’re brought out of your thoughts by his cheers. “Easy!” 

And god, Mikey’s movements are so graceful that he makes Leo’s look inexperienced, like a giraffe crossing a tightrope. He moves like a swan through water, scaling walls effortlessly and flying through the air like it’s his second home. He starts his routine off strong, leaping at the first waist-high object he could lay his eyes on, performing an impromptu 720 rotation and landing on the concrete protrusion hands-first. He leaps off it as quickly as he landed, using his momentum to propel himself onto a nearby set of steel bars. He throws himself from one to the other with ease, spinning and adding his own flair to each and every movement. You can’t seem to take your eyes off of him while he leaps his way to victory. He uses any ledge possible to propel himself higher and higher, and his movements are so light and quick that they hardly make a sound. And before you know it, he’s standing at the topmost bit of the lair. He plops himself down, dangling his legs off of the precipice and swinging them back and forth. From this far away, you can barely see the way his grin stretches across his face, but you know it’s there. He raises one hand to wave at you and Leo, and the way he wiggles his fingers signals that he knows he’s won. And to be fair, he has. You giggle at the way Leo mutters “show-off” under his breath - where have you heard that one before? - before signaling for Mikey that he’s won and to head on down. And god, the descent is just as impressive. He laughs as he kicks and spins his way down, and despite the competition being over, he continues to shine and demonstrate his skills flawlessly. 

“One and one, baby!”

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

costumes & confessions

summary: Halloween just might be the time for you to confess how you feel to Pierre, whether you’re ready or not.

warnings: mentions of sex, swears

word count: 2.8k

note from the writer: this is a halloween fic, but it's not heavily reliant on being a halloween fic. like the setting is a halloween party, but it could be read year round. enjoy :) ! / take my survey!

It was just supposed to be a friends with benefits thing. He was out of town more often than not, and you were too swamped with work and other obligations to commit to anything more than a quick hookup. You were friends before you started sleeping together, your easy banter seamlessly translating to a fantastic time between the sheets. But for you, it was much, much more than the agreed upon terms after only a few weeks.

You should have known; your life was far too entwined with Pierre’s for you to not get attached.

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Pierre asked as he let himself into your apartment, a habit he had developed long before your arrangement. You didn’t even turn as you continued stirring the sauce you were making, far too used to him showing up at just the right time.

“I’ve been told that I have to make an appearance at the team party.” You told him and he chuckled, because of course you’d be there with his team, they were the whole reason he knew you in the first place.

“There’s a costume contest.” He hummed, and because you still hadn’t turned to look at him, he wound his arms around your middle from behind and tugged gently until you were pressed against his front and he could drop his head to your shoulder. Pierre got like this often, needy and wanting your attention and if you didn’t give it to him, he searched out for it.

“And?” You prompted, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to feel the hammering of your heart. You knew you should have pulled away from him, knew that you were only setting yourself up for heartbreak, but you chose to ignore rationality once more and sunk into his embrace. If he was going to act like the caring boyfriend, you weren’t going to stop him.

“And we’re going to win it.” He said decidedly, dropping a kiss to your pulse point before standing to his whole height and backing up. You took your time in turning the heat off on the stove and moving the sauce so it wouldn’t burn before finally turning to look at Pierre. He was grinning widely, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from emulating it.

“How are we going to do that, exactly?” You crossed your arms and leaned backwards against your kitchen counter, a challenging look in your eye. Pierre met your look head on, a mischievous glint in his eye and his chest puffed out just a bit more.

“We’re going to have the best couples costume there, obviously.” He stated plainly, as if it was that simple and as if he hadn’t just shattered your world then. You desperately wanted to be a part of a couples costume with Pierre, but you also wanted more. You wanted the couples part, the ability to kiss him as often as you wanted to, the whole nine yards. But you didn’t know if it was a good idea.

Couples costumes were not in the terms of agreement for friends with benefits. And you were already playing with fire.

“Come on, are you hungry?” You changed the topic, turning to grab two plates from the cabinet. Pierre acted then, grabbing forks and meeting you at the sink where the culender held the noodles you had already made. You tried to ignore the nagging feeling you felt that you fit way too smoothly with him in your kitchen.

“Do you not want to do a costume together?” He asked, and you felt the weight of his gaze on you. Instead of meeting his stare, though, you elected to focus intently on the pasta you were scooping onto his plate.

You thought about his question. There really was no reason that you shouldn’t go together. It was just a simple group costume, there was absolutely no hidden meaning behind the fact that he called it a couples costume.

“No, of course I do.” You plastered a smile onto your face, moving to the stove to ladle sauce onto your plate. You repeated your actions with Pierre’s food and, when it became abundantly clear he was looking for an explanation for your hesitation, you met his gaze with a teasing smile. It was a complete contrast to the tiny frown he was sporting, his eyes searching you for answers. You were afraid he’d find them. “Just nervous to see what you’re going to make me wear, Luc.”

You threw the nickname in for good measure, knowing just how much he loved hearing it come from you. It worked, for the most part, and after one last searching look he ducked down to capture your lips in a quick kiss.

Oh, you were in trouble. That was for sure.

With the friends part of the evening over with once dinner was finished, the benefits part arrived in full force. He knew just how to take you apart and leave you satisfied, and you loved that you had the same effect on him.

Though, instead of leaving after like he never truly did and probably should have, he helped clean you up and even pulled one of his t-shirts out of your dresser for you to wear with a boyish grin. He tugged his boxers back on and climbed in your bed with you, though this time with a lot less lust on his eyes.

“So, Halloween.” He started and you couldn’t help the laugh that fell past your lips. He had his head propped up with his hand, and you rolled to your side so you could face him.

“That’s what you think about after sex? Was I that bad?” You teased, knowing from the way he fell apart moments earlier that you absolutely were not bad. Pierre rolled his eyes, ducking down to capture your lips in a kiss to get you to stop giggling at him. These were the moments that tugged at your heartstrings the most—just after sex when nothing in the world mattered and it was just you and him together, acting like you wouldn’t go back to being just friends as soon as you left the bed.

“Anyways,” he grinned, clearly amused by your joke just as much as you were. “I think I have the perfect idea.”

“Oh yeah? Better than whatever the other guys can come up with?” You hummed, your previous anxiety having slipped away the more you thought about it. You shouldn’t have worked yourself up as much as you did, you had gone with Pierre to plenty of events as his plus one and not once had you freaked out like you had earlier.

It probably was his use of the word ‘couple’ that tripped you up so much.

“Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself for the idea, and you couldn't help but laugh loudly once again. The image of you and him dressed as the characters from Spongebob drew a giggle out of you, especially since you knew how dedicated he was to his costumes.

“You want to be Barnacle Boy?” You teased, though you were already figuring out the logistics of it in your head. He would be Barnacle Boy, of course, because he was taller. Pierre nodded with a broad grin on his face and it was so infectious your own cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much.

“You can be the Mermaid Man to my Barnacle Boy.” He joked, the hand not propping his head up reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Your grin softened then, the moment feeling too intimate for you to handle.

“That means I’ll be your boss for the night.” You tried joking, but your voice sounded strained even to your own ears. No doubt Pierre picked up on it, but all you saw on his face was an indecipherable look in his eyes.

“You’re my boss all the time, though.” He teased lowly before leaning in for a slow kiss you couldn’t help but melt into.

You felt anything but in control in that moment.

Halloween arrived faster than you would have liked, and the days leading up to it were spent running from store to store in order to find the right parts to your costume. When Pierre showed up at your apartment to pick you up and take you to the party, you were already in costume, a purple starfish painted on your nose to seal the deal.

“Oh, we’re so going to win.” Pierre commented the moment he saw you, and you laughed as he grabbed your hand and spun you around to get a three-sixty view. When you were standing in front of him again, his gaze settled on your chest under the guise of admiring the seashell bra you wore atop the bright orange shirt. “I like the shells.”

“Keep it in your pants, Dubois.” You teased, slapping his shoulder as you parted to find your phone and wallet to get ready to leave. You also took a moment to compose yourself, because even dressed in a ridiculous Barnacle Boy costume, he still was the most attractive man you had ever seen.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you.” He teased as you reentered the kitchen, where he had made himself at home by digging through your pantry for a snack. You rolled your eyes at him, hoping you didn’t look as flustered by his comments as you were.

“You better try, because people are already getting suspicious that something’s going on between us.” By your last count, it was three of the other boys’ wives and girlfriends and at least two of his teammates that said something to you about your close relationship with Pierre, so he had to have gotten something from them as well.

“So what if they know?” Pierre shrugged his shoulders, ducking past you and out of the kitchen like what he said was no big deal. You raised a brow at him, following after to find him standing by your door, holding your coat out for you.

“Pierre, people don’t know we’ve been sleeping together, right?” You questioned, a little mortified at the idea of going to a party filled with people that knew you were sleeping with someone you swore up and down was just a friend.

“I haven’t told anyone, but they just kinda guess.” He explained, opening your front door for you. Sighing, you followed after him. You couldn’t be mad, you were the one that left hickeys unabashedly on his neck night after night and when the boys saw that you had matching bruises, even they could put two and two together.

And you really couldn’t be mad as Pierre slipped his hand into yours.

You were fashionably late to the party, so Pierre tugged you around the house to show off the costumes you both worked so hard on. The boys ribbed him for being Barnacle Boy and supplied you with drinks, and you forced him to dance with you when the cheesy Monster Mash came on.

It was all going great. Until Alexandre Texier made an appearance.

“Luc, you finally asked her out!” He exclaimed as he swung an arm around Pierre’s shoulders. You figured he was emboldened by the drink sloshing in his cup, but that didn’t mean you were any less shocked. Tex turned his attention to you, a wide grin on his face that meant nothing but trouble. “You know, he never shuts up about you.”

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t sure why that comment was the tipping point. Friends talked about friends all the time, Tex’s comment could have been completely innocent. He was a sweetheart, he probably had no ill intent. Or maybe it was the way Pierre instantly shot down the idea of him asking you out, his offhanded ‘don’t be ridiculous’ followed by a string of French you didn’t understand was like a knife to the heart. But you couldn’t handle it then, and took off without another word through the crowd and to the nearest bathroom.

Pierre shouted your name, and when you didn’t stop for him, another string of French words—curses, you knew that much—fell from his mouth before was chasing after you. His legs were longer and he had the advantage of being a professional athlete, but you had a head start and the added bonus of running from your feelings, so it was nearly fair, and he only caught up to you as you slipped into the bathroom. He caught the door, shooting you a confused look and entering the bathroom himself.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, breaking the awkward silence first. You shook your head, because that was easier than trying to find something to say, and you didn’t exactly trust your voice in that moment. It was clear that something was wrong with you, your arms were crossed and you were frowning, not to mention your near sprint to lock yourself in the bathroom. “You can tell me, you know.”

Why did he have to be so sweet?

“I have to know, Pierre, if you feel something. Because I do, and I can’t keep doing this if it means nothing to you.” You cracked, gesturing dramatically between you and Pierre for emphasis as a few tears slipped down your cheeks. You hadn’t even realized how badly your eyes were watering, but it was too late now.

This was not one of your finer moments; dressed as Mermaid Man, crying in the bathroom at some party as the guy you desperately wished reciprocated your feelings stood floundering, trying to find a way to let you down easily.

“Fuck, okay then.” You continued when it became clear that he wasn’t going to say what you wanted. The tears were falling faster, and you were mentally preparing yourself to slip past everyone and out the front door while they all stared at the crying Mermaid Man. “I-I’ll just leave.”

You tried to get past Pierre, then, and make your tearful walk outside where you’d order an Uber and wait since he was your ride, but his hands shot out and suddenly he was cupping your face and he was kissing you like his life depended on it. Your hands gripped his forearms, both to stabilize yourself so you didn’t trip at the sudden movement and to ground yourself to the moment.

You weren’t sure how long he was kissing you, but he pulled away much too soon for your liking, his forehead dropping against yours as you both caught your breath. You waited for him to speak first, too scared to ruin the bubble that had formed around you in the last few seconds and too nervous about what he’d say. After a moment, he brushed his thumbs across your cheeks to wipe away any wetness left there by your tears and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He stood to his full height, then, and pulled you into his chest for a hug. You went willingly; you always did.

“You’re crazy.” He mumbled, and despite the loud music coming from just outside the bathroom, his voice was loud in the previously quiet bathroom. You pulled back slightly, then, and gave him a confused look, a silent plea for him to explain himself. “You’re crazy if you think I don’t feel the same.”

“Really?” You asked hopefully. The kiss you had just shared alluded to his true feelings, plus the way he was looking at you like you put the stars in the sky, but you needed to hear him say it. After weeks of convincing yourself that you were stuck in the friends with benefits role you had been stupid enough to suggest, you needed to hear him tell you how he felt about you.

“From the day I met you.” He told you, a smile making its way onto his face as he watched your features form into a confused pout. While you had always acknowledged that Pierre was attractive, it was only after sleeping with him a few times that you realized that you harboured feelings for. “Then you suggested being friends with benefits, and I was going to take whatever I could get.”

“You should have said something.” You pouted, watching as he grin widened. You weren’t actually mad at him, it was a two way street and you could have confessed your own feelings a long time ago.

“I thought it was obvious, I did ask you to be my Mermaid Man.” He joked, earning an eye roll from you and a grin to match his.

“Come on, Barnacle Boy, let’s get back to the party. We’ve got a costume contest to win.” Once again, Pierre didn’t let you pass by him to get to the door. Instead, he ducked down to capture your lips in one last kiss and to deliver a cheesy comment that made you snort and swat at his chest.

“I’ve already won tonight, though.”

[gureishi]

Hi! How do you think Saeyoung handwriting looks like?

OMG I love this question and I just did a whole lot of googling to try and answer it for you visually.

First of all, since I know what Kim Yeong-seon’s handwriting looks like (his VA), it’s a little hard to get that image out of my head, ahah. This:

But Saeyoung is complicated. As a child, he definitely had good handwriting—like, really good. He trained himself to write nicely and worked so hard in school and took the most meticulous notes—notes upon notes upon notes of math and foreign languages and absolutely everything he could get his hands on. He wanted to know everything and he wanted to be perfect at all of it. Like this:

And he can still write like that, when he has to! But nowadays, he’s always working on a million things at once: typing on three computers and talking out loud and scribbling a note to himself without even really looking at what he’s doing. He’s got those nimble fingers, but even so, it looks more like this, most of the time:

Later—when he’s left the agency, and he’s working on his toy shop—you’ll find absolutely insane serial killer-looking notes and diagrams like this lying all over the house. Yeah, he sometimes writes in English (and other languages, too—maybe even some crazy combination of all 17 languages he knows). Good luck interpreting any of it (but he knows just what he means):

So what I’m saying is his handwriting changes a lot. He can still do his good student writing, though he hates to. Most of the time, his writing is messy, but it still has the characteristic evenness of someone who’s trained himself to write well. And when he’s excited, it’s all over the place: indecipherable scribbles going every which way.

Be prepared, too, to find little notes like this left all over your belongings. It’s not neat, or nice—but it shows you exactly what’s on his mind, pretty much all the time:

[lvsamine]

Lusamine paused, glancing up from her paperwork with furrowed brows. It was faint, and she wondered for a moment if it had even been real, but... She thought she heard something like an explosion. While there was a moment of worry, it soon dissipated as she rationalized that it really couldn't have been anything like that - Heating and electrical had their bi-yearly fix-up last month, and there weren't any Pokemon in the facility that had Self-Destruct or Explosion...

She couldn’t finish her thought. When a long unused alarm began blaring, after having the daylights scared out of her, Lusamine's heart practically stopped. Eyes widening, blood turning cold, she pondered for a second how something could be both nostalgic and horrifying.

The Ultra Beast alarm was going off.

“President Lusamine!!” A voice suddenly called from her intercom, sounding just as panicked as she felt. “Lusamine!! Are you there?!”

“Yes,” Her voice shook. “Yes, I'm here. What's going on?”

“It's – It's UB-01! It's Nihilego, the – the one from Ultra Space!! It's gone! It's trying to escape!!” It took a little too long for the words to properly register, the feeling of dread that flooded her senses overwhelming her mind to the point of short-circuiting. Nihilego... Her Nihilego... The one that had been trapped in a safe for three years? It's trying to escape?

“What the fuck do you mean it's trying to escape?” She suddenly snapped, her entire body beginning to shake. “How did it get out of its ball?! Who let it out?!” Her breath hitched as her heart skipped a beat, the overload of emotions aggravating her heart's rhythm.

“N-No one! It just – It just got out! We don't – We don't know how! Please, Lusamine, we need help! It's attacking ever – yo – in the secre – abs! Ple – lp us ...”

“What happened? Are you there?” A pause, with no response. “Answer me!” The intercom turned into indecipherable static, and she smashed her fits against her desk in frustration. It didn't matter, enough had been said for Lusamine to know that everyone in the secret labs was in danger. Standing quickly and grabbing Zinnia's Pokeball, she bolted out of her office, nothing but adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins.

It feels like an eternity before she reaches her destination, the descent of the elevator slowly revealing the damage that her precious beast had caused – The door to Secret Lab A had been blown open, shrapnel and debris littering the ground and no doubt destroying any information that had been kept in there. Several employees had been knocked unconscious, with only one trying to command his Pokemon to attack the Ultra Beast, to do anything to stop whatever rampage it was on.

Things fell unnaturally silent when the elevator hit the ground, Lusamine's horrified gaze falling onto Nihilego, and time seemed to stop. The beast that she'd loved so, so much – Her beast, her precious beast that she did absolutely anything to be with, the beast she would have died for, had it wanted such a thing... For the first time in three long, painful, and lonely years... The two gazed at one another, as if they were the only two in the room – The only two in the world.

It saw her, and she knew that it recognized her. Its previous tantrum had come to a complete stop, and now it was facing her. Its two front tendrils nudged against each other, like a timid child fiddling with their hands, and Lusamine nearly threw up right then and there. Her breath kept catching as her heart pumped irregularly, her frame visibly trembling, unable to move, to release Zinnia, to subdue Nihilego for the safety of Alola...

She'd been so ready to fight it off, and now she found herself completely paralyzed at the mere sight of it.

The beast moved. Slowly, it floated a little closer to her, oddly cautious about what Lusamine might do. With its back fully turned, the employee commanded his Kadabra to strike it with a Psybeam. The beast quickly whipped around and fired off a Sludge Wave, the toxic gunk sinking into Kadabra's skin before it had a chance to do anything. It let out a strange, alien screech that no one could possibly decipher, but both Lusamine and her employee understood the message – It was a warning, don't interfere. She could only stare in abject horror as her precious beast turned back to face her, the halls eerily silent once again.

It was so close. No more than a foot away from her, Nihilego hovered in place, tilting its head and fiddling with its tentacles again... It almost looked like it felt shy. It recognized her, she was absolutely certain now... Why had it escaped? How had it escaped? Why was it doing this? What did it want from her? Why was it acting so sheepish? Why couldn't she move? Why couldn't she speak? Why was she reacting like this? Why? Why? Why why why whywhywhywhy-

“Ah...!”

Her stomach dropped when one of those cold tendrils lifted to gently touch her face. The softness of the gesture, how careful it was not to hurt her, how it resembled a loved one affectionately cupping her face... Her dull green eyes quickly welled up, and it took almost nothing for them to overflow. There was so much happening in her head, to the point that it felt like her brain might shut down. Lusamine was happy, she was sad, confused, shocked, filled with love, filled with hate, and she was so, so scared. The cascade of tears gave away everything she felt.

The stiff, slow, robotic movements of her arm breaking free from her frozen state was almost a surprise to her. It felt so unnatural that she wondered if she was imaging it, but the sharp jolt that came with touching something as cold as Nihilego felt far too real. Just as its touch had been, Lusamine's was tentative, almost reluctant, but there wasn't an ounce of animosity to be found. They gazed at each other silently while her tears continued to spill, but before too long, the Ultra Beast let out another strange and distorted screech.

This one was quiet, soft, and though she didn't know exactly what it was saying, she knew that it was something kind – Her heart wanted to believe it was kind. A hello, a goodbye, an 'I missed you', any sign of affection to let her know that Nihilego still loved her.

The tentacle slowly moved down her face, before Nihilego retracted it and put some distance between them. There was a wet, almost slimy residue left on her skin, and as her crying slowly became more and more hysterical, the more it seemed to burn.

Then, suddenly, the air behind Nihilego split, as if a knife had cut open the very fabric of space. She knew what was happening far before it opened completely – Yet, as the wormhole fully formed and Nihilego began to drift towards it, she still found herself unable to act. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't do a single fucking thing to stop her precious beast from leaving, to end up who knows where, to be on the loose in Alola once again.

All Lusamine could do was watch as Nihilego vanished into the wormhole, disappearing from Aether Paradise. The wormhole sealed itself back up, and just like that...

It was gone.

Her weakened knees finally caved in, and she collapsed to the ground, staring blankly at where her precious beast had been moments ago.

“M-Miss Lusamine!” The employee that had tried to protect her earlier suddenly sprinted up to her, now that there wasn't the threat of an Ultra Beast attacking him. “Lusamine, are you okay?! What – What happened? What was that?!” He kneeled down next to her, obvious concern on his face as he checked her for wounds.

She couldn't speak. In a moment of vulnerability, of genuine fear and infatuation – In a moment of weakness, she didn't do the one thing she needed to. She didn't protect her staff. She didn't stop Nihilego, she didn't even try to fight it. Zinnia's ball was still in her hand, her grip far too tight, so angry that she couldn't do something as simple as throwing it to let her Bewear take down the beast. Now, because of her... Because of Lusamine, the entire region was in danger. For the first time in years, that parasitic Ultra Beast was a threat to the entirety of Alola.

“Lusamine...?” The employee's voice was softer this time, likely in response to her growing distress. She opened her mouth, as if to respond, but all that came out was a horribly pathetic whimper before she caved into herself.

“H-Hey, Lusamine...” A gloved hand placed itself on her back, which she didn't acknowledge at all. The fact that she wasn't alone barely mattered in this moment, but god she would hate herself later for being this disgustingly pitiful in front of someone else.

Why couldn't she do anything? Why was she still so captivated by its beauty? Why was she so scared?

It was too much.

All Lusamine could do in this moment was cry.

[kukukape]

Richard Malik x Operative: The Whistleblower

This the first time I've posted a fic in a while, but I'm excited! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist 😊

Tags: @simping-for-sandayu-oda @luciewarrenx3

•••

Richard had to admit, he'd come up with more... enjoyable plans than this one. He grunted as the Albion thug's knee collided with his stomach, again. Wanker was enjoying this way too much.

His eyes flicked to the camera ever so subtly. Not that the bastard would've noticed, he was too busy trying to decide which way to assault Richard Malik next. But he could see it moving around a bit sporadically, as if its operator were trying to get his attention.

And even in the midst of great pain, he had to fight a smirk. Things were already going accordingly.

"U-ugh!" He grunted as the Albion guard pulled him up by his hair and punched him in the face.

Welp, time to fall back into character.

"I-I'm not who you think I am, I-I swear!"

A slap across the face. Backhanded. Richard had to admit, that hurt his pride more than it did his face.

"You're Malik! A SIRS officer and a leaky fucking twat!" Richard, with his forehead resting against the cold concrete, found himself wanting to smile at his own notoriety.

Malik. That name carried weight in SIRS. In London's infrastructure of justice and security. This scared, begging persona wasn't him. This was a choice.

He was a spy. Slippery, and willing to relinquish his true character for his mission.

His breathing quickened with faux fear as the Albion officer picked him up by the collar, bunching up his silken silver tie amidst the action. "That's not me, I s-swear to god, please- PLEASE-"

---

Angel's heart nearly stopped when Bagley cut the feed. "Fuck…" she whispered. She had half a mind to curl up on the curb and let a grey gloom consume her, but Bagley was too much of a dick to allow that.

"Fuck is right! And fucking dead is what he'll be if you don't hurry," he said in his not-so-robotic deadpan.

Dead. Murdered. Killed?

All words and possibilities that resonated with Angel. She took a deep shaky breath, squeezing the steering wheel of her Atterley. "Drop a pin please, Bags," she said.

"I already did, while you were having a little panic attack."

Instead of meeting his snark with her own, Angel kicked the car into gear, speeding towards the construction site. From first gear to third, then sixth... and she was skidding to a stop by the sidewalk before she knew it.

Her optik buzzed as someone got onto comm. It was Brian, the team's most senior hitman. "Scope the place out before you go in. This could be a trap for all we know, so-"

The soft patters of a silenced P9, followed by two separate cries cut Brian off.

"Angel! Bagley, what's she-"

"She's storming the place like the baboon cousin she is!" Bagley exclaimed, "You know for a spy, she's rather uncovert." Which only said the absolute least.

The bodies were shrouded before the spy moved on, picking off another soldier just as they were turning the corner. A bullet between his eyes before he even knew he was in danger, and cloaked to make his death even less apparent.

Pressed against a corner wall, Angel took her phone out and let the news drone above become her eyes. "Bagley, help me find him," she said urgently.

"There's a closed off room in the back. Try there," he said. Angel jumped from camera to camera, her heart squeezing a bit every time she didn't see Richard.

Just when she was about to crack her phone in her grip, she saw him. Wrists tied, on his knees, gaze trained on the floor as he tried to catch his breath.

Angel knew this picture of him. Years ago, in a dirt-floored cell where they huddled together for just an inch of warmth. The image made her shudder, so forcefully mentally that she did so physically too.

She flinched again when Brian came over the comm. "Alright, there he is. I suggest you take out the rest of the guards before you go in," he said.

From soldier, to spy, and now to soldier again. Angel nodded as she squeezed the hilt of her gun. "I'll get right on it."

---

Richard chewed the inside of his cheek as he stared at the floor. He could feel a pair of eyes on him once again, staring through that same metal lense. He didn't dare turn to look, didn't dare break character.

Until he heard the camera screech, as if it wanted him to turn. And, flinching in surprise, he did.

He looked at the camera, wondering why the DedSec operative who'd come for him wanted to make their presence so known. Richard eyed the camera for a moment, searching for something deeper beyond the blank, metallic lense.

Of course, he found nothing. But just the notion of the operative- who he was all too sure was finally here- trying to communicate you're safe, it's okay, made him want to chuckle.

He gave the camera an acknowleding smirk, and ever so slight tilt of his head.

"AHH!" A soldier just outside screamed.

Richard's head whipped around again, and he heard some indecipherable yelling, along with the heavy footsteps of Albion-approved military boots. Somebody was obviously getting their ass kicked outside, because he only heard one person grunting in pain as limbs connected with their target.

Then silence.

He never really liked the quiet. It meant that nothing was happening, and for Richard, something always had to be happening. He couldn't predict quiet. Couldn't scheme it, outsmart it.

Thank god it didn't last long, before the metal door squealed open and quiet footsteps pittered in.

Richard kept his gaze down, as would a man currently fearing for his life. He'd been that enough times to know how to imitate it.

The 'fwoop' of a knife unsheathing made him flinch genuinely. But a steady, smooth... familiar voice eased him.

"Easy. It's just me," she said. Just me, she said. As if he were supposed to know her.

And he did. Oh lord, he did. And the mixture of fear, anger, regret, and happiness in him was too genuine for somebody so used to lying in the face of everyone short of his mother and father's graves.

The fearful part of him was scared to turn around and look at her as she cut through his restraints easily. But he didn't have a choice really, as she walked around and kneeled in front of him, cupping his face with both hands and searching for any injuries to his visage.

Richard was a confident man. Strong, assured, and decorated from head to toe in awards that highlighted his ingenius.

But he looked like a dumb fish in that moment, his mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide.

"…Angel?" He asked softly as her calloused fingertips subconsciously brushed across his brow, stretching down to touch his jaw.

---

"That's my name," she said dryly as she searched his face, looking anywhere but his eyes. Her hand reached into the pocket on his shirt, where she knew he kept a handkerchief. "Hold still, you look horrible," she said. Not that a handkerchief was gonna fix that, but whatever.

She wiped blood from his jaw, and the bits that had gotten onto his cheek. She chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep more words than necessary from escaping her.

I missed you.

Are you okay?

I know this is a farce, so what are you playing?

All reasonable, but Angel couldn't utter any of them. Because Richard Malik, her friend for all of their youth, her partner in war, her lover for that one night back in college, was right in front of her.

She raked a hand through his hair, which was as close to saying I'm glad you're okay as she was gonna get. And he grabbed her wrist gently.

Brown eyes met a lighter shade. Both of them soft, affectionate, and untrusting.

"You're Dedsec," he said it firmly but quietly. Looking for confirmation. Hoping she'd say no, she just happened to be walking down the street and decided to shoot up a restricted Albion area for shits and giggles.

But she nodded. And a pride she never had while working at SIRS shined in her eyes.

Angel helped him to his feet and cleared her throat. They clearly weren't gonna do the whole "So what've you been up to the past six years?" thing, so she spoke first, "We got the call from you. What was that all about?"

A look of shock passed over Richard's eyes. And Angel could tell what he was thinking. Probably wondering where that smile she always used to greet him with had gone.

But he remembered himself quicklyc straightening his tie with a nervous hand. "I'll upload the intelligence onto an anonymous FTP. You can sort through it-"

"No, I want to hear it from you," Angel cut him off rigidly.

Richard inhaled as his whole "My name is Richard Malik, herdyderdyder," speech was thrown out the window. "I believe I've discovered who Zero-Day really is; rogue SIRS officers from the CT unit who then framed Dedsec for the TOAN bombings."

"Men working under you?" Angel raised one elegant brow. "I always got the impression the CT unit was always fiercely loyal," she commented.

And back to the games they went. This time, for the first time, against each other.

He let out a humorless laugh. "You know how good I am at making enemies," he said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait, Richard," she said quickly. Angel's hand shot out to grab his arm. He looked down at her in surprise.

…Down at her.

Since when was he so damn tall? And handsome…

No, no, stop it, monkey brain.

"I…" Angel's jaw moved uselessly for a moment, before she simply yanked him into am embrace. Richard made a surprised sound. Way too many surprises for one day for him.

But this one, he could tolerate.

Hesitantly, he wrapped one arm around her shoulders while hers linked around his neck tightly. Her cheek was pressed against his chest, and he could smell the shampoo drifting from her hair. "It's… good to see you again, Angel," he said quietly.

Angel chuckled once, before inhaling sharply and slowly pulling away. Out of his reach once again.

"We'll, uh... check out the info," she said, nodding before moving to step by him. But she paused by the door, then reached back over to him. Richard watched dumbly as she fixed his silver tie, straightening it back up and patting his chest twice. And she smiled.

"You grew up nicely, Richard," she said, before slipping out the door.

Richard stood there dumbly for a moment, a thousand different things racing through his head.

But the one thing that stood out the most was the fact that his plans had definitely just been shaken.

~end~

[nicklloydnow]

"From the start, this process has involved a certain impulse of the soul away from its first organic, local shelters and toward more abstract citadels of certitude. With this, inevitably, has come a certain estrangement from life. Hence this impulse has often expressed itself as the pursuit of a wisdom that transcends the world, a quest for release or moksha, a contemptus mundi that frequently becomes a neurotically fastidious fear of being touched. The impulse reaches an extreme expression in those virtuosos of despair whom the developed religions regard as holy or wise or uniquely illumined. These are souls for whom the absolute exaltation of a single incorruptible principle of spiritual “truth” is a call to unremitting remorse, a measureless psychic labor of repentance, a search for ultimate release only in a realm beyond the triviality of common humanity. The mystic in a state of fused contemplation has returned to something like that aboriginal, intra-uterine state of “floating”—but now in the “womb” of the One God, which is the most impregnable sphere of immunity imaginable.

(...)

The Christian story brings this history to one of its epochal watersheds. In the Gospel there is a radical assault upon all the mediating structures of patriarchal authority—all the religious and social institutions, all the established offices of pedigree and privilege, all the nested stations of kin, people, kingdom, empire, and priesthood—by the individual soul’s claim of an immediate filiation to the One God. For Sloterdijk, Christ is “God’s bastard,” the Father’s natural child, as it were, conceived and born outside all legitimate lines of inheritance and all licit structures of authority. And his anti-patriarchal revolt became in time a license granted to every soul: now each of us, in our individual humanity, liberated by this social and spiritual apostasy, can become God’s bastard too, someone in whom God directly dwells as Father. At the same time, and by the same logic, a new order of social and political desire was implanted in human nature: that of “infinite egalitarianism,” a passage from the psycho-politics of command and obedience to one of equal self-determination, the transformation of vertical into horizontal difference.

Here again Sloterdijk’s favored image is exorcism, which should be understood, he believes, as a kind of purification of a sacred space, a cleansing of the Temple. The soul was once conceived “neither as a theater nor as a factory, as is typical of the modern age, but rather as a sanctuary in which no image was allowed to be on display except that of the god-man—whose image, in turn, had to represent an indescribable God.” In driving out the more elemental spiritual forces that once reigned with such capriciousness in nature, society, and the soul, the One transcendent principle of the Axial Age also became the source of a sovereign selfhood. This is because the expulsion of evil spirits from the soul had to be completed by the subsequent “entrance of a bright principle, which, as warden of the purified soul, became its new monitor and source of inspiration.” The soul thus underwent a change of possession: now it was the Spirit of God himself that was at work within it.

This purification of the self’s inner precincts may have been a thoroughly religious experience, but it was also a crucial episode in the history of Enlightenment, and thus of secularization. For, when that most elevated of sheltering spheres finally shattered—as it had to do—the sovereign self became the sole remaining sanctuary of whatever mysteries might be left. All the other possibilities of shelter had been successively exhausted, and had then been assumed into that ultimate transcendence, and had finally disappeared with it.

(...)

In any case, the old pieties and enchantments are irretrievable. With no God to watch us, there really is no sin to be resolved before his gaze, and so no power that can reconcile us to, or rescue us from, indecipherable fate. The modern human being wants not to obey a higher power but to be that power. As soon as God and the soul had been liquidated, we were left with only the world as a brute event. In this “hyper-immanent” space, a purposeless energy idly unfolds around us, with no fingerposts to guide us across the featureless terrain. The world has truly become a monster to us, and we, far from finding shelter in any redoubtable spheres of co-immunity, discover only that the controlled exodus toward final freedom that was promised to us by the myth of Enlightenment has proved instead to be a precipitate slide toward social and ecological disintegration, psychic vagrancy, and what Sloterdijk calls an unsheltered “heteromobility.”

(...)

Sloterdijk identifies three kinds of immune system that he regards as necessary for human existence: the biological (naturally), the social (which consists of solidarity and shared support), and the symbolic or ritual (which grants human beings power from higher sources whenever they feel themselves to be powerless). The third of these has been weakened irreparably by secularization and individualism, while the second has been subjected to continuous dilutions and dissolutions. We still have not discovered any efficient system of co-immunity for the global society that is now emerging, or devised any new shelters against the monstrosity of a world of empty fate.

(...)

Rather than an attempted retreat into an irrecuperable past, what Sloterdijk believes we really require is a new sphere of solidarity that can encompass all life, a shelter strong enough to create a robust co-immunity for the defenseless whole: global society, animal and vegetal life, nature, the earth itself. Religion has been irretrievably lost as a binding system of values, so we need a new piety devoted to, and sustained by, the oneness of the earth that we inhabit, share, and depend on. As far as Sloterdijk is concerned, moreover, the history of revelation—if one may use that word—has continued to the present day, and there are many things we have learned on the way to modernity, such as the nobility of the individual soul’s “proud” search for a system of personal freedom. These are lessons we must not forsake or let ourselves forget if we are to create a habitable future. For him, they constitute a “Newer Testament.”

(...)

What might Christians make of any of this story? Why should they care? Well, to begin with, they should acknowledge that Sloterdijk, in confirming Nietzsche’s diagnosis of God’s death in the developed world, is doing nothing more than stating an evident fact of history. The disappearance of that transcendent horizon of meaning and hope within whose commodious embrace just about all persons and cultures once subsisted is simply a fait accompli. The frantic extremism of the fundamentalisms and religious nationalisms and crypto-fascist integralisms of our current moment poignantly attests to the inconceivability for late modern culture of a God who is anything other than the construct of either the will to power or a desperate emotional need. None of them is a true sign of a revival of faith; all of them are only the hideous contractions of a deepening rigor mortis. And inasmuch as the genuinely living Christianity of the past was the vital wellspring of “Enlightenment” in the Western world, the departure of that Christianity from Western culture has carried away all those earlier possibilities of “co-immunity” that it had summed up in itself.

Epochs of the spirit are not reversible, or even susceptible of recapitulation. This is an Hegelian insight that no one should doubt: great historical and cultural transitions are not merely ruptures, but also moments of critique. The rationality of history lies in the ceaseless triumph of experience over mere theory, and so in the impossibility of any simple return to pre-critical naïvetés. Sooner or later, just about every cultural economy is defeated by its own inner contradictions, barring interruption of this natural process by a sudden foreign conquest. And the new order that succeeds it is probably no freer from contradictions of its own, which will be exposed in their turn. More to the point, every cultural order’s collapse is also the exhaustion of the synthesis that that culture embodied. Innocence yields to disenchantment, and disenchantment cannot revert to innocence.

Certainly this has proved so in the case of Christendom and its sequel, secularization. The Christendom of the empire or the nation state, being an alloy of two ultimately irreconcilable principles, inevitably subverted itself. It persisted for as long as it did by virtue of a genuinely organic cultic devotion with a durable practical and theoretical infrastructure. But its inherent contradictions ultimately destroyed that basis. The language and principles of the Gospel frequently illuminated the society that cherished them; the offices and powers of the state consistently sheltered, preserved, and advanced the religion that legitimated them. But the alliance was a suicide pact. The most devastating solvent of Christendom, in the end, was the ineradicable presence of Christianity within it. The corrosive force most destructive of Christianity as a credible source of social order was in the end the crushing burden of Christendom upon it.

(...)

As for the liberal secular order that succeeded Christendom, its own inner stresses and volatilities are all too obvious. In the economic realm, it has created prodigies of material production and destruction, as well as forms of power and oppression on a scale formerly unimaginable. In the social realm, it has created ceaseless struggles among incompatible visions of the good while providing no clear transcendent index of values for adjudicating their conflicts. For better or worse, it has eliminated or marginalized almost all mediating or subsidiary forms of social agency and reduced meaningful social order to the interdependent but necessarily antagonistic claims of the state, capital, and the sovereign individual. And Sloterdijk is quite right: under such conditions, we have little defense against the ecological and social calamities that we have created for ourselves. So, again, given these realities, what ought Christians to do?

Certainly, what they should not do is indulge in sickly nostalgias and resentments, or soothe their distempers with infantile restorationist fantasies. History’s immanent critique has exposed too many of the old illusions for what they were, and there can be no innocent return to structures of power whose hypocrisies have been so clearly revealed. There are any number of reasons, for instance, for dismissing the current vogue of right-wing Catholic “integralism”: its imbecile flights of fancy regarding an imperial papacy; its essentially early-modern model of ecclesial absolutism; its devotion to a picture of Christian social and political order that could not be any less “integralist” or any more “extrinsicist” and authoritarian in its mechanisms; the disturbingly palpable element of sadomasochistic reverie in its endorsement of various extreme forms of coercion, subjugation, violence, and exclusion; the total absence of the actual ethos of Christ from its aims; its eerie similarity to a convention of Star Trek enthusiasts gravely discussing strategies for really establishing a United Federation of Planets. But the greatest reason for holding the whole movement in contempt is that it is nothing more than a resentful effort to reenact the very history of failure whose consequences it wants to correct. Secularity was not imposed upon the Christian world by some adventitious hostile force. It simply is the old Christendom in its terminal phase."

[solastia]

Day 19

Break My Stride, Yoongi x Jungkook, ABO, 4/4 Chapters, 14k words

YOU KNOW MY DRAMATIC ASS SAVED THIS FOR A FRIDAY! If y'all thought my screeching was annoying before, be prepared for about 10x more screeching and indecipherable noises. As the very wise Deadpool once said, “MAXIMUM EFFORT!”

First off, congratulations because this was your first fic to reach 10k hits (and it’s now at 34K hits, whaaaa??!! A few hundred of those may possibly be from me...possibly...probably...most definitely! lmao)

You know my fave ship is Yoonmin (I don’t take shipping irl seriously, don’t come for me plz) but I absolutely LOVE the dynamics between Kookie and Yoongi in this fic. Your writing, the plot, the dialogue, the whole thing is just top tier deliciousness every step of the way. It is scrumptious, mouth watering, exquisite, uuugh *chef’s kiss* bellissimo!

Ok, LOTS OF SPOILERS BECAUSE THIS FIC IS MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT FICTIONAL STORY AND Y’ALL CAN’T STOP ME, MUAHAHAHA!

In the beginning of the story, you create a sense of home for the audience. We feel like we know these characters, we get a sense that they’ve been a group of friends for a very long time, and they each hold a special part of each other’s lives, and it’s freaking beautiful.

“Yoongi shook his head and started picking the olives off his slice of pizza. When he turns to his right to give the olives away, he realizes why he’d felt something was wrong.”

You see! He hadn’t even realized that Kookie was missing, but he felt like something was off.

Oh! And I wanted to ask you about the idea for a mating run! I’ve never read anything like this before, it was an interesting concept to think about. And this would be Yoongi’s 8th run! Oh babey, he was just waiting for the right mate…

“He wasn’t sure what it was, but the image of Jungkook finding someone during the run made him feel…itchy.”

Our boi is already jealous at just the idea of Kookie finding a mate (other than him ofc, but he doesn’t know that yet, bwahahahaha!!)

“Good idea, you’re going to need all the rest you can get,” Seokjin says with an ominous smirk.”

I SHOULD GIVE YOU THE SAME WARNING SEOKJINNIE!!!

“There were even booth setups for merchandise and food.”

OMG, I could see Hobi or Jin buying some cheesy “I survived the 20__ Run and All I Got Was This Shirt”. Or maybe a beer cozy!

“No, he said that would be pointless because his mate’s a cheating cheater that plays dirty. He said the chances of them covering their scent were high. He’s making sure his den is ready,” Seokjin scoffed.

Yoongi accepted the drink Jimin handed him and chuckled. “Sounds like I might actually like them.”

“You have no idea,” Jin said with a snort”

Yoongi, are you so jaded, so blind by your general saltiness that you are not understanding the very obvious clues being thrown your way?!?!?! Kookie, where are you? Put this man in his place please!!

And then when he was told that Kook bought that house he’d had his eyes on for years, uughhh, I was hurting for our Yoonie!

“Yoongi suddenly felt like crying, but he settled for collapsing onto the bench and clenching his fist.”

AAAHHH! But wait a little while Yoongi, I promise all this hurt will be over soon!

“Suddenly, Namjoon growled menacingly, startling everyone. Hoseok looked over to the spot where Namjoon was steadily staring, curiosity in his gaze before it too hardened and he started glaring with bared teeth. A random city Alpha that had been approaching them instantly halted, hands out in surrender.”

HOW COULD I FORGET THIS SUB-PLOT!!! Jin was over there laughing at how oblivious Yoongi was, and he isn’t any better, is he?!? Imagine having Joon and Hobi scaring the competition away like that??!! I would take them home immediately!

“There’s a huge plush rug and plenty of blankets, big fluffy pillows, a little stash of food and entertainment. I even put scent blockers around so no one would smell anything coming from inside,” Yoongi preened as he thought of his perfect hideaway.

Yoongi would def be one to make his little den as comfortable as possible! But I just thought of something. In your earlier description of Yoongi’s apartment, he said it was a bit stark and lacked any real decor. BUT he went out of his way to make this den as comfortable as possible. He bought a string of fairy lights, and he had to go to the big city to get them! It’s almost like it was fate, or maybe deep down he knew that something was going to happen, and he was inadvertently nesting! (please insert “I’ve connected the dots” meme here)

“He was sure there were plenty of Alphas running around with those piercings and Kook’s ginormous honker of a nose.”

:|

Was it really Kook? Or is our boy so in love that he sees Kookie wherever he goes? Lmao!

“Yoongi was about to show this guy that he wasn’t someone to be messed with and he wouldn’t be dragged off to be someone’s good little Omega bitch. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the taser he’d packed just in case.”

OMG, Yoongi is not messing around, absolutely zero chill!

“It seemed presenting had changed him physically as well, shooting him up a couple inches so he towered over Yoongi even more than usual. His arms and legs were rippling with muscle that even the black tracksuit he was wearing couldn’t hide. His face was still the same though; the innocent grin an interesting contrast with the buff build.”

SIR!! My heart cannot take this punishment! And OFC he’s a Prime Alpha, Kookie doesn’t know how to half-ass anything!

“And just like he had a million times before, Yoongi gave in like the soft ass bitch he was.”

He really is soft for all of them!!! Yoongi will let them do whatever they want with him, he’ll complain the entire way but we all know he secretly loves it!

“Yoongi dared a quick look behind him, audibly gulping at the sight of the Alpha staring at his ass like he was a starving man at an all you can eat buffet. Jungkook was grinding his jaw and had his nails dug into the dirt like he was trying to control himself.”

I mean, we’ve all seen the Yoonbooty. It does look very biteable. Relatable AF Kook!

“Jungkook continued poking around in things; picking up a candle to sniff, trying to sneak a peek into the duffle bag, ruffling around in the bag of snacks - all while stealing glances at the bed in the middle of the room. “

WAY TO NOT BE OBVIOUS KOOK!!!

“What are you doing, Kook? You’re wasting time here when you should be out there chasing down your mate. They are probably wondering where you are.”

“They know where I am.”

“You told them you were going to hang out with me and they were fine with it?”

“Hyung, you’re usually so smart. Think about it.”

Every time I read this, I die a little bit inside (in a good way, I promise). Yoongi’s whole world is about to be turned upside down, and he has no idea!!!

“The house…”

Jungkook’s eyes softened, smiling fondly at him. “I bought it for you, hyung. Whether you choose me today or not, it’s yours.”

I cry.

What a courting gift!!! Kook doesn’t understand subtlety, does he??!! And how selfless is this? This is a no-strings attached gift, given to Yoongi out of love.

I cry.

“I love the way we are now, equals with a little bit of babying me on the side,” Jungkook grins when Yoongi snorts, shaking his head fondly at the other.”

I would like to see that please.

AND THEN THIS LINE:

“Omega,” Jungkook says softly, so rife with emotion that Yoongi can hear everything he’s trying to say in just that one word. “May I enter your nest?”

This is it, this is as far as I go fam. I have been destroyed with six whole words. How can such a simple statement hold so much emotion, so much hopeful pleading?

And then the whole interaction on the bed! Yoongi asking if he wants to play cards (bwahahaha, sure Jan), Kookie being prepared to wipe away all the descenting salve, Kook getting scent high, YOONGI’S GRANDPA RUN, those first initial uses of pet names, everything was so intimate and playful. It was beautiful!

“I bet I could easily pick you up and fuck you against a wall sometime if you wanted. Maybe even have you straddle my shoulders and I could suck you off that way,” Jungkook muses so matter of factly despite the subject matter, and Yoongi can feel himself get wetter by the second.”

Aaaaaaand there’s the emotional whiplash I’ve come to love from you!

“Whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

Kookie being selfless again! I cannot! It’s about these little things that are done between partners that really matter. Kook is a newly presented virgin Prime Alpha in the midst of a claiming, and his first priority is still making sure Yoongi feels good. He’s giving him all the power here.

“Good,” Yoongi yawns loudly and throws a couple of blankets over them, tangling their legs together. “Later we can try the thing with the nipples.”

Again, I would like to see that please.

“Suddenly, Yoongi’s eyes shoot open and he gasps.

“Oh shit! Your brother is going to kill me!”

Jungkook merely laughs”

😂😂😂

“I’ll give you some meat,” Yoongi grumbles playfully as he climbs off the bed, stretching his aching limbs.

“I mean, I’m down for anything,” Jungkook giggles.”

Not to sound like a broken record, but...I WOULD LIKE TO SEE THAT PLEASE

“Jungkook walked straight towards the first woman he saw with a clipboard, blindsiding the stunned woman with one of his lethal smiles while he wrapped an arm around Yoongi’s waist to pull him close.

“Hi! We both need mating packets.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes because he could tell that Jungkook was practically bragging instead of just asking like a normal person.”

He’s practically bragging about Yoongi being his mate! I have a feeling Kookie is going to be unbearable to be around in the upcoming weeks.

And then we get a teeny tiny peek at the Nam-Jin-Hobi subplot and ooomg I hope you’re able to explore this particular pairing in the future. There is so much potential there for steamy/fluffy scenes!

“I just mean, like, soulmates. You know? Maybe we were supposed to meet to help each other find our mates. Or maybe we are all soulmates in various forms.”

DON’T! DON’T HURT ME THIS WAY, I CANNOT AND WILL NOT SURVIVE!

AAAAH this fic was wonderful! It feels complete the way you ended it, but I am definitely still craving more! Good job, dayumm!

It still amazes me how many people have read this one lol. But yeah, this is one of my favorites too. I do have other side stories that I’m working on for this one, including one from Jk’s birthday and another for Namjinseok.

I just really really love writing people that are so unapologetically whipped. Like, it’s such a major thing for me because in real life there are a ridiculous amount of people that are embarrassed to show how much they care about their SO, and like, why? Why are you even with them if you’re so embarrassed to show them any affection? Show the world that you are proud they choose to be with you, show your person that they are precious. I’m not even saying buy them shit all the time (because for some reason het males seem to think that’s what everyone means). I mean hold their damn hand, write them a note, tell them they are pretty. There’s a reason that a person who technically still identifies as gay man is in a steady relationship with me, a pan woman. And it’s because I fucking treat him like he’s the reason my heart beats and I’m not ashamed to show the world. Ok, I’m ranting now lol. I’ll stop. But you get the picture.

[slaapkat]

jared stevens/sandy sand sanderson the golden boy hawkins for 27

27. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

(for some minor background context, i wholly recommend this fic)

Suffice to say, Jared hadn’t predicted ending up like this. Fate powers being what they were, his own future tended to be impossible to predict anyways, the persistent effect of staring into a dirty, smudged mirror with the lights off. That being said-- he still tended to have a pretty good idea of what was in store for him. A hard life, followed by an inconsequential death. That had been accomplished easily enough, but with his unceremonious return to the land of the living Jared’s future and where he would end up next had once again become nigh-indecipherable. 

Not that he was complaining about where he had ended up.

Namely, in the lap of a one Sandy Hawkins, aka Sand, aka-- Sandman? The Sandman? Whatever the fuck he called himself now, Jared couldn’t keep up and found the whole secret identity deal silly enough as it was. Silly, but-- cute. 

Yeah, so he found the kid cute. Jared could hear Arn snickering in the back of his mind. Granted, “kid” was pushing it for someone technically older than sliced bread, but those doe-eyes and blond curls left him incapable of calling him anything else. It was cute, and it was why Jared currently found himself in Sandy’s aforementioned lap, kissing the utter living daylights out of him and absolutely going to town on that neck of his. 

Sandy was breathless with it, clutching at Jared for all he was worth. This-- relationship they’ve come to have was still somewhat new, still exciting enough for the both of them. Sandy was the one friend in the JSA Jared had while Arn went off to pick up the pieces of his life, and Jared-- Jared was something to Sandy, he knew that much. Kindred spirits, possibly, both of them men out of time in their own respects, both of them outsiders in their own ways. They gravitated towards each other naturally, after a time. 

It passed the time, at least. The JSA geezers still didn’t let him out too much, still gave him a wide berth with his clothes and hair and jewelry-- but Sandy kept him company. Sandy sought out his company. It was more touching than Jared cared to admit. He was more than willing to return the favor. 

“Is-- is this okay?” Sandy asks waveringly, voiced roughened from their kissing as his hands slid down to grasp at the seat of Jared’s jeans. “Does this feel-- good?”

Jared has to laugh at that, a high-pitched little giggle muffled into the crook of Sandy’s neck, enamored by the sheer earnestness of the question. Sandy’s inexperienced, but he… tries. Jared can appreciate the enthusiasm, even if he has little to no ass to speak of. His poor, bony butt deserves a little love too. 

“Knock yerself out, kid,” Jared says by way of answer; he leans back and settles against Sandy’s hands bracing him. Sandy, for his part, smiles up at him, bright and easy and warm despite the slight nerves still lurking underneath. Jared can’t help but smile back, something in his chest constricting, and leans back in for another kiss, full of intent and purpose. It’s part an effort to distract himself from that feeling, part one of a personal mission to muss up that perfect Golden Boy image that the rest of the JSA seemed so insistent on maintaining. A hardcore make out session was a perfect answer to both.

“Wow,” Sandy says dazedly when they finally break apart for air. “That was-- wow.”

“I’ll say,” Jared drawls, his Boston accent coming on thick with the thrill of it. “You sure know how to show a guy a wicked good time.”

Sandy snorts with a somewhat hysterical little giggle of his own, and pulls Jared in just close enough to plant a quick, soft kiss right on his cheek, just below the ankh.

Not a bad night, all things considered. 

[starlightsearches]

Hey hun I would love to request a Hux x Reader oneshot where the reader literally stops Armitage from an abusive episode from Brendol by getting struck instead. I wanna see our boi be scared for reader but also get hella pissed at his dad. Thanks love

Free of Charge Pt. 2

Absolutely! I decided to make this the second part of the Hux x Bounty Hunter! reader because I got a few requests for part 2, and the abuse storyline was already established. (Here’s the first part, if you missed it!)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Armitage Hux x Bounty Hunter! Reader

Warnings: Both physical and mental abuse to Hux and the reader, and language.

You’re in his office, studying your surroundings with an indecipherable smile, occasionally looking back at him as he sits at his desk, and Armitage is struggling to look at ease even though he’s dying to know what you’re thinking. It’s been a while, too long in his opinion, since he last saw you. He’s thought of your last meeting constantly since you left, but gathering the courage to contact you had more to do with banishing his own self-doubt than any thought of sparing his father, who—despite Armitage’s recent accolades—had only increased his abusive behavior. He wants Brendol gone, and he wants your help, but there are other wants as well, and those are the ones that are holding him back.

“Congratulations on the promotion, Commander,” you say, finally taking a seat, “I’m sure it was well deserved.”

“Thank you.” Armitage fidgets in his chair now that he holds all of your attention. How should he go about this? It’s brand new territory in more ways than one. There’s a specific image he’s trying to portray and he’s not sure if it’s working; he needs you to see someone self-assured, confident, in control. “Should we discuss-”

“In a moment, of course. But before we talk about any specifics, I’d like to make sure that this is what you really want?” You speak casually, discussing the terms of his father’s death like one would discuss the weather.

“Of course, my mind is made,” he responds, and he knows there’s no chance of doubt, although a part of him regrets that he needs help at all. A heavy silence follows his words, filling the air, and there’s something in your eyes that he can’t identify—a decision to be made, maybe, or a judgement. You leave the chair and walk to the other side of his desk, resting your hip lightly against it and crossing your arms over your chest, steady and at-ease, and emitting an electric intensity that Armitage can’t ignore.

“Alright, then.” You hop into a seated position on his desk, leaning forward, and one of your legs rests against his now, your shin brushing up against the lower half of his thigh. Now this is unexpected, and decidedly not accidental on your part, but Armitage pretends to take no notice. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous.

“Normally these conversations take place in areas that are a little more private. Is there somewhere else we could go to discuss details?” you ask quietly, “maybe my ship? Or your quarters?” Armitage must be imagining things. You can’t be saying what he thinks you’re saying, but it’s hard to keep his mind away from the possibility of it, especially when your gaze stays focused on his mouth, sending a thrill up his spine.

“We should be safe enough in here,” he responds, concentrating all his effort on keeping professional, ignoring the hammering of his heart, “no one should be able to listen in.” He can’t believe that you might want him. He won’t let himself believe it.

“Yes, but could we be interrupted?” You lean closer, and his heart stutters in his chest as one of your hands pushes gently into his shoulder, holding him in place against his chair. He knows that when you release your hold his uniform will be wrinkled, but it’s a small price to pay for such a lovely feeling. He doesn’t know how to act when you’re this close.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. Your hair falls into his face, brushing against his cheeks, and the smell of you evelops him: surprisingly sweet, with something mysterious beneath, something clean and metallic.

“Do you want me to stop, Commander?” Stars, he had heard the new title countless times, but never said like this. Any discussion you would need to have about his father could certainly wait.

“No,” he whispers, and he’s worried that he might be breathing too loudly. He places a tentative, shaking hand on your waist, urging you closer, and you oblige, sliding from the desk and winding your arms around his neck in an embrace. It’s better than he had imagined—but there’s something distracting him from truly enjoying the moment.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, because he must. There’s no persona he can adopt now to make this any better. He’s back to being himself: an insecure boy in desperate need of some validation.

“You sell yourself short, Commander.” It’s the only answer you give, undeterred by his apprehension, before leaning fully into him.

When you kiss him, he leaves his eyes open for a moment to make sure that he’s not dreaming. He doesn’t want to move, refuses even to breathe, afraid that you might stop. Your mouth is soft and warm against his, and surprisingly gentle, like you’re trying not to startle him. When your hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, fully prepared to enjoy this moment. He’s surprised to find that he feels good, very good, despite his doubts. There’s something about you that makes him feel safe, even if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing.

The feeling doesn’t last long; just as he’s beginning to enjoy himself—adoring the feeling of your body against his, the way your hands run gently through his hair, the thrill that something like this is happening to him, and with someone like you—there’s a muffled noise outside the door, the hushed tones of conversation. At first, he’s able to ignore them, but they grows louder—inescapable—and he’s sure that it will require his attention.

He pulls back, and you follow him lazily, unaware of the commotion happening just outside, nuzzling your face into his neck, pressing soft kisses into the skin of his throat. He shudders, distracted, before catching himself, putting a hand on your shoulder and creating some distance.

“You need to hide,” he says urgently, looking around his office before landing on the desk in front of him. It’s not an ideal space, but it’s the only one where you’ll be shielded from view of the doorway.

“What are you-” you start to ask, but he cuts you off, guiding you below his desk, and you go, despite your confusion, curling up and watching him with serious and questioning eyes. There’s no time to apologize, no time to regret the fact that you’ll probably never speak to him again after this; he’s already managed to ruin things. You’re sheltered now, and not a moment too soon; he’s just barely managed to rearrange himself into a believably casual position, looking over the documents on his desk when the door flies open. It’s his father, looking wild, followed quickly by Armitage’s new assistant, who is trying to both placate the general and apologize to Armitage at the same time.

“What the fuck do you think you’re you doing?” Brendol says with an accusatory glare, brushing his secretary out of the way more with more force than necessary, and Armitage stands, hoping his father won’t come any closer.

“I’m going over the plans, like you requested, General,” his father silences him, pointing at him with one shaking hand, his leather glove squeaking quietly as his fingers flex against each other. He forces himself to keep his eyes on his father, away from the area below his desk. Had the general found out about your visit? He had tried to be inconspicuous, but Brendol had ways of knowing things his son would rather keep private.

“Not now, stupid boy!” he yells, moving closer, and Armitage moves around his desk, cutting him off from your hiding place. Brendol’s hand makes a fist in Armitage’s uniform, pulling him closer.

“You went behind my back to the admiral,” it’s not phrased like a question, but Brendol waits anyways for Armitage to confirm, searching for the truth in his son’s eyes. Despite himself, and his precarious situation, Armitage is relieved. He wouldn’t phrase it that way, exactly, but he did speak to the admiral about his initial ideas on the plans before going to his father. Of course Brendol would interpret his actions as subterfuge, but Armitage doesn’t care about that right now. He just wants to keep you safe.

“General, I-” the back of his father’s hand collides with his cheek, and Armitage is thrown down to the desk with the force of the blow, bright spots appearing in his vision. A thought floats through his head, singularly lucid in his currently hazy mind: his father is breaking all of his own rules. He has an audience: Armitage’s assistant, still in the room, standing with her hands over her mouth with an almost-comical level of surprise; he’s leaving visible marks, aiming for the face; and he has not bothered to remove his gloves, denying himself the thrill of feeling his son’s skin bruise under the flesh of his hand.

Armitage turns back to his father, anticipating the next blow, but there’s a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and a hideous dread rising in his stomach, threatening to escape. He has regained enough presence of mind to see a new scene unfold before him, one that he his powerless to stop: his father, a leather-covered hand flying through the air, and you, out of hiding, blocking its intended target.

The impact shatters the room, or maybe it only shatters Armitage, who swears that he can feel it reverberate in his chest, the moments after long and silent and soaked in a blood-colored rage. Your appearance does not deter Brendol, does not prompt him to ask any questions about why you’re here and what you’re doing. It only serves to provoke him further, and he recoils his fist again.

“No,” the sound comes deep from within Armitage’s chest, and he strikes out as well, gripping his father’s wrist in his hand and forcing it upwards, blocking the punch instinctively. Armitage stares into his father’s eyes as he keeps his hold and sees an emotion that would look at home on any other face, but never here. Fear. Plain. Potent. Unmistakable. For a moment Armitage is stunned as he looms over the man. Had his father always been this small? Or does the look in his eyes just make him appear that way?

You lurch back to standing, holding your face in your hands, blood pouring from between your fingers and a fire in your eyes as you stare Brendol down. You don’t have your weapons, and for that Armitage is grateful, because it seems to him that you would end Brendol here and now if you could, regardless of the number of witnesses. Armitage releases his hold on his father, gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. Your nose is swollen, maybe broken, and there’s blood smeared across your mouth, the lips he had kissed what felt like a lifetime ago stained red.

“We’re leaving,” he says, and his father stands in stunned silence. Armitage doesn’t wait for permission, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders and pulling you to the door. His assistant steps out of the way, clearing the path, the same expression of shock on her face.

“Wait one damned minute!” Brendol yells, finally recovering, holding his arm out as if to pull his son back but he doesn’t make contact, even though Armitage is still within reach.

“I will not have my own son disobey me and get away with it. Have you no shame?” His father tries to regain an air of authority, but the illusion is gone. Armitage can see him for what he really is—a tyrant and a bully, grasping for power in the pain that he causes.

“If you ever raise a hand against me again, father, you’ll see exactly how shameless I can be.” The threat lands, and Brendol is left slack-jawed, watching blankly as his son walks away.

There are eyes on both of you as he walks you through the ship, officers with questions written plainly on their faces. He’s sure it must be a sight to see: you with your swollen features and blood-covered hands, and his own injured face, distorted by the bruise undoubtedly spreading over his cheek, but he stares down anyone brave enough to meet his gaze, and they look away.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask quietly, breathing heavily through parted lips.

“The medbay. Someone needs to look at your nose.” 

You pull him to a stop, “I have a medkit on my ship,” and then with a painful-looking smile, “I think I may have overstayed my welcome.” Reluctantly, Armitage obliges, following you now in the direction of the hangar where you had docked.

You lead him aboard your ship, guiding him by the hand, and then close the hatch behind you. The space is clean, quiet and dark, and Armitage does not have a chance to adjust to the dim lighting before you pull him further in towards a set of shelves, finding the medkit you had mentioned. He takes it from your trembling hands, leading you now to find a seat on a small cot set up against the wall.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, kneeling on the hard floor of the ship and holding your face in one hand, trying to get a better look at the damage his father had done. He feels no anger now that he’s alone with you, but a cold determination instead, one that settles into a space below his heart. His father will pay for what he’s done; he’ll make sure of it.

“I did, though,” you say, with a little gasp. He’s afraid it might be the pain, and he releases his hold, but you grab his hand and bring it to your cheek, resting against his palm with a serene expression. The blood trailing from your nose has reduced to a slow trickle, but bruises have started to appear, twin marks beneath your eyes growing darker with time.

“When will I see you again?” you whisper your question into his palm, and your breath tickles against his hand. The gesture fills him with warmth, the now-familiar thrill of being close to you, but he pulls away, opening the medkit and wiping the blood from your face. You scrutinize his movements, and he can’t resist the urge to run the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip once all the blood is cleaned away.

“As soon as you’d like.” He’s not sure if it’s true, but he wants it to be. His father would be an obstacle to that, certainly, but Armitage is prepared to take care of it.

“I’m sorry,” you’re crying, the tears trailing down your cheeks, a small sob escaping your throat.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Armitage replies, a little dumbfounded. If anything, he should be apologizing to you for dragging you into this. You pull him off the floor so that he can sit beside you, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s tired. Despite the ache in his face, he finds himself dozing as he lies with his cheek against your hair, breathing in your scent that can most closely be described as home. You intertwine your fingers, resting your hand against his thigh. He wants to live in this feeling, but there’s business he must take care of now, before things with his father get out of hand. Brendol will not forget Armitage’s disobedience so quickly; he’s probably scheming against him right now. Armitage stands, and you look up at him with sad eyes, holding his hand in yours, unwilling to part so soon.

“Shouldn’t we discuss our plans … for your father?” you ask, trying to pull him close again. He wishes he could stay, but chooses to satisfy himself with a kiss  pressed to your forehead instead, releasing your hand and walking towards the hatch.

“I’ll take care of it,” after everything you’ve been through, he doesn’t want you coming anywhere near his father ever again. It’s time for Brendol to get a taste of his own medicine.