#this poor girl needed a crying session for at least half the show

[miraculous-headcanons-of-mine]

Alya, talking to Marinette, in her Rena Rouge looking around Marinette's room for akumas: you want the cookies your mom put for us?

Marinette, after a crying panic session that lasted exactly 10 minutes and nine seconds: yes please

Alya: ok bestie now we're gonna eat those delicious cookies, drink hot chocolate and talk about all the latest fashion trends ok?

Marinette, now holding the kwamis like plushies because they all wanted to comfort her: *nods like a small child*

[thevelria]

Emerald (ErenxReader) Chapter 2 - Attitude

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Author's note: 15.000+ characters

Chapter contains swearing, drinking alcholol, mentoning drug use etc

Enjoy~

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After only two and a half hours of sleep you wished to be dead, when the alarm started to scream into your face. You needed at least 6-7 hours of sleep to be able to function like a normal human being. But last night went way too long, you regretted the fact that you wanted to be nice to Eren.

-He didn't even deserve it -you cussed in the bathroom, brushing your teeth with eyes closed- I'm so gonna be fucked up today.

Walking back and forth in the room, you had no idea what to wear. Didn't feel the energy to dress nice, but it was only your second day, so even if the office didn't have a dress code you weren't confident enough to show up in yoga pants and hoodies. Finally you put on a black tight skirt with buttons all along on the side, a light baby blue shirt and a black blazer. Forming a lazy, messy bun at the top of your head and slipping into some heels ready to leave and face reality. You still needed the job, because you didn't turn out to be super rich during your sleep session.

You were already on the way to the car, when you remembered, you forgot the mug. Some cursing, eye rolling and wishing everyone to fuck themselves you stomped back and grabbed a beige mug from the kitchen, which had Goku on it. It was your favorite mug ever, so you felt maybe it could help you through the day.

-Morning -you mumbled under your nose, feeling the huge bags under your eyes.

-Goooood morning, honey! -Sasha jumped up from her desk, heading to you immediately -Uhh, girl what's wrong? -she widened her eyes, when she noticed how terrible you looked.

-Lack of sleep, I suppose -you sighed irritated.

-We didn't even leave that late last night -she raised one of her eyebrows -Come, let's drink a coffee!

-You didn't, but I arrived home around 4:30am -you yawned big- That coffee sounds so tempting -you searched for your mug in your bag.

-Huh? Why? What did you do? -she asked confused on the way to the kitchen.

-Eren asked me to drop him out in a hotel, then invited me for a drink. We talked and it was somehow fucking early in the morning. I'm going to die today! -you whined.

-Eren did what? He never asks any of us to...

-I don't know Sasha, I just didn't want to be a rude ass...but maybe I should have, because now I'm literally dying.

Taking sips from the hot coffee on the way back to your desk you zoned out a bit, dreaming of your comfy bed, how the bed sheets feel so soft and cozy. The thought of it almost made you cry.

-Today is the same as yesterday? -you asked Sasha, grabbing your notebook and pencil and was about to leave to her table.

-Nope, sweety. You will need to sit with Eren, he's gonna show you the exact job you will be going to do here.

-Nah, please nooo -you started fake crying.

-Good luck -she laughed out loud, because she exactly knew it was going to be a tough task not to punch Eren in the face in the condition you were in at the moment.

You took a deep, huge breath and as letting the air slowly out you grabbed your stuff, heading to his desk.

-Morning -you mumbled-Sasha said today I need to learn from you.

-Morning grumpy -he giggled- Yeah, grab a chair -he pointed behind his back.

-It's all your fault -you yawned, grabbing a chair and throwing yourself lazily.

-Yep, I know -he clicked his tongue- I'm tired too, just to let you know.

-Bu-hu, poor you -you rolled your eyes.

-Fuck, you are really an ass, when you are tired -he laughed out loud.

-Meh, shut up and show me this shit...please -you faked a cute smile.

Eren didn't say anything, just shook his head slightly, smiling at your attitude.

His low, throaty voice sounded so calming, ringing you almost to sleep. And even if you should have focused on him telling and showing you your tasks you felt slowly falling asleep.

-HEY! -he poked you with his elbow- Wake up...Jesus -he rolled his eyes annoyed.

-What? -you woke up immediately, not knowing what happened- Oh my God -you started to laugh- I'm so sorry.

-Focus...please -he clenched his jaw- I'm not gonna finish my work, because I have to babysit you, so you better start to listen.

-Wow! -you pulled a face- No need to be a dickhead -you crossed your hands before your chest. And it was your fault again...your voice is just too calming and I fell asleep listening to you -you rolled your eyes offended.

-How old are you? 10? -he hissed.

-Oh, fuck you Jaeger -you snaped back- I don't want to sit here as much as you don't want me to be here next to you! I cannot help it. I can ask Reiner, he might be a bit nicer than you...asshole.

-Drop the attitude woman -he said with a cold tone.

-You mean the attitude you are giving me now? -you raised one of your eyebrows. You really wanted to punch him in the face.

He was about to tell you some not too nice things, when Levi's door shot open and he rushed towards you two.

-JAEGER! -he screamed from the bottom of his lungs. Shit, he was truly scary as Sasha mentioned you yesterday.

-Yes, boss? -he looked at the pissed off man.

-I just got a fucking angry call from a freaking client. Where's this truck? -he slammed a piece of paper at the desk, making it shiver a little bit.

-Fuck -Eren said as he checked it in the system.

-Yeah...fuck. FUCK YOU! Why can't you just do your job, huh? I don't care what your personal problems are...one more mistake and you are OUT! -he kept yelling at him.

-You know what? -Eren jumped up from his chair, pushing you aside a bit- FUCK YOU! I'm so fucking fed up with your bullshit -he rushed out from the room, slamming the door behind him.

This bitch ass loud argument woke you up in an instant, you were sitting in the chair, grabbing your cup of coffee and didn't know what to do.

-You! -Levi pointed at you- Fix this shit! -he spun on his heels and left you alone.

Everyone froze in their action in the office, no one was brave enough even just to breathe a bit louder. You gulped big and sat into Eren's chair. After 10 minutes of wondering between the emails and checking excel sheets and documents you figured out what the problem was. You made some calls and finally it was fixed. As much you felt proud of yourself as much you felt sorry for Eren. Levi's act didn't seem fair at all. As you could see it wasn't even Eren's fault the truck being late. You slowly stood up and walked out of the room, trying to figure out where he could leave.

After wandering around for a few minutes you walked to the smoking spot and you were right. He's been leaning against the plastic wall, taking deep drags from his cigarette.

-Hey -you smiled nicely, stepping next to him.

-What? -he hissed, not even looking at you.

-I fixed it, don't worry -you tried to start a conversation. His hands were shaking like a leaf from the anger.

-Do you want a fucking trophy or what?

-Nah, I'm more like a tiara girl -you smirked.

He didn't say anything, but cracked a half smile.

-Want one? -he offered you a smoke.

-Thanks -you nodded, taking out one from the packet. You leaned closer as he clicked the lighter -He shouldn't yell at you like that. It wasn't even your fault -you said.

-Whatever -he shrugged, still shaking.

-Just try to calm down, it's not worth it -you smiled.

-Oh shut up! -he yelled at you, rolling his eyes irritated- Don't act like you know everything.

-Drop the act -you stayed calm- I know you are not an asshole even if you want me to believe that.

-Can you just leave me the fuck alone?

-Nope -you clicked your tongue- You are exactly like my former coworker. Don't think for a second that I don't know what you are trying to do.

-You don't know shit about me -he hissed, flicking the butt to the ashtray and was about to leave.

-Eren -you grabbed his wrist slightly.

He froze in his action, didn't know how to react.

-I'm sorry -he sighed, clenching his jaw.

-Let's go back -you smiled, finishing your smoke as well.

The day rushed to its end and you tried your best to focus on everything he said, taking tons of notes. Around 16:30 everyone started to pack their stuff except Eren and Reiner.

-You can go -he yawned- I won't finish sometimes soon, but you don't need to stay.

-Nah...tell me what I can help with.

-You don't have to -he argued.

-I know -you shrugged your shoulders.

-You are annoying -he rolled his eyes.

-So are you -you laughed out loud.

-Fine -he sighed- Bring your laptop, I will give you some tasks to do.

As you walked to your desk, collecting the device Sasha stopped next to you.

-What are you doing? -she looked confused.

-I'm gonna help them to finish faster -you smiled, holding your laptop.

-Levi's gonna like you -she laughed.

-I don't need his sympathy, I just wanna help the guys to finish earlier -you said with a serious tone, leaving Sasha behind.

After Eren explained what you can help with, you started to work and so all of you finished around 7.

-Yo, Reiner! -Eren stood up, grabbing his jacket- Down for a drink?

-Sorry Jaeger, not today -he waved you guys goodbye.

-Y/N? -he turned to you.

-Nah, I'm tired as hell. I want to sleep.

-Pleaseee -he pulled a puppy face.

-Eren...stop -you shook your head.

-Just one!

-I'm starving -you whined, walking to your desk followed by him.

-Then let's go for dinner first -he tried to bargain.

-You are really a pain in the ass -you sighed annoyed.

-I'm gonna wait for you at the parking lot -he winked at you, leaving the room.

You already regretted being nice to him, because now it looked like he stuck to you. It happened all the time. Whenever you were nice to someone you couldn't get rid of them anymore. Even if you loved being left alone in peace. You could have been an asshole and rejected his invitation like you usually would do, but there was something about him, which made you act otherwise. You just didn't want to hurt his feelings, you really felt sorry for this broken guy.

-Come! -you called out, when you arrived at your car.

-I hoped you would have been the driver again -he smirked, sliding in.

-Oh shut up -you rolled your eyes- You are already exhausted, pissed off and you want to drink...Like I have any other choice -you pulled an annoyed face- But I'll choose the place, something near to my place and you can catch a cab, when we are done.

-Deal! -he smiled widely.

You drove the car to your favorite bar. It was at the end of the street of your home, so it seemed like a perfect choice.

-Wall of Rose - Eren read out loud the sign of the bar- What a stupid name for a bar.

-C'mon -you got out of your car- I don't have time for you all night long.

After your order arrived at the table you started to stuff your mouth like there was no tomorrow.

-What? -you ask.

-You really are hungry.

-Duh...I told you I am. Is there any problem with it?

-No -he chuckles- Girls just usually are shy eating in front of a guy -he shrugged.

-Yeah, when they are on a date and not being with a simple coworker -you kept eating.

-Ohh...- he seemed somehow offended?!- I'm gonna get a drink. Tonic again?

-No way! -you laughed- I want a good, cold beer -you licked your bottom lip.

-Full of surprise -he chuckled, heading to the bartender.

Eren kept drinking beer after beer, getting tipsier minute by minute.

-You should stop -you said, finishing your first bottle.

-What? Why? -he yawned big, not bothering to cover his mouth.

-You drank like 4 bottles in the last 10 minutes. You're gonna get wasted.

-So what?

-Wanna talk about it? -you raised one of your eyebrows. Maybe the booze, maybe the actions of today, maybe just you being too kind to him, but he felt like he wanted to spit out everything.

-I'm so fucking miserable -he shook his head- I feel so burnt out, you know. She just keeps chewing on my life, makes everything ten times harder than it should be.

You kept silent, listening to him carefully.

-How long are you married? -you asked.

-5 years, but I have known her since diapers. She was always around, never leaving me alone. Protecting me all the time, convincing me this was love we had between us. Love? -he laughed bitter- Love my ass. She's just a freaking psycho. So fucking obsessed with me that it terrifies me to the bones. Jealous all the time, I can't look or talk to a girl without her thinking I cheat on her -he hissed angrily.

-Are you sure it cannot be fixed between you too? If you know her this long, maybe there's a chance...

-A chance for what? -he cut you mid sentence- Changing Mikasa? There's no way in hell -he laughed out loud with so much pain in his voice- God, even if we are on a divorce, if she would see us now she would try to beat the shit out of you.

-Sorry? -you looked surprised.

-Yeah...she's crazy.

-Well -you smirked- I don't know how strong she is, but believe me it's not easy to beat my ass.

-Haha, I'm sure of it, you look tough as hell -he smiled at you- I'm happy I met you, Y/N.

-Easy, tiger -you laughed out loud- Don't get too emotional, you are ruining my opinion about you being a total dickhead.

-Shut up! -he chuckled again- There's gonna be a huge ass party Saturday at Jean's place. Wanna come?

-Please, Eren...-you shook your head desperately.

-What? -he looked confused.

-I love being alone on the weekends -you laughed out loud- You have no idea how freaking antisocial I am. I hate parties... like a lot.

-Yeah, sure.

-Seriously. So, I'm sorry, but I need to pass.

-Please!

-Why? You will have your friends there, won't you?

-You are more fun to be around -he smirked at you.

-Ohh drop this shit act, Jaeger -you sat back at your chair.

-Fine -he rolled his eyes.

-It was a perfect night, but I'm gonna go now. You will be okay? -you asked, standing up, grabbing your stuff- Or should I call you a cab?

-I think I will just walk -he shrugged.

-What? Why?

-I'm too drunk to get a cab. They won't let me get in -he chuckled, focusing on standing straight.

-You're such a pain in the ass -you shook your head annoyed- Come with me. He followed you without a word, sliding in your car easily.

-Home? -you turned to him.

-No way!

-You will need to pay for my gas next time. I'm like your fucking personal driver.

-A pretty, badass driver -he wiggled in his seat, trying to get comfortable with his eyes closed.

You didn't react, because you knew it was just the alcohol talking. He was hurt and desperate, so there was no point in taking him seriously at all.

-Where do you live? -he asked out of the blue, when he felt the car start to move.

-Why?

-Just curious -he shrugged.

-We will pass in front of my house, it's at the end of this street.

-This one -you pointed at the small, but cute looking house.

-Sweet -he smiled- Do you mind? -he turned on the radio.

-No, I always listen to music, when I drive -you cracked a half smile, when you heard one of your favorite songs, Riot by Hollywood Undead to start.

-Fuck, I love this song! -he volumed it up.

"I've been searching for an answer, but I ain't found one

I've been known to tear shit up and go off like a gun

I've been drinking way too much, but now I think I'm done"

You started to sing the lyrics right away, drumming your fingers on the driving wheel.

"Fuck that shit, let's start a riot!

Let's start a riot!

Tear shit up, fuck peace and quiet!"

Eren yelled the phrase with a huge smile on his face. He looked way too hyped by the song.

"I gotta get, I gotta get that feeling

Gotta get higher than the twenty-foot ceiling"

Both of you followed the lyrics this time.

-I wonder -he turned to you- do you get high?

-Sometimes -you shrugged.

-No way! -he slammed his fist against his mouth, laughing.

-What? -you asked, smiling.

-You look so innocent and yet you are a freaking badass bitch.

-Watch your mouth, Jaeger -you rolled your eyes. But deep inside you loved the way he reacted.

-Want one? -he moved his eyebrows up and down fast.

-Now? No way!

-Why? I thought you were cool -he faked a sad smile.

-I am cool -you looked seriously into his eyes- Cooler than you will ever find out -you smirked.

-Challenge accepted!

-We are here -you pulled out in front of the hotel- Good night.

-You are such a party breaker -he shook his head sadly.

-Yeah, I'm such a terrible person -you gasped ironically.

-See you in the morning, pretty -he got out of the car, closing the door, leaving you with a confused look on your face. 

[erodasfishtacos]

harry adores yn with his entire being and i can tell that she loves him just as much but the poor thing is just so scared, and by what you have showed us she has a fair reason to have struggles

Through Hell and Back

warnings: cheating, mentions of domestic violence, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

this is a very important blurb to understand dynamic and history of the characters.

PLEASE let me know your thoughts.

—

Harry’s out at a bachelor party for his friend, Jack, at a noisy bar downtown where there is a mechanical bull and half-naked waitresses.

His phone rings at two-thirty in the morning, he already knows who it is and why she’s calling him so late.

He steps outside the noisy bar, “Hi puppy, y’alright?”

Harry already knew she wasn’t.

Her voice is shaky, “Er, are you still out at the bachelor party?”

If he says yes, she’ll just try to say have fun and was just calling to check in - a lie because she felt like such an inconvenience at all times.

“No, just got home,” He lied smoothly, he could hear her trying to hide a sniffle - she must have had a bad dream.

Every since she started trauma therapy, they’d been getting worse, as she worked through her struggles with a therapist.

—

“I-I don’t want to g-go in,” YN whimpers as she sits in Harry’s passenger side outside the clinic, “I can’t talk about it.”

“Baby, you need to do this. You need to talk to someone who’s trained to help you, okay? You promised you’d try it f’me,” He hums, rubbing a thumb over her wet cheekbone.

She shakes her head stubbornly, “It’s all going to come back.”

“Yes, it will. Because you didn’t work through it, you repressed it. There is a difference, okay?” Harry’s heart feels like it’s being ripped in two as YN looks like a caged animal.

YN squeezes Harry’s hand so hard it hurts but he doesn’t mind, he can feel her fear being shared through the rough touch.

She wipes her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater, “Please, H. I don’t want to remember.”

He sighs softly, “I would never force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you really want to leave, we can.”

YN searches his eyes, sees his sadness and she knows she has to push through because she loves him so much, “Will you walk me in?”

“Of course, s’fucking proud of you. My strong girl,” Harry praises, kissing the top of her head, and shutting off the car.

He walks her in, watches her as she hesitantly goes back in with her new therapist, and sits in the waiting room for the hour and a half until she comes out.

He does that every week without miss.

Drives her, walks her in, sits in the waiting room, and then drives her home.

She doesn’t usually talk much after the sessions, her eyes swollen and puffy which is a telltale sign she cried during the appointment.

Harry holds her hand on the ride home, sometimes draws her a bath or tucks her in for a nap under his covers.

One day, after therapy, they crawled into his bed together. She hadn’t said one word since she walked out of the office but she looks tiredly at Harry.

“Why?”

Harry frowns, “Why what?”

She hides her face into the fluffy pillow, words mumbled, “Why do you want me? I’m so broken.”

“Hey,” Harry responds loudly, pulling her up and giving her a serious look, “You are not broken. Even if you were, I’d love every broken piece, okay? I want you because I’m so in love with you it doesn’t make sense.”

YN shakes her head, “I don’t deserve you. You-you have to drive me to therapy every week, leave work early, have to make it up the next day.”

And well, his heart breaks a little because she truly believes that.

Harry grips her jaw, gently, “If you need to go to therapy for the rest of your life, I’ll drive you until I’m ninety. I’ll drive you five days a week if you need it.”

He continues,“I don’t deserve you, sweet girl. Strongest, bravest, most resilient person I’ve ever met. You are my soulmate and I believe that wholeheartedly.”

“I want to nap now,” She whispers, crawling back into her shell where she’s safe from the world, from facing her fears.

Harry just stares at her, the girl he’s had a crush on since fourth grade, the girl he’d been in love with since ninth.

When she felt broken, well so did he.

—

“Mum, I want to do more for her,” Harry cries to his mother one night at dinner after school.

“I know you do, Harry. There is only so much you can do. She has parents tha-“

“Those aren’t parents, mum! You know that!” He shouts angrily, “I need to do more for her. Help her!”

Anne looks at him with a soft, understanding expression, “You’re doing all you can, Harry.”

—

He was still doing all he can.

“I wa-was wondering if you wanted to come over and watch a movie?” YN acts casual despite the tremor but he won’t call her on it - on the phone at least.

“I’d love to pup, I’ll be over on a tick,” already walking away from the busy bar.

Harry can hear the relief in her voice when she says, “Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

When he uses his key to open the door, she sat on her couch with all the lights in the house on, not one off.

“Oh, pet,” Harry murmurs, all the blinds were drawn shut and he knew she’d already triple checked that the windows were locked - despite the state of the art security system he had installed for her.

“Um, so are we feeling a scary movie or romcom?” She ignores his words, picking up the remote, and pulling up Netflix.

He flicks a couple of the bright lights off until it’s normal dim and he sits next to her on the couch, taking the remote and turning off the television.

“Talk t’me,” Harry coaxes, unraveling her from the heavy weighted blanket, and tugging her into his chest.

“M’fine,” YN lies on a choked whimper.

“Y’safe, you know I’d never let anythin’ happen to you . Please puppy, tell me,” He’s not to manly to beg for her to open up.

He allows her to nuzzle her face into his neck, “He cam-came back an-and he -,” her voice drops, “broke in here and I wo-woke up as he was opening my door.”

Harry holds her for a very long time that night.

-

With Harry and her therapist’s constant encouragement she’d been able to be more open and up front with Harry - which made him feel unexaplainably proud of her.

Anna almost fucked everything up, all the hard work without even realizing it.

It was nearly three in the morning this time.

Harry was stuck at Anna’s house with her and her friends for a movie night.

He’d gotten up to go to the bathroom when his phone rings.

Anna sees who it is and picks it up, “What do you want? Harry’s busy and doesn’t have time for you right now. You know it’s not all about you, right?”

Then she hangs up, all of her and her friends giggling at how she just treated YN.

Harry is unaware of the call for a few minutes when he gets back until he gets a text from YN.

I’m sorry I bothered you. I am okay. Have fun tonight x

He scrolls through his phone in confusion until he sees the call, he glares over at Anna, “Did you answer my phone?”

She has a cocky look on her face, “Yeah, I told YN that the world doesn’t revolve around her and to leave us alone.”

All the friends are giggling - but that comes to an abrupt halt when Harry stands up, knocking over the little table of drinks with his anger, “Where the fuck did you get the idea that you could touch my phone, let alone answer it?”

All of them are quiet.

He scoffs, “Now all you annoying prats are going shut up? Get the fuck out of my way,” he orders to Anna who’s pouting.

“C’mon, it was a joke. Don’t leave,” She whines, grabbing at Harry’s arm which he instantly rips out of her grip.

“Don’t touch me. I can’t fuckin’ stand you,” He tells her honestly before storming out of her house without a look back at her teary face.

-

When he arrives at YN’s house, a book is automatically been hurled at the front door when he opens it, then another.

“Hey, puppy, stop tha’. S’just me, you’re okay. S’just me,” He coos, rearming the security system to make her feel better.

She is only in one of his shirts with the company logo on it and soft cotton boy shorts, hair frizzy atop her head.

“Y’have another nightmare?” Harry asks softly, all the lights were on again, every single one.

YN clenches her jaw, “No.”

He hardens his expression too, “I was in the bathroom when she answered that call. As soon as I found out, I came over here. Don’t be sour with me.”

“I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“I know y’bloody lying because your legs are still tremblin’. Now cut the bullshit and talk t’me, we’re not going backwards,” Harry tells her seriously, with all firmness he can muster.

“I love you.”

It takes him aback. YN told him how much she adored him but it was something that didn’t come easy for her.

To hear it flat out, well….he nearly almost melted on the floor into a pile of goop.

“I love you too, puppy.”

She takes a deep breathe, “It’s been that same nightmare, but it’s not really a nightmare? It’s a flashback to…”

YN swallows before she continues, “Remember when….when I ran from my parent’s house to yours and my dad came and found me…”

Harry doesn’t want to remember but he does.

—-

“Harry, he-he just pulled up,” YN cries, peeking out his window, “I don’t want to go home.”

“Harry, he’s screaming at your mum. I have to go.”

“Harry, I have to go before he does something stupid. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Harry, don’t cry. I’ll be fine, he’s just really upset. I’ll just deal with it and it will be over before we know it, okay?”

——

“I remember,” He wavers like he normally doesn’t, feeling like a helpless sixteen year old again.

It was moments like this were no matter how hard he wanted to be angry or scream at her for making their relationship so difficult, that he couldn’t be.

How could he blame her for her commitment issues?

Why she struggles to trust?

Why she never feels good enough?

“I’m sorry to bring that up-“

“Do not apologize,” Harry interrupts, “I want to know everything you experience or feel no matter how traumatic or upsetting.”

YN despite her own struggles, when she heard Harry say things like that…well she knew full heartedly that he loves her with no conditions.

She knew this was so hard on him, “I am so in love with you, H.”

His eyes automatically soften and he reacts like he’s being praised. His face lights up without him even knowing it does.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen, thank you for being my person. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

It was something she had been also working on in therapy, expressing gratitude- specifically to Harry.

And it works because Harry actually starts tearing up, eyes watering with emotion, “I love you. I’d walk through hell and back for you.”

He would and he has.

[thesunshinebunny]

Hello! May I please request N/SFW headcanons of Lilia, Rook, Riddle, and Epel dating an F!MC who likes being face fucked and cummed on? I know it sounds very dirty, and you don't have to do it, but thank you very much!!!❤❤❤❤❤❤

Ohhh shiiiit, daaaaamn that's graphic. I have never clung to a computer so much when reading an order like this, as I read it I got closer and closer to the monitor and a mischievous smile was forming on my face.

Uffffffff, of course I can. Buckle up, because it's time for +18

Lilia

Mama bear Lilia here is more than in.

Bring him the papers, conditions and clauses; don't forget the rules and limits, Lilia wants to know everything. EVERYTHING.

I firmly believe that fucking with Lilia would be a unique experience. The gentleman here has lived hundreds of years and must surely have a few tricks up his sleeve.

Every night, or day, or afternoon, or when he is up to have you in his arms, it's a blow up to your head.

And now with what you just said …… UUUUH BABY, you just turned at a point of no return.

With Lilia, everything is a yes, you have to experience everything at least once in your life. A blowjob may have happened before, but not with the intensity in which you said it.

Lilia couldn't help but hide his enthusiasm all day, he even got to worry and raise suspicions among his dorm students. Our little one here was feeling like a child at Christmas, eager to unwrap his present.

When the moment of truth arrived… Lilia was a bloody monster.

From the start, he knew exactly how to handle you, how to guide your pretty head from the bottom up, preventing you from breathing normally multiple times.

And let's not even talk about the amount of saliva you left as a sign of your beautiful work towards his cock. Yes, Lilia was a fucking sadist.

“Com’on sweetheart, I know you can do better than that. Show me how much you like to be facefuck, m’yeah? "

Anyway, as much as he loves to see your face covered in his cum, Lilia is a 1000/10 in aftercare. You would not spend two minutes with your face covered that Lilia is already wiping a wet cloth over your skin.

May o may not start a makeout session with your mouth full of cum.

Rook

Uh, ma'am, I hope you're prepared to be photographed because I think… Rook just found a very beautiful image.

We know that Rook is a gentleman, so he wouldn't go straight to shove his cock into your mouth without asking your permission first.

Of the four, I think he would be the kindest at all times.

Asking if he is "doing it right?" "Is the speed correct?" "You like it?" and those things.

I also think that, if you have a praise kink, being with this mf would rise it to 1000000%

I'm not joking, all the time telling everything that he sees that it's beautiful in it's essence and form ... imagine listening to it every second of that moment.

“You’re doing it so well, beautiful, taking me so so good. You like this, don't cha? Yeah you do, my sweet little girl "

Is it hot in here or is just me?

Occasionally, Rook would get out of hand a bit, but in the end, it's what you wants right? Let him be a brute by fucking your mouth until you can't breathe.

I recommend that you hide the camera from him, because I am very sure that he would take thousands of photos every time his cum paints your face beautifully. Not because he's going to paste it behind the wallpaper in his room, no no, simply to admire them and put them in an exclusive folder for that type of photos.

Riddle

I don't think I'm the only one who would think that Riddle would be stopped at such a statement.

Let's see, I bet all my valuables that the poor man has never dated a girl in his life (thanks to his mother) and to have such a revelation of his first romance ... ufff, holly mother, the little one has a lot ahead of him.

Riddle might be a bit confrontational at first, let's also assume it would be his first time doing the do, so I don't see him getting into those kinks so early.

Already with months evolving in this "quiet relationship", one long night you brought up the subject again and Riddle gave a somewhat hesitant yes, but as all mothers say: "if you don't try it, you won't know if you like it"

Ohhhhhh, shit, Riddle had never moaned like tonight. Poor Trey heard all the wobble, please stop his suffering

At first, Riddle didn't really know what to do, where to put his hands, when to increase speed, etc.

You had to guide him, bringing his hands to your head, indicating that he could hold you at any time and when he felt that he needed more, that he could apply more pressure and move your head as he preferred.

What started with a slow pace ended with your head bobbing up and down awkwardly, but intensely, on his cock.

"Wait, Darling, I'm-I'm gonna cum"

Did Riddle turn your head away? No. Did you walk away alone? Also no.

Riddle came half in your mouth and half in your face, and let me tell you, your expression… UUUUUUFFFF, it was worth every fucking minute of that roller coaster.

See your face covered with some jets falling towards your chin and mixing with your saliva, while you breathed aggressively through your mouth, letting to the naked eye see his cum slide down your tongue ...

Yes, new kink unlocked.

In the same way, that beautiful intercourse is not a daily bread. Riddle would use this kink as a method of discipline, improving his movements each time, to the point of making you cry.

Riddle definitely loves your fucked face.

Epel

Pikachu shook face.

Much like Riddle's reaction but not to the degree of cardiac arrest.

Yes, Epel was shook, but we all know that Epel has a bit of audacity, so let him process your statement for a few minutes.

When the waters are calm, the coast is clean to try those tastes of yours.

Epel may be a bit nervous at first, but I think that with communication and a few "classes" you can reach a result that benefits both of you.

He would use your mouth as an anti-stress method. You know, when exams time comes around and you're littered with books and little time… well, instead of a slime ball to de-stress, Epel has you.

A good session of de-stressing sex can't start without first fucking your mouth like there's no tomorrow.

Your throat spasming every time the tip of his cock touched the end, your dedication trying to take it to the end before releasing and taking little breaths, then trying again and again.

The way your hands were placed on Epel's hip looking for support, or sometimes placed at your side, preventing you from touching him.

Your eyes filling with tears at the intensity in which your head was used as a toy, your lips swollen and a small trace of saliva falling down your chin to the ground.

If that's not an image that can fix a bad day, I don't know what it is.

“You like when I manhandle you like this, don't you? 'course you like it, you like when I fuck your litle mouth like the whore you are "

It may be a bit rough, but you both get pleasure from it, so a win-win.

[whitehotharlots]

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris.  Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City.  I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago.  In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her.  The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class.  "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later.  "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."  

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend.  Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two.  Cops came in and pulled him out of class.  Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody.   From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris.  No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing.  This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search.  The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy.  He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment. 

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab.  Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie. 

It was his first offense.  He was 16. 

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad.  He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework.  She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he?  They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his. 

What really fucked with him was rehab.  It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time:  he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions.  Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie.  Yes, he said, he was an addict.  Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic."  His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday?  Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of?  Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right?  No?  Well you see right there that's a part of the problem.  Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own.  No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out. 

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend.  All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4.  It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday.  It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays.  The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it.  'When would you go to church?'  he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems.  One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful.  Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work.  But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed.  Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy. 

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough.  If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake.  During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back.  Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence. 

"It's not the drugs:  it's the high," the man said.  He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius.  He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense.  And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him.  The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room.  His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked.  Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer.  Chris kept looking down.  His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness.  Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat.  If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad.  But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up.  Now."

He did.  His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face.  Soak it up.  Take it all in.  Done?  Give you another second.  Okay, now you're done.  This, people, is what failure looks like.  Some of you will see it again, right here.  This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face.  It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes.  By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him.  Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows.  Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet.  And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.  

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines.  His mom was making time with the addicts.  This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence.  He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view.  He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back.  All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car.  All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made.  Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him.  Really, wow.  Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen,  it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met.  "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him.  Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high.  What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times.  Vicodin, right.  Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire.  That's right.  Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot.  Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day.  Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth.  His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?"  Stepfather laughed.  Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth.  Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd.  People clapped a little bit.  Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red.  A stack of certificates sat on the table up front.  The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance.  He looked all business.  There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again.  Arrested in front of his parents. 

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it.  That's all it was.  Nothing to get too upset about.  Still—gotta stay calm.  If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high. 

"Well," the overseer began.  Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat.  He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut.  When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful.  Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either.  Talked about his wife and kids all the time.  This was an act.  He had measured out this persona for himself.  This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself.  Pot fucks up the way you think about things.  How long had it been since they sat down?  How long since he'd been scared by the cops?  When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking.  Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces.  Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends.  The selfishness might end here.  The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here.  But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long.  Wanted people to clap for him.  They did.  Then they finished.  He continued.  His tone was different.  He had sounded like he was reading off a card.  Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon.  Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh.  Okay.  That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day.  He wasn't even here.  Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah. 

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative.  He didn't come.  But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come…  but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned.  He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings.  The air shifted around Chris.  It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance.  The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it.  Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what  expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him.  In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear.  He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process. 

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized.  He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage.  When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her.  He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen:  because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it.  What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison.   That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time.  And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction.  That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course.  You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together.  On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else.  They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all.  No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise.  That had two positives:  one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him.  Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching.  That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction.  Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block.  He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something.  His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings.  Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit.  He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid.  He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody.  He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair.  This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things.  More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive.  Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try.  At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it.  That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me.  I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed.  This made him a blast to hang out with.  This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family.  My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach.  Most of her friends soon followed suit.  He was left behind.  As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around.  Not by much.  He still drinks far too much.  But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student. 

[hetacon]

Prom Queen: Chapter 2

First || Previous || Next

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Word Count: 1,900

Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point

Warning: Swearing, food mentions (Let me know if I missed anything, this one seemed fairly tame!)

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Summary: He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend.

(Make sure to read the notes at the end if you want to hear my thoughts on the chapter! As always, feel free to let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this story or just my art and writing ones in general! Enjoy!)

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High school wasn’t great but it certainly didn’t seem to be terrible either. That’s what Virgil was gathering from the whole experience anyways. It definitely didn’t hold as much of the awkwardness in terms of trying to find himself and who he was as a person like middle school had brought about.

But still, there were still a fair share of complications. Roman’s popularity throughout the years had started to become one of them.

Neither of them had honestly expected it really. Theater put Roman in the spotlight, both literally and figuratively, that was where part of his newfound popularity came from. With that little bit of exposure, people started to take notice of him.

First it had been Roman running late to English a few times when they started out freshman year.

That expanded to Roman joining some clubs Virgil was content to stay out of for a couple days in the week.

More interaction with more people meant Roman got to talking with some interesting people from student council through his Model UN club meetings, including a familiar face from theater serving as their stage manager in the upcoming fall production.

“Hey guys, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!” Roman said excitedly as he dragged along a guy that looked around their grade, firm hands on his shoulders. Roman beamed as Virgil and Patton looked up from Virgil’s phone. “This is Logan!”

Patton smiled at Logan and held out a hand. “Patton Hart, it’s nice to meet you Logan!”

At the sight of Patton’s hand reached out to him, Virgil noticed Logan visibly relax, reaching out to shake Patton’s.

“Hello Patton,” Logan merely said with a nod.

“And of course, Logan, I’ve told you about my best friend Virgil,” Roman’s voice cut through, Virgil’s gaze flickering over to the impossibly widening grin on Roman’s face at that little detail.

Logan nodded once more. “Ah yes, Roman talks about you often.”

“Nothing but bad things I assume?” Virgil snorted, smirking at Roman’s mock gasp of offense.

“No, he speaks rather highly of you, Virgil. Oftentimes it gets in the way of things such as letting him running lines and letting me work on my own work for his play,” Logan commented, giving Roman a pointed look towards the latter half of his statement.

“A boy can’t talk about his best friend? Harsh, Specs!”

Patton laughed at the two of them bickering. “So how’d you and Logan meet?”

���Model UN, he’s done a much better job than I have! He’s trying to show me the ropes but he’s definitely much smarter than me at it!” Roman said with a chuckle, sitting down with Logan doing so as well.

“He says that but he isn’t doing too poorly, honestly Roman,” Logan sighed.

“Yeah yeah, but not as good as you. Now hush and let me tell them my story!”

Roman considered joining student council by the end of freshman year but decided theater was already a large commitment.

Sophomore year rolled around before Virgil knew it and Roman was cast as the lead role for the fall production as well as getting on the sophomore homecoming court.

Homecoming carnival was fairly nice as Roman practically dragged him and Logan along. Virgil didn’t have half a bad time though he admittedly just stayed by Patton who was working at one of his club booths. Roman was surrounded by too many people at one point for Virgil to really want to follow him anyways.

Spring semester of sophomore year was pretty uneventful aside from Roman somehow getting even more popular. Virgil could barely get a word of conversation in with him after their school’s spring production of Beauty and the Beast, despite him going to nearly every night of the show’s run. Patton was good company during one of the nights though and the two went out for milkshakes afterwards.

“Virgil! Gosh, I really don’t need you seeing me cry,” Roman laughed as he scooped Virgil up in a tight hug before pulling away. “You didn’t have to come for closing night!”

“I wanted to, you know?” Virgil asked. “Also holy shit are you hot.”

“Oh trust me, I know! My sheer beauty is truly a thing to behold!” Roman teased, only for Virgil to shove him with a snort.

“Congratulations Roman, you did a great job!” one of their classmates said in passing.

“Thank you Cissy!” Roman called after her with a proud grin on his face.

“No, you know what I mean, you must be dying under the lights,” Virgil chuckled.

“Oh, that-!”

“Roman, you did amazing, look at you!” another person said, coming over to give Roman a hug.

“Thank you, and thank you for coming!” Roman replied.

“How could I not? You did great!” the woman said. “Hey, have you seen Chloe around? I’ve been trying to find the poor girl for ages, she might’ve been swamped.”

“I think she might’ve gone to go change, I think she’ll be out soon!”

Virgil zoned out a little as Roman continued to make conversation for a little longer.

“Ro, you down for going to get ice cream after you free yourself from your wire prison?” Virgil asked once he thought Roman’s attention was finally back on him but a hand was clapped on to Roman’s back.

“Hey dude, awesome job, how’d your voice hold up?” one of the other actors, Justin if Virgil remembered correctly, asked.

“My throat is honestly totally killing me, I can’t wait to drink my weight in tea when I get home,” Roman laughed, wincing for emphasis.

“I feel you, I think I’m going to head home after I change,” Justin said, running a hand through his hair and fixing his glasses. “You planning on going out with the rest of the cast afterwards?”

“Nah, Virgil and I are going to get ice cream and then I am going to sleep like there’s no tomorrow!”

“Fair, fair, I’ll see you on Monday!”

By the time that Roman was finally free, a dozen people had asked Roman for picture and Virgil, with a quick text, told him that his mom had to pick him up unexpectedly.

Logan started to hang out with Virgil and Patton during lunch by the time junior year came by, only skipping a portion of Wednesdays in order to go to student council meetings.

By this point in their time in high school, lots of changes happened but some things still stayed pretty consistent. Roman decided against auditioning for the fall play but still seemed to remain as busy as ever with the theater competitions he was now taking part in, fitting in clubs in seemingly any place possible. Logan had become the junior year president for student council, still taking part in Model UN and a few AP classes definitely keeping him busy. Patton had been the one to change the least aside from Virgil himself. Virgil was happy that both he and Patton were both taking AP studio art. Apart from that, the two of them just focused on trying to stay sane.

Prom came up during their junior year as a topic of discussion (seeing as only the juniors and seniors could go on their own) and the four of them decided to go together as a group. It was a disaster in Virgil’s opinion and he had to leave early when Roman was asked for a dance by one of the popular girls in their grade. He felt sick to think about it.

Virgil stared up at the ceiling for a while the night of prom after he’d gotten back home, trying to figure out what was even happening at this point. A girl had asked for a dance, Roman accepted.

Except suddenly, Virgil remembered just how many times Roman had arrived late to lunch, how many times he’d sat down only to realize he’d had club meetings, how many times Roman would be preoccupied with rehearsals and homework and conversations in the halls before English. The study sessions at Roman’s house had become minimal and Virgil’s interactions with Roman’s brother Remus were more frequent than the interactions with Roman himself.

He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend. It still didn’t feel right, like he was missing something with the realization he’d come to.

As soon as he thought of Roman asking him to dance and kissing him though, he knew.

Virgil cried for a while that night.

Suddenly after prom, Roman dropped most of his clubs.

“Why’d you stop going?” Patton asked during their current conversation, taking out his lunch. He offered Virgil a cookie who took it reluctantly.

“Eh, I don’t know, I’ve just been so busy you know? Wanted to see if it helped,” Roman offered as explanation, shrugging. “Oh hey Logan, did you finish studying for our APUSH test today?” he added as the aforementioned took a seat at the table, finished with his student council meeting.

Logan nodded and wordlessly handed his notes to Roman with a roll of his eyes. “I knew you were going to ask.”

“You know me well Specs! I swear, he’s really going nuts with AP test prep, huh?” Roman asked, flipping through the neatly written notes.

“Teachers tend to overprepare us for AP tests, I promise it’s worth it.”

Patton sighed and turned to Virgil, letting the other two talk over their test next period. “Hey Virge, do you want to come over to my house today? I got some new paints I wanted to try out but I’ve been waiting for you to come over,” Patton tried, smiling hopefully at him.

He really didn’t have anything better to do that afternoon so he nodded. “Yeah, sure, do you want me to bring anything?”

Patton shook his head. “Nope, just yourself!”

Virgil nodded.

Summer came around and Virgil started to spend less time with Roman. His family had dragged him on more than one trip so luckily he had a good excuse. Roman certainly didn’t seem very available either so it wasn’t exactly hard for their schedules to conflict.

With a week until senior year started, Virgil went to help Patton walk his dog.

“Hey Pat..?”

“Hm?” Patton asked, looking to him with a smile.

“What would you think if I wanted to... I dunno, change my style I guess?” Virgil asked, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Hmm... Well, what are you thinking about? Like, just a little change? Starting from scratch?” was Patton’s response. “Not for any reason, I’m still supportive no matter what you want to do!”

Virgil thought on it as they continued walking. “I don’t really know yet, I just know I want to change it I guess?”

Patton nodded. “Well I say do it! You can always change it back!”

With that, they moved on to other subjects. Patton was excited about school while Virgil ruminated on Patton’s questions.

The day before senior year started, Virgil knew what he was planning on, staring at the hair dye in his hands.

______________________________

Hey hey hey, we are finally going to be getting into the actual conflict! Gosh, I’ve been waiting for the chance to do so, the next chapter will definitely be interesting!

I will say I had a bit of trouble with this one. The last chapter starts off with the first day of freshman year but I just felt it was a good way to set up the dynamic. I wanted the story to be set in either junior or senior year though mainly due to the maturity level at that point. It feels more comfortable and lets me have more room with what’s to come! I tried to get there without just saying “Look, here’s a time skip, wow!” I really hope I did it well, it feels a little clunky!

I hope you guys liked this chapter and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments! I love hearing your guys’ opinions!

______________________________

Taglist: @artissijules, @virgils-paranoia, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog, @tssidesfamily, @shapa-likes-art, @isabelle-stars, @falsemood, @prinxiety-shipper101, @katlikethesword

[jams-sims]

I decided I'll also post the Mayzuketober here as well.

1 and 2 combine; First meeting and Milkshakes~

Zuke had made his way through the double doors of his college. His usual vibrant blue hair, was singed smoke still rising from his burnt ends.  The crisp night air greeted him. The campus was unusually silent. Maybe because they were all inside enjoying Nadias interactive gallery. The day had began with excitement. Now ended with Zuke hunched over behind a tree. The combination of wanting to throw up and cry washed over him in waves. 

You should go back inside and say sorry to Nadia.  

You know how hard she worked for this- you both worked really hard. . .

What are you even talking about you've been debating dumping her for weeks, you're just a wack coward. 

Malicious thoughts rushed through Zukes head. Threatening to consume him whole- what kind of boyfriend runs out on their girls big day.

"Hey are you-"

"Ah!" Zuke nearly launched out of his skin. There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, before he whipped around to face the voice. 

It was a girl he hadn't seen on campus before. Even in the dark he could make out her weird ponytail mohawk. Only a single braid down the side of her head, maybe she was growing out her hair. Her hand hang, limply in the air before she brought it back down to her side. Gripping a strap across her chest.

"Are you okay? You looked like you were crying." 

Zuke subconsciously reached up to touch his cheek. He hadn't even noticed his eyes growing wet with stress nor the tears that had been rolling down his face. He tried to bounce back, quickly wiping his face with the back of his sleeves.

"Nah- just had a little something in my eye. " If the girl in front of him didn't believe him she didn't say anything. She just smiled and grabbed his hand.

"As I see it- we both could use a nice cold drink!" Her energetic smile was infectious as she pulled him. Quickly his mind caught up to what she was saying. 

"Drinks? Don't you think it kinda late for-" Zuke was quickly cut off by the girl tugging him along. Zuke wasn't up for crowded bars and loud music. Although some loud music would at least drown out all the negative voices in his head. The momentum didn't stop, leaving zuke little room to say anything. And all the room to be taken wherever this girl wanted to go. As they passed under flickering street lights. He could catch glimpses of the girls shirt. A large black tank top with a woman ragging on fire. Kul Fyra?

"Here we are!" She said cheerfully, zuke looked at the shop front exasperated. It wasn't a ragging riot, but a small mom and pop shop. Affordable food and open into the wee morning. The perfect spot for any drunk college student. When they walked inside they were warmly welcomed. The girl walked up to the counter like she owned the place. 

"I'll have a strawberry milkshake!" The girl said, Zuke stared down at the various flavors and settled on. 

"Chocolate milkshake for me please." 

The young bouncy blonde girl took their orders and the girl Zuke had been dragged along with. Found a seat in the back of the little shop. Zuke fell into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face. 

Silence passed between until, "feeling any better?" 

Zuke looked up at the girl from his hands, for once seeing her in good lighting. Her eyes were so bright, like little flowers or orange slices. With her words flooded him with guilt. Did he really become some poor girls problem? Because he couldn't open his mouth fast enough. Now was the perfect time for an existential crisis, and before their drinks even came out. 

"Jeez- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry about it!" She smiled, "I mean they don't call me Mayday for nothing."

". . ." Zuke raised an eyebrow in a little confusion and curiosity. 

She- Mayday fiddled with her thumbs a little. It was clear, she was trying to cheer him up. He couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"So your name is Mayday?"

"Yup!"

"Well Mayday, My name is Zuke it's nice to meet you." 

Just as they began talking their drinks were placed in front of them. Who would have thought. All he needed was a sugary drink to make the night go from a nightmare to alright. The hum of the ice soft served ice cream machine filled the air with blissful static noise. 

"Ya know you never answer my question~"

"Huh oh- what was it again?" 

"How are you feeling ya big goof. You looked less than good when I ran into you." 

"Ahah- I. . I feel better actually. Thank You Mayday. You really didn't have to do all this." Zuke said as he pushed his half finished drink further onto the table. Anymore and he felt like he may burst, he had been watching Mayday from the corner of his eye. She had sucked down her milkshake in the quarter of the time it took him to finish half. 

"It's fine! I could never leave someone who obviously upset alone." Mayday said as she finished her drink. 

"I never understood how people could just step over another. Sometimes- sometimes people just need a little company." 

God, he wish he could be that positive. Zuke couldn't help but look down at his glass, a little smile playing on his lip.

"Yeah," he started as he looked up at Mayday. " you're right, a little company does help."

As his eyes lingered on her face, he noticed that strap that was once wrapped around her chest. Now was placed on the back of her chair. A bright pink-

"Guitar. . "

Mayday seemed to perk up at that. Zuke tried not to be a awkward mess and follow up his outburst.

"You- uh play guitar?"

"Yes I do! It's my passion! I don't go anywhere without it~"

"Any good at it?"

"Am I any good at it!?" The look of offense on her face was priceless. 

"I'll show you any good at it!-" Mayday almost toppled over her chair as she rushed to get up. Only to be quickly cut off by the same bouncing blonde. This time the cheer was replaced with customer service stern look. 

"Mayday, remember our rules are no impromptu rock sessions."

"Ugh!" Mayday flopped back down into her seat crossing her arm.

"Hah- haha!" Zuke tried to cover his mouth to stop the laughter. 

"Hey! Don't laugh at me! I gotta prove my skills somehow!" 

"Heh- the fact they have a special rule for no rocking tells me all I need to know." 

She tried her hardest not to laugh alongside him but ultimately failed. The silence came back like a gentle blanket. 

"So did you wanna talk about why you were stuck between a trashcan and a tree."

Zuke choked on his chocolate milkshake he was nursing on. 

"Uh yeah. . " Zuke rubbed the back of his head. 

If you asked Zuke 6 years later, how he became friends with Mayday. How could he deal with her hot headed behaviour. Because underneath all that is someone who listens. That cares about everyone, even if her hotheadedness- gets her into trouble. 

"I've had a bad day-" Zuke paused, "No more like a really bad couple of months."

"Wanna talk about it?" Mayday asked sliding her empty glass from hand to hand.

"I doubt you wanna hear about my problems and I'm kinda still processing. . .everything."

"No worries! I- uh just wanted to make sure you knew people care." Oh she was trying so hard as she stumbled over her words. Zuke broke out in a laugh again.

"Thank you May-" Zuke wiped a tear from his eye. 

"I think I owe you for taking care of me tonight."

"Aw yeah! You can owe me a milkshake! I can't get enough of this place."

"Phft, next time milkshakes are on me. And Maybe I'll get to hear you rock out as well."

"Hell yeah! I still gotta prove my great guitar skills! I'mma blow you out of the water Zuke!"

"Not if my drums skills drown you out-" the look on her face when Zuke mentions drums. Was like if two stars collided into each other.

" You play the drums!?"

"Yes I do~"

" We sooo! Gotta jam together! I can't believe I met someone else who plays an instrument!" 

Mayday vibrated in her sit, and for once Zuke hadn't thought about the show. The unfortunate hair event, or his brother. She really did take over his whole world. Even if they didn't meet again until the end of college. 

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Chapter three! I already skimmed through it and just. Holy fuck I’m falling in love with this series all over again, and this is just the opening arc, how the hell is this so good??? I’m genuinely just in awe and fuck is it making it hard to decide where to have a cut-off point for this chapter. I suppose we’ll just have to see what fate decides.

(Also, the temptation to just paste in all of the last three pages of the chapter is so incredibly strong, you don’t understand.)

[No. 3 - Entrance Exam]

We start off with some exposition: UA’s hero course is designed to give students all they need to go pro, and is the toughest and most popular hero course in the country, with only a 1 in 300 acceptance rate. Discounting the four slots that are recommendation students, that’s 36 slots a year, which is about…

Yeah. That’s a lotta applications, and that’s just for the hero course! 

Several alumni are mentioned: All Might, who declined the people’s choice award; Endeavor, who’s stopped more crimes than anyone else in recorded history; and Best Jeanist, who’s won the Best Jeanist award eight years running. (One of these things is not like the other~ One of these things just doesn’t belong~) The exposition suggests that graduating from UA is basically a requirement for becoming a great hero - something which we’ll learn soon enough isn’t quite true.

But yeah, Endeavor with the record for crime handling, even above All Might. Quite the impressive hero, though that face…

Not precisely reassuring.

So yeah, Izuku here mentions the date of the exam - February 26th. I figure that this has to be a Sunday, for the simple fact that Japan has a slightly different school schedule than us. Most notably: Japanese schools (some of them, anyways) have 5.5 day school weeks. Yes, that means the first half of Saturday can still be a school day. 

While I couldn’t confirm for sure whether this is more common among the higher end schools, I feel like a school like UA, with its ‘Plus Ultra’ motto, would definitely be a school to have a half-day (or even a full day) on Saturdays, and since they also have to accomodate for middle schools that have Saturday morning classes, I figure that it would make the most sense for UA to schedule this exam on a Sunday. 

The benefits of this, as we’ve already seen, is that we can then narrow down the timeline for the rest of the series, just based on that single, confirmed date. We know from the last chapter that the Sludge Villain had to happen on a Thursday or Friday of the first week of school (April 14th/15th), with the first training session two days later (the 16th/17th). But what this also gives us is when Izuku’s first year of UA starts, AND the possible years it could start on. 

Since we see the glowing baby is in a modern hospital, we can assume that’s correlated to about our times. Give it a few generations, and we can guess that we’re in the 2200s or 2300s for the current era. Based on that assumption, we get the following years that have February 26th on a Sunday:

23rd century potential years: 2204, 2209, 2215, 2226, 2232, 2237, 2243, 2254, 2260, 2265, 2271, 2282, 2288, 2293, 2299

24th century potential years: 2310, 2316, 2321, 2327, 2338, 2344, 2349, 2355, 2366, 2372, 2377, 2383, 2394, 2400

As a side note, when I got into the series, my brain weirdly latched onto the idea that this had to all be happening in the year 2317. I don’t know why I decided on that number, but that’s what I rolled with, and hilariously I could be RIGHT about the year the current manga arc is happening in, provided Izuku’s first year is in 2316. Sometimes you just know, ya know? I know at least one other friend made these calcs independently of me and chose to run with 2237, which is totally valid! Probably makes more sense to be in the 2200s, but there’s room depending on how much time one thinks has passed.

As for when Izuku’s high school school year starts, we know that Japanese schools start on the second Monday of April. Since we don’t know if this is a leap year or not, we’ll end up with two dates, but that’s fine!

Feb 26 (Sun) -> Feb 27 (Mon) -> March (6/5, 13/12, 20/19, 27/26) -> April (3/2, 10/9)

Therefore, Izuku’s first day of classes (not counting the orientation, which I’ve seen a few other timelines assume is on the Sunday before classes start) is April 10th (or the 9th if a leap year)! I know this is all in the future from this chapter, but still, I wanted to share this at some point and figured now was as good a time as always.

Math!

Sorry, I’ve just wanted to share this math I did for a while now, I put a lot of work into it and I am very proud of it. Let’s get back to the chapter.

So Izuku lives a 40 minute train ride away from UA, and has made it just in time for the exam. Apparently, this is only the practical portion? Or well, that’s the part that gets focused on in this chapter, with no mention of the paper exam. I would imagine they’d be the same day, though? But I suppose one can do whatever they like with it.

He’s standing there looking at the school, thinking about how he didn’t have a chance to test the power, while the other students head in-

Excuse me, Toga?? I know that hairstyle is just a bit off, but… ???

...right, anyways. Izuku is wondering whether the hair really did anything (also, it was apparently sour, which, ew.) Katsuki comes up behind him and tells him to move aside.

Truly a flattering image. Izuku panics a bit and greets him, but Katsuki just walks by without another word or gesture, leaving Izuku confused as he watches him head on into the building. The narrative notes that since the villain incident, Katsuki hadn’t bothered Izuku, while the unnamed characters in the background apparently recognize Katsuki from the ‘sludge’ incident (well, not shocked how the fandom held onto that name). 

Izuku notes that he’s gotta stop flinching instinctively, and then tries to hype himself up, noting that it’s not like before, and think about the past ten months while taking a wobbly step forward- and then tripping over himself.

I’m sorry Izuku just has so many fantastic faces in this chapter I am crying trying to limit myself to just a few. But yeah, that little derp as he realizes what’s happening is adorable, especially while Ochako gently sets him back on his feet. She mentions that it’s her quirk, and apologizes for using it, but that it’s a bad omen to trip and fall. (I wonder if that gets played with again during later parts of the series… will have to check to see.)

While Izuku freaks out over talking to a girl, Ochako notes that the exam is nerve-wracking, and then heads off while wishing both of them luck as Izuku stares after. 

This fucking kid. I love him so much. His flustered excitement gets him some weird looks from the others still outside.

We transition to a new character (Present Mic) who immediately shows off his performative side by calling for a ‘hey!’ which… is met with silence from the crowd. He doesn’t let this throw him off, instead letting them know that he’ll present the guidelines for the practical, followed with a ‘YEAH!’ that gets met with an even heavier silence.

Izuku and Katsuki are seated next to each other, with Izuku descending right into excited muttering over Present Mic and how he listens to his radio show every week. Also with the assumption that all the UA teachers are pro heroes, which I mean, true, but still. Katsuki tells Izuku to shut up.

Present Mic explains the test: ten minute long ‘mock cityscape maneuvers’, with the applicants split among seven arenas, labelled ‘A’ through ‘G’. With more than 10k applicants total, that’s about…

Yeah, more than 1500 per arena. Fucking hell, no wonder the robots deplete so quickly in only a few minutes. Also of interest:

“Bring along whatever you want.” So technically, if Izuku were able to procure the tech and training to handle the robots, there would be nothing keeping him from getting into UA quirkless… though I imagine any kid who gets in mostly on tech probably gets side-eyed… though if said kid made their OWN tech, they might also get an offer from the Support department.

(AU where Mei accidentally took the heroics exam and got a shitload of points, but she ended up taking the offer for Support instead despite setting the record for most points in said exam. Katsuki forever wants to fight her. Izuku and her are good friends.)

Also, another thing I love is how Katsuki just told Izuku to shut up a moment ago, and then:

He’s the one to initiate conversation on the details of the test, basically agreeing on the reasoning behind dividing up the students between arenas. Katsuki is annoyed at not being able to crush Izuku, which has Izuku awkwardly silent. 

Also mini-Mic.

Poor, poor Mic. He just wants audience participation. Anyways, he continues on to explain the points system, with the help of cute little Mario-themed silhouettes. There are three kinds of faux villains, with different points awarded for defeating each based on their difficulty levels. Also, attacking other examinees is prohibited!

A student (cough Tenya) raises their hand to ask a question, going on to note that the handout sheet appears to have four varieties of villain, and that such a blatant error (if it is one) reflects poorly on Japan’s top academy. He then spins around and points at Izuku, calling him out for his muttering and how distracting he’s been, and that ‘if this is some sort of game to you, then please leave immediately!’ 

Is that… Mineta seated behind Izuku? I can’t find another panel that disproves that theory, so. Whelp. If you ever for some reason want to have Izuku accidentally deal with the grape early, he’s right there. 

Anyways, Present Mic brings the convo back to the initial question/comment, noting that the fourth villain is worth zero points, and is more of an obstacle. He then brings up Super Mario Brothers, the old retro game, and compares the Zero Pointer to a thwomp. There’s one per site, serving as a gimmick that’ll rampage in close quarters. Tenya thanks Mic and apologizes for the interruption. 

And so we get our final words from Present Mic:

??? either he's referencing the original guy (which I think would be a misquote because I doubt OG Nap ever noted anything like that) or some French hero or the like who took on the name.

Discord offered this to me while putting together the post:

So there you have it. Tentatively confirmed.

Those EYES man, dude’s got the Rinnegan going on.

Honestly, I have to end on this panel just because of that last line from Present Mic. Like, look me in the eyes and tell me this isn’t the exact point to end on. 

The discord’s takeaway from this:

[slashhinginghasher]

Closet Space - Jesse Cromeans x Marena Polunochnaya

Self-indulgent college AU? Self-indulgent college AU.

College senior Jesse Cromeans makes out with a hot international student at a frat party.

-

Jesse Cromeans and Caitlin Spann didn’t often go to frat parties anymore. The connections they’d gathered over the course of four years of business internships were enough to gain them access to real parties, not the desperate orgies of cheap sex and cheaper beer their peers engaged in. The Incident in their junior year also left Jesse reluctant to show his newly scarred face more than absolutely necessary. (Watching CEOs do lines of coke off of strippers’ tits in the hopes of getting a few business cards by the end of the night was necessary. Beer pong was not.) He’d made lots of excuses in that regard, and Spann was good enough not to call him out on it. But winter term was over, they’d both received their early acceptances from the Stanford School of Business, and tonight they felt like celebrating on somebody else’s dime.

They still made sure to choose one of the more monied fraternities. They did have standards, after all.

Old money or not, the inside of the frat house was still chaos. There was a massive, professionally decorated Christmas tree in the living room, which would be largely stripped of its ornaments and tinsel by drunk college kids come morning. Many of the girls had their tits out despite the winter chill, lots of skimpy, crushed velvet dresses and coquettish faux fur trim. Jesse was bombarded with greetings as soon as they walked through the door, and he fielded them with quickly waning patience as Spann drifted off to go do Spann things. He’d achieved a somewhat legendary status on campus after turning a first year stock market exercise into millions of real dollars. Spann had been his partner on that project, but she was perfectly content to take her cut of the money and leave the credit to him. She preferred to work in the background, claiming she got more done when she didn’t have to deal with the interpersonal bullshit politics that Jesse navigated so well.

He eventually wound up in the kitchen, where a steady stream of party-goers helped themselves to overpriced snacks (who put out charcuterie boards at a frat party, honestly?) and mixed half-assed cocktails that were 10% mixer at best. A couple groped at each other next to the pantry, and a short girl with dark, wild hair and an intense expression surveyed the stream of human traffic over the rim of a red solo cup. Jesse poured himself another whiskey and leaned against the island next to her.

PLANNING A MURDER?

The girl jumped slightly at the sound of his phone’s electronic voice, then glanced at him with startlingly blue eyes. She scoffed and took a swig of what looked like water or straight vodka.

“Just contemplating, not planning.” Her voice was lower than Jesse expected from someone her size, with a thick Eastern European accent. His lips twitched with a smile. He did always like them sharp, and a good chase was just what he needed tonight.

YOU DON’T SEEM TO BE ENJOYING YOURSELF.

“I’m not.”

THEN WHY COME?

“I’m fucking poor, and there’s free food.” As if to make a point, she turned around and started rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place. Jesse found himself at a loss for words, a laugh stuck halfway between his chest and his throat.

IF YOU’RE THAT POOR HOW DO YOU AFFORD THIS PLACE?

Jesse and Spann would graduate debt-free thanks to their stock market exploits, but the tuition at their university was… hefty, to say the least. He imagined it would be even worse for an international student.

“They gave me a lot of money because I am very sad orphan girl. And I am also devastatingly sexy,” she said, emerging from the fridge and shoving half a slice of pizza into her mouth in one bite. She flashed him a peace sign that somehow managed to be blisteringly sarcastic and sauntered away with her prize.

She was wearing a heavy plaid skirt that hit mid-calf, her black top looked like it had been run through a woodchipper and reassembled with safety pins, and she was eating stolen pizza straight out of the box.

Jesse wholly agreed with her self-assessment. The sexy part, at least.

***

He was still thinking about her an hour later when Spann sidled up on her platform stilettos, her balance impeccable despite her obvious intoxication.

“There’s a group of loudmouths gathering ‘round the pool table in the basement,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder. “You in a betting mood?”

“A hunting mood,” he signed.

“Ooooh.” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Got your sights set on anyone?”

“I might.”

Most people thought Spann and Jesse were an item just because they lived together and spent almost every public moment attached at the hip. Which were pretty good reasons, when one thought about it. But Spann was largely a commitment girl, and Jesse was decidedly not. Spann didn’t want to be a metaphorical notch on a bedpost; Jesse didn’t want to be tied down. They’d made out once as an experiment at the end of their freshman year, then hashed out the boundaries of their relationship in a five-minute conversation that they’d followed ever since.

Jesse had no idea why other people had to make relationships so damn complicated.

Before Spann could convince Jesse to come watch her annihilate some frat boys at pool, the fraternity president approached them. He was a douchebag of the highest order - the type of guy who insisted on being addressed by his last name because his first name was Edwin or Briggsley or some other rich prick idiocy - and Jesse and Spann both hated him, but his obscenely wealthy father would be a useful business contact in the future, so they forced themselves to be cordial.

“Some of the girls are organizing a game of Truth or Dare in the den. You feeling bold, Caitlin?” he asked with a cocky grin. He was also the sort of douchebag who addressed all women by their first name, including his professors and women like Spann who could break his spine over their knee.

“No, thank you,” Spann said, cold and sweet as ice cream. “I finished high school years ago.” He laughed, the insult and the rejection rolling harmlessly off his shiny money veneer, and turned to Jesse.

“How about you, Cromeans?” Jesse was on the verge of saying no when he saw a mane of black hair being led, somewhat reluctantly, towards the small crowd gathering in the den. He shrugged with practiced nonchalance and held up his phone.

SURE, WHY THE FUCK NOT?

“Atta boy!” President Edwin Briggsley Douchebag III clapped him on the shoulder, and Jesse had to force himself not to break the twat’s hand. The other boy left to continue his rounds, recruiting anything with a pair of tits for his little game. Spann - god damn her fucking eagle eyes - had tracked Jesse’s gaze and was now grinning deviously.

“I heard she has sessions with Malloy every other week,” she whispered in his ear, referring to one of the lead staff at the university’s mental health clinic. “Condition of her enrollment.”

Now that was interesting.

“Happy hunting,” she cackled, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. “I’m off to make some rich boys cry.”

***

People were so dreadfully predictable, Jesse thought. Nearly ten people in and not a hint of creativity to be found. People who chose Truth were asked to recount their sexual history or most embarrassing moments; those who picked Dare were promptly relieved of articles of clothing. The object of his momentary obsession appeared to be having similar thoughts as she watched the proceedings with heavy-lidded boredom. The crowd booed as one of the boys dared a girl to kiss him and she threw herself at him with great enthusiasm.

“That’s not a real dare, you’re her fucking boyfriend!” someone protested. The girl stuck her tongue out at them, then shoved it back in her boyfriend’s mouth. There were more jeers and whistles and a few calls for them to get a room. One of the boys tried to get back everyone’s attention.

“Alright, alright, whatever, next victim!” He pointed at Jesse’s girl and trailed off, apparently realizing he didn’t know her name.

“Mareeeennnnaaaaa!” cooed the girl who’d roped her in to the game, dragging the vowels out in a drunken sing-song.

“Marena!” the boy announced. Marena quirked a brow, apparently unimpressed with his pronunciation. “Truth or dare!”

“Dare,” she said with zero hesitation. The boy honest to god rubbed his hands together and grinned like he was about to say something genius.

“Twenty minutes in heaven.” Not that genius, then. He grabbed the closest empty beer bottle and held it up with two fingers. “Spin the bottle and whoever it lands on gets locked in a closet with you for twenty minutes.”

Like hell was Jesse going to let one of these dumb fucks get her alone for even one minute.

“I thought it was normally seven minutes.”

“Are you backing out?” Marena flipped him off as an answer and snatched the bottle from him, sending it spinning with an elegant flick of her fingers.

She had a few whitish scars on her hand and wrist, barely visible in the low light.

Jesse tensed as the bottle slowed, frantically thinking up reasons to start a fight with whoever it landed on. But his efforts were unnecessary, because the universe and physics were on his side that night. The crowd erupted into a clamor of hoots and hollers like someone had just won the lottery. None of them had really expected Jesse to participate; he had connections and status and thus was too cool to be anything more than a silent watcher. President Douchebag ushered the pair to the nearest closet - a walk-in (fortunately for Jesse’s long limbs) that had been converted to a coat room for the night - leering at Jesse like they were good buddies who’d discuss the relative merits of European pussy over drinks later. Jesse ignored him and, ever the gentleman, gestured Marena in before him with a little half bow. Her head barely reached his chest as she passed him wordlessly; she was only a little taller than Spann and she was wearing flats. The door was shut and they were plunged into darkness, the sounds of the party muffled by the thick wood.

A few seconds of quiet stillness passed before Marena turned on her phone (which was at least three models out of date), using the light from the (cracked) screen as a flashlight. She looked ghostly in the faint, bluish light, the shadows deepened in the hollows of her eye sockets. Jesse leaned back against the door and folded his arms as she started a slow circuit of the tiny room, observing the winter jackets twisted haphazardly on every available hanger and piled in the corners on the floor. He would have loved to immediately start making use of his twenty minutes, but there was something animal and twitchy about the way she moved that made him think that any sudden moves would be met with teeth. She did not look at him, or at the way his posture and shirt emphasized the size of his biceps, which he didn’t like, and he really didn’t like the tension creeping into her slender shoulders. When he touched her arm to get her attention, she jolted as though shot.

YOU GOOD?

The amount of time she spent mulling over the question was a clear enough “no”, but she still answered anyway.

“The last time I was locked in a closet was… unpleasant.”

UNPLEASANT IN WHAT WAY?

Thoughts of high school boys with beer breath and over-insistent hands were filling him with a slow rage.

“In a ‘listening to someone be violently murdered outside the door’ way.”

Well, damn. Okay.

WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?

“You ask a lot of questions,” Marena snapped.

I CAN DISTRACT YOU ANOTHER WAY IF YOU LIKE.

She resumed her pacing, chewing her lip, but she looked more contemplative than tense. Jesse was acutely aware of the ticking clock.

“When did you lose your voice?”

I NEVER HAD ONE.

“What happened to your face?”

NOW WHO’S ASKING TOO MANY QUESTIONS?

“Answer it and you can distract me however you want.”

He didn’t need a business degree to know that he was being offered a fantastic fucking deal.

I PICKED A FIGHT WITH THE WRONG PERSON.

Jesse barely waited for the electronic voice to finish the last syllable before tossing his phone to the floor and charging her. He burrowed both hands into that black mass of hair and crushed his lips to hers like a starving man. Her skin was cool, but he felt her hands like brands through his shirt when she placed them against his chest for balance. He tightened his grip on her hair, hard enough to pull slightly on her scalp, and let one hand wander lower, fingertips catching on safety pins and ripped fabric as he made his way down to the modest curve of her ass. In turn, her touch moved upwards, exploring the muscles of his chest and shoulders, sliding up his neck until her thumbs rested firmly over his jugular. It was a bold move, dominant, and he wanted - needed - to get closer to her, to press her body against his in a way their height difference would not currently allow.

Marena wrapped her legs around him with no coaxing when he picked her up by the waist, walking forwards until her back pressed flat against the door. She was so light, like a little hollow-boned bird, and if he’d had a little more blood in his brain he’d be worried about crushing her. As it was, his blood was rapidly migrating south and the only thing he was concerned about was the taste of her as he nibbled on her full lower lip. He nipped at her, hard enough to sting, then soothed the hurt with his tongue, and was surprised when her tongue darted forward to meet his. He rolled his hips into hers, slow and deep, as he explored her mouth, wishing there was less clothing in the way. His cock was pressed painfully against his zipper, but he made no move to free it; he was not going to fuck her for the first time under a time constraint.

Finally, he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers as they both panted for air. Jesse shoved a hand up Marena’s shirt, closing over her small breast and rubbing his thumb against the hardening nub of her nipple through her bra. Her head rolled back against the door with a soft thunk, granting him access to the soft skin of her throat. He latched onto her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, and Marena purred. The sound shot straight to his groin, and he had a sudden, intense desire to bite down until the salty warmth of her blood filled his mouth and dripped down his chin.

He wrenched back. Jesse was no stranger to violent impulses - had even followed through on quite a few of them - but he didn’t want to ruin the evening by murdering this girl in a closet. Undeterred, Marena grabbed his head with both hands and attacked his mouth with hers. She kissed him ferociously, voraciously, a clash of teeth and tongue, and when she bit his lip hard enough to make him bleed, he almost came on the spot. His hands were all over her, needing to feel every inch of her body but barely registering the ridges of scar tissue they encountered. She slid her hands into his back pockets and pulled him in until his pelvis was flush against hers. He leaned in with his full weight, and the only thing in the world that existed was the heavy grind of his hips against hers and the hot, wet dance of their mouths.

He was so close to saying fuck it, ripping her clothes off and going to town right there on the closet floor, when someone pounded on the door.

“Knock knock, Cromeans! Put your dick away!” Jesse snarled, already planning a way to slaughter the little asshole who’d interrupted the best not-fuck of his life. The sensation of Marena’s body sliding against his as she settled on her feet sent another lightning bolt of pleasure down his spine. There was a shuffle of fabric as Marena picked up her phone and tried to put herself back in order. Jesse didn’t bother; he knew they both looked a damn mess and he didn’t give a single fuck. In fact, the only thing he cared about at the moment was getting her into his bed so he could finish what he’d started.

“Thanks for the distraction,” Marena murmured, opening the door to a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles. She rolled her eyes and started shouldering her way through the crowd. She didn’t look back, which stung a little, and Jesse gave a sarcastic little salute to the crowd to avoid looking like a lovelorn asshole before retreating to the basement.

***

He didn’t realize until much later in the evening that she’d stolen his fucking wallet.

[risingsouls]

Recruited: Chapter 4

[I did it. They did the thing! Their favorite thing! Yee!]

The Saiyan prince only released his exasperated growl once his scouter beeped, indicating the emperor severed the line of communication. In battle, Vegeta responded to the most unexpected changes fluidly and with little issue. Outside of the field in which his very nature, his blood, offered him innate skill in, shifting anything he had grown comfortable with bristled his ill temper. Within a few weeks, he grew used to Nappa’s absence on the jobs assigned to him and Raditz. The oaf would rejoin their ranks when he completed his final session with that new recruit, and Vegeta’s life would return to the normalcy he had become accustomed to over the past few decades. 

That was until Frieza graced him with news he didn’t particularly care for.

“Frieza’s really making that woman our fourth, huh?” Vegeta grunted and climbed out of his pod to join the taller Saiyan, deeming words unnecessary when Raditz heard the whole conversation. “I suppose there are worse candidates, especially in looks, but she’s a complete rookie. Won’t she just slow us down?”

“Most likely.” He tapped the button on the side of his scouter. Nappa’s power level flashed across the screen on the other side of the planet, the second nearby no doubt his pupil’s. Their new teammate. Her power level had increased some, though he couldn’t decide if he wanted to attribute it to Nappa’s tutelage in ki control or her own natural competence. "Nappa's reports were...promising for her ability as a warrior, at least. But we both know the oaf is like a puppy and gets excited over even the most mediocre of talents. Not to mention he could be fudging her progress to make himself look like less of a failure."

"I suppose so. Guess only time will tell."

Vegeta fought the urge to roll his eyes. Had he not harbored his own curiosity and desire to see their new addition in action, he would have berated Raditz for his moping and apparent attempt to play on the prince's impatience to convince him to peek in on their training. It wouldn't be the first time he tried to convince him when they returned to base before Nappa finished his session with his trainee. Now they had a viable reason to outside of drooling over her.

His boots left the metal of the landing dock. "Come along, Raditz, I think it's time I take a personal look at this woman's skill." A slight smirk curled his lips as he took to the sky, that innate excitement for a proper rival to his strength tantalizing. The thrill of battle that often fizzled to nothing in the face of disappointment after disappointment in his opponents' overall power and fighting prowess. "Perhaps I will give her a proper test myself. See what she's really capable of. Nappa no doubt either sparred her himself or sicced his Saibamen on her. Neither a particularly telling gauge of what she can do."

Raditz snorted beside him. "You're not going to try and kill her, are you? Poor girl's only been here a month and hasn't even been in the field yet."

"Tch, well I'm not planning on holding back if that's what you're getting at." The prince shot his cohort a scathing glare, then returned his attention to the front. "What would that prove? If she dies, it just shows Frieza wasted his time in plucking her from whatever backwater planet she hails from."

If Raditz had any further protest, he astutely kept it to himself, the rest of their flight completed in silence. Obsidian eyes narrowed when he found Nappa chatting with the woman rather than training her. Typical. The last day to push his student and he sees it as an excuse to slack off. Had he known Frieza would force her onto his team, he would have suggested he train her himself.

“Of course I would find you flapping your gums rather than training like you’re supposed to be,” he scolded Nappa, landing with Raditz behind the pair. Both turned to face him, and the large Saiyan’s incredulous expression amused him. The woman blinked in surprise, her head tilted slightly as her gaze roved from him to Raditz and back again. Her lips curved into a light smirk of her own, and he noted it twitch further upward as Nappa stuttered and grasped desperately for an explanation.

“We were only taking a small break,” he finally settled on, huffing and folding his arms. “What the hell are you two doing here, anyway? Come to see the progress I helped my pupil achieve, or did you just miss me that much?”

"Actually, the jobs have been rather peaceful without your big mouth running all the time," Raditz said, the loose end of his tail thwapping lightly against his armor. Though he addressed Nappa, Vegeta didn't miss how he observed the woman. She was either oblivious or blatantly ignoring him. "We were talking about convincing you to retire, old man. It would be worth the peace and quiet."

Nappa raised a fist and growled. "You little whelp! I could turn you inside out without breaking a sweat!" he shouted. Another huff and a warning glance from the prince calmed the general, his tone returning to as conversational as the blustery Saiyan could manage. "Vegeta would boot your ass to the curb before me, runt, and you know it."

"I'm about to put you both in the ground of you don't quit squabbling." Vegeta rested his eyes back on the woman. Dropping her blissful ignorance, her golden gaze shifted to meet his obsidian, her amusement lingering as a spark in her eyes and the hint of that smile on her lips. Pretty, but that meant little to a Saiyan prince. Power was the language of respect.

He raised a gloved hand and beckoned her to follow him with a pair of crooked fingers. The wave of surprised expressions that spread from her and then to Nappa amused him. "Let's go. I don't care what Frieza wants, you're not joining my crew unless I personally test your skill." He halted in the center of the open space, and his lips twisted upward as he turned to face the trio he left behind. "It's about time someone gave you a proper challenge, woman."

"My name is Nabooru," she asserted, blatantly ignoring Nappa's paling and silent warning. An unneeded one; Vegeta had yet to decide if a strategy of fear would be needed to force her in line. If she survived their spar at all. She followed in his path and halted a respectable distance away, hands on her hips. No hesitation to rise to his challenge, the chance to prove herself, a commendable trait. In light of it and his own nature raring for a decent fight, he could excuse and even laud her boldness in correcting him. For now.

"You must be Vegeta."

"A lot of good our names will do you if you don't survive this," he retorted with a dark chuckle. He sank into a combat stance, arms lifted and knees bent. "Come on. Show me how much Nappa lied in his reports about you."

Her full lips pressed together and turned downward in a frown and he saw the spark of anger flash in her eyes. Good. If he pissed her off, she was less likely to pull her punches, a mistake regardless of her mood. Outside of testing the waters, he refused to go easy on her. The rest of the universe wouldn't, so neither would he. She took his lead and took up her own stance. "I think you're going to find I'm difficult to kill if that's your goal here."

No sooner had the word left her lips did she launch forward, and Vegeta dodged her first punch by a hair, the wind from rushing over his face and ear as he tilted it to the side. She followed up with a flurry of light-speed attacks, bent on forcing him on the defensive with her speed. A trait he underestimated and the half second it took him to readjust to it cost him ground and a rattling strike to his forearm when he couldn't move fast enough to outright dodge it. She was no amateur, certain to be mindful of leaving openings while she attacked. The title of Elite she supposedly held on her home planet, according to Nappa, a meaningful one, at least. How often he found soldiers claiming to be their army's greatest, most elite warrior only for him to tear through them like tissue paper, or their skill in combat questionable at best.

He caught her next punch in his gloved palm, the crackle of her orange energy sparking around the connection. He grit his teeth at the pain, at the effort to keep it from completing its course to his face, revealing elongated canines, but his lips remained stretched upward in a grin. Adrenaline thrummed through his system, that thrill of battle, of a challenge, that evaded him for so long igniting a wildfire within him. Perhaps he would try harder not to kill her after all. When time permitted, he could use a sparring partner like her.

Vegeta took advantage of the halt in attacks he created and pushed back on her with his own. Despite the shift in his offensive stance, she refused to play fully defensive, trading blows instead of only working to block or dodge them to prevent damage while still ensuring she didn't take anything too critical. They used every inch of the battlefield, the sky, a dance of strategizing and re-strategizing, breaking up the high-velocity swapping of melee blows when either of them took a rattling hit that threw them off their groove by being forced to create a pocket of space with a knock back or doing so themselves for a millisecond of reprieve. It was all either of them seemed keen on allowing.

Whether out of exhaustion or a moment of sloppiness, the Saiyan gripped her ankle before the swing of her leg could crash into his head. Surprise ghosted over her features and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. Laughing, he yanked her backward and flung her back toward the planet's surface. With the speed at which she sailed, her cry was a short one; the Gerudo's body slammed into the ground, a cloud of rust-colored dust pluming above the shallow crater it made. Knowing that wouldn't stop her for long--or, perhaps hoping for such--Vegeta charged ki in either of his palms.

"I hope you had fun with the warm up!" he crowed, laughter continuing as he fired a volley of ki blasts straight downward where she had landed. 

A blip from his scouter was all the warning he had, the light from his blasts covering her daring tactic from sight. Orange ki enveloping her and protecting her to some degree from the weak blasts, Nabooru rocketed straight upward through his barrage. He watched in surprise as she deflected a sphere with a swipe of her arm. A distraction, as he failed to see her other arm rise, her hand glowing with energy. With little more than a few feet between them, he had no choice but to cross his arms over his face as the blast struck and sent him flying back from the force. He rolled off of it with a growl only for pain to erupt in his back, his skull, as she brought her leg down on him and sent him hurtling back to the surface. He collided with a grunt and another surge of pain throughout every bone and muscle.

Sensitive ears pricked at the sound of the whoosh of air. He flipped on his back in time to see Nabooru descending on him, knee bent and aimed for his abdomen. Cursing her extended his arms and captured her knee in both hands, the force of her drop forcing him downward into the ground. He growled and powered up himself, the planet quaking around him and energy crackling between them. Grunting, he pushed up to a seated position and threw her off. She somersaulted and skidded along the ground. He sprang back to his feet as she twisted around to face him again.

"You've done better than I thought," he said. A compliment he didn't give out lightly. While still no match for him, at least she had proven she could handle herself in a fight against a powerful opponent. His doubts had been minimized a degree or two, at least, and she offered him a better spar than most could. Something he didn't realize he craved until his first attacks that landed didn't break her. That instead of dropping to her knees and begging him for her life, she was rising to her feet for next round. The only thing keeping his temper in check.

He noted the rise and fall of her chest as she used the reprieve to catch her breath, her eyes alight and a proud smirk returned to her lips. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Vegeta chuckled, half curious about how long she would last if she were fresh. A test for another time. “Don’t thank me yet.” He widened his stance and pressed his palms together, fingers crooked inward and pointed in opposite directions. Purple energy crackled around his hands, his body, his smirk verging on crazed. He pulled his hands back by his head. He vaguely heard some semblance of a protest from their audience, witnessed the woman’s eyes widened as her scouter warned her of the rapid rise in power level. To her credit, she didn’t freeze, but shifted her own stance and powered up herself, gathering her own orange energy in her hands.

“You’ve been training with ki, right? Let’s see how much it paid off! Galick Gun!” He pushed his hands outward toward her, firing his signature attack. “Fire!”

He felt her blast collide with his, pushing back against his own energy but ultimately matching it and resulting in a stalemate of violet and tangerine swirling between them. His scouter informed him of another surge of her power, the result of it pushing on his and forcing him to dig his heels to maintain his ground. Had this been another situation, he wouldn’t toy with her. He would pour the last of his energy into his blast and watch as it swallowed her and her ki like an insatiable beast. Offering false hope wasn’t usually his style, but he supposed he could reward her promising showing and quick thinking.

The orange-gold ki crept closer and closer until his began to spray outward at all angles the closer it got to the source. Another second and he forced the remaining energy needed to overwhelm her attack, the beam widening with the ki he fed into it. It sped toward her and he heard her wail, the sound of it drowned out by the crash of the blast colliding with a rock formation several meters behind her.

Vegeta lowered his arms and straightened, waiting for the smoke to clear to see how she fared. The dust thinned and he hummed in approval when her standing silhouette came into focus. Upon clearing entirely, it revealed the Gerudo with her arms crossed in front of her, armor chipped and a fair portion of her battlesuit ripped and tattered. Even from a distance, he could see her body quaking with the effort to stubbornly remain on her feet.

He strode over to her and her arms dropped to her side and, as though it sapped her of what remained of her energy, she swayed forward. The prince caught her with a gloved hand pressed to her abdomen. He snorted when she mirrored him, obviously anticipating an attack.

“I’m not going to kill you. This time.” Her knees finally gave out and he let her sink to the ground, her hands catching her and keeping her from eating dirt. How fitting. Kneeling to a prince. Her new commander. The display of his power should have more than cemented that in her mind and serve to keep her in line. If she knew what was best for her and didn’t want to properly incur his wrath.

Still...due to being the only Saiyans left and loyal to the remaining member of their race’s royalty, he never had the need to assert his dominance in their group. He gave orders, Nappa and Raditz followed them with little to no argument. Could he really be sure with her? A stranger with no real reason to be loyal other than to spare her own life?

Spurred by the remnants of adrenaline and the heightened mood the decent spar put him in, he wasn’t quite ready to leave the game on such a simple note. He reached down and rested his hand beneath her chin, tilting her face upward and forcing her to meet his gaze. He smirked down at her. She winced with the sudden jerk and though her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, her lips remained fixed in a stubborn line.

“Welcome to the team.” He let her chin drop and he flipped around on his heel and returned to his cohorts. “Let’s go.”

Nappa glanced between Vegeta and the Gerudo still on all fours. “Shouldn’t we--?”

“Now, Nappa.” He glared at both Saiyans until they ascended and started back for the base. He cast the woman one last glance, the end of his tail swaying idly at his hip, and watched her shakily regain her feet. A smirk twitched his lips, and he followed after Raditz and Nappa.

He could deal with this arrangement.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Piggy’s Had Too Much Wine

This fic is highkey a vent because my younger brother is an asshole who never stops calling me fat

DISCLAIMER: By writing this fic I am not saying that Katy Richardson is fat. She is not. And even if she was, she would still be drop dead gorgeous. This is a fictional story about the character she plays, not her.

Word count: 3159

TW: Body shaming, body image issues, self harm

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

  “Damn, girl, you got enough in your face?”

Joan looked up from the forkful of food she had just put in her mouth and blinked at Anne smirking across the table at her. She chewed slowly, like a sheep deep in thought, then said after swallowing, “Huh?”

Anne nodded at her meal. “You got a lot to eat there.”

  “I know,” Joan said, shifting in her seat. “I’m hungry.”

  “That’s new,” Cathy observed. “Usually you don’t like eating during lunch breaks at work.”

  “Well, we’re not at work,” Joan said. “This is a restaurant.”

  “We know that,” Cleves said. 

  “And the food is good here.” Joan went on hastily. “I like it.”

  “Maybe a little too much,” Kitty said from behind her glass, earning her a sharp, but wounded look from Joan, which she countered with a petty sip of her drink.

  “I’m paying, anyway,” Joan continued. “Why does it matter what I get?”   “It doesn’t, honey,” Aragon settled her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Joan nodded and then took another bite of her meal. She couldn’t help but feel a little awkward as she did so, as if she were eating like a pig out of a slop trough, but tried to ignore it. It was fine. Everybody had to eat. There was nothing embarrassing about it.

  “So…” Anne started again. Aragon gave her a warning look, but she either ignored it or didn’t see it. “What made you want to come out with us? Usually you never go out.”

Joan shrugged. “I got lonely. And there isn’t anything good to eat at my apartment, so…” She shrugged again.

  “Ah, so that explains why you’re stuffing your face like there’s no tomorrow,” Kitty nodded wisely.

Joan ruffled, face inflaming with red. “I said I was hungry!” She yelped, her voice pitching slightly.

  “Don’t get mad,” Kitty held her hand sup. “I thought you were just trying to starve yourself or something.”

  “You do never eat,” Jane put in her two cents.

  “Well, I am now,” Joan grumbled.

  “Do you have a date?” Cleves asked. “Maybe you’re looking for someplace good to take them?”

Anne snorted. “If Joan had a date, then I hope they have a belly kink because she’s going to be packing after this.” She took a sip of her drink, then breezily added, “More so than she usually is.”

A few giggles swept through the tables, while others snapped their heads around to gauge Joan’s reaction. And she did not look happy about what had been said.

Joan’s fork was raised up for her to take another bite, but frozen in midair. Bright red consumed her face like the blooming of a rose in spring. She unconsciously wrapped her free arm around her stomach while slowly setting her fork down with the other. She sat hunched against the table for a moment, then was grabbing her purse and dumping money out on the table.

  “You can pay with this,” She mumbled.

  “Come on, Joan,” Anne said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby. It was just a joke.”

But Joan doesn’t listen to her. She stood up and shoved her chair in roughly. Tears of humiliation could be seen shining in her eyes.

  “Oh my god,” Anne groaned. “Are you going to cry? Are you serious? You’re literally thinner than half of us here! What do you have to cry about? Or even be embarrassed about?”

Still, Joan doesn’t listen. She slung her purse of her shoulder and stormed out of the building, her arms wrapped firmly around her stomach the entire time.

------

When Joan got home, she shoved her fingers down her throat and cried. So much for a good meal. At least she got to pay for it.

------

That night, Joan stood in the shower with a box cutter poised over her exposed belly. She wondered what it would be like to find clarity in its blade. Cutting off pieces of herself would make her feel more whole. A heavy decision with a light outcome. It would just be like how they cut meat at slaughterhouses.

Make yourself an animal. Make yourself less human. It’ll make the process easier.

But the pain was bright and sharp and unbearable, even with the smallest of slices, and she threw the box cutter at the wall.

Joan sunk to the floor, sobbing, thin trails of blood running from her stomach. The water dissolved the red into unfolding petals of flowers across her pale skin before sliding into the drain.

What did she have to be embarrassed about?

She looked at herself in the mirror after getting out of the shower and asked herself this. What does she have that makes her so embarrassing? What does she have to hate?

She wasn’t overweight. She wasn’t obese. In most people’s terms, she was the normal example of thin. It was just her stomach, it wasn’t that bad, or that’s what they say.

  “You’re not even that big,” That’s because you haven’t seen her with her shirt off.

  “It’s just your stomach, it’s not even that bad,” But that’s what people see the most.

  “You aren’t fat so stop saying you are,” And she wished she could, but tell that to the insecurities rebounding inside of her head.

When she wears jeans, she has to pull the waistband up over her stomach or else she would be doing an impression of an English muffin for the entire day.

When she wears certain shirts, she has to suck in her stomach or else everyone will see the not-actual baby bump she’s sporting.

When people jokingly (or sometimes seriously) ask if she’s pregnant, she has to force herself to laugh along because if she shows that she’s offended they’ll pull out the “you’re not fat, you don’t know what it’s like, you have no right to be so whiny.”

When someone says they wished she had her body type, she has to act like it’s some worshiping compliment when really it just makes her feel guilty.

And she gets it, she does, she knows how hard it must be for actual overweight people, but goddamnit, when she heard someone point her body out so rudely, it was enough to destroy any confidence she had in herself.

She wanted to cut it all off. All of it. Until there’s nothing left but a gaping hole left in her abdomen from where her ugliness used to be.

If only.

------

Joan hadn’t expected not eating to be so goddamn hard. She only ate a few things a day, but having nothing at all was absolute torture. The fact that she couldn’t go twenty-four hours without food did not help her confidence in her weight or body, but it was also too much for her to handle. She /had/ to eat. She could find a different way to lose weight.

------

Exercise was a bust. Turns out she has really bad stamina. She threw up when she attempted to jog an entire trail. She walked the same trail the second time and still felt excruciating stitches in her side during the entire hike. And then she waterlogged herself and felt even sicker. AND THEN her legs were sore for days. She hated it.

------

When starving herself and jogging failed, Joan turned to the local gym. She bought herself a membership and went in with the most confidence she could muster. The first day, her foot slipped and she got her leg caught in the turning pedals of the bike machine. In her attempt to escape, she sprawled right out of the seat, screaming. She hasn’t gone back since.

------

Two weeks have passed since the incident at the restaurant. Joan was still thinking about it, no matter how hard she tried to distract herself. Anne’s words and the laughter that followed just kept rebounding through her skull.

Hunching over her work desk, Joan carefully felt her stomach. She hated how soft and pudgy it was, as if she were actually pregnant like how people liked to joke, but with a deflated baby. She poked the roll of fat and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her nails curled into the skin as her anger mounted.

Why did she have to look like this? 

She had rewatched the recordings of the Sunday Sessions and noticed how much her stomach stuck out. Had she always looked that fat? Why didn’t anyone say something? Were they laughing at her while the Live went on? Were they looking? God, she even looks awful in her overalls. If she can’t wear her overalls anymore, then what’s the point of anything?

Joan whimpered. She scratched harder at her belly.

Cut it off. Cut it all off. Make herself good, whole, pretty. People will like her more. She’ll finally have friends. Yes. Yes. Good.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Stinging pain streaked all across her poor tummy. Her fingernails were claws and she was marring herself.

Give them a reason to like her. Just don’t let them see what lies underneath. Just smile and be pretty and stay thin. Cut it off.

Joan wondered what would happen if she scratched too deep. What if her skin split open? She’s heard of evisceration that has happened like that, granted it usually wasn’t caused by excessive clawing because of body hatred. Would pulling out some of her organs make her thinner? Surely she didn’t need her large intestines /that/ much. It had it in its name- “large.” It’s too big. It takes up too much space in her. It’s definitely making her look so swollen and gross.

Pull it out

  “Joan?”

Joan’s hands froze. Her entire body froze. She swallowed thickly, shutting her eyes and cursing herself in her mind. Then, she’s wiping the tears from her face and turning to the queen in her doorway.

  “Yeah?” 

Jane peered at Joan curiously. Strangely, the usual annoyance in her gaze was missing. She even looked a little worried.

No, no-- Jane doesn’t care about her. Jane thought she was fat, just like everyone else.

  “Are you alright?” Jane asked.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’m okay.” Joan said. She forced a light laugh. “I was watching some animal videos. You know The Dodo? God, those always make me cry! Don’t tell the director, please? I don’t want him to think I’m slacking.”

Jane looked at her computer screen, which definitely did not have an animal video on it, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  “So, what did you need?” 

  “Oh, uh. Tim needs you. Something about lighting malfunction.” Jane said.

  “A music director’s work is never done,” Joan chuckled dryly. She got up and walked out into the hallway, Jane stepping back with her. When she closed the door, faint bloody smears were left on the knob.

She and Jane both noticed it, along with the blood on her fingertips, but neither said anything.

------

You lose weight when you’re stressed. You also gain weight when you’re stressed. The fact that Joan was worried that her costume was tighter than usual does not help the latter.

------

The costume was definitely tighter. Or maybe it was always this tight? NO, there’s no way… Well, whatever it is, it’s making the waistband cut uncomfortably into her belly when she sits down. But maybe it rupturing her organs from the tightness may not be so bad. The loss of mass inside of herself could help her lose weight.

------

Joan tried to not eat again. It’s working a little. She’s restraining herself well enough. But it’s awful, so awful. The hunger pains are the worst.

------

  “Joan?”

Joan turned to the doorway of her dressing room to see Aragon standing there. 

  “Yes?”

  “Are you almost done?” Aragon asked.

Joan furrowed her eyebrows at her paperwork. “No.”

  “Wonderful,” Aragon said. “Come on.”

Joan blinked. “What?”

  “Come on,” Aragon said again. “We’re going to my house for dinner.”

  “Wha-- But I said I had work?”

  “It doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go.”

Joan hesitated, then gathered her belongings and walked out with Aragon. If it weren’t for her undying loyalty to the queens and that she was kinda afraid of Aragon, she might have refused. Too late now, though.

  “What are we having?” Joan asked meekly on the drive to the queen’s house.

  “Lasagna,” Aragon answered. “And, no, before you ask, I’m not going to add every single existing spice into it.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that Anne really thought that?”

That got a tiny giggle out of Joan. Aragon flashed her a quick smile, then focused on the road ahead of her.

  “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am a little,” Joan said, and that’s the moment her stomach decided to growl obviously loud. Her face flushed bright red and she wrapped her arms around her midsection as Aragon laughed.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Aragon chuckled.

Joan remained flustered for the rest of the short car ride. And then she was just embarrassed when they pulled up to the queen’s house and realized she was going to have to eat in front of them again. She was already preparing herself for the humiliation.

Weirdly, though, the house was empty when they walked in.

  “Everyone is out eating,” Aragon said, catching Joan’s confused expression. “So it’ll just be us.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry you had to miss that.”

Aragon waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. It’s quite alright. Now come help me reheat this lasagna.”

Half an hour later, they were eating. Except Joan just stared at her plate, wringing her hands anxiously in her shirt. Her stomach was dying for the freshly made lasagna, but she really didn’t want to add the calories to her already thick body.

  “Joan? Aren’t you going to eat?” Aragon asked.

  “Oh, uhh-- I’m not that hungry, actually.” Joan said.

  “But I thought you were earlier?”

  “That was earlier.” 

And then Joan’s stomach growled. Redness enveloped her face as she hunched her shoulders in and looked at the floor. Aragon gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Eat, honey. Please.”

So Joan does eat. She eats more than she actually wanted and after four plates she feels stuffed and sick- both physically and mentally.

  “You really were hungry, huh?” Aragon mused, picking up Joan’s plate. Joan whimpered below her. Instantly, her maternal instincts flared to life. “Joan?” She knelt beside the chair and set a hand on Joan’s back. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

Joan sobbed. She looked up at Aragon and tears were rapidly streaming down her cheeks.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Come here.” Aragon pulled Joan into her arms and the girl slid off the chair to be enveloped in them. She noted that Joan didn’t hug back, rather kept her hands firmly gripping her stomach. Things were starting to fall into place. “Shh, shh… It’s alright, baby. It’s alright.”

  “No, no,” Joan shook her head. “No, it’s not. It’s not, Catalina, I--” She practically screamed. “I hate myself so much.”

  “Joan…” Aragon helped Joan up so she could sit on the couch. The girl instantly curled into her upon sitting down. “Joan, honey, why? What’s wrong?”

  “I-I--” Joan cut herself off with a tight whine.

  “Is this about what Anne said?” Aragon asked.

Joan nodded with a feeble whimper.

Aragon looked absolutely enraged. “Goddamnit, that bitch--” She hissed. She pulled Joan against her firmly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. This has been eating you up, hasn’t it?”

Joan nodded again. “It’s--it’s all I’ve been thinking about. It’s been killing me, Catalina, it’s been killing me…” She sobbed into Aragon’s chest. “A-and I know it’s stupid because I’m not overweight, not really, so I don’t have the right to complain, b-but--”

  “Oh no. Don’t you dare.” Aragon pushed Joan back and cupped her tear-stained face, making the girl look her in the eye. “Don’t you dare say that, Joan. You have every right to feel the way you do. You can be upset if you want to, regardless of your body type. You can be tall or short, black or white, skinny or fat- it isn’t just overweight people who have body image issues. So don’t be guilty over that, honey.” She brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. “But just know that the things you are thinking are not true.”

Joan pulled away and shook her head. “They are.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach again.

  “They are not.” Aragon said. “Joan, you are not fat.”

  “Yes I am!” Joan cried. “Have you SEEN my stomach? I’m fat, Catalina! I’m fat and gross and--” She dissolved into tears again.

  “I have seen your stomach, Joan.” Aragon said gently. “Am I supposed to be disgusted by it?”

Joan nodded, not looking at Aragon.

  “Why?”

  “B-because,” Joan stammered. “It’s ugly…”

  “Honey, you are not ugly.” Aragon said. “You are anything but ugly. You are very, very beautiful.”

Joan answered with only a tiny, “mmmm.”

Aragon pulled Joan back into her arms. Joan curled into them, her head finding its spot on her chest.

  “I don’t care about what you look like, baby. You’ll always be beautiful in my eyes. Not ugly or fat.” Aragon said.

  “P-please don’t say I’m not fat,” Joan begged quietly. “I-I can’t-- I can’t believe you. Not right now. It’s too-- I--”

  “Shh,” Aragon pressed her head underneath her chin. “I understand, honey. But just know my opinion will never change about you. You will always be my perfect girl.”

Joan sniffled. “R-really?”

  “Really.” Aragon confirmed.

Joan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. She finally hugged Aragon back, practically burying herself against the queen.

  “I-I don’t know how long it’ll take,” Joan whispered. “For me to not see myself the way I do…”

  “That’s alright,” Aragon said. “I’ll be here helping you every step of the way.”

  “Thank you.” Joan nuzzled into Aragon’s warmth. She winced when her stomach cramped. “I think I ate too much…”

  “Oh, my poor baby,” Aragon cooed. She lowered one hand and rubbed comforting circles against Joan’s belly. “I used to do this with Elizabeth, you know. She was such a fussy girl.” She chuckled. “Don’t tell her I told you that.”

Joan giggled. “Your secret is safe with me.” She leaned her head against Aragon’s chest and relaxed into the feeling gliding across her full stomach. “I can see why she liked this, though.”

  “Oh yeah?” Aragon smiled at her. “I’ll have to see if she still does, then. Ha, she would be so red!”

Another giggle. “She’d kill you.”

  “I’d like to see her try.”

Joan smiled slightly. Her hatred for her own body was still clouding her mind, and she knew she was going to continue to have problems over it in the near future, but it suddenly felt like they would be easier to deal with. She had someone who loved her, who thought she was perfect and beautiful, regardless of what she or her stomach looked like. 

Well. At least there was one good thing about having a soft, chubby tummy. More room to get belly rubs.

[werezmastarbucks]

Whitmore Guy and the eternal studs

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

word count: 3158

warnings: language

As summer exams were approaching, the pressure on the students of Whitmore grew immensely. And Y/N was the one who felt it clearest of all. Each student, whether depressed, or just stressed, felt only their own weight pulling them down. Y/N had to be the anchor for all of them at once.

In the incredible fuss of early June she didn’t notice that a bunch of young people were very behind in their studies. When she finished filing out all of their graduate papers and closing documents for their rented apartments, she realized at least twenty people from the whole Whitmore did not show up for their preliminary sessions in the end of May. Three of them were missing, and the police already knew about it. A week later, after Damon had finally submitted the heads to the Mystic Falls sheriff, their identities were confirmed, and the college had a big wake for them. Their names were Sheila Bent, Christopher Harris and Taylor Whitaker. Y/N remembered them from her everyday work, and they weren’t unusual; all three, like the rest of the bodies dragged to Damon’s lawn, were Mystic Falls residents. Rebekah left the town for some time, led away by Klaus. Of course, her brother was defensive of her, aggressive, even, however, the pressure of the surviving town, the main core specifically, made it uneasy for him. Y/N was honestly baffled by how him being in love with Caroline changed his attitude. How easy it is to break you, and to manipulate you, when you’re into somebody. And how nasty it is, when this somebody is not entirely on your side.

The rest of the students, who were now in the danger of getting kicked from the college, swarmed her office for the whole first half of June; pleading, begging, crying hysterically, and throwing tantrums. Yesterdays’ mature young people transformed in an almost inexplicable way. There were some athletes among them; there was a brilliant science student Alana May, whom Y/N always liked for her reasonable attitude. All of them changed into these whining kids who did not know what to do now, that they spent half a month somewhere, and couldn’t cope with their deadlines. The situation got thousand times weirder after Y/N found that they all said one and the same thing when asked what the hell they’d been doing.

They said, we were having a party. Fifteen people from different faculties, studying different things, who have never been seen before, of different age and interests, were all having party for at least two weeks, all together.

It was Damon’s birthday, and he could not wish for anything better than investigating the college drama. Although, Y/N did not call it a drama specifically; she said it was more of a sinister mystery. Damon strongly advised her not to contact the failing students again before he gets his head in. When people go missing and then return, having completely changed their behavior, there can only be one explanation, that is – in his world. They’ve been turned.

“Ah-what?!” she yelled.

“When did they come in?” Damon asked knowingly.

“All at a different time – but in the working hours. Which are during the day”.

“Did you look for the lapis lazuli?”

“No, I did not. I’ve been more busy trying to calm down four people at a time. I don’t even have lunch these days, I have so much work”.

“God, the IT guy must miss you”.

Y/N snorted bitterly.

“Joke’s on you, Damon. He brings me coffee every morning”.

“Ew. Anyway, try something if you see any them. I’ll be there by three. Gather them all in one room and I’ll stake them”.

She pressed her fingers between her eyebrows, trying to pull the migraine out. How is she not screaming at him yet.

“You’re not going to come to Whitmore and stake fifteen people who you think are vampires”.

“I’m pretty damn sure gonna. I have a lot of things to do today”.

“Like what? Buy yourself a cake?”

Damon gasped on the other side of the line.

“What? You’re not getting me cake?”

Of course not, she thought. Cakes are traditionally on Caroline.

“Damon, you gotta have at least a picture of a plan before we do it. It’s your faint assumption. Maybe it’s something worse. Or something else. Maybe they joined a cult or something. Maybe they’ve turned into very normal human terrorists”.

“Good thinking, Y/N. Get them all together. By three”.

“Don’t you think it would make more sense to first talk to one of them if you want to check?”

Damon was silent for a moment.

“Yeah, good idea”.

He hung up.

She thought, standing by the window, as she looked out on the parking lot and the football field behind it. Why would Rebekah turn all these people? Was she bitten by the same family craving bug as Klaus once was? In what world all this turning, heads ripping stuff made any sense to her? The summer solstice was getting dangerously close, and Y/N had a bad feeling. There was always a massacre timed to a big cosmic or festive event in this god forsaken town. Every Founder’s Day – someone tries to butcher half of population. And she didn’t even want to remember the Halloween party back in 2009. Or the Perseids night four years ago. Some freak put a bunch of people inside of trees everywhere in the park using magic. They never caught him, of course… those were the weird times, when they failed, once and again, to prevent tragedies. Then it just ended. There were couple of strange cases in Mystic Falls, never solved. The greatest regret of the former sheriff Liz Forbs, before she died, was never solving the case of who killed her father and grandmother.

Thank God she didn’t live to see what happened to Matt.

Y/N decided to find and secure Alana May when Damon comes. She liked her the best, and she had a great hope to save her, if anything as horrible happened to her.

Y/N closed her laptop and left her office, walking to the teacher’s room to see Alaric and involve him a bit. His life has been getting far too boring lately.

She also discovered Mal together with him. The Occult Professor was sitting in his chair, looking into his computer intensely, and Mal clearly did not read the signs of his body – or didn’t want to. Standing right behind his shoulder, he pushed Ric’s back with his stomach, and spoke straight into the poor man’s ear.

“Huh, and then she was like, I don’t really believe that you’re already closing to thirty. I was like, ma’am, just because I’m clean shaven, like any other civilized individual… I mean, you know, not to say anything about your majestic beard, Ric, but I’ve never been able to grow anything like that. There are some people, you know…”

All the while his fingers were working on the keyboard disconnected from his brain completely. Ric’s face expressed misery, and Y/N chuckled, watching them, as she sat down behind someone’s unoccupied desk.

“Hey”, Mal smiled, looking at her briefly.

“Y/N”, Alaric stood up with a swing, almost hitting Mal in the face with his elbow. “I was just thinking about you. I need to talk to you. Can we…”

Mal looked up at them curiously, and a sly smile curled his lips. Half of the time he was pissing Saltzman just for the sake of it.

“Yeah, same”, Y/N gestured, inviting him to leave the room since Mal was working. Together, they stepped out into the corridor, which was sunny, smelled of summer, and stood half empty as it was morning.

“Heavenly God”, the man puffed, looking her in the eyes, “how do you stand that person?”

She was still giggling.

“Serious stuff, Ric. You remember I complained to you about those students who chucked on their studies and were running around on fire?”

A line lay between his eyebrows.

“Uh-huh”.

“Damon thinks they’ve been turned. It’s a bit soon to tell, but when I think about it, it makes sense. They all became like one: impatient, nervous, and very short-tempered. There haven’t been any killings yet… that I know of”.

She looked at him with a question. Saltzman shook his head.

“That’s a morbid picture, if he’s right. You think they’re connected with that massacre at the Salvatore mansion?”

“We don’t know if they are vampires yet. Let’see first. He’s coming over today at three”.

Ric put his palm on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Shall we give him his present then?”

The door opened, and Mal walked into them.

“Aw, my bad. The room’s free, if you want it. Y/N, you wanna grab a beer after work?”

“Not today, Mal”, Y/N watched him tilt his head musingly. “We got uh- a thing to do”.

“Oh, the hybristophiliac police gathering. Got it”.

He looked hurt though. Y/N understood very well what he felt at that moment. There they stood, two very different people, part of her outer world, and part of her inner dimension. Ever since Mal came round, the prose of her life became even more boring. Mal was like leaving your house on a fresh morning. You don’t really wanna do that shit anymore. You want to make lava lamps in his basement, listen to his favorite music, and watch Dr Pepper cans fall out of their slots.

“Not really, it’s…”

Ric was watching them both with mist in his eyes.

“Anyway, let’s do it tomorrow”.

“Whatever. Not like I wanted to tell you something super important. It’ll wait”, he smiled and waved them with his quick ringed hand.

“I’ll go get Alana”, Ric put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “And you watch out for the rest of them”.

“Uh-huh”, Y/N said, still watching Mal walk away. Cindy/Sandy caught her eye. As he walked past her, the girl followed him with a glance, too, and then turned and looked directly at Y/N. Something was off about that look, more than just a “woah, we’re checking out the same guy”. Y/N brushed it off. Not now. Not fucking now.

“Alright, I’ll get her into your office by three”.

“Call me if something happens”.

All those phrases were rehearsed and vocalized hundreds of times. All that routine was suffocating. Y/N walked back to her place thinking about Cindy/Sandy. Maybe she should check her name after all, to finally memorize it.

Damon was there by two-fifty. At three straight, there was a knock at her door, and Alana, led by Alaric, came into her office. Damon’s eyes were highlighted by the sunlight penetrating through the windows like juice. All pale, with bright turquoise, focused and a bit frustrated already, he moved towards the girl without a word.

Alana didn’t have time to react. The vampire took her by the shoulder, as Alaric snapped the door closed, and looked at her like a doctor with at least a century experience.

Only, Salvatore gaze wasn’t caring or curious. It was examining the depths of Alana’s majestic dark brown eyes with cold concentration, and his hard hand never left the girl’s shoulder. Y/N stood next to her, a kind of a maternal instinct rising in her, to protect her from… whatever.

“What are you now?” Damon asked quietly. Alana was looking at him with confusion on her beautiful face. She eyed the man almost angrily, and then replied,

“I’m Alana. Who are you?”

She looked at Y/N for assistance.

“What’s going on?”

“Look at me”, Damon ordered quietly, but with great significance. Y/N got a glimpse of what attracted her to this individual long time ago; he was a very obvious alpha. He was also extremely irritated all the time, which somehow added to his charm. Maybe she just liked the mean type.

Alana stared at Damon, looking all the more lost, and suddenly he straightened up, his face going a dead mask, jaws clenched.

“She’s been turned”.

“What?” Y/N barked, leaning to the student. Alana was turning her head absently at this point, trying to gain someone’s attention, but afraid to stand up as Damon was towering over her.

“Who turned you?” Y/N asked. Alana looked at her, and her eyes went blank.

“What do you mean? What the fuck is going on here?”

Heating up, the girl tried to get up, but Damon pushed her back down roughly. Y/N took him by the shoulder, and he didn’t fail to catch her hand in his inescapable clutch.

“Look”.

He bared his teeth like a tiger yawning, and bit her wrist in a flash, so fast, Y/N couldn’t feel pain at first. She only felt stinging when the first thick, dark drops of blood started to fill on her skin. She could yell at him later, and roll her eyes, too. She looked down at Alana, whose gaze was now focused on her completely. Suddenly, the girl’s face grimaced in pain, and she pushed herself deeper into the armchair, crying out,

“I can’t! Please”, her mouth opened in horror, long fangs growing out of her gums; a familiar black web of swollen veins evened out under her eyes, but she looked at Y/N.

“Your blood, I can’t take it, I can’t…”

But her thirst was stronger. Shaking and convulsing, Alana jumped out, throwing herself over the armchair, just as Damon wrapped his arms around Y/N. It was all too fast, at the vampire speed which always made everything look like changing pictures. Alana threw herself back, right onto another human: Alaric. He was a bad victim, all with instincts and ready hands that never failed him. Y/N bumped into her desk, moved it with her body, pushed away by Salvatore. Damon wanted to step forward to Alana and pushed away the armchair she’d been sitting in, so hard that it collapsed into the bookcase, breaking the glass and scattering the pieces of it. Alaric was pinned to the door, head tilted down, and Alana was immediately pushed to him. She gave out a groan, all too familiar, for Y/N not to understand.

She balanced herself back to her feet, but it was already too late. Salvatore took the student’s body away from Ric, and, having checked that she was dead, took the stake out.

“Good reflexes”, he nodded, carefully placing Alana on the floor.

“Not her”, Y/N moaned. It was her mistake. She chose her to bring here, to Damon. This death was on her.

Y/N ran her fingers through her hair, thinking. She looked at her bookcase and the glass on the floor. Oh how she could’ve used that beer after work.

“God fucking dammit”, she uttered, taking the armchair and pushing it further, to the window.

“How many are there left?” Damon asked. Y/N thought about them with horror. Right now, there’s a group of young vampires, high on thirst and anxiety, getting their blood devil knew where, scattered around the campus. One of them could be flirting with Mal.

“So, we’re not gonna talk about it?” Alaric walked towards the body and then looked at Y/N. “A newly turned vampire, that’s unable to withstand the call of blood, manages to avoid biting you, because, apparently she’s been compelled. If that’s still Rebekah, then I’m completely confused”.

Damon turned to her and gave her the longest look. Y/N felt like the vampire was staring right into her, down to her every little bone, and a nasty feeling crawled into her brain. There was something to do with her. There was a thought, in the back of her mind, almost on the brink of subconscious, that she pushed away and couldn’t reach anymore. The only sensation left was guilt. Why did she feel guilty, like she was hiding something? Why was Damon staring at her like that? He was the third already, that day.

She was walking across the football field. Thank God they didn’t make her run around the campus and look for the remaining fourteen failing students. She was swinging Alana’s keys between her fingers, looking for her car on the other side of the road. She failed to find it in the parking lot and decided to check in the street. It was a normal thing now, deaths. People died pretty often in Mystic Falls and its suburbia. Weird things, awful things happened there. They knew about it even back in Seattle. So, technically, if you come to study or live here, you claim that you’re ready to take the risks. It just bothered Y/N that deaths didn’t bother her anymore. How much does it take off a person to become jaded? It certainly wasn’t that much for her, and yet, she was calm. She’s just seen one of the best Whitmore students die pointlessly; out of Alaric’s paranoid stake throwing. And all she felt was frustration. The new knot to untie, the whole new bunch of threads to pull on. And what if someone really important gets in the way?

She finally found it, a dark blue Honda. Y/N took it back to the campus, circling the building and stopping it at the back entrance. Damon came out with the body and put it in the trunk.

“Tha-ank you”, he clicked his tongue, taking the keys from her. Ric appeared next to him and looked at Y/N with the same silent question.

“You know, if they all were compelled not to feed on you, you’re going to lure them all by yourself”.

“I won’t be luring anyone”, Y/N protested, “we don’t have to kill them. I’m sick of this… favoritism. Either kill all new vampires, or save them all. Imagine it was Bonnie, who’s been turned yesterday. You wouldn’t have staked her”.

Damon puffed.

“Oh, sweet lord. Don’t tell her that. The idea of being a vampire makes her go suicidal this quick”, he snapped his fingers and got into the car.

“Damon’s going to take care of little Alana” he announced, letting down the window, “and you find the rest of their bunch and assess them”.

Ric’s phone rang. He answered it quickly, lifting his palm as if to say, wait a second. Then he looked at them both:

“Caroline’s asking if we’re still up for tonight, at the Grill”.

“Are we really doing the party?” Y/N inquired, morosely.

Damon hummed like he did when a very bad, murderous idea came to him.

“Make it Craze. And Y/N, let everybody know that there’s a lit party tonight. It’s going to be totally sick or whatever you kids say. Let them all come”, he winked, and started the engine.

“That would be dangerous”, Ric tried to reason with him.

“Young vampires won’t be able to resist an opportunity to party”, Y/N thought out loud. “Loud music, lots of hot blood, and excitement”.

“And piles of dead bodies”, Saltzman noted, watching as Alana’s car sped away from the campus.

[biconicfinn]

Hi shakthi! what do you feel about royalty/ fairytale au's? The idea of any variations of prince!Magnus au always gets me. -luxxmagnus

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!! i love royalty au when it’s set in a diff universe and i dont always go for modern royalty, but a few of them i’ve read are well done so it’s really dependent on the way it’s written! but i’ve got a few must haves for a royalty au that get me like 😍 

sorry this is messy and all over the place sgkagbkdag

MAGICAL PRINCE MAGNUS AHHHHHHHH okay so obviously prince magnus>>>> because the aesthetic of prince magnus in fancy clothes, with an intricate crown and beautiful jewellery!!! also it means we can get courtship! and political intrigue! he still has magic because i say so!! also because magnus is so perfect he’d be the type of prince with a great relationship with his people so we’d get magnus being the sweetheart he is! also prince magnus overthrowing his father, the tyrannical king asmodeus????? UGH PERFECTION!!!!!! also i’d like to think that after asmodeus is overthrown, magnus still is not yet of age to be crowned king so ragnor (his older cousin, and no dont ask how they’re related) is the regent but really magnus has a lot of input in the ruling and ragnor is there as more of a formality and an advisor to magnus? cat, raphael, and dot are also members of the royal court and are magnus’ closest advisors and they have their own little family you know? also magnus’ mom died of a sickness when magnus was young and it was tragic and he was really broken by it because he loved his mother so much. so asmodeus tries to raise magnus to be the perfect weapon but thanks to his heart of gold and his found family, he doesn’t become the monster his father says he is. he wants to lead his kingdom to greatness, and do his best to help his people recover from asmodeus’ rule and move forward. 

WARRIOR PRINCE ALEC HELL YEAH so with alec i like the idea of him being the crown prince of a neighbouring kingdom and he and magnus meet and it’s like Instant Sparks and they fall in love at first sight, as they tend to do, and it’s amazing. alec would be the prince who has a reputation of being stoic and cold and closed off but he’s just under the weight of all the expectations you know? plus i feel like his kingdom would be a kingdom of warriors and so he’s also excellent in combat and gets a reputation as an amazing archer and strategist. and it’s hard to please the lightwood parents who are forever comparing alec to jace and belittling him, and it’s tough but he does it for izzy and max, so they don’t take the pain. (alec lightwood is the best big brother ever). and he’s got all these ideas to open up idris and form proper alliances with the neighbouring kingdoms, to unify and bring peace to his people.  

FANCY ROYAL BALL FOR LIKE SOMEONE’S ENGAGEMENT IDK IT’S NOT RELEVANT BUT THAT IS WHERE MALEC MEET it’s the 18th birthday of idk clary who’s a princess of some other kingdom idk it’s not relevant the exact occasion and the only thing that matter is this is where all the romance get set up! so it’s a big diplomatic thing and the leader and/or their heirs are expected to attend and magnus goes to represent edom with the immortal squad, and alec is there with izzy (and jace but they just ignore him after he runs after some poor girl to dance wth her). alec exchanges pleasantries with a few of the other guests but he’s not really there for gossip, trying to discuss alliances and trade agreements. magnus is asked to dance by many suitors, but he’s not looking to start a relationship nor to fuel the rumour mill so he politely declines and carries on mingling and soon enough the two princes meet and it’s like magic. magnus makes a terribly cheesy pun in response to a stranger at the bar’s sarcastic retort at some pompous duke and oh no he’s hot!!!! they both smile and introduce themselves with a distinct lack of effortless flair for magnus, or the calm composure typical of alec. they get to talking and it’s easy to see that neither of them have experienced this kind or ease and comforting familiarity when talking to someone outside of their inner circles. 

whilst magnus and alec are falling in love over the course of a conversation, there is some hilarious shenanigans as maia, raphael, meliorn, and simon find themselves tangled in a love quadrangle as they all feel so drawn to one another, taking turns to dance with one another before retreating to their friend groups to be like “they are all so beautiful and sweet and kind please help!!!!” and so ensues one of the most elaborate slow burn romances the royal courts have seen in ages (the betting pool is also exceptionally large and is won by meliorn who with raphael, started more than half the rumours in order to stir the pot and collect the winnings and spoil their partners). 

so anyway back to malec, they talk and have a few drinks and all is well and good and still pretty calm until alec picks up the way magnus is swaying to the music and tapping his feet to the beat, so alec asks magnus to dance and leads him to the dancefloor where they dance the night away, alec more than happy to twirl magnus around the dancefloor and make him giggle and blush, showing him off to everyone else. realising that they’ve attracted quite a fair bit of attention, they decide to steal away to an empty garden and continue dancing in the moonlight, the night is pure and utter perfection, and they part somewhat reluctantly, wanting to spend more time with one another, but also eager for the next day where they have agree to spend the day together. alec steels himself to press a brief, sweet, chaste kiss to magnus’ cheek before leaving to escort a tired and tipsy isabelle back to their guest chambers. magnus is left blushing, hand pressed to his cheek where alec’s warm lips pressed a gentle kiss that gave him butterflies.

oh my god this is not what i set out to write im in too deep now kdsbvfvasjbvjsav sorry may

COURTSHIP!!!! i desperately need courtship rituals!! like alec sending magnus elaborate flower arrangements with sweet, affectionate messages in flower language, magnus sending alec charmed tokens like a simple necklace or leather bracelet that has protective and healing spells woven into it!! them sending love letter to one another! they spend a lot of time together at social events and at “diplomacy meetings” where yes, they do discuss trade and alliances and what not but also it’s an excuse for them to spend at least a week with one another in either kingdom and they go on picnic dates on palace grounds, sneak out of their rooms at night to stargaze, wander through towns and eat street food (and alec always buys magnus little gifts and tokens that remind him of his love) and they train together, teaching each other the fighting styles of their respective kingdoms, and yes, there is a gratuitous alec teaching magnus archery scene because im fucking weak!!! and alec likes to hang out in the royal apothecary in edom and watch magnus make a whole bunch of cool potions, invent spells, and write magical theory. magnus in turn, is very fond of going to the training sessions of idris’ elite warriors–the shadowhunters, to watch alec obliterate a whole bunch of soldiers at various combat skills. 

BATTLE COUPLE!!!!!! so they’re together for months and all is good but then valentine happens and has been getting his forces gathered during this whole thing and even before it (im just stupid and forgot to mention it sdkfvbabhvjabv) and anyway he attacks!! and the crown princes of idris and edom unite, together with the other young royals from the neighbouring kingdoms and their armies to defeat valentine. and the two of them are damn near impossible to beat, alec with his honed-from-birth warrior skills, and magnus with his proficiency in both magical and non-magical combat. and it goes well at first but then the tides turn and they have to split up and they part and it’s this moment of “i don’t know if we’ll survive this” and they almost go tosay i love you but then alec is like “i’ll tell you when we survive this, so please come back to me, and i’ll come back to you” and they’re both crying a little but they share one last kiss before separating.

the battle ends and they’re desperate to find each other, tearing through the battlefield to find their love. and they finally see each other and run into each other’s arms, both looking a little worse for wear, and they pull away from the embrace long enough for alec to blurt out “i love you” with so much conviction and surety that magnus subconsciously shakes his head, disbelieving that someone could love him of all people, before confessing his own love for alec. they kiss and it feels like relief and home and hope. 

IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE BUT THE THING WHERE THEY’RE A DISGUSTINGLY CUTE COUPLE AND THEY’RE BASICALLY ENGAGED BUT NOTHING OFFICIAL

so they recover from the battle and they mourn their fallen, celebrate their victories, and bring justice to the invaders. this young generation of leaders more or less formally ascends to power and usher in a new era of peace, collaboration, and unity (the fact that there are so many inter-kingdom royal romances certainly doesn’t hurt the alliance)

in this time of peace, cat and dot get married and adopt madzie, the polycule are living their best lives, and izzy gets together with clary. 

magnus and alec continue their courtship for a couple more years until they both turn of age to be crowned kings. alec plans an elaborate proposal that sweeps magnus off his feet and just a month after their respective coronations, they marry and their kingdoms are merged as one. and they all lived happily ever after

[elisaphoenix13]

The Sorcerer's Cub (Ch. 6 END)

When Peter finally had his tantrum, it was surprisingly at the end of the first week, and neither Stephen nor Tony had been home. Natasha and Bucky were babysitting, and after some unsuccessful attempts to calm the crying baby, Natasha finally figured out that it wasn't exactly a tantrum. The pieces fell into place for her when Peter shied away from touch and curled up into a ball. Peter was going through a sensory overload but he didn't know how to tell them that because he didn't even understand. Toddler Peter was just overwhelmed and Natasha and Bucky did everything they could to make the baby comfortable. Nat asked FRIDAY to activate Peter's sensory overload protocol, and that helped darken the room and make everything a bit quieter, and Bucky ran up to the boy's bedroom to grab his teddy bear. Since Levi was with Stephen, they hoped the teddy bear was soft enough not to aggravate Peter's senses, and thankfully it did help. The baby curled up against the bear, his cries softened to sniffles and the occasional whimper, and his two temporary guardians gave him enough space that their natural smells wouldn't overwhelm him. Only Stephen could get close when Peter had a sensory attack.

Bucky, as quietly as humanly possible, got some water in a sippy cup for Peter and only got close enough to give it to the baby before retreating again. The overload protocol would prevent anyone else from entering the family floor until Peter was feeling better, Tony being the only one able to bypass the protocol. Stephen could too, but he usually just portaled onto the floor so it didn't matter to him. FRIDAY probably alerted Victor to the protocol because when Stephen got home, he didn't portal into the living room like he normally did, he came out of the master bedroom. Levi immediately flew from its master's shoulders to gently scoop up Peter and his teddy bear and deposited both into Stephen's waiting arms when he made it down to the living room.

Peter was instantly calmer.

"How long?" Stephen asks quietly.

"About an hour." Natasha whispers. "We did what we could to get him comfortable."

Bucky frowns. "We're not sure what set it off though. He was playing with his legos and then suddenly started freaking out."

"Doctor, I believe the effects from the alien tech are wearing off." Victor says through the tower as quietly as possible. "He could change back to his normal form by the end of the day."

All three adults sighed with relief. Natasha and Bucky relieved that they didn't do anything wrong to make Peter uncomfortable, and Stephen because they knew the trigger. He loved Peter and Diana as babies, but he knew it wouldn't last. Harley was the only one who hadn't been turned into a baby and he kind of had mixed feelings about it. Right now he was focused on Peter. He wouldn't have much more time to have with a baby cub so after thanking Natasha and Bucky, he takes Peter up to his bedroom, asking FRIDAY to keep the protocol to the teen's bedroom and allowing her to open up the rest of the floor again. Tony was at meetings all day again, Diana was probably downstairs with Cassie, and Harley was likely wreaking havoc with his friends.

That left Stephen to sit with Peter and care for him until he turned back, assuming Victor was correct. The baby was more than happy to spend the rest of the day with mom as sticking magnets on Bucky's arm was getting old. So they spent the rest of the day playing once Peter sufficiently recovered from his sensory overload. He was a little sleepy afterwards, but not enough for a nap and they played with legos instead. Stephen would smile softly whenever Peter got excited enough about something that any words were turned into a jumbled mess and completely incoherent. Whatever. As long as Peter was happy.

It happened just before Tony came home from his meetings. Peter soon got tired of legos and Stephen sat on the bed with him to watch movies, and the baby had crawled under the covers. The sorcerer stayed on top of the blankets, and dozed off in the middle of their third movie when he woke with a start when he felt himself being lightly shaken.  He turns his head to figure out what Peter might need and blinks when he finds the teenager staring right back. Stephen recovers quickly and looks over at the clock sitting on his son's desk, soft blue numbers telling him that it was around dinner time. He could even smell dinner, and he guessed that Bucky had made something because it definitely didn't smell like takeout.

"Uh...Mom?"

Stephen looks back at Peter. "Yes?"

"What are you doing in my room?" Peter looks up at the tv and furrows his brows in confusion when he finds it replaying the menu of a Disney movie. "I don't remember watching this."

"What do you remember?" Stephen asks curiously and the teen rubs his face as he pushes his blankets away.

Thankfully Stephen had the mind to cast a small spell that would dress the teen as soon as he changed back.

"I was on patrol, and I was talking care of some guys with--" Brown eyes narrow and he peeks over at the sorcerer. "I was a baby again wasn't I?"

Stephen chuckles. "I see you don't remember any of that time."

"How long?" Peter asks suspiciously, and really, he had every right to be. Last time he was a baby, Stephen purposely dragged it out.

"A week. Not because of me though." He replies quickly when Peter opens his mouth to possibly scold him.

"Man...a week of my summer. Gone."

"You'll live. I think Bucky made dinner if you're hungry. At least I'm assuming so by the smell."

Peter tilts his head, listening for whoever was downstairs, and then nods. "Starving."

Peter and Stephen climb off the bed and make their way down to the kitchen and the teen is immediately glomped onto by Cassie. Stephen chuckles as he takes his spot at the table while the female looks over her boyfriend and thanks Bucky when the man serves him dinner.

"I'm so glad you're back to normal. It was so weird seeing you as a baby that I couldn't even look at you!" Cassie admits dramatically.

"Gee, thanks." Peter says with a roll of his eyes as they sit at the table.

Harley rolls in moments later and slumps into his seat at the table, half-heartedly batting away Stephen's hand when he reaches out to examine his black eye. "I didn't get into a fight. I promise."

"What happened then?" Stephen asks skeptically.

"Baseball to the face."

"You're supposed to catch the ball you moron." Peter snarks and Harley flips him off.

"Nice to see you back to normal asshole."

Stephen was pretty sure he had his exasperated Mom Sigh down. If he didn't, he would be surprised.

"Enough. Eat. Cassie, where are your parents?"

The girl actually cringed at Stephen's question. "Downstairs. They'll be up eventually."

"Mommy! Me and Cassie went shopping today!" Diana announces between mouthfuls of food and Stephen raises an eyebrow.

"By yourselves?"

"No. We dragged Papa with us." Cassie answers with a smirk, and then it was Peter's turn to cringe.

"Poor Quill."

Cassie giggles. "He wandered off to another part of the store when Dia and I started looking at clothes."

"No meltdown this time?" Stephen asks with a smirk.

"Not that we know of."

"Oh ha ha. It's pretty low to make fun of someone who's been living in space for the past thirty years." Quill says as he and Scott step off the elevator.

Even Tony was with them and he lamented when he saw Peter back to normal. He eventually muttered a few sentences in Italian before planting a kiss on the crown of his head and joins everyone at the table. Peter ate a lot that night to make up for his recent toddler appetite, and the kids watched a movie with dessert before retiring for bed. Cassie stayed up on the family floor in Diana's room, and the boys went into their respective rooms before Tony and Stephen were roped into a night of drinking.

Stephen definitely needed it but he stopped once he got tipsy. He didn't want to be drunk for what he wanted to do, and that consisted of chocolate truffles. Tony's eyes immediately dilated when the sorcerer took his first bite, and Quill gave him a knowing look as he tossed back a shot of whiskey and threw his arm around Scott. The thief wasn't as affected by Stephen's show as he used to be, but he did squirm a little bit. For once, Quill didn't get jealous. He just smirked. Tony was Stephen's main focus though and he ate his chocolate as lewdly as possible without giving himself away.

He started as he usually did. Biting into his chocolate and licking up any of the melted trails on his fingers, but Tony was remaining steadfast. So Stephen took it up a notch. He threw in a couple of moans here and there (which got a couple of squirms from his husband), and even let the chocolate drip onto his exposed chest. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone earlier in the evening when the alcohol started to warm him up, so the chocolate landed perfectly on pale skin.

When he looked down to wipe up the chocolate with his thumb, he innocently brought it up to his mouth to suck off the sweet melted delicacy and Tony groaned. Sam and Clint were sniggering, both pretty wasted at this point, and Quill and Scott were drinking with them. No doubt a pool was already made, but only Quill knew that this was staged.

The final straw was when Stephen let his tongue dart out to get the last bits of melted chocolate off his lips, and Tony had pounced. He spoke lowly in Italian before he was shoving his tongue into the sorcerer's mouth, and the animalistic makeout session was over almost as soon as it started, and Stephen suddenly found himself being dragged up to the master bedroom. He sends a quick wink to Quill and the remaining adults look over at the celestial when the bedroom door closes.

"Wait..." Clint starts. "Does Mama Bear know what he looks like when he eats chocolate?"

Quill grins. "Oh yeah."

"Well this just got more interesting." The archer says.

"Especially since Tony still doesn't know." Sam points out.

"New pool. How long will it take before Stark figures it out?" Clint asks.

Scott snorts. "Maybe never. He's too focused on the show."

"That's true." Sam leans back against the couch.

"We'll figure out the details later. How about a game of Never Have I Ever?" Clint suggests and Quill groans.

"I'm going to lose."

[yurionice-secretsanta]

Bring Him Home

To  @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin From @kaleidodreams

Summary: During a snowstorm, Yuri worries when Otabek is late coming home from practice.

Rating: T/Teen and Up Audiences (Just for language, though, because Yurio.)

Message: I hope you enjoy gift, Rodinia! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

         "Where the hell is he?“

         Yuri pulls his coat tight around his torso as he looks over the fire escape railing, down at the parking lot three stories below. The space where Otabek usually parks his bike is still empty, covered with a light dusting of snow. Snowflakes continue to fall from the sky, clinging to Yuri’s hair and shoulders. The weather can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do. One minute it’ll be snowing, only for the snow to turn into sleet, then right back into snow again in seemingly the blink of an eye.

         Yuri hates Otabek driving his bike in this kind of weather. He’s a great driver, but the roads are icy, and it won’t be long until the sun sets, the sky already turning various shades of yellows, oranges, and blues behind the clouds. He should had waited around at the rink until Otabek finished his session with Viktor – the two of them were polishing up the choreography of Otabek’s free skate before Four Continents next week – instead of rushing back to the apartment to start on a dinner that was fast going cold. If he had, he would have convinced Otabek to leave the bike behind and take the subway back home with him instead.

         Home.

         Yeah, six months later, and that’s still a little weird.

         Yuri fiddles with the simple black band adorning his right hand, the ring twisting easily due to the cold shrinking his already-slender fingers. Otabek had given it to him the night they moved into the apartment together, shortly before the current skating season started. A sappy gift, one that made Yuri cry ugly embarrassing tears when Otabek slipped it on his middle finger, but it means so much to him that Otabek accepts who he is, that he still loves him despite the fact that Yuri doesn’t have the same desires as him. Their relationship is unconventional, occupying some nebulous area between best friends and lovers, yet it works for them.

         Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the clock for the third time since he came out on the fire escape. Shit, Otabek really is late; even with the bad weather, Yuri expected him to be home by now. He sighs, his breath visible in the freezing air. Should he call? He doesn’t want to distract Otabek from paying attention to the road if he’s driving, though.

         He settles for texting Viktor. It isn’t helpful, but at least he feels a little better after chewing Viktor out for allowing Otabek to leave on his own – never mind the fact that the snow didn’t start falling in earnest until after Otabek already texted Yuri to tell him he was about to leave the rink.

         If only he had been able to reply to the text faster…

         Yuri runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

         He’s half-tempted to start looking for Otabek on his own, but he doesn’t own a car. Doesn’t even have a license yet. He keeps meaning to sign up for lessons; it’s just difficult to find the time between training, competitions, tours, and sponsorship obligations. Besides, he usually gets around the city well enough without one.

         Maybe I should try calling the local hospitals?

If something bad has happened… With shaking fingers, Yuri finds the number of the nearest hospital online. The phone starts to ring in his ear just as he hears the familiar sound of Otabek’s bike pulling into the parking lot.

         “Fuckin’ finally,” he says, exhaling in relief. After ending the call and sliding his phone back in the back pocket of his jeans, he leans over the railing and yells down at Otabek. “You’re late. Get your ass up here!”

         He isn’t sure if Otabek can understand what he’s saying from so far away, but he looks up at Yuri after he takes off his helmet, holding his hand up in a “thumbs up” signal.

         A grin tugs at Yuri’s lips despite himself. “Idiot.”

         He brushes off the snow as best he can, then climbs through the window to go back inside.

         Their apartment is in the loft of an old abandoned canning factory. Other than the bathroom, it’s completely open concept, with cement floors, exposed brick walls, and large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street view, letting in a ton of natural light when it isn’t so cloudy. It’s more Otabek’s style than Yuri’s, to be honest – Yuri likes silly things like drywall and ceilings that actually hide all the pipes and ductwork from sight – but his influence shines through in the pops of leopard print scattered around the room, from the throw pillows on the leather couch to the rug underneath their dining table to the duvet covering their king-sized bed.

         After shrugging off his coat, Yuri starts to sling it over the back of the couch when he thinks better of it, hanging it back on the coat rack where it belongs.

         Learning to live together has been a relatively smooth transition for the most part. He and Otabek enjoy a lot of the same things – the same foods, the same music, the same TV shows – and whatever differences between them tend to be complementary in nature. Yuri loves to cook; Otabek is a weirdo who actually likes doing dishes. Otabek’s better at keeping organized, so he makes sure the bills get paid on time and schedules most of their appointments. Yuri is an expert when it comes to bargain shopping thanks to his grandpa’s teachings, so he’s in charge of buying the groceries and other household necessities. They don’t argue about much, but Otabek’s annoyance with Yuri’s slovenly tendencies is their one red-button issue, a bad habit Yuri is trying his best to break.

         A couple of minutes later, Otabek walks through the front door. Yuri prepares to yell at him some more for worrying him so much, but the words die on his lips when he sees the long scratch along the side of Otabek’s cheek. It runs from just a little below his left eye to almost down to his jawline.

         “Oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?”

         Otabek flinches when Yuri gently presses a finger against the cut. “Oh, the cat got me,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

         “What cat?” He couldn’t be talking about Potya. Yuri would have noticed the scratch earlier if that was the case. Besides, Potya isn’t much of a scratcher; he’s more likely to ignore someone altogether if he’s angry, swishing his tail as if he’s a king dismissing one of his lowly subjects.

         Meow.

         Yuri arches an eyebrow. “Did your jacket just ‘meow’?”

         Otabek unzips his leather jacket half-way, an orange tabby hesitantly poking its head out. The poor thing is wet and shivering, large green eyes taking in its new surroundings, and Yuri’s heart immediately fills with pity. Despite his tough reputation, he’s always had a soft spot for animals – particularly cats of all persuasions.

         “Stay here. I’ll get a towel,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

         When he returns, Otabek has taken the cat fully out of his jacket, its increasingly loud meows as it squirms in Otabek’s arms catching Potya’s attention. Potya claws at Otabek’s legs, letting out a few meows of his own as he tries to see what is going on.

         “Potya, down.” Yuri unhooks Potya’s claws from Otabek’s jeans, then gathers the skittish cat in the leopard-print towel he had brought with him, carrying it over to the couch.

         Yuri frowns as he looks the cat over. It appears severely underfed; he can feel its bones with only the slightest touch. He judges it to be around three to four months old, bigger than a kitten, but not quite full-grown. No collar to be found. It’s most likely a stray, but they would need to take it to the vet to check if it had a microchip to be certain.

         “Hey, where did you come from, little one?” he coos, rubbing the towel over the cat’s wet fur. The meows begin to quiet down, the tabby no longer trying to break free as it allows Yuri to dry it off.

         “You know that old maple tree where I usually park my bike?” Otabek sits down beside Yuri, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I was just about to leave the rink when I heard it meowing from up in the branches. It was too scared to climb down on its own, so I rescued him.”

         Glancing up, Yuri’s eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you climbed up a tree, rescued a stray cat, then drove all the way here from the rink in the sleet and snow with it stuffed in your fucking jacket?” He doesn’t know whether he wants to hug Otabek or smack him upside the head. Maybe a little of both. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

         Between the two of them, Otabek is supposed to be the responsible one. A stunt like that is more Yuri’s style.

         “What other choice did I have?” Otabek asks, scratching behind the tabby’s left ear. “I couldn’t leave it there, not when it was so cold and wet.”

         “Yeah, but –” Yuri sighs, bringing his hand to Otabek’s injured cheek. “You should clean that up and put some ointment on it.”

         “It’s fine,” he insists, brushing the hand away.

         “Beka, go get the first aid kit. It could get infected.”

         “Okay, okay.” Otabek heads to the bathroom.

         While he’s gone, Potya jumps up to take his spot on the couch, watching in curiosity as Yuri continues drying off the stray. “Hey, be nice,” Yuri warns with a wag of his finger. Potya isn’t accustomed to being around other animals besides Viktor’s and Yuuri’s poodle, Makkachin, but after sniffing the newcomer for a few seconds and letting out a hiss, he loses interest, hopping down to the floor with a flounce of his fluffy tail before climbing to the very top of his cat tower.

         Well, that went surprisingly…okay, Yuri thinks. Ideally, he’d like to keep one of the cats in a separate room for the time being, but in an apartment devoid of proper rooms, that really isn’t an option.

         After checking to see if the stray is a boy or a girl – definitely male – Yuri sets him down on the floor and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Potya’s food from one of the upper cabinets. The stray follows after him, meowing at the top of his lungs as Yuri pulls back the tab on the can.

         “Hold on, just a minute,” he laughs, dumping the food into an old bowl of Potya’s and placing it down on the floor. “There. Hope you like chicken and tuna.”

         He does, if the way he chows down on the food is any indication, practically inhaling it. Yuri smirks, reminded of the way Yuuri always shovels bowls of katsudon in his mouth, and squats down to pet the tabby. It had probably been days since he had a decent meal. If Otabek hadn’t found and rescued him… “Man, you’re a lucky kitty,” Yuri murmurs.

         The tabby takes a break from eating, a loud purr vibrating through his emaciated body as he rubs his head against Yuri’s hand. Yuri practically dies from the cute, glad that Otabek’s not in earshot as he babbles high-pitched nonsense. Not that Otabek isn’t fully aware what being in the vicinity of an adorable kitty will do to him, but he likes to think he has some pride left.

         “Oh, gotta take a pic!”

         He pulls his phone back out and takes a few snapshots, choosing the cutest one to post on his Instagram. He captions it: Beka rescued this tabby from a tree near the rink. Nobody claims him? HE’S MINE!

         There, he’s done his duty to try to find the owner, although Yuri doubts he has one. If he does, then they’re obviously not a very good one.

         Leaving the tabby to continue eating his food, Yuri stands back up and sets his phone on the counter. Otabek still hasn’t returned to the living area, causing Yuri to frown. It shouldn’t take so long just to clean and bandage a scratch, should it?

         He knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Beka, do you need some help in there?”

         “No, I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.”

         Yuri opens the door anyway. Otabek is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, applying topical ointment to the before-unseen scratches on his chest and abdomen. A gauze bandage already covers the one on his face.

         “Wow, Salchow really did a number on you,” Yuri says, leaning against the doorframe.

         Otabek meets his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Salchow?”

         “That’s what I decided to name him. It is a him, by the way. I checked.”

         “Good name,” Otabek says, smiling as he turns around, bracing himself against the vanity. “I guess that means we’re keeping him?”

         Oh, right, it isn’t just his decision anymore. Yuri forgot. Probably should’ve waited to post that picture until after they had discussed it…

         “I mean, do you mind? I don’t think he has an owner, and we can’t just let him loose again…”

         “It’s fine, but will he and Potya get along? You know how Potya gets around strangers…”

         Potya does tend to be wary when unknown people visit the apartment, although strangely enough, he had accepted Otabek almost right away. Sometimes Yuri suspects Potya even likes Otabek better than him.

         He pokes his head back into the living area, checking on them. So far, so good. Salchow is still chowing down on his food, and Potya has begun cleaning himself on top of the cat tower, completely ignoring the newcomer as he licks his paws. “I…think it’ll be okay?” he says, turning back around. “They haven’t killed each other yet, at least.”

         “That’s a low bar you’ve set for feline friendship.”

         Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever.  Here, give me that. You missed some.”

         Coming further into the bathroom, he takes the tube of antibiotic ointment from Otabek’s hand, squeezing a small amount on the tip of his finger and spreading it over a scratch located just above the waistband of his jeans.

         At his touch, Otabek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat.

         Yuri glances up. “Does it hurt?”

         “No.” He presses his lips together, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and Yuri notices his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, um, I’m just…sensitive…there…”

         It takes Yuri a moment to realize what exactly Otabek means by that. When he does, he jerks his finger away as if he had touched a steaming hot kettle. “Oh. Crap! Sorry.”

         Otabek chuckles. “It’s not like I mind, you know.”

         “Yeah, but…”

         Not for the first time, Yuri wonders if Otabek is really satisfied with their relationship in its current state. Whenever he asks, Otabek always assures him that he is, that he loves just being with him even if they never do anything beyond cuddling and the occasional chaste kiss, but sometimes it’s hard for Yuri to believe.   

         “It really was stupid of you to bring Salchow home with you on your bike, though,” Yuri says, changing the subject. He turns his attention to another scratch underneath Otabek’s ribcage. “If he had tried to escape out of your jacket and you lost control…”

         Yuri shakes his head, trying to force the image of Otabek’s bloodied body laying lifeless in the snow beside the crumpled metal of his motorcycle out of his mind. It doesn’t work. His eyes well up anyway against his will, and he sniffles, swearing as he swipes his hand over his face.

         This isn’t him. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia – tough and fierce. But he can’t help it when it comes to Otabek. He loves him too much, even if it’s not the same kind of “love” that most people expect. Yuri doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if such a thing really existed, he has no doubt Otabek would be his.

         “Yura…” Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Yuri’s.

         “You should be.” Yuri tries to glare at him through his tears, but it’s half-hearted at best, his anger swallowed by the overwhelming relief he feels that Otabek made it home safe and in one piece, minus a few scratches.

         Sighing, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and buries his head in his shoulder. “You really did scare me,” he admits in a muffled voice as Otabek returns the embrace. “It was getting so late, and the snow kept falling, and…and… Well, you should have called me!”

         “I know. I’m sorry.” Otabek kisses the top of his head, hugging him even tighter. The front of his favorite sweatshirt is no doubt covered in smears of ointment, but Yuri doesn’t care, taking comfort in the warmth of his body heat. “My phone died right after I sent that last text to you. I forgot to charge it.”

         “Not an excuse.”

         Otabek laughs softly, but Yuri’s one hundred percent serious. He doesn’t ever want to worry about him like that ever again. “No more driving your bike in bad weather, okay?”

         “Okay,” Otabek says, not even putting up the pretense of an argument.

         “And keep your stupid phone charged, too. You’re usually better about that.”

         “Okay.”

         “And –”

         “Okay.”

         Yuri finally pulls away, looking back up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

         “'And don’t ever leave me alone in the world'…right?”

         Dammit, it annoys him when Otabek reads his mind like that. Is he really so predictable? “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that…” Shifting his eyes downward to stare at the tile floor, Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “…but, um, yeah, that was the general gist of it, I guess.”

         Otabek brushes back Yuri’s bangs and kisses him on his forehead. “Okay, I promise I won’t die,” he says in a soft voice.

         If only it was possible to keep such a promise… Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, allowing him to hug him once again. “Just… try not to get yourself killed,” he amends. “That’s good enough for me.”

         “Deal.”

         The two of them stay like that for a long moment, embracing each other  until a crashing sound followed by a stampede of tiny paws breaks the mood. Groaning, Yuri releases his hold.

         “I knew the peace was too good to last,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, Beka. Let’s round up the kids before they really do kill each other.”

[wonderland-irwin]

Paper Airplanes ~ Lily

Word Count: 1711

Warnings: N/A 

Author’s Note:  I have six characters I have created, each with unique personalities and stories. They all have struggles and successes, and since I can’t quite figure out how to write them into one large story (nor was I able to complete the fics they were originally supposed to be in), short stories about their lives will have to do for now. Not that I mind! I love them all so much, and they’re dynamic is quite fun to explore. Paper Airplanes is the story that began their tale. I will be setting up a place on Wattpad where you will be able to find the stories there as I post them. If you would like to be tagged in other short stories, let me know. You can “sign up” for one character if you like one specifically, or all stories in this world.

Summary: After a disastrous study session in the library, Lily starts folding her notes into tiny paper airplanes when a stranger comes up and offers advice on how to make them more efficient at flying.

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Lillian sat in the back of the campus library in her little study group, barely paying attention to the argument going on about stock prices and exchanges. There were a thousand other things Lily could think of doing instead of studying - reading or working or sleeping, for example - but the members of her group were quite strict in their schedule, and so at seven on a Friday evening, there she was studying for a midterm that was three weeks away.  

She watched them argue with a blank expression, their words passing over her head. There was something about finance that didn't click with Lily's brain. Maybe it was that the professor who taught the three hour lecture was dry and boring, or that she didn't have a particular interest (no pun intended) in stocks or bonds, but nothing made sense to her. She had read the textbook, the words and theories all confusing her, and the only reason she was doing well in the course was because she knew from the homework how to manipulate the numbers into the equations. If she didn't know how to work the formulas, she was sure she would be failing. Still, it would be nice to know what all those numbers meant instead of operating them blindly.

The argument got louder and Lily placed her chin on her fist. She sighed, glancing around the mostly deserted corner of the library. There was another group working on what looked like a large model of some organ, which one specifically was hard to determine; it was mostly just a mess of clay and paper. They were at least laughing though, and Lily would have loved to be laughing and joking around instead of tuning out to things she really should have been paying attention too. 

She watched the group of biology students for a while, a small amused smile forming on her face, then realizing she should look away before she was caught, turned to see if there was anyone else interesting to look at. Sure enough in one of the leather chairs under the window was a boy. He had tucked his feet up under him, a textbook open in his lap, however he had his phone in one hand and was lazily scrolling through it. With his other hand he played with the hoop in his nose, a feature Lily found intriguing.

"Lily!" A voice yelled, causing Lily to jump. She turned to the group of irritated looking girls that was supposed to be her friends and her study group, and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Y-Yes?" She stammered. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she looked down to her now folded hands in her lap. 

"If you're not paying attention, maybe we should end this," Claire barked at her. Lily instantly felt like she'd shrunk to the size of a peanut. Claire was one of those people who always had a way of making you feel worthless and she was also one of those people who always had to be correct. There was no way to correct her or even suggest an idea that might be different than hers. Lily had struggled to make a good friend the first year of university, and Claire had sat beside her in their managerial accounting class and quickly offered friendship. Lily now felt obliged to be her friend, even though she wasn't fond of her.

"I'm sorry," Lily muttered, "I'm just tired. It's hard to focus."

"You know what, yeah," Peggy said softly, "it is late and I have to catch the nine-forty bus. We should head out." 

Claire protested, but thankfully the other girls began to pack their bags and pull their coats on. Lily sat staring at her unopened textbook and untouched notes, listening to Claire's protests as the four girls started to the staircase without her. The floor got instantly quieter and Lily let a long breath out that she hadn't realized she was holding in. She never felt more stupid than after a study session with those girls. They had a way of over-complicating topics that Lily had barely become comfortable in understanding, and the only way they seemed to be able to speak was through an intense debate. Lily mostly remained quiet when around them, and when she did speak her ideas were either determined stupid, or they found a way to belittle her. It always took a moment after being around them to settle her thoughts and regain composure. 

She wasn't mentally ready to pack up her things and leave yet, and she got a strange desire to construct a paper airplane out of one of her notes. Every so often she got this desire, however she was unsure what drove it except that maybe she was subconsciously looking for something to do with her hands, and there was something calming about folding paper.

Nonetheless, she snatched up a note about rates and returns beginning to fold it. Eventually she had a wonky looking airplane, and she held it up. She cocked her head to the side and frowned, knowing she hadn't done something right, but decided to fly it anyways. Pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, she gently sent it off with the far fetched thought that maybe it would fly in a straight line. It barely got any lift before it spiraled to the floor and crash landed. 

Instantly Lily's heart sunk. Like somehow her inability to produce a nice paper airplane was directly related to her not being able to understand finance and making poor decisions in who she selected as her friends. 

Lily sighed, leaning her forehead against the table. She closed her eyes, willing for it to be over. School, that is. Lily had decided that once she got her Bachelor of Commerce, she would be done with school. School was a means to an end, and she had two and a half years left. Sometimes, like now, she wasn't convinced she would be able to make it through. A good night's sleep, and possibly a good cry later, and she'd gather herself up and tell herself she had to, and would be able to continue. 

Sometimes that was easier said than done.

"Hey," a voice spooked her again and she bolted upright. The boy from the leather chair stood awkwardly in front of her. She stared at him, her eyes taking in quick details like his eyes were hazel, he had tiny black gauges in each of his ears, and that the black knit sweater he wore looked soft and comfortable.

"Are you okay? That looked pretty rough." He adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, his hand going to poke at his nose piercing.

Lily shrugged, "I suck at making paper airplanes."

The boy gave her a puzzled look before amusement took over and he laughed. The wonderful sound made Lily's heart jump and her face heated again. Why was he laughing at her?

"Sorry," the boy chuckled, "I should have been more specific; the group you were with. They were absolutely awful."

"Oh, yeah," Lily looked away, "they're like that a lot. It's okay."

"It doesn't really look like you're okay."

Refusing to look at him, Lily shrugged again. She wasn't sure how to respond, and she was sure there were more interesting things that he would want to do than talk to her, however he surprised her. 

"This isn't that bad of a plane. I think you may have missed a fold."

Lily looked back up to him. He held her airplane and was examining it.

"I can show you how to make a really good one if you'd like?" He glanced up to her, one of his eyebrows quirking up.

Lily smiled at him, "I'd like that." 

He grinned at her, walking quickly to the empty seat beside her and lowering himself onto it. His bag hit the floor with a thud and he set her plane on the table to roll up his sleeves. His arms were heavily inked with tattoos and Lily blinked at them in amazement. There was something so calming and beautiful about his arms that Lily couldn't help but admire them. Each image was outlined in black, then filled in with the wildest and brightest of colours. Nothing looked out of place or forced. She didn't know him, but somehow she knew they all fit with him. From the piano tiles that wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet, to the tiny gumball machine on his forearm by his elbow, they all had their place. 

Lily could have spent all day looking at his tattoos, however he was staring down at her with an amused smile, and so she had to stop.

"Do you have a piece of paper?" He asked, his eyes locking with hers. She nodded, passing him a note with equations scribbled on both sides. He glanced at it, and then looked to her, "you don't need this?"

She shook her head, "I mean I do, but I have the PowerPoints and the textbook. They're all there." 

The boy nodded, then lay the paper on the table.

Lily watched him as he shifted the paper around, partially folding the it in a plan. She shuffled closer, leaning over his arm to watch as he began to make smooth folds and creases turning the paper into a plane in a matter of seconds.

"Ta-da!" He held it out to her proudly, "you can send it on its first flight."

Lily laughed, shaking her head, but she took the plane as she had with her own, and gently released it into the air. It sailed in a smooth line, then landed softly on the floor and rolled to the side.

"It works!" She gasped.

"You sound surprised," he laughed.

"I've been trying to get mine to fly like that for years!"

"Years?" His eyes widened.

Lily nodded, "years."

"Well," he smiled softly, "I'm glad you know how to do that now."

"Mm," Lily hummed absentmindedly, reaching over to grab another note to make her own plane, "can you watch and help me make one?"

This time the boy shuffled closer to her and leant over her shoulder to watch, "of course."