#worm tag will be added when i achieve a worm

[bwaindead-dogs]

this is a set of tags which i will be using to categorize my wobbledogs for your convenience

#bigger dog = a dog whose body size attribute is more than 80%

#smaller dog = a dog whose body size attribute is less than 20%

#tail dog = a dog with a tail

#wing dog = a dog with wings

#leggy dog = a dog with more than two pairs of legs

#head dog = a dog with multiple heads

#multi dog = a dog with multiple of anything else

#extra wobbly dog = a dog with missing legs

#extreme dog = one of this dog's physical attributes visibly exceeds 90%

#overload dog = one of this dog's physical attributes exceeds 100%

#minimum dog = one of this dog's physical attributes visibly subceeds 10%

#average dog = a dog with less than 3 of the above tags. <3

#positive dog = a dog with one or more positive personality traits

#negative dog = a dog with one or more negative personality traits

#funny dog = a funny little fella

[thestoryden]

Savior, Part 4

Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader

Warnings: Incest, Sadness, References to Bullying, References to S.A.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I have been trying to work around work to get this out. This is part four in the Savior series and it does need the context of the previous interactions to be fully understood. If you would like to be added to my HOTD taglist please follow the link below. If you would liked to tagged in the next part of this series only please comment below. Thank you for reading.

Masterlist / Taglist / Requests: Open

Savior 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / ?

You recline on a couch in Aemond’s apartments as you sigh heavily. You push back your braids and run your fingers through your loose hair trying to relieve some stress. Aemond is at the door whispering with a servant trying to not disturb you.

After everything you had been through you could not believe that your mother would not hear you out. You want to think that she is sincere in her wishes to not sustain your house’s tradition, but you know that she just wants to fulfill Aegon’s wishes before she even follows her own personal desires.

It did not always use to be like this you think. You remember a time when she treated you like children instead of pawns but it was so long ago and is now faint in your memories. Even though it had been years since Aemond had been injured she was worried that everything was a threat to her family, her power. You sit wishing for peace, for love, and just maybe to have your family back to how it was.

Aemond taps the end of your shoe lightly, “Thinking of something?”

You smile, “Nothing achievable.”

“I know everything seems out of reach right now, but I had something brought up that might cheer you up.” He says softly.

Everything did feel out of reach. It is true, but you did not know what could possibly make you feel better. Aemond holds up a pair of your fur lined slippers. He had gifted this particular set to you two winters back when it had been particularly cold in the castle and Aegon had some servants steal all your shoes so that you would have to walk on the freezing stone. Ever since they had been your favorite shoes to wear and sometimes you would even sneak them to events when it became chilly.

“You remembered?” You say tenderly.

Aemond laughs a bit, “Of course I remember, I was the one who had them made.”

He hands them to you. You sit up to slip them on. There is a pause. The queen’s decision still hangs in the air. Aemond is tense.

“So, what do we do now?” You ask.

“It might be easier to commit treason then worm our way out of mother’s scheming.” He retorts.

“Scheming?” You question, “I mean she may be proactive, but I highly doubt she is already weaving up something. We left her only a short while ago.”

He smiles and holds up a coin. It glints in the light.

“Servants will often bend easy for gold.” He says coolly, “She has already arranged for a private dinner this evening with Larys Strong.”

A frustrated cry escapes you. You seem to have the world at your finger tips and yet you may as well be a caged animal, never to escape from your stone prison. There is a light knock on the door and a serving girl peeks her head in.

“I’ve brought the hot tea you requested, your grace.” She squeaks out.

Aemond waves for her to come in. She moves in a hurried manner and sets the tray on the table in front of you two.

“Would you like me to serve it?” She asks.

“No, this is fine,” You reply.

She walks out of the room with short quick strides. You note her nervousness, but chalk it up to a bad experience she most likely had with Aegon. She is a fleeting kindred spirit.

“I have a plan.” Aemond states, “We marry in secret.”

You take the tea and poor it in to your cup. Lifting it to your lips and letting the steam waft the deep scent up your nose. You feel your senses stir as you drink.

“That is not a plan, merely a goal.” You quip, “How do you propose we should achieve it.”

“If mother won’t take us seriously, someone else must take our side.” He says, “We we’ll send a raven to Rhaenyra and Daemon about our intentions, and join their side if need be.”

Shock reaches across your face. You had never thought of betrayal as a way out. You were so focused on keeping yourself together for the sake of your family that you had not considered making an enemy out of them. You feel a spark of energy and excitement move through your body.

“Let us send two ravens, I will send one to Rhaenyra and you to Daemon, surely if we both ask they will heed our pleas.” You say.  

You know it is a long shot, even your own mother would not listen, but if there was even a chance that Rhaenyra will hear your pleas you had to take it. Previous slights made by Aemond against her children will make the situation harder, but you hope that she hates the Queen more than she does Aemond.

He looks at you then too his desk and fetches a piece of paper, pens, and ink. Without saying a word, he rips the paper into two long pieces, handing one to you. You both dip your quills in ink and begin writing out your messages. You fit as much pleasantry as you can with in the edges of the scroll, while begging for their help.

Your head hangs practically in your lap and your eyes stare into the dark reflection across the pool of tea. Aemond rests his hand on your shoulder. He draws a breath in.

“There is something I must ask.” He says solemnly.

“What is it?” You question.

“Well, I suppose I have not formally asked for your hand in marriage.” He replies.

 “I suppose you have not.” You quip.

Aemond uses his hands to gently turn you, so that you are facing him head on.

“Will you take me as your protector from this day till our last?” He asks.

“I vow that I will.” You reply.

You both want to revel in the excitement of the moment, but your circumstances cast a grave shadow over your shared happiness. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his and sit there. You lean in to each other resting your foreheads against one another. You say nothing to each other and just listen to each other’s soft breaths.

Taglist: @ultarviolence @somemydayy @afro-hispwriter @severewobblerlightdragon @themology @flyingmushroomss @sinlist @isabel2you

[do-a-reference-properly]

AO3′s users alert! Unauthorised fanworks copying

26/09/2019. Important update on this mess: we found a way to delete fanworks via take down request to the hosting provider. Please check it here https://do-a-reference-properly.tumblr.com/post/187926459079/finally-some-good-news

Dear AO3 users,

We would like to bring your attention to an ugly situation with unauthorized copying of works posted on AO3.

A lot of works from AO3 have been copied to fanfics.me (we’ll call this site FFM for brevity’s sake) and are still being copied right now, either:

— automatically by a code specifically created by FFM’s owner for this purpose, or

— by unaware or unscrupulous FFM’s users via semi-automatic method (by inserting a link to a work from AO3 into a web-worm on FFM).

All works from AO3 — with a few exceptions (I’ll elaborate on this below) — can end up on FFM without authors even noticing. Even fanarts or podfics.

FFM doesn't comply with DMCA which means that such reposts endanger fanworks' creators in case the copyright holder demands to delete the fanwork.

Authors of the copied works do not have any control over them; if the work is edited it won’t be updated on FFM until someone manually updates it.

Additionally FFM’s owner makes money out of reposted free fanworks from numerous Google and Yandex ads on each and every FFM’s page by having people go to this site when searching for fics on Google etc. So we recommend using an Ads Blocker when visiting this site in order to prevent the owner from earning more. Ghostery or Adblock Plus work just fine, but you can use any other Ads Blocker that is convenient to you.

Oftentimes FFM even shows up before the original post with the work on Google search results.

The owner’s e-mail: refery@fanfics.ru.

The owner at AO3.

We are trying to bring AO3’s users attention to this situation and help authors with taking their works down from FFM.

 Briefly about the website and its owner

Let me start from the very beginning as it will bring into the light the nature of FFM and give a good example of its owner characteristic behavior.

At first, some person with nickname Refery created FFM as a web archive where authors — mostly from Harry Potter fandom — could publish their fanworks.

Time passed, the site grew and added some features (blogs, pre-moderation and etc.), and all was good and well up till the moment when Refery decided that it would be a great idea to copy to FFM fanworks published on other Russian fanfiction archives — among them from the biggest and most known site ficbook — without asking authors for permission. Even those works that had “Ask me before posting the story somewhere else” mentioned in its text or summary were copied.

For some time nobody noticed, but when finally and inevitably this came out the authors were outraged. It took a lot of time to finally persuade Refery to at least not to copy fanworks bearing a special tag “Уточнять у автора” (Ask the author first).

But after some time Refery — without giving any notice — violated his own promise and resumed copying to FFM fanworks that had the agreed upon tag. The authors complained again, so very reluctantly and after many painful discussions this feature was reinstalled.

So FFM has been notoriously known, mostly amongst Russian fandom, for claims on re-posting fanworks without the consent of the authors.

We're mentioning this situation just to give you a detailed portrait of a person we are dealing with here.

Not only fanworks are copied to this website, but original works, too. Even those which were already published. There were all 7 of Harry Potter novels (both original text and translation), The Hobbit: There and Back Again (translation) and Vorkosigan Saga (translation) available for everybody to read and download. They were taken down only recently due to the attention this whole situation had drawn, but nothing ever goes away once it’s posted online and you can access the proof via Internet Wayback machine. We know for a fact there are other books on FFM and some actions have been taken in this regard, but still it takes time to find published books on this site.

Recently Refery decided that Russian archives are not enough for him and started copying all fanworks into FFM without any permission from the authors from numerous sites, like AO3, fanfiction.net, fictionpress.com, fanfiktion.de and likely other web-archives.

Moreover, the authors of these works can not delete their works from FFM and/or manage them. The site is in Russian only and, hence, we strongly believe that non-Russian speaking authors even do not know that their works are reposted somewhere else.

As a Russian fan-community, we have tried to stop such activity of FFM many times; however, we have not been successful in achieving our goal completely. Our most recent achievement is that the FFM’s owner implemented the "Don't copy to another site" tag created specifically for AO3 (here is the link to FFM’s owner post on his personal blog regarding this tag. Please use Ads Blocker!). This tag should be added to each work presented on AO3 in case the author does not want their works to be copied to FFM.

We are of the opinion that no work should be taken without permission in the first place, but this tag is all we’ve got.

Please note that it seems that some time ago there was similar case of unauthorized copying with other site. Please check this link, they give useful advice.

How to prevent copying from AO3

If you check AO3 you may notice that "Don't copy to another site" tag has hugely emerged in the recent weeks, but mostly amongst Russian users and there is a good reason for this: the owner of FFM announced this tag only in Russian and only on his private blog, so naturally there is no way for non-Russian speaking AO3 users to know about this — albeit non-satisfactory — solution.

There are no guaranties that the FFM’s owner won’t change the rules again as has already happened numerous times before (few examples we described above) and that works with this tag won’t be reposted in the future, but for now it’s the only quick and working solution besides making your works visible only to registered users, which is not ideal. 

This situation is highly unpleasant, but we ask you not to delete your works from AO3, because if the work is deleted from AO3 it will be nearly impossible to delete it from FFM: we won't be able to refresh it manually and remove the text.

Please note that adding this tag won’t work for texts that have already been copied. Only users who have accounts at FFM will be able to delete them. Each work needs to be deleted manually.

However, the Russian fandom — except for the owner of FFM — strongly condemns reposts without the consent of the author, so feel free to contact our volunteers (through DM or Ask on our tumblr page) providing the links to the works stolen from AO3, so we could delete them for you.

Unfortunately, it is not possible to cover all authors and works manually. So, we contacted AO3’ Technical Team with the aim to bring their attention to this situation and inform about it all AO3 users, and hope that AO3 team will find a general solution to resolve this problem, possibly, in collaboration with the AO3 lawyers.

We are trying to warn as many authors as possible and recently started spreading this information via comments on AO3; but considering the number of works copied to FFM informing all authors will take considerable time, and we can easily miss someone, especially since the copying is still in progress and new works from AO3 are appearing on FFM every day.

Please help us spread the word!

 We tried to make a comprehensive FAQ about this. Feel free to ask if anything is unclear!

FAQ

Q: Can I check if my work was copied to FFM?

A: Yes, you can.

FFM makes money on Google and Yandex ads, so we recommend turning on the Ads Blocker of your choice before visiting this site.

Please follow this link, insert the title of your work or your AO3/other web-archive nickname into the field containing the words "insert-title-nickname" and hit "Искать" (Search).

For works rated Mature or Explicit you will be able to see only the caption "Текст произведения доступен только зарегистрированным пользователям старше 18 лет" ("The text of the work is available only to registered users over 18 years old"), but FFM users are able to read and download the story.

Q: My work from AO3 was copied. How can I take it down?

A: First of all add the tag "Don't copy to another site" (without “ “) to the stories you want to be taken down.

Actually we would recommend adding this tag to all the works you don't want to be copied.

Contact one of our volunteers (through DM or Ask on our tumblr page) providing links to your works or send an e-mail with your deletion request directly to the FFM owner at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. 

There is a third option: to register on FFM and delete the work yourself by hitting the refresh button, but considering that the site is in Russian we do not think it will be very convenient to those who do not speak Russian language.

Q: I got the message that my work has been deleted. How can I check if it is true?

A: You can go to FFM, search for you work, click on its title and scroll down.

After the summary there is a field that should look like this for those fics that have been deleted.

Basically it says that the author of this particular work has forbidden its copying and that only the information on its title, author’s nickname, rating, pairings, summary and the link to original post on AO3 are available. 

For works that are still available on FFM this field looks like this (if the work is open for non-registered users).

Q: My work copied from AO3 was deleted, but FFM still shows some information on it. Can it be deleted?

A: Even though the text of the fic is not going to be on FFM anymore after it has been deleted, the fic's title, author's name, rating, pairings, summary and link to original post on AO3 will remain there.

The deletion of this leftover information can be done only by the site owner himself.

Some Russian authors tried to make him to delete it, but in most cases the FFM’s owner refused them mentioning that publication of such information is in line with fair use concept and doesn’t violate authors’ rights.

We are yet unsure how to delete this leftover information. In case you need it as well, try contacting the FFM owner at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. Maybe e-mails of a large number of authors will work, but unfortunately we can’t guarantee anything. In case you need it, we can provide Russian text for you to send by e-mail (please contact our volunteers through DM or Ask on our tumblr page).

Q: My work from fanfiction.net/fictionpress.com/fanfiktion.de/other web-archives was copied to FFM. How can I take it down?

A: Unfortunately, there is no possible way for us to delete from FFM the fanworks that are copied from web-archives other then AO3. Only FFM’s owner can delete these works, please try contacting him at refery@fanfics.ru or at AO3. In case you need it, we can provide Russian text for you to send by e-mail (please contact our volunteers through DM or Ask on our tumblr page).

Please do not delete your works from the web-archive it was stolen from, because if the work is deleted it will be nearly impossible to delete it from FFM.

Also it seems that some time ago there was similar case of unauthorized copying with other site. Please check this link, they give useful advice.

[eldritcharchive]

Reviving a Wilted Flower

Relationships: Apprentice/Muriel (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana)

Characters: The Devil, Asra (The Arcana), The Magician - Character, Apprentice (The Arcana), Muriel (The Arcana)

Tags: Lucio Route - Reversed Ending (The Arcana), Muriel Route (The Arcana), Past Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Mentioned Apprentice/Lucio, Nonbinary Apprentice (The Arcana), Male Pronouns for Asra (The Arcana). Trials, Alternate Universe, in the sense that Asra is seeing other routes, Jealousy

Summary: The Magician shows Asra a few potential consequences of his actions before setting the terms to resurrect Safflower, Asra's beloved apprentice. What he sees is not pleasant and dredges up the worst parts of his soul.

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

"You are certain?"

Asra scowled - he'd been asked this question many times, and the answer was always the same. That, and he'd told The Magician this already, in no uncertain terms.

"Yes, gods, why does everyone doubt me?" Asra growled. "Safflower… their life is worth everything; I'm willing to pay the price."

"It's not that I doubt you, little magician," the Fox said slowly, "it's just that this decision. It affects them drastically and they are not exactly here to agree to your terms."

Asra quirked his brow. "My… terms? But…"

"You have hopes, do you not?" The Magician said with a smirk, chuckling when Asra's face turned a bright red. "But their life is theirs alone. And they will not remember a time before tonight. Can you live with who they might become?"

"What do you mean?"

The Fox sighed. "Perhaps it will be best to show you," he said softly, "there are… other paths you and your Safflower have taken."

The world around them shifted - they no longer sat at Lucio's table, but stood in a blood red desert. The air was hot, bitterly dry, and Asra found himself gasping, bringing large gulps of acrid air into his lungs. The Devil's realm. The Magician stood beside him, and curled his hand around Asra's.

"Stay with me - The Devil would not dare harm me, but you?" The Magician sighed. "Well. You'll see."

Asra found himself pulled along - he wasn't sure what to expect, really, but is Saff was *here*... that didn't bode well. The stroll was long; longer, Asra suspected, than The Magician expected. They passed the same patch of dunes for a third time when the Fox growled, trapping Asra's hand in a death-grip.

"Gods damned… I'm here for a visit alone," he hissed into the empty space. "A trial for this magician."

" A trial, you say? Intriguing." The Devil's voice rang in Asra's head, different now from the one he was used to hearing during readings. This sounded more… more like…

The Devil appeared before them, draped in sheer, black silks that flared out around their legs in an ankle-length skirt. Their red eyes stared down at Asra with a spark of unbridled glee.

"S-Saff?" Asra felt his face go cold as the Devil grinned.

"Oh, this is delightful ," The Devil - Safflower - said, a grin ripping itself across their face. They hooked a finger under Asra's chin forcing him to meet their eyes. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you, little Asra? Not unlike my little magician, though he carries far more regrets." Asra swallowed; his fingers shook against the Magician's palm. Safflower released his face and stood - horns erupted from their temple adding a good half-foot to their height, with a smaller pair framing their face.

"What happened?"

The Devil barked a laugh. "Oh, if only I hadn't sent Lucio out on something important . He'd enjoy this."

Asra bristled. Lucio?

Safflower tsk ed. "This was my doing. My choice, Asra, and mine alone. It saved the realms, which I'm told was the point." They scoffed, rolling their eyes at the idea. An awkward silence fell upon the three before Safflower grinned and knelt to Asra's eye level. When he glared back at them, they laughed low and deep.

"Oh, that face. So determined ," Safflower said, tone suffused with condescension. "I was weak , too weak to protect any of you. Everyone was right to call me Fool. " They sneered and gestured to the world around them. "But look - the realms are stable and everyone lived. And yet those achievements go tragically underappreciated."

The Magician cleared his throat and Safflower turned their gaze to Asra's guide. They grinned before turning back to Asra.

"I hope you find everything to your liking," The Devil jeered before vanishing. Asra shuddered. " I hope you don't come to regret your choices, little Asra."

Visions flashed in Asra's mind - Lucio commanding armies of vicious demons, conquering nations under the flag of The Devil. Oh, they stayed in their realm but there was no question they leveraged every connection in their power to make things worse. Vesuvia was in ruins, and the token resistance was run by Julian, Asra, Muriel and the few allies they could find.

It was wretched, and yet Asra ached most for Safflower. There must have been no other choice. Still…

" Lucio? " He muttered, incredulous. The Magician shrugged.

"In this universe, Safflower tried everything to save the world, only to die in the process," he said. Asra blanched at the thought. "The only chance they had, the realms had, was to merge with the devil. Lucio was the only one who could go through with making that happen."

Asra scoffed. "Figures he'd be so short sighted," he said under his breath. Again, the Magician shrugged.

"It did save the world, in a sense," he said solemnly. "And somehow, they're still better than our Devil." Asra was sure he wasn't supposed to hear that, but he scowled anyway. The Magician raised an eyebrow. "Simply an observation. Now."

The Magician snapped and the world shifted once more, swirling around the two mages until they stood in a familiar forest. Or, sort of familiar - this was definitely the forest near Vesuvia but it was… warmer. More welcoming.

Asra let go of The Magician's hand and narrowed his eyes at him. "What," he demanded, "was that meant to tell me?"

The Magician blinked. "I told you," he said softly, "you and Saffron have walked many paths. That… is the end of one of them. If you go through with this deal, they could make choices that lead to… well. The destruction of what you know as Safflower. And Vesuvia."

Asra huffed, folding his arms in front of his chest and clawing at his forearms. His guide looked at him expectantly.

"If that… if that is what they chose, I…" Asra paused. The destruction of Vesuvia for one life? Still… that Saff was far from guaranteed. And if it truly was their decision, who was Asra to stand in their way. "I would still go through with it, even if we end up… there."

"Right, well, I want to show you another path before we shake on it," the Major Arcana said. "Come." He walked confidently through the forest, the trees bending away from the Magician as he moved. Asra hesitantly followed, taking note of the differences around him - no protective charms hung from the branches around them, despite being so near…

"Muriel!"

The Magician stopped at the edge of the clearing near Muriel's hut, holding up a hand in front of Asra. They weren't to interact with this universe, clearly. Asra's eyes settled on Safflower, standing in the doorway of Muriel's hut. They looked… well, alive. Their freckled, fawn-brown skin flushed a warm coral in the warm sun, their unnatural orange eyes bright with laughter. Saff was draped in a luxurious red shawl (definitely Nadia's doing) over his usual embroidered blue tunic.

Muriel broke through the trees opposite Asra and the Arcana. He looked… good . He was dressed - dressed! - in a clean linen shirt and brilliant, embroidered green jacket with colorful belts cinched at his waist. He carried a few rolled tapestries on his shoulder and a basket of baked goods from… from the market. In Vesuvia. Safflower smiled brightly, a heartening sight compared to the twisted glee of The Devil. Muriel smiled back. A warmth wormed its way into Asra's chest - his best friend and his apprentice were happy. Why was this part of the trial?

Muriel set the tapestries and basket of food down on a bench outside of the hut. (It looked… larger, now that Asra focused on it.) Saff held out their arms and Muriel gathered them up against his chest and squeezed.

"Missed you," Muriel murmured into Safflower's soft brown hair. Saff chuckled.

"Missed you, too," they said, smiling up at Muriel before leaning up and…

Oh.

The kiss is chaste and sweet and, for a moment, Asra felt light. He'd never imagined he'd see Muriel this happy. But when the Magician's curious eye landed on Asra, the witch felt something truly dark stirring in him.

Mine, it shrieked, and clutched at Asra's chest.

Safflower's expression shifted, and they looked toward the edge of the forest.

"What is it?" Muriel asked, his brow furrowed as he followed Safflower's sight line. He hand hovered over a quarterstaff strapped to his back. Saff sighed.

"It's nothing. I felt… I thought I felt Asra out there," they said. "But it's passed."

"I just saw Asra in town," Muriel grumbled, reluctantly leaving his quarterstaff at his back. "He's fine."

Safflower smiled. "Good. We should go see him later," they said with a firm nod. "Now, tell me about your visit south." They snagged the basket of baked goods and ushered Muriel inside, tapestries, quarterstaff, fine clothes and all, leaving their audience in the subtle silence of the forest.

Asra warred with himself. He was overjoyed; he felt like he was going to be violently ill. The person he loved most in this world and his only close friend were very much in love - he could feel it radiating through the forest around them. Muriel shared his home with them. And still there beat a darkness in his chest, it's rhythm of mine, mine, mine hissed between his ribs.

The Magician looked at Asra expectantly; they were sat once again at Lucio's table. Asra coughed and swallowed around his gross jealousy.

"What are the terms?" He asked, voice unwavering. The Magician smiled.

"To bring them back, I require half of your heart," he said plainly before glancing upwards for a moment, lost in thought. Asra could be patient, at least, he told himself he could. His bouncing leg said otherwise. "And your word they will be free to choose their own path."

Asra hummed, thinking of the black tendrils of jealousy that ripped into him. It was ugly, that envy, those possessive claws - was that what drove him to this? His desire to possess Saff?

No . Asra thought back to his conversation with Eyre, his convictions. He loved Safflower with his whole being - and he would accept how Safflower felt. About him and the others. They wouldn't be his Safflower if he forced them into a particular shape, just to suit his fancy. He would wrestle with his demons on his own, and he would win. Eventually.

Asra sighed and held out his hand. "You have a deal, Magician."

The Fox smiled, and Asra lost consciousness.

[thebiasrekkers]

Shadow’s Birthright | MYG

Chapter 06: Convergence

Plot: Riding in on thunder and lightning, two princes are born. But a crown cannot be shared. It can only be worn by one and one alone. The hands of man have separated the brothers, allowing one to live in wealth and comfort inside the palace while the other grows up among commoners. But Fate cannot be destroyed by the hands of man. A shared destiny reunites the brothers; one to become a king who descends into madness and the other will rise as a dragon whose journey has only just begun in order to claim a crown he does not desire to have.

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: series | historical!au | fantasy!au | angst | romance | drama | tragedy

Pairing: Min Yoongi (Lee Yoon) x Female OC (Kalina Shuri)

Warnings: Historical setting, caste system, magic/sorcery, graphic violence, disturbing graphic images, religious tones, angst, slow burn, smut

Previous Chapters: Prologue 01 02 03 04 05

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 4,065

Tag List: @luxekook, @pinkpjmin, @btsaudge, @flowerwrites06, @stillcopingxx, @taevkimchi, @aroseforyoongi, @vivpurple7, @happilystrongthroughthedark, @sw33tnight, @nikkitane, @mini-coop25, @shrimpmsg, @ggukkieland​

AN: Sorry this took me so long. Life decided it wanted to kick me in the face repeatedly. But I did warn everyone this was going to take a little time with the updates. Please be patient with me. I promise you that it will be worth the wait. If you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to drop me a line!

P.S. Please bear in mind that while the historical accuracy will be mostly correct, I am setting this in a time period in Joseon history where there was no such thing as a king who had a twin brother. Obviously that’s where the fiction/creative freedom is going to come in. Everything else will be period accurate, trust and believe.

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

“Things do not happen. Things are made to happen.” - John F. Kennedy

Yoon greeted his parents with the Crown Princess at his side. They both bowed deeply as they heard the King and Queen laugh in delight. The Royal Consorts also received bows from the Crown Prince and Princess. Finally, they turned and were given bows from the princesses and princes of the Royal Court. The officials and guards, as well as the rest of the palace staff, were present for the opening ceremony to celebrate Crown Prince Yoon’s first international liaison. 

When they were finally dismissed, Yoon took his seat next to the Crown Princess, waiting for food and wine to be served. Various voices of praise and congratulations were given to Yoon, to which he simply nodded his head politely and smiled while returning his own charming forms of gratitude. He allowed the Crown Princess to serve him a cup of wine and he, in turn, also served her. Merriment and good cheer surrounded the palace.

It made Yoon sick to his stomach.

The conversation he had with his Father-In-Law still didn’t sit well with him. At his own behest, he politely reminded Minister Jang that he should keep his small-minded ambitions to himself. He didn’t need to drag the Crown Princess into his mess. Regardless of his own personal feelings, Yoon held a deep amount of respect for his Princess. Jang Chae-Ok had no ambitions or selfish desires for wanting to be Crown Princess. She was simply a childhood friend to Yoon who always remained faithfully at his side. 

The Crown Princess was not blind to his relationship with Kalina. But she also did not question it. It was from this show of her character alone that Yoon promised he would not take a Royal Consort when he became King. He owed her that much for her understanding.

“I wish that I could accompany you, Your Highness.” The Crown Princess’s voice was sad, matching her expression. 

He reached out to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It will be a long journey. It is no place for a Crown Princess.” Yoon smiled. “I will be back before you realize I’m gone.”

She sighed. “I will miss you greatly.” She placed her hand over his. “Do be careful.”

“I will, Crown Princess.”

A loud gong resounded, drawing everyone’s attention. All conversation hushed as the head of the Artisan school approached. He bowed deeply while the others waited with anticipation for his announcement. 

“Members of the Royal Court! We are here to celebrate the Crown Prince’s upcoming journey. We wish him great fortune but before he traverses out in the world, we want to be able to ease his worries and give him memories to hold on to as he travels to Ming. Things that he will be able to keep close to his heart and treasure if he should ever become homesick.” 

Yoon smiled, despite his own internal dark thoughts. He loved his country. He loved his people. The skills they mastered in order to have these small moments to showcase their talents were clearly battles within their own houses. Some performers and artists had better skills than others, hence why they were allowed to appear at the forefront. Others were still in training to be able to climb up in the ranks along the way. 

He secretly admired the drive that pushed these individuals along. Everyone had dreams, goals, and ambitions. People’s reasons for doing anything were threads that bonded everyone together to achieve common goals. No matter how small or big, they were to be appreciated. Even if one could not voice these appreciations aloud. 

The Chief Artisan gave a wide gesture, spinning on his heels as the performers made their way into the grand courtyard. “We hope that our performers, both within the palace walls, and those who have managed to make their ways from the streets, will be able to soothe your soul.”

Everyone applauded as Senior Artisan stepped away, allowing for the in house performers to showcase everything they’ve practiced for days. Curiously, Yoon hummed to himself at the mention of street performers entering the palace. If they were skilled enough to gain the court’s attention, there was a good chance they would be given slots to enter the performance schools within the palace halls. It would be a golden opportunity to change their livelihoods for the better.

He was keen to see just what they were made of.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

Jimin clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, silencing Taehyung’s whining. “Hyung-nim is filling in for Namjoon Hyung-nim.” His eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t expect him to wear the dress, do you?”

Taehyung pouted. “No, but still!”

“Besides,” Hoseok cut in, patting Taehyung’s shoulders roughly, “we all memorized multiple parts in case something happens. We only had time for Hyung-nim to learn one. Stop being difficult.”

Yoongi smirked, shaking his head while readjusting the waistband to his costume. The large rosary that hung from his neck was heavy and the boots were a little bit cumbersome, but bearable. He would be able to switch his shoes out when it came time for the tightrope routine. Jungkook and Seokjin fawned over him, making sure he looked as proper as he could in performance gear. 

Namjoon appeared, holding out a red and black demon mask to him. “I gave it some new paint earlier so it should be dry now.”

Taking the mask from him, Yoongi cradled it in his hands. “Thank you, Namjoon-ah.” He scratched at the cloth headband. “What will you be doing during the performance?”

“I’ll be narrating and helping the musicians out. Percussion, mostly.” 

“I see.” Yoongi eyed the mask, taking note of the large white fangs protruding from the mouth carved into the wood. 

Because of the depth of the role, he wouldn’t be able to take his mask off during the entire performance. Beneficial for him, but he hated that Namjoon wouldn’t be getting any credit. Yoongi knew how hard they all must have been preparing for this particular performance. A small measure of guilt wormed its way into his heart, but Namjoon’s laugh brought him out of his thoughts. 

“Now I feel even more terrible, Hyung-nim.” Yoongi saw the concerned look on Namjoon’s face, even though he was smiling. “Seriously, you’re doing me a favor. I feel bad enough. If you keep looking like that, I’ll think I’m completely worthless.”

“I’m sorry, Namjoon-ah.” Clearing his throat, he nodded. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be feeling like this.”

“Thank the heavens you’re wearing a mask.” Taehyung pushed his headband up a little more. “Otherwise the audience is going to think you’re guilty of some crime.”

“It’s just nerves.” Jimin flashed Yoongi a reassuring smile. “Right, Hyung-nim?”

All he could do was give a small smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hayan Geutop Troupe?” An unfamiliar voice pulled all of their attention. They saw someone dressed in official robes motioning toward them. “You’re up next.”

No one could hide their excitement. This was the first time any of them would be entering the palace. Each of them were given temporary passes to gain access. Once inside, they all made sure they were looking their best. The sound of joyful laughter and music rumbled through the courtyard, causing Yoongi’s heartbeat to elevate with excitement.

“Hyung-nim!” Jungkook gently nudged Yoongi’s back. “Your mask! Don’t forget to put it on!”

“Oh. Right.” Yoongi slid the large Demon mask over his head, making sure the cloth headwrap covered every part of his neck from view except the front. 

The sound of loud drums rang out through the courtyard. It was a little bit difficult to breathe with the mask on, but not impossible. If anything, Yoongi was more concerned with the mask falling off by accident. But Hoseok assured him that the bands were secured and redesigned to fit his head perfectly. It wouldn’t come off unless he pulled it off himself.

Admittedly, his nerves were a little frayed. Being around so many people at once, as well as so much noise, was teetering him toward sensory overload. But he continued to remind himself that he had a job to do. He just needed to get through the performance and then he could continue exploring the Crown City to his heart’s content. They were set to ride back out to the mountains at first light.

He hoped the shops would still be open before the lanterns were lit.

The large drum was hit, signaling for everyone to settle down. Yoongi took another breath, waiting for their group to be announced in front of the Royal Court. His vision was limited through the small holes in his mask - the rest of the world shadowed on either side of him. He could hear his own breath in his ears as he tried to peer out in front of him. But he wasn’t sure what he was even looking for. There was a strange pull at his heart; a feeling he couldn’t quite explain. 

Like someone was calling to him.

No. Like multiple people were calling to him.

“Members of the Royal Court! I present to you a troupe of young performers who hail from the outskirts of the Crown City!” The Chief Artisan looked in their direction as some of the students in the palace artisan school helped to set up their stage. “The White Tower Troupe!”

There was a round of polite applause from all the members of the royal court. The other troupe members were helping to set up the first scene for their skit. Yoongi waited patiently, even though he offered to help. Taehyung and Hoseok insisted that he stand back and focus on the performance. It wouldn’t take them long to get the set pieces ready. Once everything was put together, Namjoon walked gently forward and bowed deeply to the Royal family seated at the large banquet table.

“Please forgive our lack of eloquence, Your Majesties, as we attempt to regale you with a story. It is one I am sure you are all familiar with, but allow us to perform it for you just the same.” He flicked out the large fan in his hand, a picture of a blue sky and a green field painted on it. “We humbly present to you...the Tale of Green Pearl and the Demon!”

Yoon felt Chae-Ok grab his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He cast a sidelong glance in her direction, noting the soft pink flush that tinted her cheeks. He knew it wasn’t from the wine but more from her excitement. He smiled as she met his gaze.

“Oh, I love this story!” She looked back out toward the courtyard. “I’m interested to see how they will tell it.”

“As am I.”

The bass drum resounded through the large space just as the troupe finished setting up for the first scene. The narrator who spoke walked off to the sidelines and took a seat on a plush cushion that was provided for him. Silence draped over everyone present as the actors moved to their positions. 

“Many years ago, there was a humble man who lived a humble life. He had a humble trade and a humble wife. The wife bore him two children. A son named White Fang and a daughter named Green Pearl.”

Yoon watched as the narrator spoke about each character. One by one, they all appeared - their faces concealed with wooden masks painted in eloquent designs. Lingering off to the side was an actor clothed in black, red and gold garbs - a demon mask covering his face. Yoon felt his heart beating a little faster as he gazed at the person, unsure of why this strange sensation was lurching in his chest. 

The narrator slapped his stick against the small drum cradled in his lap. “As the seasons changed and the children grew older, the father became ill. The wife sent for what physicians they could afford and the old apothecary said that there was nothing he could do. The wife was distraught, unsure of what would become of her or her children should her husband leave this world for his journey to the afterlife.”

“Seobang-nim! You cannot leave us like this!” The wife sobbed beside the husband, cradling his hand between her palms. “What are we to do without you? How are we supposed to live?!”

“Don’t worry, Mother,” said White Fang as he placed his hand over his mother’s, “I will find a way to cure Father. I will travel across foreign lands until I can find the medicine that will save Father’s life!”

Again, the narrator struck the drum. “White Fang left to search for a cure for his ailing father, leaving his mother and sister behind.”

Yoon watched the person portraying Green Pearl moving toward the backdrop meant to pose as a wide open field. A lone tree stood off in the distance where she clasped her hands together and prayed. 

“Gods of Heaven, I beseech you! Please help my father. Please find a way to help him get better!” cried Green Pearl as she lowered her head, all but sobbing into her hands.

Heavy drums beat softly, signaling an ominous transition. Yoon watched as the actor portraying the demon slowly moved forward, until he was mere feet from the Royal Banquet table. The Demon whipped his head around to face the Royal family, causing everyone to lean back and gasp. 

All except Yoon.

Maybe it was the optical illusion of the mask, but he swore that the demon was looking directly at him. His heartbeat escalated, a soft thunder against his chest, and he waited for the demon to speak. There was a line here. Yoon remembered it. A line where the demon spoke to the audience of his wicked scheme.

But the demon said nothing. All he did was stare. Had the actor forgotten his lines?

“A demon heard Green Pearl’s cries, intrigued by her earnest wailings.”

The narrator cut through the silence. This seemed to wake the demon up, causing him to swiftly shuffle back a few steps as he threw his arm out in a dramatic flourish. 

“The sweet sound of sorrow nourishes my heart,” the Demon exclaimed, curling his shoulders forward. He pressed a hand against his face, fingers gliding over the white fangs on the mask. “It is the sound of easy prey. How I have longed to devour such a miserable soul!”

He heard the Crown Princess gasp as the Demon ran forward, leaping into the air and landing on the tightrope with amazing ease. Yoon quirked a brow, internally admiring the actor’s swiftness and balancing abilities. The Demon leaned forward, slinging his legs out until he was hanging upside down from the rope. 

Green Pearl took a sharp intake of breath, clutching at the front of her dress. “W-Who goes there?”

“A humble and curious Demon. But nevermind me, Sweet Child.” The Demon spoke in a cooing and sweet voice. “What seems to be ailing you? What causes you to mourn so?”

“My father is ill and there is no way to save him. My brother has left to travel in hopes of finding medicine to cure him.” Green Pearl turned away from the Demon, looking off in the distance. “I mourn for my family and what is to become of them should my father pass.”

The Demon laughed, swinging his body so that he was now sitting upright on the tightrope. He rested a hand on his knee and leaned forward, drawing Green Pearl’s attention once more. “This is a simple problem with a simple solution.”

“It is anything but simple!”

“Oh, but it is!” The Demon hopped onto the rope, bouncing up and down in a playful manner. “Because I know how to save your ailing father!”

Green Pearl stepped toward the tree, her hand reaching up toward the Demon but she was far out of his reach. “What do you know? Please, tell me how to save my father!”

The Demon bounced on the rope a few more times before dismounting, landing just a few feet away from her. He placed his hands behind his back and paced, not really bothering to stray too far from her but not coming too close. “There is a flower that grows in the western mountains. It is said that creating a potion from this flower can cure any illness.” He spun on his heels just as Green Pearl tried to approach him, causing her to halt in her steps. “But it is an arduous journey. Many have died trying to claim this flower.”

“Can you guide me to this mountain?” 

The Demon circled her, his steps slow and measured. “What will you give me if I decide to lend you my aid?”

“Whatever you wish to claim from me, Sir!” Green Pearl fell to her knees. “No boon is too great when it comes to saving the life of my father!”

The Demon knelt down before Green Pearl, lifting her face to meet his. “You will become my bride. That is the price you must pay if you wish to obtain my help.”

“If marrying a demon is the trade we are making, then I would marry you a thousand times.” 

The Demon pulled Green Pearl up onto her feet, a hearty laugh bursting from his chest. “Then come! Let us be off! The day grows shorter and the journey will be that much harder for you when the night comes.”

A gong and more heavy drums rang out as the Demon and Green Pearl exited the stage. Troupe members hurried to change the set backdrop to suit the next scene transition. 

“So Green Pearl and the Demon hurried toward the Western Mountains. The journey was, indeed, arduous. Many perils crossed their paths, but the Demon protected Green Pearl every step of the way. The harshest trek, however, was the path leading up toward the mountains. Wild animals impeded their path. Even the cold mountain winds attempted to blow the two off the krags so they would plummet to their deaths.”

With each scene change, a linen drape with a painted landscape was swapped. The serene music fit the pacing of each scene and the narrator’s strong voice pushed the actors to continue through the skit. Yoon knew this tale very well. Yet watching it unfold in this manner made the story seem brand new. He was particularly drawn to the Demon, unable to shake the tremors in his heart as the masked performer’s moves seemed fluid and natural.

“Finally, Green Pearl and the Demon reached the top of the mountain peaks. There was the mythical flower the Demon mentioned. It was a rich purple in pigment, the stem a soft green and nestled among a cluster of clovers. In the snow and cold temperature, there was no way that any vegetation should have flourished, let alone this single flower.”

Green Pearl reached for the flower, preparing to dig it up from the earth. Suddenly, she was stopped by the Demon’s harsh pull at her wrist. “W-What are you doing?!”

“Do not forget your promise to me, dear Child.” He pulled her flush against him. “You are to be my bride the moment your father is well. And not a minute later.”

“I haven’t forgotten our deal, Demon!” Green Pearl pushed away from him. “We must hurry back quickly!”

A soft bell tinkling sound issued from a row of wind chimes. The Demon laughed, grasping onto Green Pearl and jumping up toward the tightrope. Everyone watching sucked in their breaths as a stream of dark blue fabric followed after them. The Demon dragged Green Pearl behind him as the actors portrayed him using his powers to help them travel quickly. The two actors almost appeared to float across the thick line of rope.

“The Demon used his powers to transport Green Pearl and himself down the mountain. When they reached the foot of the mountain, they instantly moved through the fields. Within minutes, they were back in Green Pearl’s humble village. He safely brought her home and Green Pearl wasted no time preparing the flower into a medicinal tonic for her father.”

Green Pearl appeared next to her mother, holding out a wooden bowl. “This tonic will help Father. Please, we must hurry!”

The Wife started to feed the potion to the ailing Husband. In minutes, he started to rise up from his bed. He held his wife’s hands and she threw herself into his arms. 

“Husband! You are well!” she cried as her husband held her close. 

He laughed, stroking her back. “Yes, I am well, Pu-in. But tell me, what has helped me come back from the gates of the Underworld?”

“I traveled far to retrieve a flower that is said to cure any illness.” Green Pearl hugged her father’s neck.

“A flower?” He tilted his head to the side. “How did you come to learn of this flower?”

Green Pearl lowered her head. “A Demon told me. He guided me to the Western Mountains and I plucked the flower from the highest peak.”

Both the husband and wife looked at each other, clutching at their chests. The father reached out for his daughter’s hands. “You foolish girl! How could you make an agreement with a demon?!”

“Don’t you know that a deal with a demon only breeds disaster?!” The mother shook Green Pearl’s shoulders. “You have sold your soul to the Underworld!”

Green Pearl pulled herself away from her family. “I’m sorry!” She ran out of the house where the Demon was waiting for her. “We must hurry!”

The Demon grabbed her hand in his. “Let us leave this place!”

“Stop right there, you foul trickster!” The Father appeared, brandishing a wheat sickle. “Release my daughter, this instant!”

The Demon laughed. “The deal has been made, Human! You cannot break the contract!” 

The sound of a gong exploded over the courtyard, causing the Demon to gasp. When he looked down, there was a sword plunged through his stomach. As he turned, the assailant stepped forward to push the blade through his gut even further. The Demon reached out with a bloodied hand toward the one who attacked him. 

“B-Brother!”

White Fang ripped the sword from the Demon’s body, causing the Demon to fall to his knees. His head hung low and Green Pearl was instantly at the Demon’s side. He finally collapsed to the ground and Green Pearl clung to his shivering form. 

“What have you done?!” she screamed as the Demon continued to tremble in her arms. “Why did you strike him?!”

“It was a Demon, Green Pearl!” White Fang dropped the sword from his hand and the satchel from his back. “They only breed misfortune!”

“Y-You fool,” sputtered the Demon, “I would have given her a good life.” A trembling arm lifted as he pointed at White Fang. “Because of your actions, you have now condemned your sister to death.”

“What?!” White Fang dropped to his knees. The husband and wife hurried forward. “What lies do you speak, Demon?”

The Demon turned to look up at Green Pearl. “I will not be able to give you a life you deserve.” He touched the side of her face. “But I will be able to stay with you in the Afterlife. Always.”

“I am sorry for the cruel nature of man! Forgive me!” Green Pearl sobbed, burying her face in the Demon’s shoulder. “I will see you on the other side.”

And then the Demon’s hand fell limply to the ground. Seconds later, Green Pearl collapsed next to him.

Silence filled the courtyard. No one spoke. Hardly anyone took a moment to breathe, Yoon included. 

It was broken the minute that the King began to clap. The Queen soon followed until everyone at the Royal Banquet table rose from their seats and applauded. Yoon was still stunned, but he, too, clapped. The actors remained where they were - unmoving. However, the narrator stepped forward and bowed deeply to them. The tragic scene remained, but the story’s message still lingered in the air. 

Even a Demon was deserving of love and a person could see beyond the surface to one’s true heart.

But when promises were broken, a terrible fate would await. 

[the-odd-job]

Ashes of Icarus chapter 5 - (Don’t) Take a  Hint

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Additional Tags: Dubcon, Unplanned Pregnancy, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 5365

And then they FUCKED.

It’s dubcon, so watch out for that.

( Previous )

It turned out that the Decepticons had probably gotten what they wanted before Megatron called their retreat, because again there was a length of time with absolutely nothing happening. Ratchet fixed him up good, as he did with Sideswipe, they touched up their paint jobs and polished themselves to a fine shine Sideswipe was inevitably going to ruin within the span of a couple of hours–

And things went back to normal. Although Sunstreaker did get reminders from Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, even Jazz about how he shouldn’t fight Megatron all on his own.

Were they all so damn worried about him dying? Primus, he’d survived worse. Now, if Megatron had actually fired, that was one thing, but…

Okay, so maybe he had possibly come very close to losing his damn life, and maybe no one just wanted to see him dying despite how talented he was at making everyone’s life hell on Earth.

As he proceeded to do with Tracks. Again. Something or other about their simultaneous washrack use. Again.

Prowl deemed it not severe enough to throw him into the brig this time, but he did assign him to the less desirable patrol routes.

And it didn’t show in his expression or voice, but Sunstreaker could have sworn the tactician took sadistic pleasure in doing that, knowing how much Sunstreaker hated the backwoods dirt roads. Sideswipe didn’t particularly enjoy them either, for that matter. He didn’t care so much about the dirt itself, or the rocks that flew up to ding their finish, but it was just uncomfortable to drive on. They were sports cars for Primus’ sake! They barely had any ground clearance.

The moment there was a bump on the road, it was their undercarriage that hit it.

That, that right there, was torture, and Prowl just put them to it, because it was that or something even more unpleasant. And oh, Prowl would come up with something even more unpleasant if he was pushed.

Past experience told as much. He could get deviously creative when he wanted to.

Or maybe he collaborated with Jazz for the best/worst ideas. It was a surprise Optimus even allowed some of the things he’d put the twins up to over the years. 

At least he hadn’t denied them access to washracks, this time. That was the only thing that made the damned patrols even somewhat bearable, knowing he could have a hot shower afterwards, followed by a few hours of tending to his finish. 

Sideswipe only ever stuck around for the first half an hour, but that was fine as long as they got all the parts he couldn’t reach on his own before his brother ran off to do whatever he was itching to do that time. It provided Sunstreaker with some quiet alone time that he was never too opposed to—a chance to bring out his other paints and the canvases that weren’t just his own frame.

He had some creativity he needed to unleash regularly, after all—besides finding creative ways to tear others apart.

What could he say, he was an artist of several kinds. 

And it kept him out of public spaces, even if just momentarily. Everyone except Red Alert was just happy when he stayed in their quarters for a bit, Sunstreaker himself too.

Red Alert, he just thought they were only moments for Sunstreaker to plot something nefarious. To be fair, he sometimes did. Painting freed his mind for other things, detached him enough that he could let his thoughts loose without physically letting loose on the same go. Mix colors, brush strokes… Planning the ways to achieve the results he wanted. It was all so familiar. Just as familiar as taking life was. 

Only considerably more peaceful, no?

Sadly, the relaxation never lasted long after he had to return to the day to day grind of putting up with everyone’s raging stupidity. How his comrades didn’t tear each other to shreds, he didn’t understand. Or was it just him who found practically everything they did aggravating?

Could be that.

But as much of a dark and broody loner as he was, he did have some company he kept relatively peacefully. Everyone got along with Jazz, for one, and Mirage… As different as their backgrounds were, they shared enough similarities that they’d—eventually—bonded.

After Sunstreaker had torn the noble to pieces enough times for being a stuck up little bitch.

They got along now, though, much to the surprise of many.

And Bluestreak. Mech had a way of worming under your plating. The grey Praxian sat next to him now, with Sideswipe on his other side and Jazz and Mirage opposite of them on the other side of the table. They talked and laughed around him, naturally incorporating him into the conversation through Sideswipe, but letting his contribution be little more than the occasional grunt or half-smile.

If he felt like saying something, he would, but… Really, he was content to let Sideswipe handle that part.

He knew these were mecha that were glad Megatron hadn’t offed him. Friends. Around them he could almost feel relieved that Optimus had shown up when he did.

Almost.

A larger part of him still wanted to find out what would have happened without the Prime’s interruption.

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

“Two more patrols of this, then we’ll be free!” Sideswipe rejoiced as they turned from one dirt road onto another. The scenery at least was about as pretty as an organic planet could ever manage, lush forest surrounding them from two sides. Only their engines drowned out the natural sounds of the place.

Too bad he was a little too busy trying to avoid the unbecoming bumps and dips on the sorry excuse of a road to pay much attention to it.

“Two patrols too many,” Sunstreaker grumbled as another rock was sent flying by his wheel and hit him on the side of his chassis.

Fuck this, seriously.

“Shh, focus on the upside!” Sideswipe admonished him, revving his engine and accelerating just in time to really launch himself off the top of the small hill they were climbing.

Sunstreaker ignored the rocks and discomfort and followed suit, enjoying the short moment of his frame suspended on thin air–

Before gravity pulled him back down with a hard shove to his shocks.

More or less worth it, anyway. This would’ve been so much more fun on asphalt, though. 

“Besides, isn’t this good inspiration for your art?” his twin continued, and Sunstreaker grunted noncommittally. It was, once he would be able to review his memory files. Incorporating the alien aspects of organic lifeforms into his work was a project he had worked on for a while now.

The results were pretty good, so far. The touch of unrealness of alien worlds added a nice new dimension to things.

No doubt Sideswipe would have had more to say, but he didn’t get the chance before their scanners picked up a Decepticon signature ahead of them. That was… Unexpected. 

Then again this had to be a patrol route for a reason. Maybe that reason was about to become apparent to them.

Once they got close enough to scan for a spark signature, though…

“What the pit is he doing here by himself?” Sideswipe hissed at him urgently at the same time as a surge of emotions he probably shouldn’t have felt burst in Sunstreaker’s core. Curiosity. Excitement. Anticipation.

Sideswipe took note of that. Sunstreaker could feel his exasperation and the is this seriously how we’re going to die, but nevertheless his brother just asked, “Do you want to report this in?”

No. No, he didn’t want to. Even if getting answers cost him his life, he didn’t want to. 

It turned out they couldn’t have even if they’d wanted to, once he checked. Someone was jamming communications signals.

Which likely suggested Soundwave was present, too.

It was like they were driving straight into a trap.

So be it.

They drove until they reached a small clearing. Megatron was standing there in the middle of it, his back to them, arms clasped behind him—and sure enough, Soundwave was standing off to the side, watching their arrival.

They could’ve flown away if they’d wanted to, with the power of Sideswipe’s jetpack. Or tried to. Megatron and Soundwave could’ve tried to shoot them down, too, but the fact remained that they weren’t fully cornered even if they had no way to contact someone for backup.

And no will to do so, but no one needed to know that.

They were at a significant disadvantage, though. Soundwave they could’ve taken on, but Megatron… And that wasn’t even going into the fact the host might have his cassettes ready to be ejected. For all they knew they could be outnumbered as well as outclassed within a moment’s notice.

Sideswipe wasn’t fearful, but tense and cautious, prepared for the worst. Sunstreaker wasn’t fearful, but vibrating with anticipation. That could easily be mistaken for the anger he was known for, though, after they pulled their fields in tight.

If they weren’t in the presence of a telepath, anyway.

Whatever this was… They’d play.

“What’s this?” Sideswipe asked after they’d transformed, a smile on his face and none of the tension in him visible on the outside. “Weren’t expecting company on this fine day! Came to enjoy the scenery too? Gotta say, it’s pretty awesome for a mudball like this, Sunny’s getting so many ideas to use in his paintings.”

No one cut him off, but no one acknowledged what he’d said, either. 

Silence only reigned for a moment, though. Megatron was the one to break it, finally turning to face them. “I was interrupted last time,” he said, his optics zeroing in on Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker bared his denta and growled.

“That will not happen this time,” the warlord went on to announce, ignoring the threat aimed at him.

“What, gonna finish what you started and shoot me dead?” Sunstreaker asked before barking out a laugh. “Over my dead body.”

No fear, no hesitation, call it bravery or call it stupidity, but it was Sunstreaker that closed the distance between them, attacking the tyrant and no one else. Sideswipe went for Soundwave instead, and it was such, such a bad idea to split themselves up like this…

They did it anyway. One on one.

Make it real.

Megatron was ready for him, of course he was. He took his attack, deflected it, made one of his own… Treated him like an opponent. Fought. 

And Sunstreaker made him do it. He didn’t hold back, and he was aiming for the kill, because what else could he want to do? Megatron had to step up to the challenge or lose his life.

That was how things were supposed to be. Earn your right to live. Nothing was handed to you for free. You had to take.  

And Megatron, if anyone, should understand that. Look at the hole they’d both crawled out of—the Pits were behind them, their parent and mentor. They spoke the language. Fighter. Warrior.

Gladiator. 

Between this attack and the next, Sunstreaker pulled out his thermal sword, activated the blade, and sliced at Megatron’s armor. Even at partial heat the edge cut into the warlord’s plating with all the ease a heated weapon would.

Megatron had to jump out of the way, although actually putting him on the defensive was nigh impossible.

Sunstreaker would try anyway.

“I remember you.” The words were growled, sending a shiver down his back.

They didn’t distract him.

“Do you, now?”

“You and your brother.” Megatron released his own sword, and he could almost hear it—the roar and dull pounding of spectators, bright lights bearing down on them to make them visible for all to see…

They’d been here before, just like this. 

“What do you remember?” Sunstreaker asked, his face twisting into a snarl as one sword blocked the other.

But his spark was spinning like a wild thing, excitement and the rightness of the situation driving it mad. 

If he’d die, this would be the way to go, testing his mettle against a worthy opponent—just like he would have in another lifetime. 

“A deathmatch,” Megatron answered, and Sunstreaker’s optics burned brighter. “Between you and I.

“Only, we were interrupted.”

They were.

Sideswipe was paying more attention to him and Megatron than he was paying to Soundwave, but it was clear why. It was as if both Sideswipe and Soundwave were trying to keep the other from getting involved in the fight between Megatron and Sunstreaker—and when their goal was mutual, there wasn’t a whole left for them to do except some token attacks that hardly even constituted as proper fighting. 

This was between Sunstreaker and Megatron.

As it had once been.

“You spared me,” Sunstreaker grunted. He bolted to the side, but Megatron’s sword managed to cut him. Shallow.

“You were there against your will,” Megatron gave the same reason he had given then.  

“You made an example out of us.” A feign to the side, then a strike, the heat of his blade melting Megatron’s armor–

Sideswipe. Sideswipe had lifted the gate into the arena and ran between him and the killing blow.

No!

The fight never should have happened. Sunstreaker never stood a chance, did he? Not against Megatron.

But he didn’t get to say yes or no to who he fought. 

It was the folly of a greedy mech and it should have cost him his life. It should have cost Sideswipe his life. 

Instead… Here they were. Still fighting.

“You represented everything that was wrong with Cybertron,” Megatron said, with heat—just as he had spoken with passion then when he had addressed the crowds, fearless of their reaction.

When he had gone against every rule of the arenas and not killed in a fight to the death. 

But Megatron had already been a champion. He’d fought his way to the top, bought his own freedom, he’d rallied together a rebellion—you didn’t tell that Megatron what to do.

Especially not when he believed in something. 

“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” He rather liked living, it was nice to get to continue to do that. Was the rumble of Megatron’s engine amused now, though?

He could be imagining things. 

“You were a berserker,” Megatron said then, a heavy torrent of attacks forcing Sunstreaker to jump back once, twice, thrice, before he brought his sword up and put an end to it. 

Because he could. He had the skill for it. The strength, even if that was lesser than Megatron’s. “I was.” He could turn the tables, go on the offensive—force Megatron to think his actions carefully, lest the smoldering blade struck him somewhere important. 

“I haven’t seen you snap even once here on Earth.” But just the same, Megatron could flip that table right back around, and he did so, violently. Sunstreaker strafed to the side before he had his arm chopped off.

“I’ve gotten better.” Pits. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this. War, battles… War was messy. There were too many players and moving parts for it to be anything else. Guns, mines, missiles, bombs. Even once the frontline charged and clashed together in close combat—so many players. There was motion everywhere around you, dozens of targets and threats you needed to track at any given moment.

It was a desperate struggle for survival.

He loved it.

But this. To have just one to focus on and have their focus entirely on you, to give your all against that singular opponent. It tested a slightly different skill set, for sure, but it felt like the truer challenge, cleaner—a true test of your artistry.

Or maybe that was just the gladiator in him talking. He was that before he was a soldier… Always would be.

“Is it something to get better from?”

What..?

Surprise, that damned thing. It should never take a hold of you when every fraction of a second counted.

But like he was a damned rookie, Sunstreaker faltered from the unexpected, and paid for it. Megatron could have cut his helm off in that moment, or impaled him somewhere painful, but he… Didn’t. Oh, he used Sunstreaker’s momentary distraction, but only to slam his arm to the side of his helmet—and Megatron was big, as were his arms. The strength and momentum of that one strike were well enough to send Sunstreaker flying into the ground, landing heavily and without finesse.

His grunt was a quiet thing, and his mind—reeling for a moment too long. Megatron’s pede landed on his chassis, he snatched his sword from his grip, and just like that, it was over.

And Sunstreaker had lost, again, due to a stupid mistake he should have had all the experience to avoid. 

“A-a-aa,” Megatron tutted when Sideswipe tried to break from Soundwave and come to Sunstreaker’s aid, as he always would. Instead of being allowed to do that this time, instead of being allowed to change the course of things… Megatron’s fusion cannon came to life, aiming at Sunstreaker’s helm.

Sideswipe took the threat for what it was and stopped, glaring at Megatron. Soundwave followed a step behind him, and just like that they continued their scuffle, although this time their goals did not align.

With Sideswipe distracted by his Third, Megatron shifted his attention back to Sunstreaker. The cannon… Moved away, died down.

Huh. Apparently he wasn’t going to get shot today. Fancy that.

“If you’re not going to kill me, what the slag do you want?” Sunstreaker growled, digging his digits into Megatron’s ankle, but it did him no good. The pede stayed right where it was, pinning him into the ground with enough force to test the strength of his armor. 

He might’ve asked, but Sunstreaker… Had an inkling already.

And if he was right…

Primus. He didn’t want to show it, and he didn’t know if Soundwave informed Megatron of it, but his spark was fragging fluttering from what wasn’t anything other than hopeful excitement. His field he kept to himself, but it would’ve been a sickening thing of heat and anticipation.

His ventilations ran hot, but that could just be because of the fight.

Yeah right.

But he snarled at Megatron, engine revving in fruitless threat. What threat was he? Oh, he was a threat just by existing. He hadn’t lost because he couldn’t take it anymore, he had lost because of a mistake he wouldn’t repeat—Megatron would have to defend himself all over again, it was just a matter of time.  

Unfortunately, while waiting for that moment the tyrant did have him in a rather precarious situation. Sideswipe went down with some angry cursing too, and Soundwave pinned him there very thoroughly.

He could watch, but it was clear the Decepticons on the scene didn’t plan on letting him be an interruption to whatever it was Megatron wanted.

And it would still be a while before anyone on the Ark would notice they weren’t checking in as they were supposed to.

In short: no one would save him this time.

A smelting puff of air escaped his vents at the thought. His digits on Megatron’s pede tightened, but he glowered up at the tyrant towering over him.

Tall, imposing, and powerful.

Primus help him.

Megatron raised an optical ridge at him. “Do you not know already?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“I’m sure one of them is correct.”

Bastard was fragging teasing him. Sunstreaker growled in earnest, but Megatron merely crouched, removing his pede from his chassis only to grab him by the throat instead.

And Vector Sigma but the hold was tight. Sunstreaker’s servos grabbed at Megatron’s wrist, but he could tug and claw it all he wanted, twist and buck with all his might—Megatron didn’t even bother to react to his struggles.

By the Thirteen, he was going to lose his mind at this rate. 

His engine was roaring, definitely out of anger and not… Anything else, but when he’d thought it was going to throttle itself out–

Megatron reached between his legs and cupped his scorching panel–

And his engine reached a whole new level he wasn’t sure it had ever visited before. Sunstreaker stared at the blue blue sky far above with its occasional puffy white cloud, trying not to pay too much attention to the red optics focused on him and just him. 

He was going to fragging die, and Megatron was going to be the cause of it.

“Want it, hm?” the tyrant asked, his claws digging into the seams of his interface panel.

Sunstreaker found the state of mind to growl, and even managed a glare at his assailant despite the static dancing in his vision. “Go to hell.”

Megatron ignored him. “Open.”

No one to save him.

Sideswipe was looking, struggling against Soundwave’s hold the same Sunstreaker was struggling against Megatron, but it got neither of them anywhere.

So utterly helpless…

Because they were so severely outclassed. Maybe not by Soundwave, but definitely by Megatron. The leader of the Decepticons, one who’d managed to keep his position for a very good reason despite the many rumored attempts to overthrow him–

He was holding Sunstreaker down, his claws painful where they pressed into the sensitive paneling, demanding.

Not asking.

Demanding.

His vents were blown wide but even that wasn’t enough to cool him. 

“Do you want me to tear this off? That’ll be quite something to explain, won’t it?” Megatron asked casually, and Sunstreaker… Considered it. 

“Bastard,” he snarled, bucking away from Megatron’s hold—definitely not into it—but it did nothing to dislodge the claws hooked into the covering protecting his array.

And he considered it.

Those marks alone would be difficult to explain, but at least they were something he and Sideswipe could try to get rid of on their own.

There wouldn’t be much they could do about an entirely missing cover, damaged in the process of its removal. That would lead to questions, ones he’d really rather not answer.

Sunstreaker grit his denta, glared harder, but sent the command to retract his valve cover.

Megatron’s digits dipped into his valve instantly and this time he couldn’t keep his frame from jerking into the penetration. He had to bite back a groan.

“Soaked,” the tyrant noted after he fetched his digits. Lubricant was dripping down them liberally, and that was nothing compared to the pool his valve was leaking onto the ground between his legs.

Legs that Megatron forcibly spread, despite Sunstreaker’s attempt at kicking him. It did him no more good than anything else he’d done so far had. Megatron pressed on his throat harder, practically digging his frame into the dirt, and he should’ve hated it. Did hate the grime that was digging into the gaps of his armor.

That’d be hell to clean later.

But his core ached. The temperature of his frame kept on rising despite the best attempts of his fans and vents, and Megatron was between his goddamn legs…

A click. Sunstreaker couldn’t look, not with Megatron’s hold of him, but oh, Sideswipe could, and Sunstreaker trembled at the things he saw.

He would love this, Sideswipe informed him. 

Sunstreaker had few doubts about that.

Megatron’s digits returned to his valve, shoving inside and scissoring—stretching him, prepping him, and Sunstreaker writhed. This time he couldn’t contain his strangled groan, his valve rippling around the invading claws despite himself. He was panting, hard, and Pits but Megatron had barely even started yet. 

Death by overheating, that was his future. 

He cursed, rather loudly so, when Megatron removed his digits again. This time the rumble of the tyrant’s engine was definitely amused, but before Sunstreaker could take offense with that, something big nosed up against his valve entrance.

...But didn’t enter.

He was going to glitch.

“Do you want me to put it in?”

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to gather his thoughts enough to snap a sharp, “Frag no,” complete with an angry growl from his engine.

Megatron didn’t take heed. “Mmm, your body disagrees,” was all he said, brushing his damned spike against his valve again, but not going in.

And Sunstreaker’s self control was quickly unraveling. That only angered him further, and Sideswipe’s amusement didn’t help matters any—but what the pit was Megatron waiting for?

For him to say yes? Tell him to put it in? Beg for it?

Hell no. He’d rust before he did any of that. 

Or rather, redlined his systems from frustration.

“My body’s mistaken,” Sunstreaker nevertheless found the strength to snarl, bucking—to fight against Megatron’s grip, of course, and not to force the spike into his valve already.

But Megatron pulled back just enough to keep that from happening. Sunstreaker’s engine revved and he had to bite his glossa to keep himself from just screaming.

Sideswipe was chortling to himself.

“I’m not convinced,” Megatron growled too this time, and then–

Then, in one thrust of his hips, he’d driven his spike into his valve, all the way, until it rammed against his ceiling node.

And now Sunstreaker screamed. His frame arched out of his control, overload—just from that—tensing him from helm to pede to a painful degree. He ground his denta together, twice as hard when Megatron began to move through the crest of his climax, extending it, turning his vision into a bloom of static.

He couldn’t but feel, the strength in Megatron’s frame that he effortlessly translated into fucking him hard. Hard as he fought, and just as violent, he drove into Sunstreaker’s frame without a shred of mercy, rutting him into the goddamn ground until he ached. Every thrust in split him wide, filled him to the brim—opened him up like only someone of Megatron’s size and demeanor even could. 

He’d never enjoyed interfacing with Optimus, despite the Prime’s titillating size. He was too kind, too gentle, too worried about his partner’s comfort.

Megatron was the black opposite. He didn’t give a fuck about Sunstreaker’s anything outside of how he could best use his frame to derive his own pleasure from it. Or so it felt like. Hell, maybe this was Megatron’s way of making sure Sunstreaker’s needs were seen to as well, because his lines sang with charge until not one thought shot straight. 

He hadn’t been fucked like this since the Pits. He’d almost forgotten what real interfacing was like.

This was real. His frame made good of what limited freedom of motion it had to rock into Megatron’s thrusts, driving their arrays together ever harder until he was sure something was going to dent. Megatron seemed intent on exiling all lucid thinking with the way he pulled out almost all the way before pushing in a single smooth motion that wreaked havoc on his sensors, fast and hard and faster and harder.

Considering the way Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds, he was doing a very good job of that.

Sunstreaker couldn’t stand it. Pinned to the ground and utterly marauded, the charge in his systems rapidly climbed higher until peaked, again. 

And then he came crashing down, screaming anew at the strength of the overload that pulled every cable tight, arching his frame against Megatron’s.

His valve tightened and rippled around the intrusion, and after three more jerking thrusts against him, Megatron rumbled, tensed, and heat bloomed at the end of his valve. The charge from Megatron’s release jumped into his frame and drove him over the edge into yet another overload of his own until his vocalizer spat fitful static.

Sunstreaker slumped into the ground in the aftermath, his extremities shaking, vents pulling in all the cool air they could.

It wasn’t enough.

He was given a moment. Megatron took a moment. Both their frames were cycling air desperately—or maybe Sunstreaker just wanted to believe Megatron was even halfway as affected as he was—slowly making their way down from the summits of physical rapture.

The tyrant pulled out soon enough though, leaving Sunstreaker’s valve an abused, gaping pit. A veritable flood of fluids followed his retreat, too, lubricant and transfluid mingling together into a holy mess.

And Sunstreaker…

Sunstreaker snarled. “You son of a bitch–”

But he didn’t get further than that before Megatron caught him by the jaw, silencing him. The tyrant was staring down at him with baleful optics, and a small portion of Sunstreaker wondered if the warlord wasn’t going to kill him now, after having had his fun. 

If that was the case, his corpse would tell a story he did not want told.

But Megatron didn’t immediately remove his helm from his shoulders. “You will say,” he started instead, glancing briefly but meaningfully at Sideswipe before his optics returned to Sunstreaker, “that you ran into a small number of my troops. A battle ensued, and you drove them away, but not without damage to yourselves.” 

Sunstreaker’s optics flicked to Sideswipe as the jam on their comm. systems was lifted. Sideswipe stared back at him for a second before opening a comm. line to Ark. “Sideswipe to Ark,” he said, outloud as well as over the link. “Hi Jazz! Yeah, sorry for not checking in, buuuut we actually found something. I think.

“We ran into a few of the Constructicons and a couple of Seekers at these coordinates. No clue what they were after ‘cause this is the ass end of fragging nowhere if I do say so myself, but me’n Sunny fought ‘em off. Sustained some injuries, Sunny especially, but we’re fine.”

A pause as Sideswipe listened to Jazz’s response. Sunstreaker had no doubt Soundwave was listening in on that side of the conversation too.

“Yeah, sure, we’ll have a look around. I’ll call ya back if we come across anything, else we’ll wait until Grapple and co get here. Sideswipe out.”

Sideswipe cut the call and looked at Megatron. The tyrant nodded his approval at him before Sunstreaker became the target of his attention once more. The grip on his jaw tightened a fraction before Megatron pulled him up and leaned down himself–

His helm tilted, their lips touched.

Sunstreaker’s optics blew wide and he could hear the shocked stutter of Sideswipe’s engine.

It was a brief thing, but not without fire—rough, just like the rest of Megatron. Intense in the way the warlord’s lips pressed hard against his own.

Then it was over. Megatron released him and Sunstreaker barely caught himself with his arms before he would’ve fallen back down. In one fluid motion Megatron rose to his pedes, retracting his equipment as he went and closing his spike behind its panel, towering above Sunstreaker.

Soundwave got up too, releasing Sideswipe.

Neither twin tried to get up just yet.

“Think about what I said, Sunstreaker. Until next time,” Megatron said with intent before he walked over to his Third. Soundwave transformed onto the tyrant’s palm, then Megatron transformed into his jet mode around Soundwave. A wave of displaced air washed over the twins as the Decepticons left the scene.

They listened to the retreating sound of Megatron’s thrusters until it was gone and silence fell back onto the area. True silence, not even the critters of the forest making sound after the amount of disturbances in the area. There was nothing but the rustle of wind in the leaves.

And disbelief.

“…So…” Sideswipe eventually spoke up, getting onto his hands and knees and crawling over to Sunstreaker, inspecting the damage on his frame and the… Mess at his crotch. “…That just happened.”

That it did. Sunstreaker nodded slowly, trying to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order, but… He’d probably be working at that for a while still.

“We should… We should probably make things a little less, uh… Incriminating,” Sideswipe continued, glancing around. There were signs of fighting around them, but they should probably add to them after lying about the amount of mecha present. Plus some marks of gunfire maybe.

And… Clean Sunstreaker.

And do something about the puddle he was sitting in.

…And the paint transfers.

Sunstreaker nodded again and reached into his subspace to begin the process. They'd want to be done with all that before their comrades arrived, after all.

( Next )

[combat-wombatus]

uHm if you do these and if you want to do it I’d love a bnha matchup <3?

• my name is Aubri, I’m bi but prefer MHA boys tbh. I go by she/her, too.

• I’m a very Gryffindor person. (Sorry if you don’t know Harry Potter - 😖)

• I’m a June cancer, and I have ADHD and anxiety. My anxiety can be literally crippling somedays, but it’s gotten better overtime.

• I’m a bit of a class clown and usually just a clown 🤡 but that’s irrelevant. My teachers all hate me but like school-wise I do well so we have a love and mostly hate relationship 🤧

• I’m usually the ‘entertaining’ friend, in elementary the popular kids would invite me to play games with them because, “you’re funny” and it was like the biggest achievement ever 😭👍🏻 then they’d ignore me but that’s another therapy session

• I’m usually made fun of by people for being ‘weird’ and ‘insane’. Like all through elementary everyone thought I’d be a criminal when I grew up JUST BECAUSE I HAD UNDIAGNOSED ADHD - I hate it here 😐🦶🏻

• I’ve always been super into crime stories/true crime (where my anxiety comes from, I’m always worried about a pesky serial killer just killing me. It’s usually being kidnapped tho lmao) so I knew and still know like all these murder facts and sometimes I’d just randomly be like;

“Hey did you know it takes 12 hours and 2 days to dissolve a body in acid?”

or

“If you bury a dead deer over a dead body you buried deep in the ground, when police dogs sniff it and people dig they’ll just think it was the deer and won’t dig any farther.”

• So maybe people had a reason to be scared of me and think I’ll be a criminal someday, i dunno.

• I love love love reading and writing, and also debating. The things I’ve wanted to be when I grow up are basically: Dog shelter worker, actress, FBI agent, politician, and a writer. But usually I just want to do something that makes a positive impact on people. Like i wanted to be an FBI agent to solve crimes for people. I wanted to be a politican so I could actually help a lot of people. The entertainment industry also seemed like a way to make people happy. Idk, but then I decided I couldn’t be a politican at 10 because they were all corrupt and to be one I would have to be too. 😫🤌🏻 we love some good childhood angst

• the only subjects I’ve ever excelled at are ELA and Social Studies aka History, and Math I can’t do to save my life. ELA comes easy for me and I usually don’t have to work that hard and/or get too stressed over it. But I always get the meanest teachers for some reason. For example, one time I did my final essay for like 30% of my grade in 30 minutes the day it was due and I got an A+ 🦟🦗🦟🦗

• Uhhh id describe myself as a pretty loyal friend, I’m a ride or die type of girl. A story from my childhood that summarizes it pretty well is when I was in 2nd grade my friend wet her pants and she didn’t want to go to the nurse for it alone so I peed my pants so I could go with her and she wouldn’t have to be alone. Like, you know, a professional problem solver

• and I have genuinely attacked people for fucking with my friends but don’t snitch pls 🕳🏃‍♀️💨

• But also just anyone, people at my school tend to come to me with their problems for me to either help solve them by reasoning, or just to confront the other person like the bad bleep I am 😈😈

• I also have a huge daydreaming problem, it’s literally maladaptive daydreaming. So paired with my ADHD I don’t get shit done like ever.

• I have really high empathy levels I guess, like I always say hi to everyone I see on the street, especially if they look sad 😔 I’ve done it ever since I was a little kiddo.

• My fashion sense is very much a preppy/alt style. I wear those ripped tights and fishnets, I also have the MOST BIZARRE JEWELRY- like who allowed me to buy the gummy worm glittery earrings, hmmm???????? and those Mary Janes???????

• But I love crew necks and pleated skirts so I always obide by the National “hoes dont get cold” policy 🇺🇸😫🦅

• I wanna move somewhere someday, I don’t want to stay in America for very long

• I can speak Latin, French, and my native language which is English.

• My music taste varies, but my all-time favorite artists who all of their music they’ve ever put out has been my favorites are, Billie Eilish, Melanie Martinez, and Conan Gray.

• I no-joke have a sign in my front yard that says;

In ✍️ this ✍️ house we ✍️ don’t ✍️ worship Jesus ✍️ but instead ✍️ Melanie ✍️ Martinez

• My favorite shows are MHA (duh), The Promised Neverland, and Malcolm in The Middle.

• and I’m not going to tell you what I prefer in a partner, because that ruins the fun 😤

• but I will say I cannot be friends with someone who doesn’t really make me laugh. Like I’m used to doing most of the talking in convos but if you’re just boring I’m sorry it’s nothing personal but no thanks 😐✌🏻

• About my physical appearance, I have fluffy n curly brown hair, but when it’s in the sunlight it looks sort of brown but golden yk?? It’s shoulder length :) I have bleach blonde streaks in the front. I like wearing eyeliner most days, too. I’m pretty average size/ on the skinnier side. Kinda high key inscure abt my body bc I got flat shamed in elementary EVEN THOUGH I HAVE TIDDIES NOW- whatever 😤🙄. I also have crystal type blue eyes, and I do have fairly big eyes. But, like, not weirdly big. A good big. My cheekbones are ALWAYS PRESENT so sometimes I get called a Tim Burton character but it’s cool ig ☠️☠️ oh and I’m kinda short. I’m 5’3, even though my doctor said I’d be 5’7. I feel like I was either tricked by the doctor or someone just stole my destined height while I was asleep. It’s probably cause I didn’t keep an eye out for Selener 👁 😔😔

• I’m a definite night owl, like all of my energy comes at night which really sucks cuz I can’t do much since everyone else is asleep.

• My love language is touch starved so I’ve never figured it out ✌🏻😗🔫

• but I am an attention whore so idk 😏

• I’m a huge introvert with social anxiety. It isn’t as bad as it used to be cuz I used to not be able to like go to restaurants but now I’m much better.

• I’m a huge history person, mostly like sad history LMFAO. Uh but a lot of my hyperfixations have been on history. Some examples are The Roman Empire, Julius Caesar himself, Anne Frank, The Titanic, the Black Plauge, Helen Keller, Marie Curie, Slavery in the US, Joan of Arc, and just a lot more. I always love talking about these things if someone would let me ramble to them but no one ever does 😖 it also got to a point where for all these subjects I’d go to the library and try to find a book on them but usually I’d either have already read it or I’d read it and know all the information.

• I’m super into Greek Mythology, I have 7 books filled with the stories, I’m going to Greece maybe this summer to see it’s history, and named my hamster Aphrodite but we call her Aphie. I also will talk about this forever and ever if you let me.

• My favorite color is yellow, my favorite food is literally nothing I never have an appetite, my favorite planet is Saturn, favorite song is Tag Your It by Melanie Martinez atm but it changes like everyday.

• Music is a huge safe-space for me if I’m feeling down or having a panic attack. It calms me down n is overall my coping mechanism 💃🏻💃🏻

• Biggest fear is spiders, even looking at one gives me a panic attack and I cannot sleep at all for that night, adding to my insomniac ass 🧎🏻‍♂️🏌️‍♀️

• I’m mature for my age, I don’t exactly like hanging around kids my age and I get along better with older crowds.

• i don’t like conventional dates, (I PROMISE IM NOT TRYING TO SOUND ‘QUIRKY’ AHAHA) I kind of like having a best-friend type partner more so dates that aren’t as romantic as like the movies or a fancy restaurant suite me better. My dream date is playing Monopoly on my bedroom floor 🦧

• Also I hate getting gifts. End of story. If someone gets me a gift like awe that’s nice but never again, I’d prefer to get you one. Especially in a romantic partner 😐 i keep a journal of my friends’ interests and hobbies so I can get them the perfect gifts for their bdays and Christmas’s. Been doing this ever since 4th grade.

• Though I don’t have much actual experience with relationships🧍🏻‍♀️

• I’m a huge believer in ‘family isn’t blood, it’s who you make it’ because I have a pretty shitty family life and my childhood has been trash. My friends are my family to me.

• Also if my friends don’t like my romantic partner ✨ GOODBYE ✨. Sorry girlie, bros before hoes 🦨💨

I was going to put more but I’m so so sorry for how LONG AND COMPLICATED THIS IS- idk if this is a autobiography or a matchup at this point 🤦‍♀️ don’t feel pressured to do this and if matchups aren’t open IM SO SO SORRY LMAO uh yeah ilysm 🦎🎂🧃

OMG ASLDFKJHASLKDJH

🥺 i’m so sorry bby but matchups are closed ;-; my 100 follower event was over while ago (i guess i should’ve specified that in the asks i answered LKSAJHFLKJAHDS SORRY IT’S MY BAD) but you sound so cool?? i had a lot of the same hyperfixations interests (heLLO helen keller was badass AF and the roman empire was messed up but still v cool, anne frank was awesome too) i also may or may not have wanted to be a politician when i was younger alskdjfhalkdhj but now i’m just 🧍🏻‍♀️ lost and anyways you’re amazing >.< love u lots and don’t forget to drink water and eat a lil something hehe :p 

[schrijverr]

I Wrote My Own Deliverance

Chapter 3 out of 10

Alexander Hamilton is reborn as Alex Hambleton. He is desperate not to make the same mistakes twice, but it seems he is stuck in the narrative, unable to get out. Familiar faces pop up all around him as he attempts to keep his previous life a secret and write himself out of the story

On AO3.

Ships: none

Wasrnings: Aaron and Alex get punched by the Schuylers and theyre at a party so drinking. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!!!

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

The week passed quicker than expected and soon enough Alex was dragging Aaron along to the meeting place with Herc, Lafayette and John. Inside he was hoping none of them had read up on their history and wouldn’t know what Aaron had done.

Or that they at least wouldn’t be salty.

No such luck, the moment they arrived Alex skipped forwards as he introduced Aaron: “Hi, guys, this Aaron Bartow, my roommate.”

At the name John surged forwards, only getting held back by Lafayette, who whispered: “Lets not do this tonight.”

John tore himself free and jabbed his finger at Aaron as he hissed: “The only reason you don’t have a broken nose right now is because I don’t want to ruin our evening and Alex is attached to you for some reason.”

Before Aaron could reply Alex stepped in: “Damn, I knew people tell you not to mix social circles, but I did not picture this. What did you do piss John off? He’s practically sunshine.”

The others all stared at him, unsure if they should explain or just leave him in the dark as they had done so far. No one had informed Alex of who they were, besides mentioning soldiers and revolution – or lawyer in Aarons case.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” Alex broke the tension.

“Just leave it, Alex. It’s too complicated.” Herc said.

“Ooohh, relationship drama through the ages.” Alex couldn't help but tease, “Were you past lovers?”

Aaron and John both chocked as Laf and Herc burst out laughing and suddenly the tension from before was gone as Herc gasped: “Oh my god, Alex, I know you have no context, but that was the funniest shit to date.”

“But was I right?” he asked.

“NO!” suddenly Aaron and John could agree, both with horror on their faces.

John grimaced: “I’m gay, but not for him, ew.”

“I feel like I should be offended, but I honestly don’t care.” Aaron replied.

“Sad, you two would be cute together.” now he was just talking shit and if it ever came out that he’d already known right now, he was going to be fucked.

There were more snorts and sounds of horror. When everyone had calmed down again he gestured to the house from which sounds of the party were coming. He said: “Are we going to get shitfaced now?”

John forgot Aaron as he whooped loudly and practically dragged the others inside, leaving Aaron to sigh and trudge after them. He had forgotten how much he hadn’t missed this.

Inside Alex looked around for the Angie, who had invited them. It was polite to sat hi to the host after all. He soon spotted her and dragged his companions over to her and two other girls by her side.

“Hello, Alex, I’m unsure which of you to thank for inviting me.” he greeted with a charming smile, “I also brought my housemate Aaron, hope it’s not an issue.”

“Aaron?” Angie asked.

“Yeah, oh and that’s John, Herc and Lafayette, his real name is way too long so we just call him Laf.” he smiled.

Before he could say anything else one of the other girls had punched Aaron in the face. The puzzle pieces fell in place, but before he could say anything Angies fist collided with his own. His hands flew up and he yelled: “What the hell!”

In the background he heard Lafayette ask: “Schulyers?”

“Yes, naturally.” Angie replied.

“Alex doesn’t remember or he really isn’t him.” Lafayette said softly, “We’re unsure.”

Pretending he hadn’t overheard the conversation, he looked up and said: “I probably deserved that, though I am unsure why, but, and I repeat, what the hell! Do you always go around punching your guests?”

Angie gasped and Alex felt kind of bad, since he honestly did deserve that. She explained: “I’m so sorry, I thought- with Aaron- and then, you- god, I’m so sorry, I knew an Alex, well, an Alexander, in a past life and he broke my sisters heart.”

“Damn, he must have really fucked up.” Alex sympathized.

“Yeah, he cheated on me and published it for the world to know.” the girl who punched Aaron told him, “Elizabeth Schild, but everyone calls me Lizzy.”

“Alex Hambleton, and that guy sounds like a fucking asshole, pardon my language. He deserves more than a punch at this point.” he said, trying to apologize while also not, “But why did Aaron get punched?”

“Well, maybe now it isn’t him, since you’re not-” Lizzy, no Eliza, his Betsy, said, “But if he is who I think he is, then he shot my husband.”

“Holy shit.” Alex forced his eyes to go wide with surprise, “Remember what I said? Holy fuck. I was right, well not completely, but holy shit.”

“What?” Angie, Angelica, asked.

“Well, this is awkward, well, uhm, when I asked these three if I should invite Aaron here, they asked me what, you know- what was the worst that could happen, you see.” Alex stumbled.

“The point.” there was a reason he had always liked Angelica.

“The worst I came up with was that he over there murdered your past lover, not hers, and that you were going to murder him and that I was going to be involved somehow and then I was going to get deported for being an accessory.” Alex told her.

“That is scarily close.” Eliza said.

“Exactly!” Alex said, “Way too close, jikes. Please, don’t murder him, I want to keep my visa, please.”

“I’ll consider it.” Angelica raised a brow, charmed.

“Thanks.” Aaron sounded strained, his nose was still bleeding.

“So, are you the guy who shot the husband.” Alex asked, he had to, it would be suspicious if he didn’t.

Aaron looked around to all the expecting faces and sighed defeated, this was not how he had hoped this evening to go: “Yes.”

“On one hand, damn, on the other hand, that guy kinda deserved it.” Alex told him, “So, silver linings.”

“You are extremely calm for a man rooming with a confirmed murderer.” John said, still mad at Aaron.

Alex shrugged: “I mean, that was the past, people change, my man. And mean, I’m still alive, so I trust him.”

He tried to ignore the look of awe and disbelief on Aarons face.

“Weirdo.” said the other girl, “I’m Margret Smith, but call me Peggy.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Alex said, he was glad Eliza had found her sisters, she deserved to have something nice like that in her life. He added: “Hey, Peggy, could you show me where the ice is? It’s not that I don’t love this drama that I’m unable to follow, but my nose hurts.”

“Yeah, sure.” she said, before sending her sisters a look and dragging Alex off to give the others privacy to talk about the past.

They wormed their way through the crowd of bodies to a luckily empty kitchen, where Alex was given an ice pack for his nose. Sitting on the counter he asked: “Sorry if this rude, but did you know what they were talking about?”

Peggy shrugged and said: “I mean, technically yeah, we used to be sisters in our past lives, but I died before all the drama, so it’s always more them and then me. I’m the ‘and Peggy’, at least Margret is slightly better than Margarita as a name”

Alex snorted and nodded, de and Peggy had always gotten along. She’d struggled with this before as well. He offered: “At least you know. It seems everyone wants me to be someone, but I am my own person. Having a past life seems to be exhausting and it would only drag me down, I have so much to achieve.”

Peggy grinned and said: “Well, I don’t blame them for thinking it, honestly. You are so much like the other Alexander, he made it to the History books, you know.”

“Really?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, you have no clue how awkward it is to learn about your brother-in-law during high school.” she confided.

He laughed and said: “That must be insane, I’m honestly tempted to ask who he was, but I also don’t want to know, because then I know who everyone wants me to be and it seems like he was a lot to live up to, being a shitty husband aside.”

“Lizzy called him her little hurricane.” Peggy told him, “He was quite much, but in a good way, as far as I knew him. Always talking or writing.”

Alex grinned, he had always gotten the gossip about Angelica and Eliza from Peggy and it seemed even death and more than 200 years had not changed that.

He replied: “Damn, that does sound like too much energy,” god was he one to judge, he was practically still the same, “How about we go back, before they actually murder Aaron and we’re accessories.”

It delighted him that he got a laugh out of the youngest sister as she gave him a drink, for the last of the pain as she told him, before going to find the others again.

Aaron had already left, but the night was good nonetheless. Alex, however, was getting quite concerned with all the people he’d know. If he wasn’t careful, he would be forced to tell everyone he knew who he was.

As much as he loved seeing his Betsy again, he hadn’t deserved Eliza before and he certainly didn’t deserve Eliza again. He wasn’t going to force her to go through that again.

So, he spend the night flirting with a guy, named Yoseph, making sure he had known no one with the name. And distanced himself.

[space-------kid]

can’t keep my hands (off you).

Anime/Manga: One Punch Man Pairing: Garou/fem!Reader  Additional pairing/characters: platonic Metal Bat/fem!Reader, Zenko, mentions of other heroes such as Saitama, Watchdog Man, etc. Genre: Romance, comedy Warning: Absolute silliness. Language – Garou and reader both ate rainbows for breakfast. Dumbassery. Teeth-rotting fluff, maybe? Reader is hella strong like Saitama. Half-assed spice because you’re good at cockblocking Garou despite being low-key thirsty for him. And LOTS of dumbassery from the reader, most probably. Additional tag: Dream-based fic, canon-divergent, Garou is horny af A/N: This is supposed to be a lengthy one-shot, but I’m a dumbass who can’t keep my word so the supposedly one-shot isn’t a one shot anymore.  Now I have to worry how I should properly divide all those parts (I mean, they’re already divided, but--) 😅

Establishing yourself in their world.

Summary: 

Your life had its general ups and downs, pros and cons, the good and the bad.

You were admittedly a coward and afraid of being targeted by people for it. Following the advice of your (best) friend you trained hard, like, FUCKING hard, and now you’re blessedly, utterly strong you can take down enemies with just one hit. A good thing, really. Can’t let any bad guy harass you or something.

But-

You were probably cursed with the biggest, baddest of luck. Not only were monsters chasing you, suddenly there was this fucking hot bastard weirdo who kept on calling himself the Hero Hunter. “I’m not a hero, goddamn it!”

iii. and iv. | v. | [more to be added]

“i can’t keep my

 hands

 off...!”

 - can’t keep my hands off you/simple plan

i.

If anyone who knew you could pick a single word to describe you, it had to be coward.

But it wasn’t like you could blame them, the choice was easily justifiable with how you always seemed to cower whenever a threat - even the smallest - popped out to inconvenience you and disturb the hopefully peaceful life you wanted to live.

You though that having a hero as your best friend would be enough to keep you safe. But considering his busy schedule, you were left with no choice but to fend for yourself.

“You just gotta get strong, ya know!” Badd (aka the one and only Metal Bat) told you countless of times whenever you would run to him, either telling him that some creepy guy was harassing you or a monster was chasing you.

It might have been the ‘what the fuck are you on about?’ look you had given him that day that left you sporting red, aching cheeks for the remainder of the afternoon, Badd having pinched and squished them - so hard you actually cried - for having the gall to non-verbally question him.

Fearing for the safety of your cheeks (Badd might pull your ears next, something you couldn’t afford to experience), you followed his advice.

Day after day you would lift weights, do some core exercises. You even went as far as to following some guy in a blue tracksuit’s training regime (he saw you training, you asked him on a whim on how to be strong, he nonchalantly answered your question) which consisted of doing a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and a 10-kilometer run every day. It was gruelling enough, and most of the times you would only find yourself waking up to Zenko’s glare, the girl telling you how Badd found you unconscious somewhere around the city.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Badd asked you one day, brows pinched with concern when you woke up in his arms.

Huh. You must’ve passed out again while working out.

“You told me to get strong, stupiiiiiiid,” you whined pathetically, hitting him on the face and chest with a trembling hand.

The recently minted S-Class hero snorted at your weak and pathetic display of attempted violence. “Yeah, I did. But I didn’t tell ya to train ‘til you’re on death’s door.”

You threw your head backwards dramatically, exposing your neck and making Badd drop you when he got an eyeful of the tops of your sports bra.

“Ow! Bat, what the heck!?”

“I can see your- y-your- ew! I need to wash my fuckin’ eyeballs! And why are you even wearing those in the first place when you don’t have any boobs?”

“I will fucking murder you in your sleep, Badd!”

You ended up in his arms again, only because you fainted once more due to exhaustion.

But you continued with your training nonetheless, slowly building up both stamina and strength to the point where you could finally make it home and collapse on your own bed after a long day of hard work.

Your parents were worried at how far you were pushing yourself, but they never stopped you when – for the first time in your life – you insisted that you had to do this for your own betterment. Never had they seen you so determined, your eyes still filled with fear but were now mixed with the fires of fortitude, and the way you settled the discussion made them relent. But that didn’t mean that they would stop worrying for you, often pleading for Badd to look after you whenever he could. Your parents might always be busy and far from home most of the times due to their jobs, but you (Badd and Zenko included) were always in their heart and mind.

For a year and a half, your training had been one of your constants.

You bawled like a kid the first time you punched some weird mushroom monster into oblivion - its legs the only evident of its existence after that one hit - because finally, your hellish (to you, anyway) training finally paid off!

Badd had hugged you and cried a little, telling you how proud he was of your achievement and how you could finally be strong enough to look more effectively after yourself. Being an S-Class had demanded more time from him and you couldn’t exactly come running to him every time you find yourself in a pinch. Aside from being a hero, his greatest priority was his precious little sister, and you would never have the heart to take away Zenko’s onii-chan from her.

“So, [Name]. Wanna be a pro-hero?” Badd asked you one night when you were out eating ramen with him and Zenko. “You’re pretty strong now, and you can take on monsters on your own. Man, I haven’t even seen you pummel one, now that I mentioned it!” he added, looking at you excitedly.

Your ears turned red from embarrassment at being praised. “I’m really not... at least not on your level. The monsters I meet by accident were all weak, thank god for that,” you replied. You returned his gaze, eyes narrow, and clicked your chopsticks at him. “And nope, I don’t wanna. Why would I want to be a hero? Why would I actively seek out those that I try to avoid at all costs?”

Zenko, who was seated between you and Badd, shot you a questioning look.

“Why did you get strong, then, [Name]-san?” she asked.

You chewed on your bottom lip, gaze zeroing on the steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. You could feel the siblings’ eyes on you and you flushed a bright shade of red under their scrutiny.

“Well, I did because I’m scared of monsters,” you replied. “What if there’s no hero nearby to help me when a monster appeared? I don’t wanna get eaten, you know, or worse-” here, your voice turned hysterical and caught a few fellow customers’ attention “-get killed and have some creepy, gross monster do lewd things to my body!”

“Eh? Lewd?”

A flustered Badd covered Zenko’s ears a little too late and made her turn her gaze away from your disgusted and scared expression.

“No, no, don’t bother with that, Zenko,” said the S-Class, eye twitching at the insinuation of your words. “Just eat your ramen while it’s hot.”

“But I was asking [Name]-san a question-”

“Just eat your ramen,” Badd gently pressed his sister who rolled her eyes in return.

“Teenagers,” the little girl huffed exasperatedly.

Nevertheless, Badd kept on asking you if you wanted to be like him. He would tell you the privileges you could get as a hero, not to mention the salary you would be earning. You, on the other hand, would never get tired of telling him no. As if a coward like you would actively fight monsters as a job. You were better off staying as a civilian, no matter how strong you finally had been.

You just weren’t cut out for that hero gig.

---

ii.

Yeah, you trained to get strong so you could defend yourself from monsters and creepy people who would harass anyone they fancied. And like you told Badd time and again, you would never be a hero. 

But you wouldn’t deny the fact that helping others when there weren’t heroes around would put a huge smile on your face and a fuzzy, warm feeling in your chest.

Growing up, your parents taught you that helping other people didn’t need a licence or a title. One just needed to have the drive and compassion to do so, lending your hand not because you’re a hero but because you’re a decent human being.

And wasn’t that what capable people should do regardless of their job or title?

However, helping people required courage - and you were sorely lacking on that department.

And truth be told, your aid would always be purely accidental. Well, more like your fight or flight instincts have switched your mind into autopilot whenever monsters come crashing wherever you were.

A monster resembling a humanoid iguana showing up in the shopping district while you were out buying groceries? Fight. You had kicked its head off its shoulders because its long tongue freaked you out.

Some giant and evil sentient tree started terrorizing the children at the park you usually frequented? Fight. You punched it to kingdom come when you felt some of its vines trying to creep up your shirt.

A weird humanoid octopus, harassing the ladies at a spa you once visited? Fight. What was left of the monster was a bloody smear on the walls after you’re through with him.

And perhaps your favorite was an honest-to-god giant fire-breathing worm which threatened to destroy the forest you had camped on when you felt like leaving the city for a few days. F i g h t. You blinked back into awareness bathed in the purple blood of the monster, its remains scattered as far as your gaze could reach.

The worst (or best?) part was that you were unaware of how you defeated them - your only confirmation that you yourself had beaten the monsters were from eyewitnesses themselves. People would ask you if you were a newbie from the Hero Association, and you would immediately shake your head no.

You even received an invitation from the Association itself to join their ranks, to which you gave an easy “nope!” as your reply.

Your main concern, however, was not H. A.’s incessant invitations for you to become a hero.

Alarmed at how you would seemingly black out before facing any monster who would disrupt your relatively peaceful life, you sat on your bed and put your head on your hands.

Was it really a fight or flight instinct that guided you during those moments, or was it just plain fight, your mind blanking out and your body moving on its own accord while you finish off any monster that came to your path? 

What controls your body during those moments? Instinct? The primal urge to survive?

But how come you couldn’t remember even just a single moment of the fight?

You rubbed your face with your hands and nodded to yourself. Of course you remembered something. That fleeting moment of feeling fear grip the entirety of your existence, when thoughts of surviving another day no longer filled your mind as a monster turned its malevolent gaze on you. The feeling of wanting to throw up your swiftly beating heart out of your own seizing throat, and you breaking out into a cold sweat. Your hand closing into a fist for a punch or lifting a foot to deliver either a stomp or a kick in a hopeless attempt to defend yourself.

And then your world would turn black.

And always, automatically, you would return to awareness once your auto-piloted mind deemed the monster for the day well and truly dead.

Looking back on the times you were still a weakling, you had never experienced undergoing a fight or flight instinct as odd as what you were having now. If it had always been flight for you before, the former now seemed to overcompensate for your spinelessness now that you have gained more than enough physical strength to back it up.

(If you had come across a certain Dr. Genus and he had come to witness your power, he would go as far as to claiming that you were the second person he met to have removed their limiter.)

(And if you would ask him if it had affected your fight or flight instinct, he would have said yes: your instinct to flee had been erased by your instinct to fight, and your id would not stop until it had the pleasure of witnessing your assailants’ death.)

You disliked fighting, you were too cowardly to face it, even. And while being strong had given you a little reassurance that you could now go outside of your house without having the need to get Badd check up on you for your safety every now and again, you still avoided getting attention to yourself either from creepy guys or monsters. A huge scaredy-cat at heart, you kept your head as low as you could muster.

There was, however, one thing you seemed to be forgetting, something you seemed to have been born with and you wanted to live without.

You were the human equivalent of a magnet for the biggest and baddest of luck.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And so you spend your days being chased by monsters, blacking out as your fight instinct took over, and wake up somewhat drenched in monster blood.

Man, when would heaven give you a break?

---

to be continued

[brookelynnsanders]

The Early Bird Catches the Worm

A/N: Very rushed fic but I didn’t wanna get the idea and lovelvy rp with @itzelbm-oc go to waste - thanks to my amazing betas - grammerly and God

The morning sun rays heat up exposed limbs as baby hair sticks to Brooke's sweaty neck. The clear air fills up her nostrils as she stretches her legs, enjoying the microscopic small moment of quiet in the royal garden after her last little cool down sprint. Her head is rainless for the first time in weeks. The heartbeat pulsing blood through her veins a state of calm rather than anxious anticipation.

Yet once she looks up from her current stretch, she spots another girl across the meadow. A selected according to the name tag she can spot from afar. "Who the heck is up at this time,” the blonde umbels to herself. Not mentally prepared for small talk this early. Her ponytail bounces from side to side as she shakes her head and continues stretching her hip and lower back muscles. Just focusing on her breath.

A way too enthusiastic 'Morning' by the other woman pulls her from her state of deep concentration. She glances up mid-stretch and slightly rolls her eyes before giving up on her cool down. So she gets back up again, preferring eye level to look the girl up and down in front of her. 

"So the early bird really does catch worm", she observes with a raised eyebrow.

"That is correct", the brunette shoots back, "All we have to do is find out which one is the bird and whose the worm." The woman chuckles before introducing herself. "I'm Itzel by the way. I'm surprised someone would willingly, apart from those who work, wake up at this hour." 

"I am Brooke whose body doesn't remember what sleeping in means," Brooks answers dryly, before adding with a sly smirk after a brief pause, "and just to make it clear, I am the bird." 

The wink making her counterpart smile while indulging her in a metaphorical discussion about the worms and the birds. 

So she isn’t the only one who is delusional at this hour.

"Although, if I recall the full sentence I believe it goes like this...the early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. I think I fit being the mouse rather than the worm.” Lady Itzel says with a small smirk and winks back at her. Which spoils over into a discussion about alcoholic drinks bets fitted to be served with cheese. 

The only conversation appropriate at sunrise.

“I mean I am more a whiskey kind of girl but wine doesn't sound too bad either and my only purpose is to have fun in this chaos I managed to find myself in. So if having fun means spooking little worms - I am all in.”

“Now that you mention it, you do look like a whiskey kind of girl.” The brunette raises her eyebrow - undeniably not the only one feeling the electricity in the air. “Is that so? Well, I hope you have luck finding little worms to spook because from what I've heard there aren't many these days. If not you should find other ways to find some fun in the chaos that has befallen you. So, I'm guessing you were having an early jog?”

“Yes, just finished my morning run. Needed to clear my head,” Brooke adds a bit soberer. Silently asking herself what else to do around here for fun.

“Me? Plans for fun?” Or not so silently. “Well, I started making a list on my way here. So far I've done a morning stroll, I've explored a bit. I mean you could read books? It depends on what you find fun. Are you an outdoor or indoor person? Maybe both? We can brainstorm together.”

I wasn’t prepared for that.

Brooke scoffs at Itzel’s suggestion, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I have read enough books for a lifetime.I feel like most mundane activities can be fun tho- with the right people around.”

Itzel’s laugh has a bitter aftertaste. “Oh my, pardon me for suggesting reading. I should've known you've read books beyond books.” A deep sigh escapes her lips as she shakes her head. “I'm sure that's true. Talking with you surely is something I actually found fun. Believe it or not.” Brooke raises her brows in return, a bit taken aback by that statement.

How can people be so open to complete strangers?

Aber a brief pause the woman across her tilts her head, before asking: “Do you have any suggestions about what mundane activity can be run- if the right people are involved?”

“Camping is definitely one of them, making daisy syrup, baking, even just cloud watching. Even better when you cloud watch on a camping trip while eating hash brownies with self-made daisy scrip”, Brooke smiles and slightly scrunches her nose at the memories of biannual camping trips with the people she calls home. 

“Those do sound like fun. Even better together. It's been a while since I thought about camping, making anything or baking, and especially cloud watching.  It's said that if you look at the sky at least 10 times a day then you are happy in life. So far I have only looked up at the sky once for today.” A small smile graces her lips as she lightly hums, probably deep in thought. Meanwhile, Broke’s irises wander up - really taking in the sky. Could this seriously make her happy? 

“Oh, karaoke! That can be fun! Or going on a hike. Ah, soccer. I love soccer.” The blonde caves in shock for a brief second at the sudden voice onset, before her face morphs into visible disgust at the mention of karaoke and soccer. Itzel only grins in return before continuing: “Eating is for sure something is fun though. I can't wait for breakfast.”

“It will be interesting to see how royals dine.” The words automatically spilling from her mouth as her consciousness buried herself deep in thoughts again. Just the word “royals” is a heavy one to roll off her tongue.

“There's going to be a lot of interesting things in the palace. The royals, the girls, and so many other things. One thing is for sure I think I'll stick around you Brooke. You seem fun and I need fun. Even if you do seem to dislike soccer and karaoke. I wonder if there's something we both dislike.”

This girl really does talk a lot - huh?

“There is a lot of stuff I dislike,” Brooke adds with a chuckle.

“That's fair. I mean there's a lot of things to dislike in this world.” Her head slowly bops up and down, adding a more serious note to her tone.

The birds seemingly agreeing with Itzel’s statement as they pick up their mating melody again.

“Rape culture is one of them. Freud the other.” The urge to roll her eye, one the blonde is unable to resist. 

“I mean rape culture is definitely something to hate. And obviously Freud should be disliked more. His thought process was twisted and horrible. Just nasty! My dad once referenced to Freud and I still let him know there were plenty of other people or things to use than Freud.”

So we do have something in common. Nice.

“Every time I read his name my skin begins to crawl... I have no words for this man.”

“I don't understand why he's praised for his contribution to psychology. It's-” the brunette sighs and shakes her head at her loss for words. “Yeah, I'm speechless.”

Brooke couldn’t agree more with this statement. Her extensive studying of his work hasn’t made her question her previous view on Freud. Once an anti-Freudian, always an anti-Freudian.

“I feel like enough men loved supporting his misogynistic theories - and then there was Watson who started out trying to support Freud and became an anti-Freudian”. A burst of nasty laughter echoing through the royal gardens at the ridiculousness of this all. Itzel only adding to the choir.

“I still think men love his misogynistic theories to this day. I can't believe he's still someone we have to learn about. Sometimes it takes time to realize 'damn. Never mind this guy is a bastard.”

Brooke nods along. He may be a part of history but that doesn’t justify his glorification.

“On that topic. I don't think I remember ever learning about a female psychologist with major accomplishments. I am sure there are plenty - but a history written by men likes to erase them.” The blonde adds - properly giving into the discussion at hand.

“You're right! And if we did they barely mentioned them! Now I'm curious to look into that. Oh and philosophy, the course I spoke of one female philosopher. Just one among many men. I'm just glad there are some changes now.” Itzel elaborates with her delicate hands waving around. Each movement an additional message.

As the conversation shifts to women in STEM and how bright the future will look, Brooke can’t help but dream about her future. “Can't wait to be one of them,” she adds as she smiles. Her view shifts around - realizing that she isn’t sure anymore if that's part of her future.

“Well, I look forward to that. I am a strong believer that with hard work you'll be able to achieve anything. And I have a good feeling that you'll reach that goal. No matter what. And I can't wait to see you as a renowned philosopher”, Itzel adds as she looks up at the sky again, sighing deeply. Probably having a matching train of thought as the blonde. “Even if the future is unpredictable for now.”

Unspoken anxious whispers filling the air between the two silent women. Each of them fighting their own fear of uncertainty. A weakness Brooke prefers to keep behind her facade.

“At the mention of unpredictably. The distant future might be unpredictable but,” Brooke looks down at her sport outfit, “I have a feeling my maids will be mad if I show up late to breakfast or without "proper" clothes on.” 

The upcoming spectacle of breakfast with the selected suddenly a welcoming distraction.

Itzel has a brief look at her own outfit and scrunches her nose up. “My maids may have a similar feeling. Especially since I wake up pretty early they arrive there early.”  As her eyes focus back on the very neutral face of the blonde, she smiles at her counterpart. “Well, Birdy if you ever need any fun like making up a fake camping area we might find a place. Or maybe just to watch the sky then I'm all for it. Or maybe your daily jog. I hear it's better when you have competition.”

“I'll definitely hit you up on the last one cheeky mouse. It was nice meeting you.” Brooke pulls herself out of the building carousel of thoughts and winks at Itzel with one last grin. Itzel only scoffs to mask the smile creeping up on her lips again. “Nice meeting you too.”

Brooke Lynn turns around mid-sentence and makes her way back into the building with a light jog in her step. Silently repeating the much-needed directions. Second floor, right, right, left. Second floor, right, right, left. Second floor, right, right, left.

[nostalgiabones]

Hemmings Family of Eight AU - the Children

So here are the names, ages and descriptions of the Hemmings children in my Family of Eight AU, which I started in the story A Sunday Afternoon. If you have any ideas for this AU or there are any specific stories you’d like me to write involving them, please let me know! It can be pretty much anything, involving any of the children or the whole family! Let me know here ♥️ thank you!

Grayson: He’s the musical genius of the children - so gifted at music just like his dad. He’s able to play the guitar, piano and drums, and always wants to learn more. His favourite hobby is learning to play new songs on his instruments with Luke, and tagging along to the studio with him and his uncles. He is protective over all of his siblings, and is the most sensible child - he has Luke’s kind nature. Looks wise, he is more alike you than Luke, but has Luke’s nose. He has never been into sports like his brothers, but does enjoy supporting his siblings with their sporting achievements.

Poppy: She’s world smart - she cares so much about all animals and nature, and has always been so confident and intelligent. Luke thinks she could be a motivational speaker. She always tries to educate those around her, especially her family. She is enthralled with academia, loves school and learning new information whenever she can. She can always be found doing school work or reading, as she is a massive book worm. Her favourite hobbies other than school are swimming and netball. She has been nicknamed Luke’s ‘little flower’ ever since she was born, due to her name. She always wants to do her bit to help the environment whenever she can.

Oscar & Arlo: The twins are inseparable from eachother, and always have been ever since they were born. Both boys love football and are willing to play any other sport that they get the chance to. They can be boisterous, loud & playful, they always have far too much energy, and you and Luke always know where they are because they can be heard from far away. Arlo is a little less confident than Oscar - Oscar is the one who convinces his twin to do mischevious things, and can sometimes get the pair into trouble.

Willow: She is the shy baby of the family, as well as the biggest daddy’s girl out of all of the children. She is quiet but mischievous. She looks just like luke with wild blonde curls and his nose. She always follows in the footsteps of her older twin brothers, and wants to be involved in any games that they play. Her favourite things are Luke playing guitar or reading stories to her. She can always convince her older sister to play or nap with her - her and Poppy are the closest of the siblings, despite their eight year age gap.

Theo: He is such a quiet and content baby, has the calmest nature out of all of the children. He can literally fall asleep anywhere, in any situation, because he is so used to noise and being fussed over by his five older siblings. He loves any attention that anyone wants to give him, and is happy for anyone to hold him as long as you or luke are near. He loves cuddles, especially when he first wakes up, or as he’s falling asleep.

Taglist: @irwinkitten @i-calumhood @gorgeouslygrace @luckyduckydoo @letstaketheups-and-downs @jazzyangel242 @cashworthy @babylon-corgis @norawashere @monsteramongmikey @late-nightdevil (let me know if you want to be added!)

Masterlist

[theboardwalkbody]

That’s me (in my nursing cap because it’s my most recent photo and capping ceremony was cancelled so I took pics in my house to send to nursing school buddies instead): Amanda - meme - Manda 28 NJ Tired AF And bored so I am answering this Ask Meme I found by @myautisticjournal​

What music have you discovered or listened to lately?

I’ve been listening to my Recently Added playlist on iTunes. Only “recently added” has been adjusted to include the last 28 months. lol But I did discover Blinding Lights by The Weeknd and that song’s been making me happy. Hurricane (Reimagined) by I Prevail has hit me in the Depress and next week The Used’s new album comes out so I’m waiting for that.

Have you made any new playlists since quarantine times? If they’re on Spotify, maybe drop a link?

I haven’t made any Quarantine Playlists because ALL my music is about being isolated and depressed anyway that like... what’s the difference? 

Make a three-song-minimum playlist of songs that make you happy!

Blinding Lights // The Weeknd (also makes me think of Data because I discovered it around the same time I started watching TNG so now they Go Together) Paradise Lost // The Used Dance Monkey // Tones and I

What’s your go-to show that you like to binge watch? Why do you like that show?

Currently its Star Trek TNG - because Data And One Day at a Time because that shit hits real. 

Are there any shows that you‘ve been planning to start watching? Why do they interest you?

It was just Star Trek and I did start watching. Interested because I wanted originally to watch ST Picard because Harry Treadaway but having never seen any ST before it didnt make sense (obvs) so I went back and started watching TNG. I didn’t want to start with the original series because honestly my attention span is garbage and I just was always curious about Data and so I started with him.

What movie(s) always comforts you?

Twister, Forrest Gump, The Lion King (1994). I’m currently wearing Lion King pjs lol. Pirate Radio is a relaxing feel good movie, too. 

Are you an arts-and-crafts person? If so, what types of art/craft do you enjoy?

I try SO HARD to be lol. So far during quarantine I’ve tried crochet, I’ve tried making string bracelets as if it was 2005 and I was in 8th grade again but I forgot how to make them and my brain refuses to re-learn its too full of music, nursing school, and data now. I tried coloring and lost patience. I have been working on a Quarantine Photo-Journal. Every day I post a tiny update and a few pictures (mostly memes since i cant leave the house and several Data photos lolololol) but my printer isn’t working right all of a sudden so I can’t print out any new pictures which I guess that one project I was really enjoying is out the window.

Do you have any planned projects to work on during self-isolation? If you’ve started any and you’re willing, share a photo of what you’re working on!

Here’s a pic of page like 3 or something lol

If you had to recommend an art or craft for people to get into, what would you recommend and why?

Man. Just do what makes you happy. I saw someone on TikTok making GIANT ass Worms on Strings and honestly. Pure genius. 

What are your favorite YouTube channels? Why do you like them?

Achievement Hunter. Rooster Teeth. Markiplier. They make the funny. Various ASMR channels. They make the sleep.

What is the weirdest YouTube video you’ve ever watched?

Conspiracy Theory videos probably. I don’t really know. 

Recommend a book or book series to read!

Across the Universe trilogy by Beth Revis read it and fangirl with me I am so alone.

Are there any books that you’ve read multiple times? If you could re-read a book that you loved as if it were the very first time, what book would you choose?

The Islander by Cynthia Rylant. I don’t know why but the first time I read it it just transported me into the middle of it and it was amazing (I was like 11) and it was so mysterious and everything. I’d like to read that one like the first time. Also Living Hell by Catherine Jinks did a similar thing 

What’s your favorite book genre? Why do you enjoy it?

Science Fiction. Because I like science. and Fiction and space and robots and things. 

If you were to write a fanfiction about your own life, how would it go?

LOL The tags would be like : #depression #anxiety #ptsd #childhood abuse #adulthood abuse #i miss having sex but at least i dont wanna die #except i still do #twsuicideideation #badluck #dontread lol

What’s the best fanfiction that you’ve ever read (or the top three if you can’t choose just one )? What about it made an impression on you?

My brain hurts too much to pick a top three but I will say I am currently reading May I by @ladyfogg​ and it’s been giving me the squishy feels and I am loving it and ya’ll should read it. Her OC is relatable and also inspiring and I think at this point I don’t need to mention Data anymore. (But I did). 

Do you listen to podcasts? What kind of podcasts do you listen to?

Off Topic podcast and used to listen to RT podcast when Burnie was still on. IDK what kind of podcast that is other than ‘usually wild’ 

If you could make your own podcast, what would it be about and who would you invite to make a guest appearance?

It would be about anything and everything. I’d invite anyone for an appearance lol

Are you addicted to Animal Crossing: New Horizons? If yes, what’s your favorite thing about it so far?

Yes. My favorite thing has to be CUBE. CUBE I LOVE CUBE. I WOULD DIE FOR CUBE.

If you had to recommend ONE video game, what would it be and why?

Cube. I mean, Animal Crossing. 

Have you tried any new recipes lately? If yes (and if they were good), share it with the class! I’m sure everyone is as bored with the same old foods as I am by this point.

I am too lazy to cook even when I want to so I always end up getting take out or delivery. 

What is your favorite website to waste time on? (Is it, perhaps, tumblr?)

Tumbebells. (Tumblr yes)

How are you finding ways to stay connected with your friends and family? From video calling to playing online games, what would you say has worked the best for you?

Nothing. I’m sitting here wallowing in deep loneliness and it’s killing me. It’s just my grandma and my cat and that’s why I can’t go out or work (I am a Patient Care Associate and I know the hospitals could use help but my grandma is 83 years old and it’s too high of a risk for her for me to be working in a hospital and coming home from there). 

If you have pets, first of all share some photos! Second, how have you been spending your time with them?

LOLA. L-O-L-A LOLA. LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LOLA She doesn’t leave me alone. Her new trick has been LAUNCHING her 7lb body on to my back while I’m standing and pretending she’s my goddamn backpack. And earlier today she decided to pull the socks out of my sock drawer. Because she loves me. 

Share your general quarantine experience so far. How are you handling it?

Bad. I often forget to take my meds, we’ve been on “spring break” from nursing school this week so I have 0 sense of time and no routine and I’ve sometimes been going to bed at 4am, sometimes 4pm, sleeping until like 9-11 regardless and I spend 95% of the day in bed. I can’t be bothered to change, sometimes can’t be bothered to really eat, and I care 0% about showering and Doing Anything. lol 

I mean it’s been great guys. Ba-da-ba-ba-ba I’m lovin’ it!

I did somehow loose 2lbs without trying tho. That’s a total of 7.8lbs lost since March. Only 125 more to go BUT THE GYM IS CLOSED AND IT HAS BEEN COLD AND RAINING.

I’ll shut up.

I tag @lyrslair​, @ladyfogg​ @datalaur​ and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it even tho its really long and I fucked up the layout so instead of 25 questions they’re ALL NUMBER 1. lol 

[eirian-houpe]

Chosen, But Not Wanted

Fandoms: Stargate Universe, Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle (Once Upon a Time)/Nicholas Rush

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Nicholas Rush, Jack O'Neill

Additional Tags: Smut, Angry Sex, A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time)

Summary: Rush needs a linguist to help on the Ninth Chevron Project. Belle doesn't necessarily want a new job, she learns the 'hard way' not to tell Nick Rush that he's wrong.

Written for the February Monthly Rumbelling image prompt (Nicholas Rush leaning against a chalk board with a cup of coffee in his hands)

Read on AO3

Chosen, But Not Wanted.

He had admired her for some time… from a distance of course, but then, no, because admiration suggested a level of engagement that he simply didn’t possess, or want in regard to this woman.  Respect then. He had respected her for some time… but again, no, because to respect her would of necessity elevate her to his level of intelligence and application, and to be frank, he doubted she would even come close.  Liked her? No, he didn’t know the girl… and at the thought he did somehow, mentally acknowledge that she had made several notable achievements for someone of such a tender age as she, but still - that didn’t make her the one he’d need to succeed in the project. No, it all still wasn’t right, and it was frustrating him that he couldn’t easily categorize her, or understand his need to.

He did need to, though, he conceded, perhaps if for no other reason than to set boundaries between them; to let them each know where they stood when they began working together on uncovering how to dial the Ninth Chevron, and so he returned to the irritating conundrum that was categorizing his feelings about, and his potential relationship with Belle French.

She received the first telephone call while she was in the shower, after a particularly hard run, and she’d been running to try and clear out the anger and sense of utter betrayal, and the frustration at everything that had happened since she’d caught her boyfriend of several years fucking one of his office secretaries, and not only that, but in their bed.

It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him cheating, but it had been nothing like that. That time he’d just had his tongue half way down the woman’s throat and his hands in some places they hadn’t ought to be.  They’d fought… for days, but in the end she had given him another chance. His last.

Which was why she found herself in a shower, in a Motel 6 close to the university campus, listening to the phone ring, again, and wondering if she should bother getting out to answer it.  She decided not to. It was probably only that sniveling worm calling again to try and get her to listen to his ‘heartfelt’ apology for his lapse, and empty promises that he wouldn’t ever do it again.  Either that, or her goddamn father who refused to keep his nose out and had sided with Aston; told her to go back to him, that she didn’t know a good thing when she had it, and if - of all the thing to say to her, this had made her the most incensed - if she hadn’t been so wrapped up with all the work for her Doctorate, and her job afterwards, he wouldn’t have felt so neglected and looked elsewhere for what he needed.

The ensuing argument she’d had with her father had made her realize many truths that she’d been hiding from herself, if she were to be completely honest.  Things between herself and Aston had been over for a long time. She was just too stuck in her ways to have moved on.

Either way, she was not talking to either of them, so stepped back into the stream of water, turning her face up to its cascade to let its caress wash away her tears of self recrimination and disappointment.

“Maybe she’s one of those people that doesn’t answer her phone if it’s a number she doesn’t recognise,” O’Neill suggested as their call went to voicemail for the second time.

Rush shook his head. “Try again,” he said.

“Doctor Rush…”

“Again!” he insisted, and looked pointedly at General O’Neill until he hit the redial on the phone.

‘You know,” O’Neill said, and looked up at him as they listened to the phone ringing. “There are more language experts in the US than just this one.”

Rush stared at O’Neill, thinking that for a man who had dealt with hostile aliens and other dangerous situations where dealing with the unknown hinged on having the people with the best skills in the right place at the right time, he was being particularly short sighted. He opened his mouth to say something of the sort, though he was sure it would come out in a more colorful and expressive manner, when the ringing on the other end ceased abruptly, and this time was not replace by the sedate and polite voicemail message they’d listened to the first time,  when they left Doctor French a message.

“Listen, you utter cockshite,” the woman on the other end of the phone was clearly agitated, and while O’Neill blinked at the greeting, Rush found himself both intrigued, and somewhat impressed by the ferocity of her ire, “this is bordering on harassment! For the last time, I’m not interested in your fucking excuses, and definitely don’t want your apologies. I’m not interested in any of your bullshit frankly, so leave. Me. Alone.”

Rush watched O’Neill swallow, and then take a deep breath before the General said, “Doctor French?” Silence. “Doctor French, this is General Jack O’Neill, United States Air Force, and I have Doctor Nicholas Rush with me. You’re on speaker.  There’s a matter we’d like to discuss with you.”

Belle clasped the towel more tightly around herself, her hair dripping down her back as she listened with growing disbelief to the complete crap Aston was spouting in an effort to get her to speak with him.

When his sad performance came to an end, Belle - trembling slightly from more than the fact that she was standing dripping wet in nothing but a towel in a motel room that wasn’t exactly the warmest place on Earth - spat back, “Fuck you, Aston!  Seriously, if that’s all you’ve got, then fuck you to hell!” and pressed the button to cut the call.

She threw the phone down onto the bed, following it a moment later and covering her face with her hands, breathing in deeply to try and regain her composure.  She had to get herself dressed, and ready for work, and she couldn’t show up at the university as agitated as she was. It wouldn’t be fair to her students.

Having partly recovered enough to go and finish her shower, she stood up and headed back to the bathroom.  Hardly able to believe the ridiculous the lengths to which Aston was going to try and get her attention, she climbed back into the shower, and turned it on as hot as she could stand it, and ten minutes later, her skin pink and tingling, she stepped out again, feeling clean and cleansed, and more than ready to face the rest of the day… the rest of her life, for while in the shower she had determined that she would not waste another minute of her time on getting upset over what her ex had put her through, and if her father wanted to take his side, then she’d have nothing more to do with him either.

She was taking back her life and no one was going to stop her.

She opened the closet, and searched through her dresses to try and find the one she wanted to wear: a blue, mid-length dress with a flared skirt, fitted, low cut bodice all with a lacy overlay. The outfit would serve her perfectly, and along with the soft lace underwear caressing her skin, she felt feminine and strong, both at the same time.

Today, she was determined she would set the stuffy academic world of the ancient and modern languages department on its head.

“Well…”

That was all that O’Neill had to offer to him as Miss French hung up on them, and Rush made a face and said dryly, “Well, she’s certainly mastered the vernacular.”

O’Neill chuckled at that, and waving a hand asked, “And this is the woman you want on your team?”

“General O’Neill,” Rush explained patiently, “Mathematics is just another language, and unless or until someone manages to crack the code written into the computer game we released into the ‘wild,’ or however it was that your technicians named that godforsaken cesspit that is the World Wide Web, she’s the best we have. Not to mention that having someone else around that could help to parse the Ancient we have on file would help to alleviate a massive time suck that has been delaying our progress. Her affinity for language makes her the ideal candidate.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” O’Neill said dryly, then sighed, “All right.  I’ll make a call, have someone local pick her up and we’ll transport her here for a face to face.”

“No,” Rush said quickly, and breathed out harshly down his nose, and O’Neill raised an eyebrow at his objection and his tone.  Then slightly more conciliatory Rush added, “If the General Hammond can spare the time, I’ll go.”

“You know damn well she’s assigned to the Icarus, Rush,” O’Neill said. “What game are you playing?  Why not just wait for Doctor French to listen to her voicemail and figure out that our call was genuine and--”

“Because you know damn well,” Rush said, suddenly becoming agitated in his insistence, “that we’re running out of time.”

O’Neill sighed, and then standing, held up a hand in what Rush supposed was a placating gesture. “All right,” he said, “but I’m coming with you.”

Rather than let the news agitate her when she discovered that her lecture had been moved from the Arts and Humanities building to the Physics department, of all places, due to an equipment malfunction in her regular lecture hall, Belle took the news in her stride, and after making sure there were notes to her students stuck on both her office door, and the lecture hall, she enjoyed the short sojourn out in the California sunshine across the campus to the science building.

She couldn’t help but chuckle to herself just a little as she crossed the no-mans-land into ‘enemy territory’ and more than a few heads began to turn. After a few moments of it she began to wonder whether she should be flying a white flag as she came.

It wasn’t until she actually reached the lecture hall that the first groan of the day - since leaving her motel room, of course - momentarily escaped her small frame as she saw the man who was down in the pit of the hall, leaning against a chalkboard that was covered in formulae, cradling a cup of what smelled like strong coffee in long fingered hands.  He was dressed in dark, belted jeans, a coordinating olive green t-shirt and vest combination, worn over a long sleeved white undershirt, the sleeves of which were pushed up to the middle of his forearms. His hair was long, and he had a scruffy beard, shot through - she could see as she descended the steps toward him - with gray. He looked as though he was either miles away in thought or waiting for something, and bored, very very bored.

“I’m sorry,” she called out to him, trying not to sound as irritated as she was becoming. “Excuse me, but I think there’s been some kind of a mistake.”

He looked up at her then, and she thought she saw his eyes widen in what could have been surprise, before they narrowed again to the same, sardonic stare as she’d noticed in them when she first drew near enough.

“No,” he said “I don’t think so.”

He had an accent, a brogue that set a warmth somewhere inside of her at its depth and at the heat of it, even in so mild a disavowal. She pushed it aside - or tried to, but had to confess that now that she was closer, and the full realization of his appearance, and intellectual presence hit her, she could not deny the early stirring of attraction toward this stranger.

“Oh, really?” she said, coming to a halt and folding her arms across her breasts. “And how do you figure that?”

She expected him to insist that the college had told him that the hall would be his that morning, and that she would just have to take up another space for her lecture.  Instead he said, “Belle French, isn’t it?”

She blinked, and then her heart skipped.  He didn’t look like a cop, and even if he were, she’d done nothing to anticipate a police officer would be confronting her in her place of work in any case, unless…

“My father...!” she squeaked, worry starting to build in her chest.

“Moe French?” the man asked, and before she could even nod her confirmation, he went on, “Useless waste of space by all accounts.  You on the other hand--”

“I beg your pardon!” she snapped, even though she couldn’t fault this stranger and shared his opinion, she wasn’t about to let him stand there and bad mouth her papa. But it seemed he could read her mind.

“Oh, come now, Miss French,” he scoffed with brittle, dry sarcasm, “Let’s not start lying to one another now . You have a very low opinion of your father.”

“That may be true,” she admitted curtly, “but that doesn’t give you free reign to speak ill of him.  If there’s any of that to be done, I’ll be the one to call him out.” The stranger sighed, and bristling still further, she demanded, “Who the hell are you anyway?”

“Rush,” the man said. “Doctor Nicholas Rush.”

For several minutes the name meant nothing to her, other than a nagging feeling that she’d heard or seen it somewhere before. So, instead of reacting to the name she said, in the same irritated tone, “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that this is your lecture hall, and that I’m going to have to go find some place else?”

“It used to be mine, but not any more,” he said, starting to peel himself from the chalkboard, and walking her way for just a couple of steps.

“Used to be?” she snapped, her already short temper shortening still further.

“I used to work here,” he said as though it were obvious.

“Well, I’m sure this little tour of nostalgia is all well and good,” she told him, “but I’m due to give a lecture in here in…” she looked at her watch and frowned when she saw it was actually past time for her lecture to begin, and there was not a single student in sight.

“There won’t be a lecture, Miss French,” he said, setting his coffee cup down on the desk and standing facing her, his fingertips resting lightly on a manilla folder that lay on the top of the desk.

“No lecture?” she snapped, “What--”

“Your students have been told that you’re feeling unwell and--”

“How dare you!” she tried to interject, but he just continued talking.

“--my friend and I would very much like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind.  It is rather urgent.”

It was only when he moved from the shadows at the side of the room that she noticed the other man in the room.  He was taller, older, his hair more gray, and short cropped in a typical military hair style. He was clean shaven, with a serious expression on his face, but the thing that caught her attention, and made her cheeks flush in sudden remembrance was the dark blue uniform he wore, over a crisp white shirt, and darker tie, and the number of decorations attached to the front left hand side of his jacket.

He approached her without speaking until he stood to her side, his hat tucked under his left arm, his right extended toward her offering a handshake.

“General Jack O’Neill,” he said “United states Air Force.  We spoke earlier on the phone.”

His words made her blush deepen as she recalled the words that had fallen from her mouth during that call.  She took his hand and looked from him to where Doctor Rush still stood with his fingers on the folder on top of the folder.

“I am so sorry,” she stuttered, looking between them again.

“No matter,” Rush said as O’Neill drew back his hand, “I’ve been called worse.”  He offered her a brief, wry smile. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this for me.”

As he spoke, he pushed the folder in her direction and then removed his fingers as she hesitantly reached for it.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You tell me,” he answered.

Frowning, she opened the folder, and began to look through the photographs inside.  Every single one of them showed groups of symbols of varying lengths. Some of the symbols had a verisimilitude to the symbols of other languages and cultures she’d seen before, one or two of which she could decipher, given time, if not clearly read, Sumerian for example, or Aramaic, even Sanskrit, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what, or why it felt so very familiar to her.

She turned one photograph first one way, and then the other, her quick mind starting to see patterns in the arrangement, consonantal clusters interspersed with other symbols, which it was safe to assume could be vowels, but if - like many semitic languages - this was also as consonantal language that couldn’t necessarily be assumed.

She didn’t realize she had been speaking her thoughts aloud until Doctor Rush softly cleared his throat, and reached to take the folder and photographs from her hands, and nodded to General O’Neill.

“Doctor French,” O’Neill said quietly, “Would you mind coming with us?  Somewhere we can actually discuss this matter a little more openly… fill you in on one of two… details that--”

“Well,” Belle hedged.  She knew she should be able to trust someone in a USAF uniform, but Rush… well, it seemed odd to her that such a man would be in the company of an Air Force general, but at the same time, she really wanted another look at those photographs. Eventually she sighed.

“Give me a moment to get my jacket and my purse.” she said.

“That won’t actually be necessary,” O’Neill said softly, “And I assure you, we’ll drop you back once we’re done.”

“Or send someone to gather your things,” Rush added, and she looked at him, unable to stop the glare from fixing on him at his presumptuousness.

Again, she sighed, and this time threw up her hands, “Fine, fine,” she said, mostly to the general. “Lead the way.”

She watched as a knowing smirk curved Rush’s lips, and he folded his arms as O’Neill tapped what looked like some kind of bluetooth device at the side of his face, close by his ear.  A small frown drawing down her brows as suddenly the world around her whited out.

It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sensation. One moment she was standing in the lecture hall beside Doctor Rush and General O’Neill, and the next… surrounded by the most intense light she could imagine, which slowly faded, leaving spots floating in the air before her eyes, the way they would after looking too long at the sun without shades on, but around her, as her vision refocussed, she saw the darkened, blue lit, gray interior of… well… she couldn’t figure out what she was seeing, nor where she was.

A sudden wave of dizziness swept over her, and she staggered slightly as she tried to straighten herself before the warmth of slender but strong arms slipped around her to grasp both her upper arms supportively and in the next moment, warm breath passed over the space beside her ear, and Rush’s voice, low and with a hint of amusement purred in her ear.

“I find that closing your eyes helps with that,” he said, making no move to let go, which, given that she had, almost on instinct, half turned his way and was clutching at his vest and one of his arms, was likely as much her fault as anything else.

Rush sensed that her equilibrium was off almost before she began to stagger, and he recalled that the experience had taken him in a similar fashion the first time he’d been transported aboard one of the Asgard ships.  His reflexes being what they were, he unfolded his arms, and wrapped them around Doctor French, steadying her as soon as it happened. He wasn’t usually drawn to such acts of chivalry, but something he’d seen in French’s face as she studied the photographs made at least a part of him - the part that grew protective of people on his team, people under him - want to take care of her.

He found himself taken by surprise when she grasped the font of his vest and began clinging to one of his arms, almost pressing herself against him as if seeking refuge. So he leaned closer to murmur in her ear that it might be helpful to close her eyes the next time.  He didn’t put it quite like that thought, being the man he was, and it came out both entirely more sexually than he intended, and with a half a dose more snark. She clutched him tighter, and he felt himself respond to that in ways he hadn’t anticipated, a thrill of heat going through him to find a home centered in his loins.  He felt the pulse of it between his thighs, and the beginnings of a stirring that would have been highly visible in the tight jeans that he had worn that day.

“Welcome aboard the USS George Hammond,” O’Neill said cheerfully, like a man showing off a prized automobile from his collection, giving Rush a moment to disengage himself from the woman in his arms, at least enough that she wasn’t pressed against the length of him.  She still held, limpet-like, to his arm.

“USS…” French said, and swallowed hard, “Like… like a ship you mean.”

“Something like that,” O’Neill said.  “In orbit though, not on the ocean.”

Rush watched her pale, and thought for a moment he was going to have to grab a hold of her again, but this time the color draining from her face preceded the next moment when a wave of color and heat rose just as rapidly to her cheeks, and she turned from Rush - though still had not let go of his arm - to face O’Neill, and seemed to let him have it, both barrels, right between the eyes.

“Are you out of your mind! ” she snapped, “First of all you take it on yourself to cancel my lectures for the day, then you kidnap me, and now you’re trying to tell me that--!”

Her words cut off abruptly as Rush shifted slightly, and since she was still clinging to his arm, she turned with him so that there was no way she would miss, even if it were from the corner of her eyes, the sight of Earth beneath them through the view screen of the Hammond’s bridge.

“I understand it’s a lot to take in…” O’Neill began, but French’s color had drained again, and suddenly letting go of Rush’s arm she stumbled away, looking around wildly, until one of the crew directed her to the nearest head.

Rush sighed. If she was going to be of any use at all, she was going to have to get with the program pretty damn quick.  He exchanged a sour look with O’Neil when the general said cheerfully, “That went well.”

Belle sat with her head in her hands, elbows on the table in the mess hall, an a cup of brown liquid that passed for tea aboard the ship cupped between her hands. She finally seemed to have found her equilibrium, but that didn’t really make her feel any better, because she felt she’d made such a fool of herself that there would be no coming back from it.

Footsteps approaching, and then the sound of a file folder sliding across the table toward her made her lift her head, to see Doctor Rush taking a seat opposite her.

“Don’t feel too badly,” he said by way of greeting. “You took it better than most people.”

“And of course, you never thought of doing something sensible, like, warning someone?” she said letting more than a hint of pique show in her voice.

Rush gave her a grin that bordered on manic or feral, before he said, “I was never one to coddle my students, staff, or members of my team.”

“I’m not any of those things,” she snapped, and he shrugged a little.

“No, but you will be,” he said.

“Arrogant son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?”

Again, he shrugged, “I prefer ‘confident,’ but as I said earlier, I’ve been called worse.”

“Telling me what I’ll do is not confidence,” she said. “That’s up to me, no one else, and certainly not you.”

“You underestimate me, Miss French,” he said. “Plus… I saw your expression when you saw the photographs. Besides which, I wouldn’t take you for someone to pass up a challenge.”

“You--” She began, meaning to reiterate just what she thought of him. Her irritation rose, though at the same time she felt another, uncomfortably familiar feeling flush through her.

“Perhaps you’d like to take another look,” he said, sliding the file folder closer to her, though he kept his hand on top of it.

She met his eyes, hers narrowed, and bristled still further at the smirk she saw in his. He knew he had her interest. She’d given herself away and he was using it to lord it over her..  Damn the man, but worse - and she hoped he hadn’t caught her out in this as well - she couldn't help but find him attractive.  In spite of his scruffy appearance, and his two or three day growth of stubble, his eyes were darkly brooding and full of mystery, and the verbal sparring they were engaged in was filling her with an ache of want that would be a lie to deny to herself. Add to all of that the old cliche that smart was sexy, and she knew she was in big trouble.

However, she’d be damned if she was going to let the arrogant bastard dictate what she was going to do.

“Why me?” she demanded, letting her tone speak of her annoyance as she set down her tea.

He shrugged.  “Of all the profiles I read while searching for a language specialist, yours was by far the most… robust.” she opened her mouth to question his words, but he continued, “and I’d heard of you; read one of your papers.  Seemed like you’d be a reasonable fit for the team.”

“Reasonable--” she spluttered. “Oh, my god, seriously?” She felt like picking up her now lukewarm tea and throwing it in his face. “With that warm a recommendation you expect me to just… what?  Fall at your feet like some adoring groupy?”

“Just read the file,” he said, his tone more of an order, not a request. He lifted his hand from atop it, and climbed to his feet. “Bring it back to me when you’re done.  Deck 4 Starboard 9.”

Belle spluttered again, while trying to come up with the words to tell him in no uncertain terms that she would do no such thing, but he didn’t wait for her to find them.  He simply turned and left the mess hall. She didn’t move until he was out of sight, but then reached out to pull the file the rest of the way over, and flipped open the cover.

Rush lay on the bed in his quarters, his feet bare, one knee raised, one arm thrown over his face, taking a rare few moments of rest.

Never mind that all the way back to his quarters from the mess hall, he’d thought of nothing but the look of angry challenge he’d seen in Belle French’s eyes as he told her that she would be on his team.  He maintained that. He had seen her hunger as she’d studied the photographs of the Ancient text they’d found, that he believed had bearing on the Ninth Chevron Project… and dear God she was beautiful,  even more so when she was trying not to be pissed at him.

He moaned softly at the faint stirrings of feelings that he hadn’t had since well before Gloria died; since he’d repeatedly pushed people away so that he wouldn’t betray her memory, but with Belle…  He found himself wondering how that anger he’d seen in her might be translated to passion; how her resolve might fuel her need, further his need to involve her in more than just his team on the Ninth Chevron Project, but not wanting to give in to to such wanton imaginings, he rolled over onto his belly, burying his head beneath the pillow.

Fucking hell I need to sleep!

The more she read, the more Belle became excited, invested, and the more these feelings grew, the more annoyed she became with Rush for his arrogance, and the knowing smirk he wore on his face, but most of all because, goddamn the man, he was right about her!

She frowned then. Sooner or later she was going to have to tell him; accept his invitation … not that it was an invitation, more of an expectation. She suspected that was something that rubbed quite a few people up the wrong way, and that he wasn’t a man to ‘play well with others,’ as the saying went. The intensity of the man probably put a lot of people off.  A sudden blush rose to her cheeks as, sitting back in her chair, she saw his eyes, the amber-browns staring, remembered the way the long digits of his slender hands fingered his full lips as he’d watched her. She bit her lip, closing her eyes and letting out a long breath down her nose to try and push away the tingling ache that was starting to heat her core. She stifled a moan, trying to distract herself, forcing her mind to sort through the Ancient symbology she’d been studying only moments before her rebellious mind led her astray; numbers, letters and the words she’d parsed from all she’d seen swimming in her mind - though doing little to cool her need.

It was then it hit her…

At first he thought it was his alarm, and he reached out to his bedside to try and silence it, but only moments later the sound came again, and still groggy from sleep, he rolled over and sat up, running a hand through his hair to try and tame it a little.  The sound of the door chime came again, and climbing to his feet he padded toward the door, grumbling to whoever it was to wait.

He palmed the console to open the door, and came immediately awake as if someone had just emptied a bucket of cold water over his head, and he couldn’t help glancing at himself to make sure he was decent.  He was sure he had been dreaming.

French was standing in his doorway, almost bouncing with impatience, and looked up at him expectantly.

“Miss French,” he said by way of greeting, and stepping aside slightly, gestured to her to come in.

“That’s Doctor French, and...” she said as she brushed past him, filling his awareness with the scent of her perfume, subtle notes of vanilla and rose that seemed as aroused as she herself appeared to be. Mentally he shook himself for his choice of words, but no other seemed to fit.

He palmed the door control again, and turned to face her, just as she slapped the file folder against his chest, and uttered the only two words in the entire English language that were guaranteed to get him riled.

“You’re wrong.”

His face darkened, and catching the file folder by the corner he folded his arms across his chest and leaned indolently against the door he had just closed.

“Oh really?” he said. When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, “I don’t think so.”

She stepped toward him again then, her eyes as hard as ice and she snatched back the folder, opening it to take out a photograph, waving it in front of his face as she said, “If you translate this strictly according to the matrix and existing lexicon you’ve compiled, there are parts of it that make no sense. So there’s an error, and it’s here .” she held the photograph still for a moment to point to a section of the image. “This section… these letters.”

He snatched the photograph from her fingers and peered at it, hard, before glancing up at her and back down at the photograph.

“And given that some of those characters are number placeholders, I would imagine that’s why your math is off too.”

“My math is--” Rush spluttered, then his voice turned darker as he said, “Oh, I assure you, Miss French there is absolutely nothing wrong with my calculations.”

“ Doctor French,” she hissed, “And there is if the numbers you're working with are the wrong ones.”

He thrust the photograph back into the file folder that he pulled from her hands, and tossed the whole thing toward the bed. Then rounded on her again, his voice hard as he spoke.

“You have the audacity to walk in here--” he began, but it seemed she was not for being chastened, and as her own anger flared, filling her eyes with the rare beauty of life and passion, he felt his anger shifting toward need, arousal stirring in him.

“Audacity?” she snapped, taking a step toward him.  “You brought me here, insisted, as I recall, that I was going to join your team--”

“And it seems that I was right,” he cut across her objection, stepping toward her as she had to him, nodding toward the file that had spilled its contents over the top of the covers. Spread there as he was suddenly almost desperate to spread her open… lose himself to his reawakened passion.

“I didn’t have a lot of choice!” she all but growled at him, and taking another step his way and seemingly in frustration pushed at him, her small hands like brands on his chest. “I don’t--”

He grasped her wrists, tugging her closer and trapping her arms between them, and she gasped as he did, cutting off what she’d been saying.  He dipped his head, crushing his mouth to hers, unable not to, her inner fire calling to him. She stiffened, but only for a heartbeat, before she opened to his kiss, kissing him back with equal want - equal passion even as she tried to wrest her hands from his tight grasp.

She tasted sweet.  Like summer and honey, and he moaned, turning them, pushing them up against the door, and released her hands, pressing the length of his body to hers, already hard. She ran her fingers into his hair, pulling his head back as she tore her mouth from his, her breathing labored, and began nipping along his stubble covered jaw and neck.  He trailed his hand down over her, cupping her breast through her tight fitting bodice, the lacy overlay rough against his palm where her peaked nipple pushed it against him.

She moaned, her hands slipping from his hair to tug at his shirt, her fingers seeking skin as he released her breast, his fingers sliding down over her hip, beneath the skirt, and climbing again in a heated caress against her thigh, tugging at her legs to encourage her to part them.

Belle felt dizzy with the taste of his skin, salt and sweet and bitter, all at the same time, like cinnamon sugar.  She gasped as she felt his fingers on her thigh, the light pull of his hand against her leg, and she stood on tiptoes, as she slipped her arms around his shoulders to steady herself against him, lifting one thigh to wrap it against the roughness of his denim clad leg.

He tugged at her hair with his free hand, capturing her mouth again as she looked up at him, plundering the sweetness of her mouth as she pushed her hands against the slender plains of his chest, her palms against his nipples as her tongue tangled with his, drawing a moan from him. Then he slipped his fingers from her hair and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her pressed against him as he reached behind himself and pulled off both shirts, tossing them aside.

She gasped, pulling back from the kiss to press her lips against his chest nipping at his skin as his fingertips teased against the edge of her lace panties, slipped inside and teased in the wetness there, slender fingers gliding through her soaked softness, teasing her clit before circling her entrance and drawing a soft mew from her.  She pressed herself against his hand.

“Rush…!” she gasped, and clung to him, her fingernails tightening against his shoulders as he slipped one long finger inside of her, the side of his hand pressing lightly against her swollen nub, barely moving, but enough to fill her with an increased, trembling need.

He leaned down, his teeth nipping at her neck, her pulse, the sweep of his tongue soothing the sharpness, his arm slid from around her waist to press against the backs of her thighs, supporting her as he lifted her, and she wrapped her other leg around his waist as he turned moved the few steps to the bed, tumbling the both of them on top of the photographs - heedless, and she pressed up against him again, bucking against his hand, wanting more - needing more. She began to tug at his belt with hands that trembled with the strength of her need.

She all but whined softly, voicing that need when his touch slipped from inside her, just as his belt came loose, just as she tugged at the button and slipped her own hand against the scalding heat, and steel hardness nested within the tightness of his jeans.  Then she clung to him, to his shoulders, before pushing up against his chest, and framing his hips with her parted thighs, pressing against him through his opened fly, as he rolled them, and reached up to tug at the zipper at the back of her dress… as soon as he had it open, she snatched at her skirt, crossed her arms and lifted the dress off over her head.

Rush gasped at the sight of her as she straddled him in just her blue lace bra and barely there lace panties. He grasped her hips as she straddled him, wild and lost in passion as he ground her against him - though she seemed to need little encouragement - and rolled against her wet sex.

He reached up, sliding his palms along her sides and sweeping inwards to cup her breast; the lace all that separated her from his touch.  His thumbs teased her through that lace, and she moaned and pressed against his hands, opening her eyes to look at him. They were dark with desire, her lips parted in a soft intake of breath at each pass of the pad of his thumb before she reached behind her, unhooked the garment’s fastening, and tossed it aside to land with her discarded dress, the firm globes of her breast spilling into his waiting hands.

He pushed up against her, aching and trapped within his remaining clothing, trembled as her fingers brushed him again through the cotton of his shorts, beneath the heat of her core.  He leaned up on his elbows to take the swollen, puckered nub of one nipple into his mouth, his teeth tugging, his tongue swirling, drawing a cry from her as he nipped, and then pressed open mouthed kisses over the curving mound of her breast to reach the other, murmuring as he went, his voice rasping and ragged.

“Take them off.”

He watched with heavy lidded eyes as she moved away enough to tug at the waistband of his jeans and shorts, all in one smooth motion, pulling them down over his thighs until he could wriggle out of them, ridding herself of her own remaining garment, before she moved to let her head fall against his pillow.  She caught his hand as she did, and he entwined their fingers, taking the hint, moving with her, to briefly cover her, and tease between her folds with the heat of him, before kissing down over her belly. He released her hand to lift her thighs, to part her legs and lift them up over his shoulders, nuzzling his nose through the trim curls covering her soft folds, before plundering her sweetness with his mouth, tasting her, pulling at her with his lips, his stubble scratching lightly at her as he swept his tongue over her clit. She moaned softly, and ground against him.

“More…” she gasped, and teasing, slowly, he pressed a finger, then a second inside of her, still lapping at her, drinking the sweet nectar of her want, her need. Drawing his fingers almost all the way out from her before plunging them back inside. He closed his mouth around her clit and suckled, and she bucked against him as though trying to escape. “Oh, God!”

He moved and sucked stronger and with more rapid, gliding thrusts, feeling her body tighten beneath him, feeling her inner walls squeezing his fingers, knowing she was close. He pressed himself against the bed, seeking to release a little of the pressure building in him, the need for her touch, the need to bury himself inside of her.

He continued the rhythm of the in and out glide of his fingers, flicking his eyes up to rest on her face, to watch the tightness of sweet agony become the open mouthed beatific cry of fulfilment as she came apart at his touch, and removing his fingers he pushed his tongue inside her, lapping at her juices, drinking her sweetness as though she were water in the dessert, and he a dying man.

She lifted her hips, riding out her climax against the hungry press of his tongue, his nose against her clit, until she reached for him, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as she gasped, “Inside me…”

“Belle…!” he growled, rising over her, moaning as she reached between them and closed her hand around his length, her thighs parting to either side of him as he moved, and guided him until he pressed against her heat briefly, before he slowly gilded deep inside her, right to the hilt.

He moaned, a long, low sound, and she let out a keening cry of her own, her still burning need given voice.  For a moment they both stilled, pressed against each other, her fingers pushed into his hair, damp and tangled with her juices, and they moved together to kiss deeply, with rising desperate passion, until he reached for her fingers, entwining them with his own and pressing them to the top of the bed as he began to slowly withdraw, and thrust inside again, deeply, slowly, taking her completely with each thrust, pressing against her so deeply that his balls pressed against her, between then.  Twitching slightly, her tight, inner walls squeezed him. She moved with him, lifted her thighs around him again, and rocked with him, their shared rhythm becoming faster, harder, consuming. He knew he wasn’t going to last.

Her trembling beneath him told him neither would she last.  She gasped with breathy voiced moans with each movement, each thrust, each pull against her tightness, the sound of her pleasure only increasing his own.  He wanted to feel her come around him, to feel the pulse of her squeeze him, claim him…

“Rush!” she gasped, a breathless whisper, gripping him so tightly inside her that it was almost painful, but such sweet pain, as the trembling of light pushed behind his eyes, demanding admittance. Then, in the following moment, she fell, coming so hard around him that it stole his breath, with a sharp, almost shrill cry of fulfilment and summons that he could no more deny her than he could stop breathing, and he followed her, white light and colored sparks burst inside him, and with an almost sobbing cry of his own he spilled himself deep within her as she squeezed him… milked him dry.

Into the silence that was disturbed only by their labored breathing, spent, he collapsed onto her, nestling his head into the crook of her neck as she wrapped her trembling arms around him. She ran her fingers into his hair and he allowed himself the moment, the solace of her caress, before he pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down on her, her eyes still closed, her face a picture of bliss.

He kissed her then, just softly, and she responded with the lazy peace of post-coital contentment. When they broke apart, he carefully left the safe haven of her body, and rolled to the side, though not yet ready to let her go.  He drew her with him, in his own turn running his fingers through her hair, drawing quiet mewling sounds from her as she snuggled closer, and laid her bent leg over the top of one of his, her arm resting across his belly.

Belle sighed softly, cherishing the moment, the warmth of his body, his arms around her, his fingers running through her hair, and making small circles against the small of her back.  It drew the occasional twitch from her, when his fingers brushed just the right spot.

“Nicholas…? Nick…?” she breathed against his neck, and felt him shift a little against her and heard the rumble of a tiny moan beginning in his chest.

“Rush is fine,” he whispered; a hoarse whisper, as though he somehow couldn’t speak.

“Fine,” she echoed the last of his words.  She sighed again, and then lay in silence holding, and being held, just breathing together. Nothing more until something occurred to her, and with a slightly teasing tone in her voice, she said, “You’re still wrong.”

That drew a low, languid chuckle from him, and he craned his neck a little to look down at her, as she looked up.

“Trying for round two…? Miss French?”

Notes: Damn it, I think I may just have had a stupid crazy idea!

[luckyspike]

Adventures in America, Ch. 7 - The Mix-Up Kid

In which the storm chasers enjoy the delights of a Waffle House

Adam learns Warlock’s birthday

And a storm brews ahead

Yes, figuratively, but also literally. This is a tornado-chasing fanfiction, honestly. Did you think I wouldn’t actually put a tornado in the damn thing?

Start from the beginning: ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6

or follow this link to my fanfiction tag

-

Adam could have whooped when Noel informed him and Lucky that they wouldn’t be meeting in the lobby until eight the next morning. “There’s gonna be storms, probably to the northeast, but it’ll be afternoon by the looks of it. Get some sleep tonight, boys, an’ we can meet up for a late breakfast and decide where we’re headed.”

They didn’t unpack much - pajamas, toothbrushes, and that was about it. Adam took a hot shower, quick as he could, and when he got out, he found Lucky laying on top of his covers, earbuds in, face-timing with a friend. Adam gave him a thumbs-up - his turn for the shower if he wanted it - and settled onto his own bed, pulling his phone out and making sure he was connected to the wifi before he texted his parents to see if they were awake - they hadn’t been, but they were so eager to hear from him that they took his call, voices thick with sleep but happy nonetheless. He could hear Dog snoring on their bed in the background.

They were happy to talk to him. They were glad to hear he was having fun, and reminded him to be careful and stay safe. He told them about Lucky, and Noel and Rachael, and everything he’d learned so far. “It sounds like a good experience,” Arthur Young said. “Just ah … you do know when the tornadoes are coming, don’t you?”

“I mean, largely. They can be unpredictable.” He heard his mother make a worried noise. “No, mum, but like, they have this program called Baron, it’s running all the time, and it shows radar and gives warnings, and Rachael and Noel have been doing this for ages, so they’re really good at it too. And careful.” He considered telling them about the safety precautions Noel had reviewed earlier, but considered that the things he had warned them against might actually be more alarming than the safety instructions that followed, and he decided to leave it out. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry, promise. How’s things at home?”

“All well and good,” his mother replied. “We miss you of course, and Dog misses you - he was sniffing around in your room the day you left - but Anathema said she’d have a word with him and he’s settled down since then.” He heard the dog’s collar jingle as his mother, or father maybe, presumably gave him a scritch behind the ears. “He’s a very good boy.”

Adam grinned at the unmistakable sound of a small dog’s tail wagging so hard it was beating against the bed cover. “Aw, yeah. Give him a hug for me, yeah?”

“Of course, love. Arthur, hug Dog, would you? He’s closer to you.” Adam’s mother yawned, drowning out some of the grumbles in the background and the sounds of more happy tail-wagging. “Have you spoken to your friends? Oh, and Anathema and Newt asked about you this afternoon.”

“Not yet, figured it’s kind of late. I’ll send an email.” He yawned as well, prompted by his mother. “Maybe in the morning. You can tell them I’m good though, if you see anybody.” He yawned again. “Sorry, I’m kind of beat.”

“Jet lag,” his father answered sagely. “You ought to get some rest then, Adam.”

“You guys too,” the boy added earnestly. “Sorry to call so early - I’m all messed up with the time zones -”

“No, Adam, we’ve been waiting to hear from you.” He smiled, and the slight ache of homesickness that had settled in his chest as soon as he’d boarded the plane lifted a little at the warmth in her voice. “Text anytime, love, and we’ll talk if we can.” She blew a kiss into the phone. “But get some rest for now, alright? Sleep well, and let us know how tomorrow goes!”

“Will do, Mum, Dad. Talk to you guys later. Lots of love.” He ended the call, and sat back against the pillows, continuing to tap on his phone, sending the video of the hail storm off to the group and his sister. To his surprise, Pep texted back almost immediately, sending a message of ‘Dude what!’. He paused. Then he called.

“Hey storm rider!” she answered. “What’s up, Adam? Cool video!”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Hah. What are you doing up?”

“Driving in to London with the girls later today, and I couldn’t sleep. Hopefully Addie is willing to drive because I’m going to be napping.” She yawned. “So how’s America?”

“Crazy.” He laughed. “I went to Dunkin Donuts this morning.”

“Mm. America runs on Dunkin, I’m told. You meet anyone cool?”

“Well, the people I’m with are really cool.” She made a curious little noise. “So there’s Noel and Rachael, the guides - I told you about them. They’re super nice. And I think between the two of them they might know everything about weather. We drove for like, 11 hours today, and you know we only went through two entire states?”

“Wow.”

“And I napped for part of it but a lot of it they were teaching us stuff … Man, Pep, there’s so much.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. “I know you guys always made fun of me for how much I talk about weather sometimes, but honestly I don’t know like … anything.”

“Well, maybe not compared to the experts,” she teased. “But compared to me and Brian and Wensley you know way more than any of us.” She coughed. “So who’s ‘us’ on your trip? There’s another student?”

“Oh! Yeah. He’s cool.” Adam heard the shower shut off, and wondered how much he should really say. “He’s American, but he lived in London for a while, he said. You know, I think his dad might have even worked at the air base?”

“No,” Pepper laughed. “No way. Only you, Adam, would find the one American in the entire world who even knows about Tadfield and grew up in London. And of course he’s obsessed with weather. You should find out if he lived in Tadfield at any point, like when he was a baby or something.”

Adam considered it. “Nah,” he said at length.”What’re the odds?” He yawned, as Lucky stepped out of the bathroom, dressed only in boxers, scrubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’m sure we’ll talk about it at some point.”

“You’d better. Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, me too.” He heard the sound of sheets and pillows being pushed around. “Might try to get a couple hours before I have to go.”

“‘M gonna go to sleep too.” He let his eyes drift closed. “Jet lag’s brutal.”

“I bet. And all that time in the car probably didn’t help.” She yawned again. “Can you send us more videos tomorrow?”

“If I see anything, yeah.”

“You think you might?”

“Dunno. Everything’s supposed to happen in the afternoon, so we’re gonna wait to see what the morning looks like.”

“Well. Send us stuff even if you don’t see anything. Send us videos of weird Americans.”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later, Pep.” He hung up the phone, laughing while he did so.

Lucky flopped into his own bed, yanking the covers up over himself. “Friends?”

“Yeah, back home. Pepper.”

“Isn’t England like … six hours ahead of us?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “I dunno, she said she was up. Figured I’d give her a call.” He grinned at his phone, before locking the screen and plugging it in to charge. “I sent the gang a video of the hail. Most of them prob’ly never seen hail that big before.”

“Yeah, that was wild.” He folded his hands behind his head. “Hope we get a tornado tomorrow.”

“That’d be cool.” He sighed. “Pep told me to send more videos. Said if there wasn’t anything interesting in the weather I could send her videos of crazy Americans.”

Lucky laughed. “I’ll act extra crazy tomorrow if we don’t get any weather. You can send her a video.”

“I’m not sure she’d count you since you grew up in London.”

“Nah, only until I was eleven, and even then other than the like … the housekeepers and the gardner, everyone was American. Well, except Nanny. But she was Scottish.” He shrugged. “Then my dad got reassigned back to the States and I’ve lived stateside ever since. So I’m pretty American.”

“Eleven?” Adam asked, pointedly not opening his eyes. “Huh.”

“Yeah it was weird.” Lucky yawned. “There was this whole thing in the middle east and then boom, back to America, no more England. Honestly, I think my mom was just sick of random diplomatic trips. I’ll tell you about it some time, that whole trip to the middle east was so weird.”

“Yeah,” Adam replied, faintly, feigning fatigue. “Yeah, gotta remember to tell me about it. Never been to the middle east.”

“You’re not missing anything. Avocado farms and weird professors and that’s about it, far as I remember.” He shut the light off, and rolled over, away from Adam. “G’night, dude.”

“Night,” said Adam, on autopilot. Minutes later, he heard quiet snoring, and all the better, because his mind was racing.

Most eighteen-year-old boys are, by nature, not particularly introspective. They may be bright, the may be clever, they may be well-educated and top of their class and very high-achieving, but it’s the rare boy who is capable of reflecting on all of the information presented to him, reconciling it with what he already knows, and then reaching accurate, logical conclusions that may be distressing to him. Often, denial worms its way in early, and until the correct answer knocks the boy in question directly on the head, the powerful lure of denial will always draw him away, convince him that another conclusion is more likely, or more desirable.

Adam Young, though, was not most eighteen-year-old boys. To start, he was the Antichrist, even if he’d turned his back on that years ago and preferred not to think of himself in those terms. Further, he was quietly introspective, a trait he’d developed due to, well, being the Antichrist, and always, in spite of himself, watching his own thoughts for hints of Not Being Adam. Messing About. Antichristly things, essentially.

That could be to his advantage even now, though. And right now, his mind was cranking into overdrive, combing through what he knew. Warlock Dowling - father might have worked in Tadfield, was working in England when Warlock - Lucky - was born, Lucky was raised in England. Satanist nanny and monk gardner. Random trip to the middle east when he was eleven, followed by a sudden departure from London, never to return to the UK again. Or the middle east, come to think of it.

Adam wondered if he had stayed in touch with anybody from London. Particularly, the nanny and the gardner.

It all sounded very suspicious.

“We would have been with you from the beginning, you know, but there was a mix-up,” Aziraphale had told him once, years ago. Adam remembered that he’d gone to Aziraphale crying - it happened sometimes, more then but still these days, blessedly rarely - about what he’d done in the few brief hours when he really was the Antichrist. The things he might have brought about. The fate he and the world had so narrowly avoided. “We would have loved to be with you.” Adam remembered how the angel had hugged him, stroked his hair, dried his tears. “It was an unfair burden to lay at your feet, Adam, and Crowley and I always wanted to help but … there was a mistake. Best laid plans, and all that. It doesn’t undo what was done, and I am frightfully sorry about the lead-up, the way we treated - or didn’t treat - you, but know that had we known, we would have been there. But Adam, even then, you were brilliant. You are brilliant.”

There was a mix-up.

Warlock Dowling snored gently.

- 

The next morning dawned hot and humid. Lucky and Adam woke with the alarm around nine, and lazily set about getting ready for the day. Adam checked his phone to find messages from his friends about the hail storm (“don’t let those brain you,” from his sister and, “dude what if it hits you,” from Brian), replied when he felt it was indicated, and pulled on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. Lucky was ready to go shortly after, and they stepped out of the motel room and into the air. Lucky made a noise of disgust.

“Talk about humid.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Adam agreed, trying to ignore how his t-shirt was already sticking to his skin, even though he’d only just come outside. “Good storm weather though, yeah?”

“Should be. I’m sure we’ll get a look at the radar over breakfast.” He rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get us a tornado today, huh?”

“Or some serious hail,” Adam agreed. A part of him - a large part of him - wanted to say sod it to the weather and have a serious talk with Lucky about his upbringing, his birth, his life to that point. How old was Lucky? They were roughly the same age, Adam knew that, but they could easily be a year or so apart, and all of the stuff that sounded suspiciously occult might have just been a coincidence. After all, it was all relatively easy to explain, in the harsh light and oppressive humidity of the Oklahoma day: American diplomat posted at a British airbase, family moved to the nearest metropolitan area, lived there for years, made a brief foray to the middle east - and America was so involved there around that time, Adam remembered, that that was hardly unusual - and then returned to America. Unusual, certainly, but not … occult. And having a diplomat for a father wasn’t exactly commonplace, so even then a bit of unusual-ness could be forgiven.

The Scottish Satanist nanny, though, reared her presence in his mind. The monk gardner. Good and evil.

Adam shook his head, when he realized that Lucky was speaking to him. They’d walked to the truck together while Adam thought and, on autopilot, he had set his stuff in the bed of the truck and closed the gate. Noel and Rachael were nowhere to be seen, not yet, but Adam thought he heard them talking on the other side of the motel. “Huh?” he said, looking to Lucky.

“Nothing,” the other boy shrugged. “Just talking about the radar. All this moisture and warmth - if we have any cold air from the northwest at all, we run a really good chance of catching a storm today.”

“Yup.” Adam leaned back against the truck and looked around the parking lot idly, arms crossed over his chest in spite of the heat. He met eyes with a stranger - a businessman, by the looks of him, dressed all in brown, with neatly-combed salt-and-pepper hair - that was sitting on the trunk of his rental car, reading a book. The two exchanged taut smiles, and the stranger returned to his book. “Hopefully out in the middle of nowhere, where we can get a good luck without too much people an’ stuff being around.”

“Yeah, that’d be ideal.” Lucky waved to Noel and Rachael as they approached. “Hey guys!”

Rachael raised her thermos in greeting. “Morning morning! You guys ready to hit it? The radar looks pretty good.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yep.” Adam opened the back gate of the truck for her, and she tossed her bag in. “You hungry? I’m starving. Hop in, we’re gonna hit the Waffle House and go over the game plan.”

“No Dunkin?” Lucky looked surprised.

“Gonna mix it up today, get exciting.” Noel snickered. “And also she has her own bag that she used to brew a pot in the room earlier this morning, so she’s already fueled-up.” He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “She’s an addict, guys, I’m telling you.”

The boys laughed, while Rachael pointed out, “There’s worse things. Alright, load up, we have a storm to talk about, and I want some waffles!”

The Waffle House was such a uniquely American experience that Adam started taking video almost as soon as they entered. From the way the entire restaurant greeted them as they walked in, to the waiter’s accent, to the menu itself, he sent all of the snaps to his friends. There was no reply, not when it was so early in England, but he looked forward to the messages that would probably come through later, after everyone was up. 

He tucked into a truly massive waffle and two eggs for breakfast, topped with a few strips of crispy bacon. It tasted exactly like he’d imagined it would, and he devoured it with gusto, finishing before Rachael even got through her second cup of coffee. Noel, still working at his omelet, pulled his laptop out of his bag and handed it over the table to Adam. “Check out the radar, Adam, and see what you think. There’s some really interesting stuff shaping up; let me know where you think it might be.”

Adam cracked the computer open. Next to him, Lucky studied the screen intently with dark eyes while Adam poked the cursor around the radar screen, randomly at first, and then slowly in a more organized fashion, tracing fronts and pressure systems, gradually hovering more consistently over a spot in mid-Kansas. Lucky nodded, never speaking, when he agreed, pointing at times. Across the table, Noel and Rachael shared companionable silence, Rachael with her coffee cradled in her hands and Noel slowly working at his omelet.

“Ready to show your work?” Rachael gestured to Adam to turn the laptop around, after he and Lucky had exchanged a few words and seemed to settle on a location. “Let’s see it.”

“I think,” Adam said slowly, pointing to the screen, “the best shot of anything happening is going to be right around here.” 

“Hey!” Rachael grinned broadly. “Nice job, guys!”

“Yeah?” They exchanged a high-five. “Yeah!”

“Maybe a little more east,” Noel added, after he’d swallowed his last bite of omelet. “But really good for day two! What made you settle on that area?”

Adam and Warlock traded off explanation duties as Rachael settled up with the waiter, she and Noel adding information and correcting them as needed. In the truck, they settled in, Rachael in the driver’s seat for the first leg, and set course for Kansas. There wouldn’t be as much lecturing today, Noel assured them, and although Adam was eager to learn, he was truthfully a little grateful for the break. As they drove across the plains, he and Lucky put their headphones in, Adam listening to his downloaded playlist of tried-and-true favorites while he took video of the blue skies and white clouds, saving them to send later, when he could get to wi-fi. Around nine, he did get a text from Aziraphale - Crowley’s phone, of course, but the grammar and punctuation gave the angel away - bidding him to stay safe and out of trouble. He smiled, faintly, and settled back in the seat to watch the landscape drift by.

Lunch was sandwiches from a little deli they passed on their way through a town for gas. Adam savored the turkey and cheese in the back of the truck, Noel informing them that the time would be tight for the afternoon storms and they couldn’t afford a proper stop. He must have drifted off after he ate, because the next time he woke it was because Rachael had nudged his knee. She pointed to the screen of her laptop, excited. Adam leaned in. “Look at this,” she said, excited. Adam nudged Lucky, who had likewise drifted asleep with his headphones in, and ignored the muzzy noises the other boy made as he woke. “See the body of it there? It’s been holding steady for the last hour.”

Adam squinted. “Is that a hook echo?” He pointed to a part of the screen. Rachael, thoughtful, turned the screen to look. “Ah, no! But it might be an elephant trunk-type signature …” She studied it for a few seconds. “We’ll keep an eye on it. You awake, Lucky?”

“Mm yeah.” Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, Lucky unbuckled his belt, the better to lean forward and study the computer.

“Check out the base velocity data.” She changed views, and both boys blinked. “Do you know what you’re looking at?”

“Not … really.” Adam cocked his head. “Something about the wind speed in relation to the radar site?”

“I think I’ve seen it before,” Lucky chimed in. “Is it … wait. Green away and red toward? Or red away? Or is it speed …”

Rachael shook her head. “Not quite, but you guys are already ahead of the game - a lot of chasers your age don’t know anything about base velocity until after their first chase. So Lucky, it’s red away, and green toward.” She pointed to the screen. “Doesn’t really have anything to do with the speed of the winds, just how they’re moving in relation to the weather station. So when we’re looking for rotation, obviously, we want to see red and green really close to each other, right?”

“Makes sense,” Lucky agreed. 

“So look here.” She pointed. “Now this stuff up here -” she twitched her hand to gesture vaguely at a scattering of red amongst green, “- I think is just artefact but this, this looks concentrated. See that?”

Adam and Lucky exchanged a look. “Like, it’s the dot, right?” Adam guessed.

“More or less.” Rachael flipped back to the regular radar view. “But you see how it correlates to a high-precipitation area? Means there’s probably a mesocyclone in there.” She clenched and unclenched her fingers, excited. “We might get a tornado today, guys. Definitely a lot of lightning, if the precipitation holds together.”

“How far out are we?” Lucky asked, shifting anxiously in his seat.

Noel answered this time. “Probably an hour or two. We should start seeing some more interesting clouds soon. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Adam and Lucky settled back, each looking out of their own window, while Rachael and Noel talked about something else - photography, something with Rachael’s lightning set-up - in the front seat. 

“Have you ever seen a tornado?” Adam asked Lucky, as he craned his neck to see more to the front of the truck.

“Oh, yeah! Not up close, but one time in Virginia there was a little one and I could see it from the back yard. It didn’t last very long, but it was really cool. You?”

Adam thought about the tornado in Tadfield, when he was eleven. “Nah,” he said, stuffing the memory away. “Been in a few bigger storms, but you know … England.”

“Yeah, really severe weather isn’t really a big thing over there, huh? They get tornados though sometimes. I think.”

“Really little ones usually, yeah,” Adam agreed. “They don’t last long, normally, or do much damage.”

“I know another chaser from England,” Noel chimed in as he drove. “He comes over for the season every year. We were talking about it one time, he said that England has the second-most tornadoes per land area in the world.”

“Seriously?” Adam blinked.

“Yeah, but it’s a small area.” Lucky frowned. “And they’re not big?”

“No,” Noel agreed. “Not usually. He lives right in what he calls England’s tornado alley.” He laughed. “A little southwest from London I think he said? I can’t remember the name of the town. Most of the twisters there are around 95MPH wind speed, so they’re not really that powerful, but he told me he chases over there sometimes, if he’s home when they’re around. He showed me a few photos.”

“It was pretty cool - you don’t really think about tornadoes in England,” Rachael chipped in, absently. “Where in England is Tadfield, Adam?”

“Northwest of London,” he answered, using the city as a reference point. “About, oh, two hour drive I think, usually.” He did not add that most of the recent times he traveled to and from London by car, the car was being driven by a demon, and travel time was therefore significantly reduced. “It’s not a big village at all. Biggest thing there is the air base, and even that’s pretty small now. Population-wise, anyway. It’s mostly computers.”

“I think that’s why my dad got reassigned to London,” Lucky said thoughtfully. “Plus, you know, diplomat. London made more sense I guess.”

“Yeah it would do.” Adam looked sidelong at the other boy. Lucky didn’t notice, staring out of the window. “So you were born in London?”

“No, actually. It’s kind of a crazy story - my parents were supposed to fly in to the air base together, but my mom ended up having to go alone for a few days because there was something with the president? I dunno, Dad never actually said what it was. But anyway Mom flew in and then like, went into labor while she was staying at the air base waiting for him, so I ended up being born there.” He shook his head.

“Oh.” Born at the air base. Adam could have laughed with the relief of it. Another thought occurred to him. “Aren’t pregnant women not supposed to fly, though?”

“I dunno, probably.” He shrugged. “I guess when the president says go, you go.” He snorted. “And then, so like, she’s at the air base, but then she said they didn’t have a doctor that knew how to deliver babies? So she had to go to this weird hospital with nuns to have me. Worked out in the end, Dad got there after I was born and we went to the place in London like they’d planned.”

Weird hospital with nuns. The words echoed in Adam’s ears, in between the pounding rush of his own heartbeat. Weird nuns. Satanic nuns, maybe? How do you ask if someone was born in a hospital full of Satanic nuns? 

“Wild story,” said Rachael from the front seat, but as far as Adam was concerned, she might have been a thousand miles away. “See the clouds up ahead?”

“Supercell!” he heard Lucky say, distantly, and the other boy - the other boy who was born in a weird hospital with nuns, to a politically-connected family, and then raised by a satanic nanny and had a monk for a gardener, and then went to the middle east when he was eleven - leaned forward to start chattering on with Rachael and Noel. About storms.

Adam loved weather, but at the moment, nothing could be further from his mind.

“When’s your birthday?” he blurted out, stopping the other three mid-conversation. And then he blinked, realizing what he’d done, as Rachael and Lucky looked to him, puzzled. “Sorry, never mind, wasn’t paying attention.” He forced a weak smile.

“August 23. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Adam lied, immediately turning to look out the window. “Wow, check out that cell!”

“... Yeah. It’s big.” Lucky looked over to Rachael, who had raised her eyebrows questioningly. Even Noel was glancing curiously between the two students in the rearview mirror. Lucky shrugged at Rachael, the universal ‘I have no idea’ gesture. “You alright, Adam? Really?”

“Fine.” We have the same birthday, born in a weird hospital with nuns, we’re probably the same age, they thought I was him, they thought he was it, it was him, it was this guy …

“Nerves are totally normal,” Noel said a little more quietly, not taking his eyes off the road, or the storm cell ahead. “Don’t worry - we’re gonna get plenty of videos if anything happens, but we’ll keep our distance. It’s early still - by the time we’re five weeks in you’re gonna wanna drive the truck yourself.”

It was him, he was the mix-up, it was - And then Adam stopped himself, because some part of him realized that this wasn’t productive, he wouldn’t change or alter anything with this line of thinking, and furthermore, he was in the back of a truck which was headed straight for what looked, on radar, to be a supercell with significant tornadic potential. “No, it’s fine,” he insisted, with a shake of his head. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry, really, I think I’m just still a little messed up from the time change, but I’m fine. Seriously,” he added, when Rachael and Lucky looked to him, radiating concern and curiosity. “Let’s do it - I’m so ready.”

Rachael watched his face for another minute and then made a decision, apparently, because she nodded ever-so-slightly, and turned back to her laptop, maneuvering it so the two in the back seat could have a better view of the screen. “Good, because you see that on radar?”

“Hook artefact,” Lucky breathed, as Adam watched the picture twist on the screen, the red blob at the center of the storm leaving a trail to the southwest that was just so slightly starting to curve north-easterly. 

“I think so. Let’s take a look at the base velocity.” As she switched views she grinned, and Adam saw what she was moving to point toward right away. “See it?”

“Mesocyclone?” Adam asked, eyes wide, insisting his brain focus on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time to really process the fact that he was sitting with the other Antichrist - the not-Antichrist, the mix-up kid - and hunting tornadoes with him later. 

“I think so.” Rachael looked up, out of the windshield, and the students followed her gaze. Ahead, the clouds towered, gray and ominous and piled on top of one another, all the way up to the stratosphere. “Looks good for a tornado, guys.” A bolt of lightning shot through the clouds, illuminating pockets and curves. “Let’s get it.”

-

Now with Chapter 8!

[daebakinc]

Defy Inertia - Pt 1

Pairing: Taecyeon x Reader Genre: Lawyer AU, romance, angst Summary: Your life is a story of settling for being alone, for being content rather than happy. Reuniting with Taecyeon, a high school acquaintance, makes you question if you want to continue that way. Word Count: 3.5K

Inertia: a tendency to do nothing or remain unchanged

There is nothing quite like a high school gymnasium. The scents of sweat, rubber, and floor-wax secrete from the cinderblock walls and wooden bleachers no matter how frequently, or rather infrequently, the floor is washed. Banners splay across the walls above a trite mascot to proclaim past glories of athletic prowess. Soaring metal ceilings with exposed beams stretch as a challenge to see who can kick any ball available and get it stuck in the rafters. <br />

For some students, stepping onto that overly shiny, squeaking wood floor is the best part of the day. Here, their grades improve the more they move. They’re actually encouraged to shout, to throw and kick and run with semi-organized abandon.<br />

Then there are the other kids. Gym is their hour of hell, where their nightmares of being publicly humiliated through no one’s fault but their own genetics are realized.<br />

You fall into this second category.<br />

That’s why you sit on the pulled-out bleachers with elbows on knees and chin on hands, observing your classmates scampering around and throwing balls in every direction with the energy that only comes with a rapidly impending summer. The gym teacher leans against one wall. A cluster of boys surround him as he listens to a game of some kind on his hand-held radio. He doesn’t really care what anyone’s doing at this point in the year. The only time he looks up and yells when a ball smacks the wall too close to his head.<br />

Some of the other girls in the class sit across from you, chittering and giggling like birds. You don’t try to join them. In high school, some cliques are as strict as the medieval social class system. <br />

Not that you mind too horribly, you remind yourself with a shrug. Being popular is overrated in your humble opinion. It seems exhausting to have hundreds of “friends.” Only having a handful is fine for you. Not to mention you know the kinds of conversations popular girls have thanks to your seat in the back in math and aptitude for being invisible. You don’t really care who’s dating who or which student throws the parties with plentiful weed. <br />

You would much rather be buried in the book waiting for you in the locker room. Maybe you could sneak back and grab it without the teacher noticing. The princess had just escaped to the dragon’s cave and was proposing to be its maid…<br />

“Hey.”<br />

For all its affability, the unexpected voice rudely jolts you from your thoughts. You immediately glance around, assuming whoever addressed you only did so to get a ball back. But there’s nothing.<br />

The seat beneath you jostles on achy old joints as someone sits beside you. It’s hard to hide your confusion when you see it’s Taecyeon.<br />

He’s not the quarterback or star forward, but his looks, athleticism, and easy friendless place him several social circles above you. He sits behind you in English, but aside from a few ‘thank you’s’ for passed papers, you’ve never really talked. Taecyeon is the kind of guy you half-heartedly crush on if you think about it. Tall with thick black hair that never behaves and thin, gold-framed glasses, he has all the personal qualities you want too, but you’d laugh in the face of anyone who told you that you stood a chance with him. Not even Cinderella’s fairy godmother could pull that kind of magic.<br />

“Hi,” you reply, trying to buy yourself time to figure out what he wants. Certainly not for you to do his homework. His grades are equal to yours from what you’ve seen.<br />

When he just smiles at you and turns his gaze back out over the gym, it unsettles you more. You look around for an answer but only find another layer of confusion added to the puzzle. Taecyeon’s usual group of friends are playing a bizarre kind of tag with pool noodles they unearthed from somewhere in the equipment closet. Admittedly, you sometimes catch glimpses of him alone in the library, but otherwise he always has a few friends attached to him. He’s just that kind of person people want to be around. You secretly envy him for that.<br />

Taecyeon glances over at you. His tone is casual as he asks, “What’re you doing over here by yourself?”<br />

Your response is knee-jerk. “Jess isn’t here.”<br />

“She’s your best friend, right?”<br />

You nod, unsure how he even knows that. Jessi is so loud and gregarious it’s probably a wonder if anyone doesn’t know her, but you’re not Jessi. You’re her quiet shadow, happy to soak in her happiness and brightness.<br />

“Why not sit with someone else?”<br />

“Cause they’re not my friends. I mean, I don’t hate anyone in this class.” You let your eyes wander around the gym. “I’m on speaking terms with a few, but I wouldn’t call them friends. It’d be awkward to randomly try to integrate myself into their friendships. I’d rather be alone.”<br />

Taecyeon’s lips purse slightly, like he’s actually thinking over your answer. You wonder why he cares, or if he even really does. Maybe he’s talking to you as a dare. It wouldn’t be the first time. The thought causes only a twinge of hurt, the knife too dull from use to truly inflict damage.<br />

Slowly, Taecyeon twists his body to face you and catches your eyes with his. “Don’t you get lonely?”<br />

No one’s ever asked you this kind of question. It takes you awhile to form some kind of answer. Telling Taecyeon a lie doesn’t seem right.<br />

“I’m used to it.” You shrug and glance away.<br />

You’ve been telling yourself this for so long that it’s the only truth you know. You are used to it. Used to sitting alone, standing alone, with only your own thoughts for company. Used to that familiar little ache occasionally worming its way into your heart as you watch your peers laugh and chatter in well-established groups. Used to beating that need for belonging back because your only other choice is to cry in the bathroom until Jessi finds you.<br />

When he doesn’t say anything else, you risk a look back.<br />

He stares at you, unmoving. Your fingers bunch around the hem of your gym shorts, but you can’t look away. There’s something in his eyes. Not the pity you occasionally catch in the people who sometimes treat you like a social charity case. If you were to go the easy route, you would call the emotion melancholy, but that would do it an injustice. No, it’s something deeper and something that completely eludes you.<br />

Taecyeon suddenly pushes himself off the bleacher. He looks down at you and gives you a small smile. It’s not his usual charisma-filled grin, but a softer, sadder cousin of it. Quietly, so the words are for your ears alone, he says, “You shouldn’t have to be.”<br />

Before you can respond, he walks away without another word or look back. He jumps off the last few steps and is immediately enveloped by his group of friends, leaving you speechless and more baffled than ever.<br />

Light taps beat in your heart as something flutters there, but you squelch it down before it can draw its real first real breath. You are safer that way. <br />

There are things you want in this world, many wonderful, amazing things. So many. But just as many are never meant for you to hold. They are stars, shining distantly like a hopeful child’s innocent wish. You accepted you wouldn’t be the world’s youngest astronaut to enter a new star’s solar system a long time ago when you found out those stars are light years away from Earth. Just like those stars, some dreams are meant for looking at and never achieving.

When a clerk summons you to the head office, your palms immediately start sweating. As you sit in the overstuffed ruby-red leather seats with their cool brass studs pressing against your back, you discretely rub your palms on your modest skirt. Although you’ve been working at the firm for over two years, and interned here a year before that, you’ve only met Mr. Mason once.<br />

A man as broad as he is tall, his soft voice conflicts with his hardened face. When paired with a dogged intellect, these features have served him well enough to help him build a distinguished and successful firm of his own. You are just one of his many employees, one of the four law librarians. Until today, you weren’t even sure he knew your name. Now, even though you can’t think of a single infraction, you really wished he didn’t.<br />

The secretary across from you clears her throat. “Mr. Mason will see you now.” She gives you a small smile, but you know the one you send her back is still weak with nerves.<br />

Mr. Mason glances up from a document as you slip through the door. “Ah, good morning. Please, take a seat. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”<br />

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, doing as he says. You’re grateful his desk is high enough to hide your fidgeting hands. The smell of the old books that line two of the walls and beeswax that clings to the shelves is somewhat soothing, but not enough to completely banish your fears of being fired. You wish you were back in your comfortable, quiet library.<br />

A few more scratches of his pen against the paper and Mr. Mason sets it aside, folding his large hands. He gives you a fatherly smile. “Please, don’t be worried. You aren’t in trouble, Ms. ______. Quite the opposite actually.”<br />

With more than a bit of relief, you let your failure of a poker face fall completely. Hands stilling, you ask, “The opposite, sir?”<br />

“Yes, the opposite. Your superior and the lawyers you’ve worked with have all complimented your meticulousness and insight. I know Mrs. Jenkins is contemplating retiring in a few years and she has indicated she will put forth your name as her recommended successor.”<br />

You feel your cheeks heat, not only with pride but also at thought of being in charge of such a library. Wrangling your emotions, you offer a polite, “Thank you.”<br />

“Because of this, I would like you to do me a favor, if I may ask it of you.”<br />

“Of course, sir.”<br />

Mr. Mason smiles at your enthusiastic response. “Have you heard of the firm Perry and Hwang, I presume?”<br />

“Yes. It’s a small firm with an impeccable reputation that primarily practices employment and labor law, though it also handles some civil and housing cases. Its pro-bono program is very well known. It recently won a high-profile case concerning a university that refused to renew a professor’s contract when she came out as gay. I try to keep up with major legal cases in the city regardless of specialty. I like to broaden my knowledge base,” you explain when your employer gives you a questioning look.<br />

“Very ambitious of you. Why I ask is that Mr. Hwang is an old friend of mine and his librarian is about to go on family leave. Mr. Hwang mentioned to me that he’s been unable to find an acceptable, temporary replacement. If you are agreeable, you would spend six weeks at the firm and return to your normal duties here afterwards. Your pay will remain the same, as will the hours expected of you. Is this agreeable to you?”<br />

The thought of going somewhere new settles uneasily in your stomach, but you push it down, ignore it. One of your New Year’s resolutions is to put yourself out of your comfort zone to interact with people you don’t know. This is a perfect opportunity. Kudo points from the boss aren’t a bad motivation either.<br />

“Yes, sir. It is. When do I start?”</p>

<p> Settling in to your new worksite for the next six weeks is much easier than you feared. Mr. Hwang’s son, Chansung, shows you around the small, two-story brick building in less than ten minutes. The halls are oak paneled and navy carpeted, with each person in their own individual rooms so the only sounds inside are the distant tap of keyboards, the occasional phone ring, and the muffled murmurs of consultations. You meet most of the staff except for the junior lawyer in charge of the pro-bono program, who’s in court. <br />

When Chansung closes the door behind him after bringing you to the library, you wait until you hear the floor stop squeaking beneath his shoes. The instant you’re sure he’s out of hearing, you drop your purse and run to throw yourself onto the well-stuffed cushioned window seat. <br />

Cradled by bookcases and warmed by the sun streaming through old, thick glass, you sigh happily. “I could get used to this,” you murmur happily, breathing in the familiar smell of printed ink, old paper, and coffee.<br />

The floor-length bookcases that line the walls are old, cedar darkened with age. A forest green rug covers most of the equally aged wood floor, some spaces paler from wear of pacing shoes. Gold on the spines of multicolored books sparkles where the sun from the single window hits them. <br />

You allow yourself only a moment more before you follow your nose to the coffee machine and electric kettle. To your delight, the librarian you’re covering for left you a full bag of gourmet ground coffee as well as a pretty tin of assorted teas that smell heavenly. It all sits on top of a tiny refrigerator with half and half and other creamers.<br />

The desk is glass and metal, modern amongst the traditional. A quick glance through the desktop shows the software is up to date and top quality. Beside the keyboard is a stack of folders detailing cases the librarian hadn’t managed to finish before his leave.<br />

“Excellent.” No need to wait around for work. Armed with your own tumbler of tea, you riffle through the files for one that strikes your fancy and dive in.<br />

The cases prove fascinating as you delve further and further into the research. All the statutes and precedents and contracts and court proceedings to sift through and evaluate has you happier than a cat in a sunroom. The clock’s hands become inconsequential until your stomach complains. There’s a breakroom on the first floor, but you’re reluctant to leave when you’re making so much progress. Once you’re in a rhythm, you like maintaining it.<br />

“Chansung didn’t say I couldn’t eat here,” you murmur.<br />

You carefully clear a spot among the papers and notes. Unzipping your lunchbox by your feet, you choose a small container of strawberries. You hum happily as soon at the sugary fruit hits your tongue. A quick wipe of your fingers with a paper towel and they’re back at the keyboard.<br />

You’ve just popped the last strawberry in your mouth and are reaching for your wrap when the library door opens.<br />

A tall man with his head of black hair bent over two packets of paper steps into the room. The sleeves of sky blue button-down shirt are rolled up to his elbows to expose forearms more suitable on a gym rat than a paper-pusher. The strain of the fabric over his broad shoulders also silently speaks of a more powerful frame than the average lawyer. A tie hangs tiredly from his neck, loosened to a casual length.<br />

“Jay, quick question. Did you have a chance to find those architectural plans I asked you about last week? If you can’t, I have contact at city hall who may be able to find them.”<br />

Something sounds irritatingly familiar about his voice. When he lifts his head and looks at you, his glasses with thick black frames perched on the end of his nose, you almost choke on what’s left of the strawberry.<br />

His voice is deeper. He grew into his height. His facial features are more defined and matured. Yet in spite of all that, he’s somehow still the same. And somehow, he causes a little skip in your heartbeat.<br />

Taecyeon.<br />

Like most people, you’d lost track of the majority of your high school classmates. Most because of indifference, some because of simply growing apart. You were never close with Taecyeon, so you didn’t have a reason to follow how his life after high school went. But sometimes that short conversation in the gym crawled into your thoughts.<br />

When you sat in the window of a house whose owner you didn’t know, surrounded by a raging party but kept company only by the cheap drink in your hand. When you watched housemates giggle out the door with their arm snugly tucked in their dates’ from the safety of your own room. When you chose a solitary carrell in the stacks to forego the study group table.<br />

That’s when you’d wonder about Taecyeon. Where he was. What he was doing with life. If he was happy. Useless questions that went unanswered. Now, all those questions are bursting at the tip of your tongue, but your lips stay glued shut. You can’t embarrass yourself with such a display when he won’t recognize you at all. Resignation is already settling itself in your mind.<br />

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re not Jay.” Clearing his throat, Taecyeon recovers quickly from his mistake. He straightens his shoulders and gives you an apologetic smile. “You’re from Mr.Ma-…”<br />

Instead of continuing, Taecyeon steps closer to your desk, frowning and adjusting his glasses. The way his eyes stare so intensely make you want to squirm, but you can’t look away.<br />

“Wait. ______?”<br />

An invisible hand clutches your breath in your chest. You aren’t prepared for him to remember you. Hell, you weren’t prepared to even see him.<br />

“_______, it is you, isn’t it?” Taceyeon drops his papers on the chair opposite your desk. His smile becomes the natural, excited smile of a little boy as he rounds the desk. “Don’t you recognize me?”<br />

How could you not. With a shy smile because what else can you do, you quietly reply, “It’s good to see you, Taecyeon.”<br />

His arms twitch upward as if to pull you in for a hug, but he catches himself. Instead, Taecyeon reaches for the spare chair and wheels it close. You stay still, too shocked at his animated greeting. An outsider would have thought you were very, very good friends instead of mere acquaintances in school. <br />

“Wow,” he breathes as he sits, knees almost touching yours. His eyes still roam every centimeter of your face. “Who would’ve thought… I can’t believe you’re here. I didn’t know the name of the librarian helping us out, otherwise I might’ve been prepared. It’s been forever. How long’s it been?”<br />

“High school graduation, so more years than I’d like to admit to.”<br />

Taecyeon laughs, a loud sound that matches him perfectly. It eases your nerves, so your smile relaxes enough to not feel unnatural on your face. You aren’t displeased to see him. Not at all. But to say you’re thrown by his obvious pleasure at seeing you is an understatement. You like time to study people, situations. Taecyeon is denying you that time.<br />

“Yeah, it’s kind of scary, isn’t it? Seems like it was last year,” he says. He chuckles again and glances around the room. “Some things haven’t changed though. You’re still surrounding yourself with books. You probably still have one or two on you too.”<br />

“Guilty as charged,” you readily admit with a shrug.<br />

“I shouldn’t have expected anything less.” He flicks his wrist to peek at his watch. “Ah, I have a client meeting in five minutes. We should catch up some time soon though.”<br />

You give him another smile to hide how hard your heart is still beating. Hope that his words aren’t empty make it pound harder than it should. “Sure.”<br />

Taecyeon waves as he scoops up his papers and walks back out the door. He suddenly spins on his heel to look back at you. “Take a real break. With your working hours, you are legally owed an hour lunch. I should know. Employment lawyer,” he says with a wink and points at himself.<br />

“I am well aware,” you laugh.<br />

“Right. Of course, you are.” A grimace of embarrassment at his bad joke crosses his face, but he quickly hides it with a smile. “Well, see you later.”<br />

“See you.”<br />

Your back slumps into the chair, all the strength that kept you upright and functioning like an adult fleeing. “What the hell just happened?” you murmur.<br />

Taecyeon was here. In this law office, in this city. For how long? Had your paths crossed before unknowingly? Once, twice, maybe a hundred times. Now, you’ll see him every day. The real question, you suppose, is did he actually mean it about catching up. You want to believe he did, but experience warns you not to hope too much.</p>

[thecuriouscrusader]

Little Cas Loves Bees

Characters: Castiel, Michael, Gabriel

Word Count: 748

Prompt: “Love you too, Little Bug”

Tags: Heaven AU, Sibling Relationships, Fluff, Fledgling Cas, Good Brother Michael, Gabriel Being Gabriel

Summary: Michael and Gabriel encourage Castiel to show off his powers.

A/N: Written for @revwinchester‘s Y1k Challenge; congrats on all your achievements my dear! Thank you as ever to my darling @mrsgabrieltrickster​ for betaing x

When their father had made the archangels guardians of the newest fledgling Castiel, Michael had been skeptical to say the least. Castiel was apparently destined to do something great, although their father refused to disclose exactly what that was. The archangels had promised to train Castiel themselves so as to best prepare him for whatever his future held.

Their methods of teaching certainly varied. Gabriel's in particular involved a lot more playing down and dirty. Literally.

One day they were sitting in the archangels' garden and Gabriel was busy searching for bugs. Castiel sat in the hole formed by Michael crossing his legs around him. The little fledgling watched curiously as Gabriel pulled a pink wiggly creature out of the mud. 

"This is a worm, Cassie" he grinned as he placed it in his palm and held it towards Castiel so he could have a closer look. "They're really cool because if you pull their heads off they can grow a new body."

"Gabriel" Michael tutted disapprovingly. "I can't believe father allowed you to keep such a creation." 

"Well, Cassie seems to like it" Gabriel smirked. The little fledgling certainly seemed transfixed; his mouth was formed in an 'O' as he watched the worm wriggle around.

Then Gabriel got that mischievous twinkle in his eye. He balanced the worm on Castiel's nose. 

"Now you have a worm-stache kiddo" Gabriel laughed.

Castiel looked shocked for a moment and he went cross-eyed as he tried to look at the worm, but then he started giggling with delight. He clapped and fluttered his wings excitedly and some of the leaves on the ground around them started to spiral upwards like they had been caught in a gust of wind.

"Well done, Castiel!" Michael praised.

"Very cool, little bro" Gabriel added as he took the worm and placed it back in the dirt.

Castiel made happy gurgling sounds as he waved his hands around and made the leaves change directions.

"Fledglings don't usually display their powers this young" Michael noted. "You really are special, little one" he beamed as he lovingly tousled Castiel's hair.

"I wonder if his powers are attached to his emotions at this stage" Gabriel pondered. 

"Well you are not going to purposely upset him to find out" Michael frowned as he protectively wrapped his arm across Castiel's waist and pulled him closer.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Relax; I wasn't going to pinch his toes or anything. Although..."

He trailed off dangerously but got distracted from whatever he was thinking when a bee started buzzing around his head.

"Get lost!" Gabriel exclaimed with irritation as he swatted at the bee. "Only one of your creations could be so annoying."

"Bees are essential to sustaining the ecosystem" Michael pointed out. "And you made such creations as the platypus because you wanted to know what would happen if a duck and a beaver mated."

"Oh yeah, well....this is what I think of your precious bee" Gabriel said heatedly. He flicked his wrist and the bee stopped buzzing and dropped to the ground like a pebble. 

Castiel - who had been enjoying the bee - immediately started crying. Michael and Gabriel looked up as the sky became grey and rain drops began to fall.

"Well it seems you were right" Michael conceded. "But I think that you should leave before he accidentally casts a lightning bolt your way...or I do intentionally."

Gabriel's eyes widened a little and he quickly flew away. 

"Shhh, it's alright, little one" Michael tried to sooth Castiel. "We can make him better." 

He scooped up the bee and held it in front of Castiel. The fledgling stopped crying and sniffled as he cupped his hands together like Michael's. The older Angel carefully placed the bee in Castiel's pudgy hands and then closed his own hands around his little brother's.

"Concentrate, Castiel" Michael instructed.

Castiel closed his eyes and his nose scrunched up. Michael chuckled; his baby brother was adorable.

He suddenly felt warmth coming from within his hands and opened them to find Castiel's glowing. 

A low buzz emitted from between Castiel's palms and the fledgling opened them up to release the newly resurrected bee into the air. The rain clouds departed and a blue sky hung over them once more. 

"Yeah!" Castiel squealed happily.

"Well done, Castiel!" Michael beamed as he picked Castiel up and pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

Castiel giggled. "Uf oo Mika."

"Love you too, Little Bug."