#your prize is a front row seat to The Horrors

[mareastrorum]

One more thing: the insistence that the main themes of C3 are about colonialism also ignores all of Matt’s work to build themes around parent/child relationships and generational trauma.

Here is a child with 1+ absent parent and reason to harbor anger at 1+ parent due to neglect. Those roles may or may not overlap. This child has powers exceeding the prior generation and would have flourished far more if given the opportunity and care a child deserved. Instead, a violent and dire event occurred, and those parents chose a course of action that deprioritized their child, forcing them to adapt to a harsh world alone. They have been shunned by others for their difference, and they have trauma that could easily fester into disdain for everyone but themselves and a few choice loved ones. While there clearly could have been other horrible consequences that played out, this hurt would not have occurred if those parents had committed to the child’s well-being and stayed to ensure that. However, there were extenuating circumstances, and at least one parent had been forced to make decisions in suboptimal conditions. No one person is to blame because everyone shoulders it.

[llamagoddessofficial]

knightmare.......... (⸝⸝๑ ̫ ๑⸝⸝⸝)

The air was hot, and heavy. It always was, in the Summer Court, where the inescapable sun remained high in the sky for eternity. In this particular moment, however... the heaviness in the atmosphere was not caused entirely by heat.

The new knight, the stranger, had won yet another joust. Not only that, he had won a golden rose; the coveted prize for unseating five knights in a row. His opponent was still limping back to the competitor’s tent, their wings low in shame - and the stranger remained tall on his steed, alone in the centre of the ring. The raised stands surrounding the jousting arena had fallen deafeningly silent... he looked like a demon, horned helmet branching behind him, black ichor still leaking from between the heavy segments of his midnight armour.

The knight he had unhorsed was one of Dream’s favoured guards. Nobody knew what to do. Cheer? Boo? He held the rose he had just been presented with as if someone had handed him a dead bird; he seemed to observe it with a peculiar and detached sort of disinterest. 

Amongst the dozens of rainbow-clad fae surrounding him, he appeared a single black spider in field of butterflies.

The fae who had presented him the rose hurried out of view, ducking back under the fabric of the stands. The stranger’s horse had attempted to bite her, and she had only just moved away in time. You would’ve run, too, if you were her.

“... Your prize, visitor.” Dream, naturally seated under the shade at the head of the tourney, spoke with his classic eloquence. And you couldn’t deny you admired his ability to speak so loudly, and with such friendliness, as if nothing was wrong. But you knew him well enough to know that his teeth were gritted. He looked down at the knight with an unreadable expression, golden circlet winking in the light. “Well earned.”

You didn’t have the luxury of sitting further back, in the top of the stands, sheltered from sunlight. You were sat on one of the far wings - to the very front, with the rest of the common fae. 

... You used to be at the back. But you couldn’t think about that anymore. Ever since you had lost your humanity and grown wings, Dream’s eyelights had wandered to newer, more interesting people. You were relegated to the long and ever-growing list of Dream’s “old favourites”, the fae who had committed the ultimate sin of becoming boring. 

You weren’t even one of the preferred old favourites. You would be surprised if Dream even recalled your name. You sat at the front now, far from him.

... So when the knight ignored Dream, and turned his great horse in your direction, even though the stands provided a moderate height advantage you felt fear seize every muscle.

You had suspected, from the dramatic moment this terrifying stranger arrived, that he had been stealing glances at you. Little tilts of his helmet - flashes of an eye underneath the metal. You had done your best to talk yourself out of it, why would he care about you? He was clearly here to mock the King. You were seeing things, or he was looking past you to other, more beautiful fae.

The horse was more beast than steed. It was frothing and biting at its bit, muscles straining beneath its armour, midnight hide rippling with barely restrained energy; it stood at least three hands above every other horse at the tournament, wild eyes blank like parchment. How the knight stayed so easily seated upon the monster was a mystery - but a loud testament to his own strength. Anyone who could tame and ride such a thing must be worth his salt. 

You watched, in horror, as the beast drew closer. Each hoofbeat struck like thunder into the sand; you couldn’t help but feel a childish fear that the approaching steed might lunge forward and eat you. The fae around you were murmuring, wings were fluttering, seats creaked as tens of bodies attempted to lean away without committing the impropriety of leaving their place.

The horse pulled up alongside the stand. Its wild eyes, that had so hungrily observed the competition (and even the rose-bearer), didn’t so much as glance at you. It was like you weren’t even there.

The knight’s gauntlet-clad hand extended. The golden rose, tilted toward you. It all but glowed in the sun reflecting off its crafted petals; water-like ripples of light cast from it across his fine dark armour. Within his midnight hand, it only seemed to shine brighter. 

You looked down at him. From the gap in his helmet, could see a single eye staring back at you, the brightest azure you had ever seen. He spoke - his voice was far softer now. Not at all like the proud, booming tones of when he had declared himself a contender for the joust. 

“might this simple knight be so bold...” he murmured, “as to ask for your favour?”

It took a moment for you to speak. Your own voice was choked, barely audible to anyone but him. 

“Y-you wish to exchange your golden rose... for my favour in the rest of the joust?”

You could hear his smile through the metal. “indeed.”

Your brow furrowed. “That hardly seems like a fair exchange for you, lord.”

“any fool with coin could have a hundred golden roses.” His eye sharpened. “but the favour of the fairest creature in attendance? alas, there is only one of those. a metal trinket, in exchange for something truly priceless.”

The heat in your cheeks was undeniable. He extended his hand a fraction further; you sat forward in your seat and extended yours in turn. As he placed the delicate rose into your awaiting palm, you felt the cold metal of his claws trace gently over the back of your knuckles.

He settled back into his saddle, retaking his reigns.

“... I-I...” You swallowed, gently nodding your head to him, slightly raising your voice. “Good fortune to you, Lord.”

The knight lifted the reins. The horse shook, making a sound like a great bonfire, hooves beginning to paw at the ground once again. 

... He bowed his helmeted head. The horse turned, tail whipping, and moved back toward the centre of the joust range.

You froze in your seat, hands clasped around the rose. Everyone noticed that. Whispers immediately began to ripple across the crowd; you quickly darted your eyes away from the head of the seating, where Dream sat, hair prickling as you desperately avoided the overpowering urge to look to the Summer King for his reaction.

The mysterious knight had not called Dream “King”. Not once. And despite having every opportunity, for the duration of the tourney he had not bowed to him.

... But before the entire court, he had just bowed to you.

[sir-sunawani]

Starling

Omegaverse

Alpha!Crocodile/Omega!Reader

Inspired by @hannahbarberra162's Emperor's Prize

CW: A/B/O, yandere vibes (unsure if full blown yan yet), dub con (possible non-con I am so by the seat of my pants with this), rough sex, rough everything kind of, mdni

Chapter 2: Understanding

True to his word, the clown escorted you back to the island he apparently had as a base. You were less than surprised to see a series of massive circus tents everywhere, but you were impressed to see the sheer number of people gathered. The boat ride had been pleasant enough. Buggy got you water and snacks and went out of his way to either please you, or at least deter you from slapping the honk out of him a second time.

Buggy proclaimed loudly for everyone to stay back if they valued their lives. He danced and moved oddly around you, as though he could detach and reattach his body as he pleased, the big baggy red pajamas he was wearing, giving an illusion of him just being… kind of stretchy, instead. You’d learned about devil fruits, and so you assumed it was something like that and left it be.

No strength in this world was going to make him less of a clown, so it was almost admirable that he seemed to lean into it so completely.

He walked you past the rows and rows of towering tents and into the one brick and mortar building you think existed on this island. It was, as the tents, massive. A veritable castle itself, and a building that would only be slightly out of place on the Red Line. If the gray stones had been marble, accented with gold, then it would fit right in.

Up the large, wide curved staircase, he took you to the second story. Thick luxurious carpet lined the long hall, and all manner of decorative armor sets and pictures hung from the walls. It was very much a castle, one reminiscent of centuries past. It would be painfully out of style on the Red Line, but there was something about it that was almost more regal than anything the Celestial dragons could hope for.

Almost like the ghost of a time when they actually were something more than hollow dolls, meandering around the Red Line to give the illusion of control.

Buggy stops in front of a large set of doors. The wood is imposing, the understated gold worked into the frames almost feels like reinforcement, instead of simple flourish, biting into the wood and holding it tightly in place. The knock from the clown echoes thunderously, at least as far as you’re concerned, the noise far too loud for the somber silence that laid heavily against your shoulders.

“Come in.” The words are curt, clear, deep. Something prickles at the back of your neck, but you aren’t sure what to call it.

Buggy pushes the doors open with more ease than you expected, opening them up into a room that could’ve been a throne room, if not for the simple fact it was being used as an office.

The room was heavy, and dark. Not so dark that the details were lost in a gloom, but dark in a way that left you feeling like the furniture itself was consuming the light that spilled into the room. Leaving just enough for the man at the desk to work by.

Or maybe his will alone forced the light to survive in the room because it was useful to him.

The sight of the man was enough to pull the air from your blood for a second. You’d never had an emotional response toward a human. Maybe it was because of how you had been raised, trapped and caged at a young age, the scent of your curse wafting from your arms at the tender age of 12. Maybe it was because the horrors of facing a heat by yourself, was etched into your bones, lines cracking from the weight of the demon that bit into them.

What were mere humans after that?

But you could understand why the clown deferred to this man. The scent of his room is filled with the scent of dry fruits, and rum-soaked leather. The smooth warmth of polished sand, and something that simmers beneath the surface. Like a predator waiting to strike.

“Here she is.” Buggy says. A declaration of a conversation that must have happened while you were in route.

Golden-amber eyes regard you with an irritating level of boredom, but the unspoken command is for you to step closer.

So you do.

Buggy leaves the room and closes the door behind him. You haven’t seen someone make a hastier exit except when the Elders decided they wished to see you. A wise move for the guard assigned to escort you, and likely a wise move for the clown who found you.

“Your clothing marks you as an omega of the Red Line,” he says matter-of-factly. A deep scar runs across his face, and you wonder if that’s why Buggy calls him Crocodile. The stitch scars give it a look of crocodile teeth in a horrid kind of smile. “The body paint makes me think you’re The Starling.”

“I am.” You answer, matching his tone. You weren’t raised to even fear the Celestial Dragons, and it was only the meagerest of respects that caused you to defer to the Elders.

This man was neither.

“… You didn’t run away from the Red Line. Tell me how you ended up in the new world?” He commands. You consider declining to answer his questions, but it’s not like being unnecessarily antagonistic was going to do you a lot of good.

“I did not succumb during my last heat, and my scent became unpleasant.” You explain, a bored expression on your face to match his irritated one. “I was sent to the new world to be restored.”

“And who is supposed to perform this miracle?”

“I was not informed.” You reply, trying not to bristle at the idea that you wouldn’t be able to find a solution to your problem. “I expected to change ships many times, as omegas are often not left on a singular transport for any longer than required.”

There was a long silence between the two of you. You’d said your piece and weren’t going to prompt him for anything, but if he didn’t speak again in another couple minutes, you were tempted to turn and leave. He wasn’t even looking at you, his attention on the small mountain of paperwork he had been dealing with even before you arrived.

He hadn’t killed you on the spot. He hadn’t dared to touch you. He hadn’t made any demands of you, and admittedly you hadn’t spoken on any requests. But if he was just going to ignore you, you could be ignored in an empty room with a clean bed.

Turning you walked away from the desk and head toward the door. It’s been a long day, and frankly a nap sounds divine. The bastard at the desk isn’t speaking up and telling you to come back, so you pay him and his workaholism no mind.

When you put your hand on the door knob, a larger hand appears against the door. Save for the ring finger, all the fingers have fine rings upon them, and it seemed to be coming into existence from grains of sand.

The voice at your ear sends an ice cold chill down your back.

“I didn’t say you could leave.” He grumbles, and you can hear the shifting of sand as he forms completely behind you. You turn and face him, and realize he isn’t just imposing while he’s behind the desk, he’s tall to the point of towering over you.

“You didn’t say I had to stay.” You reply evenly, pushing back the few shivering nerves bubbling up in you. He’s entirely too close, and most alphas weren’t ever given leave to be so close to you, the smell is something you’re not used to at all. It’s not offensive, but you’re irritated, and you don’t want to like it.

He reaches out for you and you smack his hand away the same way you had Buggy’s. You would have hauled off and smacked him as well, but there was something in the way that his eyes narrowed that stops you.

“Do not touch me.” You assert. “Only omegas are allowed to-ah!” Crocodile grabs both your wrists so quickly you can’t react. Pinning your hands over your head he nearly lifts you off your feet, holding you against the door. The hard, cold curve of the back of his hook forces you to look up at him.

It is not a gentle hold.

“The gods of the Red Line may ignore the laws of men, and obey the decrees of the Elders,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes are stripping you bare. This isn’t a conversation between equals. You are the prey, and he is the predator. “But pirates heed only their own wills.”

Lowering his hook he snags the snug collar of your flimsy top with it, tugging enough to make you nervous, and managing to be so gentle that nothing rips. At least not yet.

“Stay in here.” He commands.

“I’m… tired.” You manage to say, trying to neither acquiesce or defy him.

“Then sleep.” He says, pulling you away from the door and nearly dragging you toward the desk. It’s everything you have to keep your feet under you and keep pace with his far longer strides. He walks past a bed you didn’t notice when you first came in, tucked back in the darkest corner of the room, and pushes open a door.

He shoves you into a bathroom, and you’re happy to have kept yourself on your feet.

“Clean that body paint off.” He commands. “I’m not going to have that disgusting slop staining my bed.”

“I’m-I’m not sleeping in your bed.” You try to assert. “There’s a hundred rooms in this castle, just let me-.”

“Have you bathed yourself before?” He interrupts and you can feel your face flush.

“I, yes, of course. It’s… it’s been,” years, it’s been years. “A bit. It’s not like one for-forgets.” You step back nervously as he steps into the bathroom with you. “Ab-absolutely not.”

“You keep talking as though you have any say in the matter.” Crocodile says coolly. “You can strip yourself, or I’ll remove your garments myself.”

“I… I can’t.” You admit. He raises a brow and you feel yourself heat up. “The collars and cuffs require two or more hands to unclasp, and I can’t reach the ones in the back.”

The ship you were on had several female beta marines who had been assigned “omega” status for the sake of tending to you on the ship. You imagine they hadn’t survived the raid.

A rush of wind and sand kicks up in the room and you can hear and feel your clothing being ripped from you. He could’ve simply ripped it off you, but he seemed to have decided to slip sand between you and the clothing and tear it away from you. The most expensive silk lay in tatters on the ground around you, and the only mark on you was a little red against your wrists from the earlier interactions.

Crocodile starts the shower for you, and after being seemingly satisfied with the water temperature steps back, looking at you coldly.

“If you miss any, I’ll wash you myself.” He warns, before turning and leaving you in the room. “In cold water.”

[bloseroseone]

Top 10 Historical Fiction Books to Read in 2024

Historical fiction is the genre for you if you enjoy tales that transport you to different eras and locations. Through the eyes of engrossing characters, these novels provide a beautiful blend of history and storytelling, giving you a front-row seat to important events and eras. These ten historical fiction novels are must-reads for 2024 that will enthrall your head and spirit.

"All the Light we cannot see by Anthony Doerr"

Anthony Doerr’s “All the Light We Cannot See” is a highly recommended historical fiction book to read. It is a captivating piece of writing.

The story, which is set against the backdrop of World War II, explores themes of survival, resiliency, and the human spirit amid the horrors of war by weaving together the lives of a blind French girl and a German soldier.

It is a fascinating and engrossing read because of its complex plot and deep character development. This historical fiction masterpiece, which won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, is a standout in the field and a must-read for readers of all stripes. This book is a standout in the genre of historical fiction and an essential addition to any list of books to read.

"Bloved by Toni Morrison"

One of Toni Morrison’s most important historical fiction books, “Beloved,” is a must-read. It is a chilling tale of Sethe, an escaped slave who is accosted by her deceased daughter’s ghost and takes place after the American Civil War.

The book deftly blends historical details with mystical elements, portraying the horrific reality of slavery and delving into issues of trauma, memory, and redemption.

“Beloved” is a compelling story that transcends time thanks to Morrison’s evocative style and rich character development, solidly establishing it as one of the must-read historical fiction novels for a perceptive understanding of America’s past.

"Outlander by Diana Gabaldon"

Fans of romance and time travel should not miss reading Diana Gabaldon’s engrossing historical fiction book “Outlander.” Set against the rich backdrop of Scotland in the eighteenth century, the novel is a remarkable fusion of historically accurate details and gripping narrative.

Readers follow the adventures of Claire Randall, a former nurse who travels inexplicably from 1945 to 1743, where she meets Jamie Fraser, a handsome Highland warrior.

“Outlander” is a must-read for anybody interested in historical fiction because of Gabaldon’s painstaking research and evocative descriptions, which bring the past to life. Its unique fusion of romance, history, and adventure makes for a truly captivating read...Continue reading

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 20: Roller Coaster

Following the war, Hogwarts instated a new policy. Everyone (regardless of their upbringing) who attended the school would be required to take a Muggle Studies Course.

Muggle Studies was not terrible, much to Draco's surprise and relief. In fact, Draco found that he actually rather enjoyed it. Especially the classes on Fridays.

On Fridays the eighth years had no classes except for Muggle Studies in the afternoon and their Professor always took them somewhere fun. They'd been to a pub, a bowling alley, a movie theater (Draco had especially enjoyed that one), a fancy restaurant, a few cafes, art museums and history museums, they went to see parliament, and Big Ben, and even a place called a 'science center'.

Today they were going to a muggle amusement park.

Potter (his assigned partner since he'd been raised by muggles) found him in the crowd once they arrived. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Draco replied, raising a hand to shade his eyes.

"Where should we start?" Potter asked, nodding to the expanse of oddities in front of them.

"Umm," Draco said, shading his eyes once more to look around, seeing only unfamiliar things.

"Come on," Potter said, apparently making the decision for them. "I think you need some sunglasses first."

(Read more below the cut)

Potter tugged him over to a stand off to the corner where they bickered about which sunglasses suited Draco best before finally agreeing on a pair of wayfarers with pink frames. The other boy's smile and encouragement were enough for Draco to slip them on.

"Very handsome," Potter said and Draco could feel his cheeks heat under the praise. Fortunately, Potter seemed not to notice as he turned to pay for the sunglasses.

After that they wandered around, Potter took him on a carousel, then down a giant slide that they had to climb into burlap sacks for, before dragging him over to the carnival games.

"Here," Potter said, paying the man at a booth and taking six ping pong balls from him. "You just have to sink them in the fish bowls and you win a prize."

"That hardly seems difficult," Draco replied.

The man behind the booth snorted, "Good luck, kid."

"Would you like to go first?" Harry offered.

Draco nodded and squared his shoulders before tossing the first ball. It pinged off multiple bowls before falling to the ground in between. "What?!"

"It's okay," Potter said, "try again. If you get two in, you still win a small prize."

"Right," Draco said, blowing out a breath and focusing. He tossed the ball more gently this time and it bounced once before sinking into one of the bowls. "Hah!" Draco shouted triumphantly.

"Good job," Potter replied, and there was a time when those words would have been tainted and sarcastic, but the two of them were long past that at this point. He knew the other boy was simply genuinely happy for him.

"Alright," Draco said, "Last chance little ball." He nodded once and tossed this one as well, it bounced once, twice, three times, before catching the rim of one of the bowls at an odd angle and flying off.

"Better luck next time," the man said. "You're up specs."

Potter nodded, let out a little huff of breath and tossed them right in a row; one and two sunk straight in, the third bounced once before sinking into a third fish bowl.

Draco's jaw dropped and he looked over to see that the man behind the booth looked equally stunned.

"Plushy unicorn or dragon?" Potter asked him.

"What?"

"Unicorn or Dragon?" he prompted.

"Dragon," Draco replied without real thought.

Potter nodded, "We'd like the blue dragon, please."

The man grabbed the dragon and handed it over to Potter, "That was well done."

"Thanks," Potter replied before turning and handing the dragon over to Draco. "For you."

"For me?"

Potter nodded and stuffed it into Draco's arms before walking off, "Come on," he called over his shoulder, "Roller coaster next."

It took Draco a moment to catch up with him, "Why did you give this to me?"

The other boy looked over at him and shoved his glasses up on his nose, "Do you not want it?" he asked, reaching for it.

"No," he said, turning away so he couldn't take her, "I want her."

"Alright then."

It wasn't really an answer but he didn't want Potter to take the delightfully soft and fluffy dragon from him so he kept quiet and mulled over the possible reasons. Pansy would say that Potter liked him, too, but Pansy was gay so he didn't trust what she had to say about boys.

Potter led him over to a tall, monstrous metal contraption and Draco watched with a small amount of horror as the muggles riding it were sent speeding off as they screamed bloody murder.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

Potter glanced over, "Yeah, it'll be fun. Like riding a broom," he added soft enough for only Draco to hear.

"Sure if someone else were in control of it!" Draco hissed.

"That's part of the appeal," Potter said as he stepped into line and tugged Draco after him. "Letting go, just flying without the work."

"You're insane."

"We'll see," Potter replied with a shrug and a secret little smile at the corner of his mouth that made his dimple show.

Draco waited, his heart pounding, palms sweating, as he got closer and closer to the front of the line. "Are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I am about anything," Potter replied with a sardonic grin.

They stepped up to the front of the line and the man told him, "You'll need to leave your dragon here."

"Might as well leave your sunglasses, too," Potter said, "wouldn't want those to go flying off," he added with a wink. A wink. And Draco was so off kilter that he did as Potter suggested before he climbed into the seat next to him.

The lap bar was pulled down and secured, "Potter," he started, sure that it wasn't healthy for your heart to beat this fast.

"It's okay," Potter assured. He'd taken his glasses off and folded them over the collar of his shirt.

"But-"

"Draco," the other boy said, turning to look at him and putting his hand over Draco's. "Seriously. No one has ever died from riding on this roller coaster."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked but it was too late, the roller coaster was already starting to pull them upwards.

"98%," Potter called.

"What?" he asked, trying to make sense of his words over the pounding in his ears and the rush of adrenaline he was experiencing.

"I'm 98% sure no one has ever died on this roller coaster."

It was not really the answer he'd wanted to hear. He opened his mouth to reply but the cart tipped over the top of the first hill and his words turned into a scream, one of his hand's clenching the lap bar, the other crushing Harry's.

He screamed as they were dropped and flipped, as the cart whipped around corners and he was knocked into Harry and Harry into him, all the while his heart racing. And Harry was right, it was a lot like flying but without the predictability.

As the roller coaster glided to a stop, Draco couldn't help but laugh; he felt lighter than air, freer than he could remember feeling in a long time. He turned grinning at Harry, "That was amazing."

"Yeah," Harry replied, giving his hand a little squeeze.

"Oh," Draco said, looking down at where he was still clenching the other boy's hand. "Sorry-"

"I'm not," Harry replied softly, a little shy.

"Please exit the cart, lovebirds," the man running the ride called. "We have other people waiting."

"Right, sorry," Harry apologized and he clambered out before holding out a hand for Draco to take.

Hand in hand, they made their way around to collect the dragon and Draco's sunglasses. "Where to next?" Draco asked, smiling so widely that it made his face hurt.

Harry swung their hands between them as he replied, "As long as it's with you, it doesn't matter."

Day 19: Ice Skating | Day 21: Scars

Thanks so much @gaygirldrarryblog for the prompt! I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet! <3

[capricornus-rex]

Stronger Than Blood (8)

Chapter 8: Bound by Fate or by Blood? | Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: Meeting another Force-sensitive was one thing, but having them related to one of the most formidable known duelers was a whole other story to tell. While being stranded in another planet after barely escaping the Haxion Brood, Cal crosses paths with someone who’s at a crossroads with their own identity and lineage.

Also tagging @ayamenimthiriel​

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Force-User! Reader, Force-Sensitive Reader, Sith-Related! Reader

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Part 7 | Next: Part 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Apparently, the only reinforcement they needed was the Purge Trooper. His kind was specifically made for Jedi—but you were an exception.

“You’re no Jedi,” the trooper points out, brandishing his twin batons. He points one at you. “But the Emperor says you’re a prize!”

Your weapon’s caliber is a bar below his batons, but that didn’t falter your will. Positioning yourself in a defensive stance with your techstaff in front of you, buckling your knees and keeping your grip firm.

“Ha! Don’t make me laugh, kid!” the Purge Trooper sniggered.

“I wasn’t trying to!”

Slightly impressed by your determination, he lunged towards you in a deadly nimbleness, you barely afforded a second to react. Deflecting him in the last minute resulted in a flimsy block that you leaned backwards, accepting all his weight onto you. With little strength you could gather, you pushed him away so you could reset your stance.

Finally, you were able to trade strikes with this black-armored Purge Trooper; though, as much as you hate to admit it, he was more skilled than you were. Granted, he’s probably received top-notch quality his whole life, while you only survived and learned through street and cantina brawls.

I can’t shake him… He’s trying to tire me out!

Meanwhile, the Stormtroopers who received the radio call saying that you were spotted in the caves was a red herring. Cal almost wondered if this was an elaborate trap to separate the two of you. Now he’s stuck with facing off the Stormtroopers stationed there before getting to you.

The comms gauntlet of the Stormtrooper he just downed beeped, in a miraculous convenience, and the voice of another trooper fizzled through the reception.

“Insurgent found in the village. Purge Trooper RF-4756 already engaging her.” The voice calmly reported, indicating that he’s only standing by and watching the fight ensue.

“Gotcha!” Cal exclaimed under his breath and headed for the elevator that leads out to closest point to the village.

Unfortunately, he was hindered by the creatures and troopers—who were on high alert—who spotted him in the caves. He tried to make quick work of them, just so he wouldn’t have the stress of being tailed by enemies—especially troopers—when they’re headed to one common destination. But the Stormtroopers accompanied by a single, lance-wielding Purge Trooper, held Cal back from reaching you.

In his burst of adrenaline, he struck his fist against the soil, sending off an energy wave of Force against his surrounding enemies and disorienting them. Before they could stand up, Cal cut them down and rushed for the elevator, avoiding the Jotaz and the other creatures that stood in his way to the lift.

“I don’t have time for this!” he grumbled, evading the charging Phillak and immediately cut down the Scazz as he ran past it.

The elevator hummed and rumbled when Cal’s boot weighted against the pressure plate. The lift was slow, but he kept jostling himself, antsy and impatient—it took a single beep from BD-1, apparently asking if you could be alright, to calm him down.

“I hope she is,”

The Purge Trooper wasn’t having any of it today, although he made it seem like a game. You scarcely made a dent on him, he continuously deflected your strikes and forcefully hammered his batons against both ends of your staff. For a body so slender, the amount of strength he puts on his attacks was staggering.

“Good night!” he snarled and tossed out a stasis bomb to your way.

You were too late to remove yourself out of its blast radius. You’re caught in the net—the static current numbed your muscles as they wrapped around your calves like vines until it crawled all the way up to your body, further halting the movement of your torso and then arms and eventually your neck.

You watched your opponent walk over the static field unaffected, he pommeled you across the cheekbone, knocking you out while you’re immobilized. He nudged your stomach with the tip of his boot. Your fingers were slightly twitching, but he saw you’re out cold. He presses a single button on his gauntlet.

“I’ve apprehended the Emperor’s prize,” he reported. “Requesting transport shuttle.”

“Confirmed, RF-4756. Please indicate area coordinates.”

A transport shuttle shortly arrived to the planet, hovering by the cliffside of the village’s edge. The Purge Trooper scooped you up, carrying you like a sack. From the distance, Cal heard the engine of a ship from his current location; he followed the general direction of the gray ship he spotted. He immediately knew where it’s headed, but he arrived too little too late.

“NO!! [Y/N]!!”

“Jedi! Over there!”

A row of Stormtroopers barred him again. Cal’s finding it quite vexing to find enemies standing in his way when things are most dire. He spotted the transport by the cliff, he saw your unconscious body carried over the Purge Trooper’s shoulders as he enters the ship.

“NO!!”

He quickly slowed down the windmill to cross over the gap, but the transport ship was already hovering away from the edge, the gap became more and more impassable as it stretched. Cal watched the ship gain altitude, he immediately went through the shortcut leading back to the Mantis on the landing pad.

“Cere!” he called through the commlink. “They’ve taken [y/n]! Do you see the transport ship?!”

“Yes, I see it!” Cere replied, her barking orders bled through Cal’s commlink. “Captain, prepare for take off! I’ll see if I can make a backdoor to their communications. Hurry back!”

“Already am!”

Meanwhile, in the ship where you’re held captive, the Purge Trooper ordered the pilots to set a course for Mustafar.

“I’m getting the payday of a lifetime!” the Purge Trooper boasted.

“Is it the Jedi?” one of the pilots dared asking.

“No, it’s the other one,”

The two pilots exchanged glances, despite their nearly-opaque helmet visors, each one could immediately tell which “other one” the trooper was referring to. Neither of them said a word, as much as they wanted to, and charted the course to the volcanic planet.

The Purge Trooper RF-4756, overly proud of himself and excited to show off his achievement, slumped on the other chair behind the pilot’s seat. Not bothering to understand what flashing symbols meant on the secondary dashboard screens, he rested his feet over them, leaned back against the seat—quite far enough to make the backrest bend—and cushioned his head with his hands.

——————————————————–

It has probably been hours since you were out cold.

You wake up to find yourself in a prison cell, you’re settled on a bed; not exactly queen-sized as you had hoped—much to your disappointment—it was only a big slab of duraplast painted black, big enough to fit an adult individual. Quite spacious for a single prisoner, though.

“One star for the room quality,” you grumbled sarcastically as you massaged your calves, the static still felt fresh hours later.

You surveyed the entire room—black metal walls with panels for the light to pass through, a sturdy-looking blast door, and of course, the miserable excuse of a bed.

There were no cuffs around your ankles or wrists, expecting that you were, but you supposed that they put all of their faith with the architecture of this cell. The hums that spoke through the wall was stale and inorganic, metal clattered from the water that dripped from the open pipes was so rhythmic that it helped you relax. You decided to stand and walk off the remaining numbness in your legs, you slowly stalked towards the door—feeling the presence of the pair of guards standing in the other side.

You slowly angled your head so your ear faces the door and eavesdropped on the banter borne of their boredom in the silence of the cell block.

“So, let me get this straight: this prisoner can use the Force… but isn’t a Jedi? I thought only Jedi can do that kind of stuff!”

“Yeah well, I don’t understand it either—and frankly, I don’t plan to. I heard from the report she didn’t have their kind of weapon, she only used a staff of some sort—looks hand-made.”

“But for someone that isn’t Jedi, the price on her head is kinda steep, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah, I heard that it’s way above the pay grade. I’m guessing the pay grade of an admiral times five,”

“Wha—!? That IS higher than anybody’s rates! That’s ridiculous! What’s so special about her, anyway?”

The indifferent Stormtrooper incoherently grumbled, you wagered he simply shrugged his shoulders just for this conversation to end. Their banter may be short, but you think you’ve known enough. Shortly after, you felt another presence enter the prison block—it was heavy and foreboding—you had secondhand anxiety from the Stormtroopers once they’re in the presence of the third one.

“L-Lord Vader!” the Stormtrooper, the perky and nonchalant one, shuddered upon addressing his boss.

You backed away from the door, you felt your stomach drop to your feet when the door opened and revealed a lumbering beast of an entity clad in full black armor.

The eyes of his helmet were like the sockets of an empty skull, gleaming a blood-red tinge that afflicted indescribable horror to those who laid eyes on him.

Your hands trembled uncontrollably, not even clenching your fists helped in stopping the shaking; your heart rapidly pounded under sheer stress. As much as you badly wanted to, you cannot take your eyes off of this towering man. You clumsily fell back to the slab, the strength on your feet now unfound as he entered your cell. The gloss over the curve of his helmet shone under the light panels of the room.

“So, you are the prize the Emperor so badly desired,” the baritone that rumbled through Darth Vader’s helmet was frightening enough to get your tongue.

“Dooku’s way overdue, I shouldn’t be of any value to your master anymore!” your voice shuddered as you spat back.

Vader tilted his head upon the mention of that name. He thought he had buried the memory of the name and its owner within the deep recesses of his mind. However, it was neither a long time ago nor was it recent, but the familiarity serves.

“I don’t think so,” Lord Vader hummed. “When your uncle failed to deliver, the Emperor was most displeased with his efficiency—or lack thereof. You are still his blood, we will sharpen those invaluable powers of yours.”

“DO NOT ASSOCIATE ME WITH HIM!! I AM OF NOT OF HIS BLOOD!!!”

The instinctive anger gave you sudden burst of strength to stand up, protesting against Darth Vader’s statement of your lineage. He felt the wave of energy nudge his balance, but he held ground. Rather than be intimidated, he was impressed at how you went from a shying violet to a vessel flaring with rage.

“Yes,” he purred. “Strong are you with the Dark Side. Your hate and anger fuels you, it makes you more powerful than your weak, old man of an uncle could ever be.”

“He killed my mother…” the words involuntarily went past your lips. From that, Darth Vader understood the root of the pent-up, impulsive wrath that claws its way out of your system. “You’ll never get anything out of me!”

“We shall see.”

Not needing a response, he turned tail and you watched him exit your cell; the billowing of his cape almost reminded you of Count Dooku—the way he marched away from your house upon the demand of your mother. You felt yourself melting to the floor, you couldn’t believe that you had the gall to talk back to such a man of power. You weakly crawled back onto the slab, curled into a fetal position and struggled to rest and calm down—your hope and optimism fluctuating.

He probably hates me now… you sulked in your mind, drawing invisible lines on the slab as you tried to rest.

“No one’s coming… I’m going to die here,” you resigned with a dejected sigh.

You searched for the necklace she had given you during her final moments. You fished out the pendant under your shirt, gazing at the tiny cracks that it’s gotten over time, the gem had already chipped as well. Your thumb ran across the face of the jewel, leaving a blurred smear of your thumbmark over its surface.

“Am I going to see you now, Mom?” you murmured and nuzzled it to your cheek as you closed your hopeless eyes.

Little did you know that Cal and the crew were on their way to Mustafar, after struggling to tail the transport ship that carried you out of Zeffo and splicing their comms at a safe distance. Cere managed to hack through their communications and eavesdrop on the passengers’ banter.

Greez expressively objected the idea, not because he didn’t want to rescue you, but because being in the proximity of Imperials in a foreboding backdrop comprised of a black castle over a river of lava wasn’t exactly his ideal place. Nevertheless, he docked the Mantis close by the castle; with the help of Cere’s expert splicing, she had cloaked the ship with an Imperial signature so they stay incognito under the scanners for as long as she can keep it that way.

“I’ll bust out [y/n] and we’re out of here,”

“Keep your line open then,” Cere advised.

“Always,”

Cal stepped out of the Mantis and searched for an entrance into the narrow pyramid. Perhaps the only way through were the exterior ventilation shafts. After tearing out the grate, he crawled through the vent and followed his instincts, when he got to the point where he can stand up from the crawlspace, he cautiously tiptoed over the grates that served as his floor. He held his breath throughout the ordeal, careful not to make a sound and alert the clueless Stormtroopers beneath his boots, he strained his eyes through the holes of the grate—watching the enemy and his step at the same time. When he reached the end of the vent, he carefully undid the clamps of the vent door.

“Oh, thank the Force,” he sighed with overwhelming relief when he discovered that the end of the tunnel was an empty corridor.

He daintily refitted the grate back to the wall. He prowled through the corridor, hugging the wall in case he comes in the way of Stormtroopers patrolling the area. Cal kept worrying over how you’re holding up right now, where you are, or what they’re doing to you; he continued on while retaining his caution and stealth.

“Cal, are you there?”

“Yeah, Cere, just got myself into the fortress itself,”

“I managed to fish out the coordinates of their prison block, I’m sending it to you now,”

BD-1’s tiny satellite popped out of its designated hatch on his head, receiving Cere’s info that she’s sending from the Mantis; apparently, she had access to certain databases while retaining an Imperial radar signature. When the upload was complete, BD-1 promptly flashed the holomap into the space of the nook he and Cal are hiding in.

“The wonders of Cere,” Cal chuckled to himself as he glanced at the map. “Okay, that ought to be the cell block. Come on, let’s go get her.”

“Booo-woo!!”

Following the map, Cal stalked through the corridors, avoiding the areas where the count of Stormtrooper is dense and avoiding the need to draw out his lightsaber, as it would raise the castle on high alert, and the owner—which he could safely guess is more powerful than an Inquisitor—would send swarm upon swarm of Stormtroopers in his way.

He found the lobby of the prison block, but the bridge was a computer-operated type, so BD-1 did his magic on slicing it with his scomp link. In the process, the little droid stole data of a report that you were scheduled to be brought to an Imperial torture chair. After slicing the computer, he relayed the data to Cal.

“They’re gonna make her into one of them…” Cal mumbled. “We can’t let that happen!”

“Trill, beee! Woop-boo!”

“That’s very brave of you, BD-1!”

The boy and the bot marched over the bridge once it’s connected both platforms. In the second foyer where the door that actually leads the prison itself, Cal spotted your things sitting over the top of the computer terminal, obviously confiscated upon your incarceration. He swiped them and examined your staff, apparently none of the Stormtroopers have figured out how your weapon works, much to their carelessness, they simply left it partially retracted; but not for him—who’s lived his life over scrapping and making handiworks like these in his spare time back in Bracca.

Recalling how you used the weapon in Nalima, he searched for the buttons that triggered the mechanism to unfold and then retract the staff’s heads on both sides. It worked. He clipped it next his saber hanging by his belt and slung over your small bag across his chest.

The wide blast door hissed open, revealing the cell block’s interior. There were floors upon floors of cells, each tier was guarded by two or three Stormtroopers. On ground level, at its center, was the main control terminal; deactivating that would cause a domino effect of opening all the cell doors at once. There is only one problem: the Stormtroopers.

“Huh? I-It’s the Jedi!”

One hand signal from the commander with the red pauldron and all Stormtroopers aimed at the redheaded Jedi standing at the door. Igniting his dual-ended sabers, Cal deflected and returned every single ballistic rod of plasma fired at him. When he had cut down their numbers into a half at a staggering pace, the remaining Stormtroopers had already ordered the alarm.

“That’s not good!” Cal exclaimed.

He finished off the remaining Stormtroopers and ran towards the main terminal. Knowing that he couldn’t undo the alarm, he had to find you fast.

In your cell, your head jerked up when red light pooled around your entire cell, the blaring alarm fully woke you up while attempting to regain your energy while locked up. You didn’t understand why the alarm was off, you peeked through the window of the door—which was only a rectangle enough for your eyes to fit—and saw hordes of Stormtroopers spilling from both sides.

You didn’t understand what’s happening, until you heard the Stormtroopers’ dying groans as you heard a familiar noise. You sat up from your slab bed and watched the door whizz open, only this time, it was Cal standing at the other side.

“Cal?”

“Come on, we’re getting out of here!”

There was obviously no time for questions. Both of you have to move fast.

“Oh, by the way,” he unbuckled your staff from his belt and tossed it to you. “You’re gonna need this!”

It felt great to have your beloved techstaff in your hands again. You drew it to its full length, still in mint condition, a proud smile curled along the line of your lips. You sorely missed it.

You followed Cal out of your cell. He took the lead and you stayed close.

[roseofithaca]

Does This Remind You Of Anything?

Consider this my Halloween whump drabble...My hallowhump drabble, if you will! Inspired by this post (which is also your trigger warning) so blame @cecret-with-c.

Shawn invites Eleanor to have dinner in TBP.

The last thing Eleanor expected when she was dragged from the portal in Bad Place HQ and separated from her friends was to be lead to a fancy dining hall. She’s made more than a few attempts to run only to be quickly grabbed by the demon heavies at every corner, to the point she decides just to follow Bad Janet to her fate.

The air chills her through her pink sweater that’s torn at the sleeve by now, even though there doesn’t seem to be any windows. 

“Ugh, look at you. Did you just crawl out of your mom’s hedge? Let’s get you cleaned up and looking good for the Boss.” Her obnoxious guide sneers at her before waving her hand.

Another blast of cold hits Eleanor as she loses her sweater and pants, replaced with the black dress she had been wearing the night before. Their final night.

She tries not to tremble, refusing to show weakness to the bitch next to her.

“Wow! You really can’t pull that off, can you, talk about washed out. Oh well, it’ll have to do.”

Eleanor just rolls her eyes. Do they really expect trash talk to have any effect on her self-esteem? No words from a stupid Bad Janet are gonna knock her confidence. They’ll have to try better than that.

The door on the other side of the room opens. Shawn steps in, wearing a suit to match Eleanor’s dress.

She clenches her fists.

“Ah. Miss. Shellstrop. How lovely of you to join me for dinner. Please, take a seat.” He says, cordially. 

She doesn’t buy it for a moment; “Cut the ‘polite evil villain’ crap, man. You wanna get on with torturing me old-school then do it. Don’t try this underhanded, psycho stuff when it isn’t what you’re into. Only Michael came anywhere close to being good at that and you just set him up to fail.”

“Now, now...Is it difficult to believe that all I want is to have a celebratory dinner with the leader of my competition after such an impressive feat?” Shawn asks, his hands up.

“Yes.”

“All right, I tried.” He shrugs; “Still, you might as well enjoy your last good meal, as the only thing you’re gonna be eating from now on will be wriggling or coated in acid. You’ve earned that much.”

“I’m not hungry.” Eleanor says, steeling herself for the worst; “Why just me? Where’s my friends? And Michael, what have you done with him? Is he being retired?!”

Shawn gives a chuckle and pulls his chair out to sit down; “Oh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t have Michael retired without planning the spectical he deserves, which takes a while to prepare. Those flaming ladles are not quick to heat up. I promise you, Eleanor, our friend Michael will be joining us very soon.”

No retirement yet. Her heart leaps with relief. That meant there might still be time. Time for her and Michael to try to escape together. They don’t have their Janet this time, her marble was sent back to the warehouse for rebooting. They’ll have to find her after they’ve managed to get the others and escape. Which they will. No way is she giving up yet, even if they did fail the experiment, even if they have no chance of getting to the Good Place anymore. As Michael said, they just need their one thousand and second idea, whatever that is.

She decides to play ball and takes a seat, glad there’s no whoopee cushion covered in needles waiting for her to sit on. 

Bad Janet, now wearing a slutty waitress outfit, brings out a silver plate with a cover on top, placing it before her, while an identical Bad Janet gives the same to Shawn at the other end of the long table.

Eleanor tenses with unease. 

“So whose head am I gonna find underneath then? I’ve already seen Hannibal, dude.” She tries to deflect.

Shawn smiles and waves his hand again.

The Bad Janets remove the coverings. The smell hits Eleanor’s nostrils before her eyes can take in what’s on her plate, served up in an enticing presentation.

“Seafood platter? Your favorite, I believe. As I said, it is intended to be a consolation prize.” Shawn tells her.

It feels too good for her to believe. So she doesn’t.

But, fuck, she is hungry...

“Are the shrimp gonna start eating me from inside, what am I looking at here?” Just tell her. Stop the preamble. 

“Oh no. You have my word. That might not count for much but I assure you, it will not harm you to eat. But if you truly insist, I can have it taken away.”

She should say so. Get rid of it. If she’s never gonna eat properly again then...

Oh, damn it. She’s too weak.

Eleanor picks up her fork and spears one of the pieces of fried shrimp before putting it into her mouth...Oh. Oh, holy fuck, that is good. It sends her eyes rolling back and way too much blood rushing towards her thighs as she has to eat another, and another.

When in Hell, right? If criminals on Death Row get to enjoy their last meal then why not her? 

“I knew you would like it.” She ignores her lame ass host over her food, not letting him spoil the final shred of pleasure she might have in her existence; “How’s the calamari?”

Eleanor gives a non-committal hum after swallowing a breaded piece.

“Well done and not too spongy, right?” Shawn describes; “That’s what’s good about fire squids. They’re already as cooked as they can be.”

She freezes.

“Truly the most difficult part is the slicing. It’s quite a challenge to get such tiny cuts from something six thousand feet tall, as well as washing off most of the juice while leaving just enough to add to the flavour.”

Eleanor’s hands fly up to her mouth as she starts to shake.

“And our dear Michael sure does love to squirm when he’s terrified, doesn’t he.”

Her stomach heaves as she tries to choke up what’s already sliding down her throat, tears of horror pricking at her eyes.

The Bad Janets are snickering from the shadows.

Eleanor pushes her chair back and grips the table, glaring across at Shawn who is already shoving pieces of his own dinner into his mouth. Possibly, very likely, pieces of his former employee turned rival. Oh God. Oh no, no, no!

“What?” Her companion tilts his head; “I told you he’d be joining us soon.”

Shawn starts to chuckle, maniacally, watching Eleanor fall to her knees and sob through her violent retching.

Fuck! Fuck, no, please, no, no!

-

-

-

-

She wakes with a fearsome gasp for air, followed by screaming and clawing at her throat, trying to force up something from her empty stomach. 

It’s not until a pair of hands grab at her wrists to keep her still that the tears of distress fall down her cheeks, her mind still convinced that the horror she witnessed, that she consumed, truly happened. It’s not until she recognises the face in front of her and the voice trying to cut through the disturbed fog in her half-asleep brain that she can connect the dots to realise it can’t have been real.

If it was real when Michael wouldn’t be holding her. He wouldn’t be right here.

“Hey, hey...It’s okay. It’s okay, look at me, Eleanor.” His palm is against her cheek, bringing her focus directly on him, on his concerned gaze, “Just a bad dream, okay? You passed out on the desk there, I was just about to move you to the couch.”

She blinks, rapidly, looking around to check. No hauntingly large dining room. No Bad Janets. It’s just the office. Their office. With its windows looking out to the night sky and their neighbourhood. 

She reaches out to grab at his jacket.

“We...It’s not over yet? W-we didn’t lose?” 

Michael’s eyes widen; “Boy, I sure hope not or that would suck! It would be kind of a deck move for Janet or the Judge to not let us know we missed the deadline, huh.” he forces a smile and strokes her face, wiping a stray tear; “We’ve still got a few months to go, Eleanor. It’s okay. We haven’t lost yet, I swear.”

Her breathing is still short and stilted from the fear. She feels her hands up Michael’s chest, his shoulders, to his face. Making sure he’s all there.

Not...sliced and diced.

“Everyone’s safe, right? We’re all good? And you....” She takes a sniff and reaches to take his hands from her face to hold them in front of her, giving them a firm squeeze to double check; “...You’re here. You’re okay? He didn’t...Oh, fork, Michael...!”

Her voice breaks. She can’t begin to explain how much the stupid nightmare has managed to shake her up. How forking terrified she felt at the thought of losing...

Losing everyone...

“C’mere. Let me reclaim the chair for a sec, yeah?” He gently tugs her up so he can slide in to sit down on the leather seat before pulling her back onto his knee. 

Eleanor curls against him, still shaking like a leaf, fingers clinging onto his shirt as she rests her leaking face against his chest.

“I thought we lost.” She confesses; “I thought I...lost you, bud...”

She feels Michael’s fingers move up to the back of her hair, clutching her close. She knows he’s probably wishing that he could promise her that won’t happen. But there’s no way of being sure he could keep that to her. He’s very careful not to lie to any of them after what happened last time. Complete trust and honesty going forward.

“Shh, just a bad dream. We’ll try our best to make sure it doesn’t become reality, right?” It’s the best he can do, sliding his arm around her back to keep her close.

She nods; “R-right...We’ll sort out Brent and then we should be fine. Damn it, I’m not letting the Bad Place get any of us. I’m not letting you get retired, ever!”

“That is very good to know, thank you.” She almost hears his smile.

Eleanor snakes her arms around his sides and hugs him tighter than she’s hugged anyone before.

“And I don’t care how good you taste, I’m not letting you get deep-friend and served with shrimp.”

That one probably didn’t bring a smile and she feels his hand still for a few seconds between stroking her hair. Thank fork that demons don’t sleep or else she probably would have influenced him to have the same nightmare.

One thing is for sure. She won’t be eating seafood again anytime soon. 

[hoodoo12]

Familial Ties (And How To Break Them) 11/14

Soft Mature. Violence and loss.  ~

It was time.

Pate carefully took the traumatized remnants of Fuchs's book from Beetlejuice. She had replaced all the loose leaves in order as best she could and secured it all with a belt to keep it together. Tucking it under her arm, her other hand wrapped in his, she looked up at him and he nodded once. She returned the gesture and took a deep breath, fighting down the terror trying to twist her insides into knots.

As Rigel had instructed, handing her a sleek black business card printed with elegant script embossed in metallic blue, she recited his name three times aloud: "Rijl Jauzah al Yusrā, Rijl Jauzah al Yusrā, Rijl Jauzah al Yusrā."

In a flash he was there, squinting for a moment against the glaring sunlight, looking appraisingly at their surroundings.

"Well, " he drawled. "I suppose it doesn't get much more neutral than this."

His eyes widened when they landed on the hellmouth, inert and gaping open at the sky, turning to fix her with a curious expression.

"You've been busy, I see," he went on glibly. "I can't say I know what you plan to do with that thing, but I can see that you have something for me."

His gaze fixed on the book under her arm, a greedy smile splitting his face as he traced his tongue over the top row of his teeth. "And before you get any clever ideas about saying my name three more times to banish me, I ought to inform you that that little trick won't work on me. It's a very special condition reserved only for my dear older brother. From mommy, with love, isn't that so, Lawrence?"

Rigel flashed Beetlejuice a wicked smirk and winked knowingly.

He knew Pate had to hand the book over personally, but that didn't mean she had to do it alone. Beetlejuice stayed right by her side as she took a step closer, and watched a hint of a scowl twist his brother's lips.

"This exchange has nothing to do with you, Lawrence," Rigel said, his eyes flicking away from the book in Pate's hands for a moment to meet his. "You'll get your chance to carry her off to whatever love nest you think is appropriate for a demon and a breather to fuck in."

That didn't dissuade him. He kept pace with Pate and didn't drop his eyes from his brother. Just before they were in arm's reach, Rigel, who'd been looking more and more eager the closer his prize came, pulled his hands back.

"What is that?" he demanded, nodding towards the jug she carried cradled in her arm.

"Water," she replied, but her voice was shaky and Beetlejuice broke in before she could expound.

"You're so fucking out of touch, Rigel," he said disdainfully. "This is a fucking desert. It's called heat stroke. She needs water. Don't you even know basic shit about people?"

It was on his face that he wanted to spit back that he didn't care about breathers, but Pate quickly walked into his personal space and shoved the half book into his hands before he could argue.

"There!" she said. "Now leave me alone!"

He didn't take up any more physical space, but Rigel seemed to expand in triumph as he clutched the book. He grinned, showing too many teeth that suddenly, were more shark-like than before.

"Oh, you beautiful, stupid breather," he breathed out in a voice that cusped orgasmic. "Are you sure about not giving me that kiss? You could have a real demon, and not some disgraced hack--"

"No!"

He shrugged a shoulder under its tailored suit. "Very well. You're free to go. But my sweet brother . . . he was never part of the deal."

With a soft snap of his fingers, Dziban appeared out of the ether and threw themselves on Beetlejuice.

Pate barely had time to gasp aloud before the skeletal hellhounds materialized out of nothingness and launched itself at Beetlejuice. He flung out his arm and shoved her roughly aside and out of harm's way. She stumbled and lost her balance, dropping the jug as both hands went out to catch herself as the by-now-familiar tentacles of shadow burst forth from him to meet the hellhounds, twisting and twining around their bodies while the sagging jaws snapped and the clawed paws scrabbled for flesh to rend.

Rigel was laughing at the spectacle but not even watching, more intent upon the book in his hands as he paged through it. Her heart was hammering, watching Beetlejuice hold off the monstrous hounds that were yipping and tittering in high pitched cries in between growls and snarls. Her eyes snapped to the fallen jug lying on its side in the dirt. Scrambling to get her feet under her, she snatched it up and twisted off the cap. She had to be careful with how much she used, they still had to have enough to kill the hellmouth, assuming it was real holy water. Pate pressed her lips hard together. Time to find out.

Stepping as close as she dared, she swung the open jug in an arc, sending an airborne stream of the water sloshing from the mouth before she righted it to prevent anymore being poured out. The liquid hit all three of them, and while Beetlejuice remained unfazed by the impromptu baptism, Dziban both let out ear-splitting wails. Their skin was sizzling where the water had made contact, leaving striped burns across their bodies as they whined and whimpered and struggled to get away.

A surprised and much more human cry of pain emanated from Rigel, who had gasped as though he too had been burned. He turned angry eyes on her, his formerly handsome face beginning to shift and change.

"You little fucking bitch!" he seethed through pointed teeth, stalking towards her, while Pate withdrew with growing horror as he continued to metamorphose.

His frame lengthened, a second pair of arms sprouted from his sides, clawed hands ready to tear her. His face elongated, flattened, one round staring eye in the center of his forehead, a forked tongue snaking out from his mouth of jagged teeth. Horns grew from his crown, four of them, a ball of blue spectral fire flickering between them. Her mouth was dry, there was no air in her lungs to scream, her heart was pelting against her ribs as he bore down on her.

Dziban managed to wrench his shoulder, but he thought it'd been more luck then a deliberate move. He'd have done okay against them--he thought--but it was still excellent timing on Pate's part to try the holy water. It left him damp and shouldn't have burned baby brother, but when Rigel reacted as strongly as the hellhounds had, it confirmed his thought they'd been bound.

And now Rigel was going hardass demon mode. Beetlejuice had half a mind to just let him touch her, just let him lay one taloned finger on Pate since he'd apparently forgotten the written contract to not harm her. That'd show him! He'd be torn away, back into the Netherworld to stand for a Tribunal, and what he wouldn't give to have front row seats to that!

But any touch would poison and harm her, and Rigel had enough tricks up his sleeve that even overtly disobeying the conditions of the contract didn't necessarily mean he'd suffer for it. The only one who would would be Pate, and he wasn't going to watch her get attacked by a demon in this fucking desert.

He rushed his brother, shouting "Don't use the holy water directly on him!" in case she thought Rigel's reaction meant he could be directly injured by it.

Pate didn't answer, or if she did he didn't hear it because he immediately grappled his younger sibling, wrapping him up in shadow mass and tentacles and dragging him backward, away from her.

Rigel screamed, an inhuman sound that echoed from the rocks. He twisted in the grip he was held to face him, grinning ferally in Beetlejuice's face.

"I've missed this," he hissed, and his tongue lapped intimately at his chin. Beetlejuice reached up through the mass of tentacles and grabbed Rigel's horns, yanking his head to one side. He miscalculated, though, and that put Rigel's mouth near his injured shoulder.

Rigel immediately bit him, just as Dziban had, and he shrieked as new venom was pumped into it. He refused to loosen his hold, and dragged them away from her.

A wordless cry of distress left her when Rigel sank his new pointed rows of teeth into Beetlejuice's already injured shoulder, his scream gouging at her heart as though she'd been stabbed. The two of them continued to struggle, tentacles versus the long slender arms tipped with pointed claws.

Dziban, their scorched skin still bubbling and smoking, padded in a wide circle around the fighting demons as though looking for an opening. Gritting her teeth, Pate poured more of the water into her cupped palm and flung it at the nearest one, just barely grazing its forelimb.

“Don't even think about it!" she bit out angrily.

It was difficult to see everything at once, with pain threatening to take over. From the corners of his eyes he could see Dziban circling, and Pate yelling something.

"Stay back!" he ordered, mostly for her, but maybe it would give Dziban some pause too? No such luck. Whatever she did, however, made Rigel flinch, and that gave him just enough room to get several tentacles between his shoulder and his brother's sharp-toothed maw. Several more appendages attempted to wrap Rigel's head, but he snapped at them and if they were too slow and were caught in his jaws, he broke them off and spit them out to the desert floor.

Like an intimate kiss, Rigel's voice brushed his ear.

"I might not be able to touch her, brother," he whispered, "but that doesn't mean I can't have others take her. I'm going to watch them ruin her, and jerk off over her while she's getting fucked by demons. My come splattered all over her pretty face doesn't count as touching her." His voice took on a mused quality. "I bet Mom would like a go at her too--"

Enraged, Beetlejuice found a burst of strength. Using every ounce of shadow mass available to him, he bodily hefted Rigel up and off the ground, and with a roar, threw him at the open jaws of the hellmouth--

--something hit the backs of his knees and he stumbled--

--no no no no no--

--he stumbled--

--he flailed for purchase, losing his grip on Rigel--

--there was nothing to hold, and he fell right where he'd meant to deposit his brother, right where he and Pate had planned so carefully--

 --right into the awaiting hellmouth.

No, no! Her tactic of keeping Dziban corralled by threatening them with holy water seemed to be working, until one of the snarling demon dogs knocked into Beetlejuice as he hoisted Rigel off the ground, throwing him off balance. Her heart skipped a beat, cold terror freezing the blood in her veins as her mind filled with white noise, watching almost in slow motion as the two demons fell forward into the waiting maw of the ors infernum. The listless eyes of the creature were suddenly wide open, intent and aware as a reddish glow flared to life at the back of its mouth, like a bonfire were burning in its throat, the air filled with the scent of sulfur.

Rigel recovered first, rising on his four legs while he reached down with his quartet of clawed hands to pin Beetlejuice on the monster's tongue.

"Oh, so that was your play, big brother? This is a portal, isn't it? Your clever little bedwarmer must've stumbled across this beastie in the book, is that it?" He laughed, all four of his mouths, on each side of his head laughed while two of the four eyes that accompanied them flicked to her. "I rather like this idea! I think I'll steal it!"

He fell and rolled, and landed on the wide tongue of this beast Pate had called--this was going tits' up, he needed to get Rigel down its throat, but his younger brother had leverage on his side. In this sulphur laced, red tinted mouth, he could not get purchase on the spit-coated tongue, so try as he might to push himself up, it just didn't work.

Rigel was laughing, crowing his triumph and doing exactly what they had planned; he turned the tables on them and was winning. Despite struggling wildly, Beetlejuice felt himself slipping, being forced further into the hellmouth's maw. If Dziban jumped in, there was no way for him to counter, and he was headed straight for the Netherworld--

Pate's breath was frozen in her lungs. She couldn't think, couldn't move. It was all going wrong and now Rigel was going to throw Beetlejuice into Hell. Grief and anguish crushed her insides at the thought of him, trapped, of never seeing him again, never hearing him laugh or seeing him smile, never feeling his arms around her again. All at once she felt it again: the portentous pressure squeezing her heart, guiding her.

She raised the jug of holy water and tipped it over her head, closing her eyes as the salty liquid gushed over her head and shoulders, down her front. Dropping it carelessly, she broke out into a dead sprint, arms pumping at her sides. Rigel wasn't looking at her, he had turned all his eyes and attention to his brother, who was grasping at the restraining arms, trying to push him off.

Pate didn't make a sound other than her footfalls on the hot, dry earth, before hurling herself like a human battering ram into the tall, lanky demon's back and pitching him forward over his own feet. Rigel made a choked off sound as though she'd knocked the wind out of him, and Beetlejuice had the presence of mind to roll away from the hellmouth's teeth as she and Rigel both landed heavily in a tangle of limbs at the back of its tongue.

Out of nowhere, Rigel was slammed off him. Automatically he rolled to get  out of the way, luckily he rolled to the front of the beast, past its teeth. A deeper rumble shook the ground; the hellmouth hadn't moved when previously, but something made it quake now--

On all fours, Beetlejuice looked back into the mouth. Pate was there--Pate was there?! Rigel looked stunned but had traded wrapping his arms around Beetlejuice to her, and even as he pushed himself back to his feet to get right back in the thick of things, shrieking her name, the hellmouth slammed shut.

The holy water soaked into her hair and clothing had transferred to Rigel's suit, pooling underneath them on the hellmouth's tongue, dripping down toward the reddish glow beyond its uvula. There was a sound from deep in its gullet, a gagging noise.

She had just enough time to look backwards and meet Beetlejuice's wide, stunned eyes before the jaw snapped closed, engulfing her in blackness.

His shriek devolved into a wordless howl and despite his revulsion of the thing, he immediately used all his strength and mass to pry the jaws of the hellmouth open. It was a herculean task, and only after straining and swearing was he was only able to get it opened a small amount, nothing like the wide-mouthed maw it'd displayed before. The rumbles also continued, but he planted himself as steady as he could to counter the shifting ground.

Rigel and Pate were no longer in the mouth. The reddish glow at the back of its throat pulsed.

Beetlejuice screamed again, calling for her, and had his own struggle not to be crushed by the jaws that wanted to close.

 tbc . . .

[jjkfire]

jungkook x reader // athlete!jungkook, marchingband!oc // 6.8k words 

don’t read further if you hate unfinished fics.

Band is lame

Is what everyone had told you in high school but here you are, front row and centre at your university’s football game and for free at that too. Who’s the loser now? You laugh to yourself, looking towards the crowd, sure that at least one or two of your high school mates were somewhere in there too, probably a little upset that they had to pay for an extremely overpriced ticket to get seats to the game.

Of course, being in the band comes with its downsides because you have to be up at 5am for practice on game day, and you would have to stay way past the final whistle too. The band are the first ones to walk on the field and the last ones to leave the field but honestly, it’s worth it because nothing beats marching out of the tunnel on a game day, the roaring cheers from the fans near deafening for when the band takes the field, it means that it’s go time, that game day has officially begun. The cherry on top though, is that you get to be as close as anyone possibly could get to the football team, standing next to them, playing the school’s fight song at the end of the game as the players stay back to thank the fans for coming.

It’s bit of a change for you, getting a reaction that’s somewhere between awe & jealousy instead of disinterest whenever the fact that you’re in the school’s marching band comes up. Along with that reaction though, comes a question that nobody fails to ask and that would be:

What’s Jungkook like in person?

Ah, Jungkook. It’s no doubt that the freshman Jeon Jungkook had taken the university and even nation by storm. He’s the newly inducted running back for your university’s football team and boy does he live up to his position’s name. In all the games he has played, he’s managed to gain an unfathomable amount of yardage, sometimes taking the ball all the way to the end zone himself. His ability to break tackles, to burst down the field with an insane amount of speed made him an undeniable asset to the team. He’s the best freshman player in the conference, voted rightfully so 5 times in a row now so you don’t blame anyone for asking you about him because heck, even you were curious about him.  

Well, anyway, the answer to the ever-popular question would be that you had absolutely no idea because you’ve seen him in person, yeah, mere inches away from you but it wasn’t like you had time to stop to talk to him, to ask him what his favourite colour was or anything of the sort. But for conversation sake, your answer would always be the same and you’d smile before you shrug, saying:

He’s pretty cool, I guess.

Because, that he is… and nobody knows it but you’re just as star struck as everyone whenever you see him, even if you do see him just about every other week. You let people think he knows you, a harmless little white lie for a few brownie points, but the fact of the matter is, he doesn’t know your name and probably never will because there are more than 100 students on the band and you were merely just one out of the thousands of faces he’d see every home game… right?

Wrong.

So very wrong.

Game 6 of the season is one that’s highly anticipated, a match against the defending champions of the national playoffs. You can feel the excitement in the air as you march out onto the field, the stadium packed to the brim, the fullest you’ve ever seen it, the cheers the loudest you’ve ever heard.

It’s a tight game and along with the crowd, you’re biting your nails as the score is at a tie. With only a few minutes to go and the ball in the opponent’s possession, everyone’s holding their breath, hoping to take it to overtime or to turn things around somehow.

Perhaps you wished hard enough because there’s a slip up and a player in your university’s defensive line is able to steal the ball, running towards the opposite side of the field but he only gets so far before he’s taken down. The team switches out for the offensive team, Jungkook stepping up to the plate, and you can feel the stadium as a collective begin to silently hope that he’d be able to bring the ball close to the end of the field but that would be an enormous feat, way too much to ask of the young boy, isn’t it?

There’s the sound of a whistle before a few vague words are being shouted out on the field and you watch as the players scuffle amongst each other, the ball miraculously finding its way into Jungkook’s hands amidst the commotion. Everyone squints, trying to make out what’s happening on the field and then they see it, a player breaking out from the makeshift initial line of players, hurtling down towards the end. The team jumps into action, taking down any opponents attempting to stop him and even with that, there’s still 2, 3 players who go after him, trying to bring him down with a tackle but he remains standing, breaking all their attempts with ease.

It’s Jungkook with the carry. Can he take it the distance???

With only one player chasing after him, the stadium rises to their feet watching nervously as his opponent catches up, closing in on him.

A loose grab on the ankle, a light stumble but it’s not enough to stop him because he powers on, running clear into the end zone painted in bright yellow.

He can!!! It’s touchdown for the Hawks! Jeon Jungkook proving time and time again just why he’s freshman of the week, every week.

The band breaks out into the school’s fight song, the cheers from the crowd ringing around the stadium as the team celebrates at the end zone. With a final kick, the ball goes between the posts and the whistle sounds, the team running out onto the field to celebrate another victory. The elation in the air is unbeatable and much of what happens next is a blur but all you know is that this is why you love game day so much.

Somehow at the end of the game, you end up on top of one of your band mate’s shoulder, playing song after song that’s part of the band’s repertoire, the football players joining in on the fun as they dance alongside the band while the crowd enjoys it all from the bleachers. The fans in the stands sing along to the familiar sound of the trumpets, flutes and trombones. This is definitely one for the books is what you find yourself thinking because this right here, was why you loved being in the band.

Game no.6 of the season would be a game that many would speak about for the rest of the season. The fierce competition, the tension in the air as overtime loomed above the players’ head and all the unusual touchdowns, those are only a few of the many reasons that made this match sensational. It’s an unforgettable day for everyone in the stadium but it couldn’t be any truer for both you and Jungkook, except for all the wrong reasons.

Disaster.

That’s the only way you can describe it and if you could relive this day, you’d make sure to stay as far away as possible from Jungkook because this is it… the end of your college career when it hasn’t even begun.

You’re not sure how it happened because one second you’re belting out the notes on your trumpet as you stay seated on your friend’s shoulder and the next second, you’re falling off, your elbow hitting Jungkook in the temple, hard. You can hear the screams of horror as you see the prized boy crumpling to the ground with you, him making a feeble attempt to catch you even in his daze.

Everyone rushes to push you off of him and when you finally realize what has happened, you panic, hoping he’s okay because fuck, he’s the goddamn golden boy of the school. Your head is throbbing with pain, radiating from the spot where your skull had hit the ground but you manage to get up anyway. Much to your horror, Jungkook is in a daze, his eyes struggling to open and you’re fighting your way amongst the crowd that has gathered around him just to beg him to wake up, to stand up.

“Oh god, Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” You cry, caressing the spot you had hit him. “Are you okay? You have to be okay.”

He blinks up at you for a moment before his eyes flutter shut and before you can apologize again, you’re being pulled away to make way for the medics. You retreat into the distance, feeling horrible as the people around you shoot you dirty looks, shaking their heads at you. Guilt washes over you like a tsunami as you watch Jungkook being lifted up onto a stretcher, disappearing down the tunnel.

“Way to go, Y/N,” The boy laughs. “I know you said you wanted to make a splash your freshman year but I don’t think this was the best way to do it.”

“Oh fuck off,” You groan.

“Now, now, is that how you should be talking to someone elder to you?”

“I’m so screwed, Tae,” You mumble, eyes downcast, the beginnings of a tear forming at the corner of your eyes.

“Crap, don’t— Look I was just teasing. It’s going to be fine,” He smiles before hugging you and you sigh, shutting your eyes as you return the gesture. “Come on, let’s go get your head checked out.”

Kim Taehyung. He’s insufferable, loud, annoying and a plethora of all things that makes you feel like punching him in the gut half of the time but he’s also your childhood friend so even if you wanted to get rid of him, you can’t… he knows far too many embarrassing facts about you for you to let him roam freely, out of your sight. You had grown up alongside him and Jimin in a small town an hour or two from campus and boy was it an experience. The three of you grew up on the same street, riding bikes around the neighbourhood, wreaking havoc at the local playground and trekking through the small forest to the lake hidden up in the hills. When Jimin received his athletic scholarship for basketball at the university and Taehyung earned his spot as a Kinesiology major, it was only right for you to work towards applying to the same school and that you did… as a kinesiology major too. Why do you have to copy everything I do? Taehyung whined but you all knew that he was more than happy to have you in his department because that meant he could continue his lifelong mission of making your life miserable.

Working for the school’s athletics department meant that Taehyung was part of the team that worked with athletes for injuries and pre-treatment. Like you, he had to be at every home game, except instead of playing the trumpet, he was in charge of attending to on-field injuries, like the one you have, the bruise on your head now almost the size of his palm.

You’re sat on the bed on the other side of the room, watching as the medics fuss over the now knocked out Jungkook and you can’t help but feel like evaporating into thin air as his concerned coach and teammates whisper and stare at you. Taehyung implores you to ignore them as he does a preliminary check-up and he let’s you know you’re in the clear, no damage done, he confirms, aside from the huge bump protruding from your scalp. You quickly try to rush out of the infirmary when he’s finally done but he doesn’t let you, insisting you stay for just a bit, for medical reasons he murmurs but really, he knows if he lets you go alone, there’s no telling what the angry mob waiting outside would do to you.

In the time that you lay in the bed opposite Jungkook, he’s been wheeled in and out of the room twice already, thankfully, completely awake though still looking rather dazed. A numerous amount of people have come knocking on the door just to see how he was doing but they’re all turned away in order for the boy to get some rest. You’re glad that though many have thrown some mean glares at you through the curtain that Taehyung had drawn, nobody has made their way over to give you a piece of their mind yet.

It’s when everyone leaves and only the three of you remain in the room is when you see Jungkook try to peer through the slit in the curtain and you pray he can’t see you.

“Is, uhh… anyone there?”

You freeze up in horror and glance over at Taehyung in fear. He tells you not to worry before stepping out behind the curtains.

“Hey buddy, how’s your head feeling?”

“Tae,” He smiles. “Hurts like a bitch but it’s all good.”

“That’s good to hear,” Tae laughs.

“How’s the uhh girl that fell over with me?” He murmurs, vaguely remembering that he’d only been able to break a part of your fall before everything went black.

“You mean the girl your fan club outside wants to lynch?” Tae questions in return and Jungkook laughs, shaking his head.

“It wasn’t really her fault though,” He sighs. “I tried to catch her too but I just… she’s okay, right?”

“Yeah Y/N— I mean… the girl, the girl… she’s fine,” Taehyung corrects as he smiles, hoping that Jungkook hadn’t caught your name and Taehyung knows you’re probably going to slam his head into a wall later for letting it slip.

There’s a rustling from the other side of the room, the pitter patter of your feet and Taehyung realizes too belatedly that it was you making a run for it.

“Y/N, wait!— Fuck,” Taehyung huffs just as the door slams. “I’ll be right back,” He offers a curt smile to a confused Jungkook before grabbing your shoes and chasing after you.

“Y/N,” He screams into the hallway, running after you. “Stop! I have your shoes!”

You halt, letting Taehyung catch up, only to tug violently at his ear when he stands in front of you.

“You piece of— Why did you tell him my name?” You groan while Taehyung drops your shoes, howling in pain as you continue to hold onto his earlobe. “Do you know what you just did? You just sent me straight to death row. All his friends and fans are going to come after me now. That’s it. Goodbye my social career.”

“To be fair, you didn’t really have one to begin with,” Taehyung laughs to himself before yelping as you tug at his ear again.

“Look, Jungkook isn’t going to do that,” He sighs, pinching you in the arm to force you to release his earlobe. “He’s not like that.”

“I just ruined his career,” You grumble. “There’s no telling what he will or won’t do.”

“He just has a mild concussion alright? Take it down a notch, won’t you? Drama queen,” He scoffs.

“It’s not just that… I mean, you heard what the staff said,” You murmur. “Talking about pursuing legal action against me…”

“None of that’s going to happen, okay?” Taehyung sighs. “It was just an accident. I know it, Jungkook knows it. I doubt he wants to press charges or whatever.”

You shuffle in your spot guiltily, still wishing you could just turn back time and prevent this nightmare from happening.

“Just put on your shoes, go home, take a long shower and ice that head, alright?”

You nod, slipping your feet into your shoes.

“And take the other exit… you know… just in case.”

You let out a quiet yes before giving him a small hug, a form of thanks for all that he’s done today and his words of comfort. Text me! He shouts as you walk away. The boy worries too much, you shake your head.

“So, Y/N? That’s her name?” Jungkook questions when Taehyung finally returns.

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods, as a few more workers shuffle in, getting ready to wheel Jungkook over to the main hospital building.

“Where are we going?”

“To the main wing,” Taehyung answers, catching a glimpse of fear on Jungkook’s face. “Don’t worry. They just want to keep an eye on you for tonight just in case… also, I want to go home and I can’t do that if you’re still in here,” He laughs.

“Wait, why didn’t Y/N have to stay? I think she hit her head pretty hard too.”

“Because she didn’t black out for a good 3 minutes.”

“That’s how long I was out?”

“Yup,” He exhales. “You had all of us worrying. Especially, Y/N… She’s still beating herself up over it.”

“Please tell her I’m doing fine,” He laughs. “Is… is that why she ran out?”

“Mmhmm, she wants my head on the chopping board for giving out her name. Thinks you’re going to come after her for, in her words, ‘ruining your career’,” Taehyung rolls his eyes and Jungkook chortles, shaking his head.

“Tell her it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop me from playing football.”

Y/N, Jungkook sighs. His little accident definitely isn’t the way he had imagined first meeting you but it’s good to finally be able to put a name to a face. You have a nickname amongst the football players, the trumpet girl, is what they call you because they’re not too creative you see. There were dozens of trumpet players on the band, many of them female but you are the trumpet girl because one of the players had spotted you before, his arm slung around your shoulder at the end of the game singing along to the alma mater song. He didn’t think too much of it but then he kept seeing you again and again… it was like you were everywhere. It’s that trumpet girl again! He had exclaimed to the team when he spotted you at the sports dining facility and so the name just stuck.

You truly were everywhere that they went and was it coincidence? The team thinks not because no matter the day, when they gather on the field at 7 am, they’d find you sitting at the patio that looked out over the practice field, occasionally looking up from your laptop to watch the boys play. They have a theory that you’re never really studying, that there’s a certain player on the team you’re in love with and that’s why you’re always there. There’s a bet going around on who could score you first. So far, all of them are doing poorly, considering they don’t even know your name… Well, except Jungkook of course after today’s encounter.

But, back to the topic at hand. If seeing you at every practice wasn’t enough, then they’d see you at every home game too, playing the trumpet loud and proud. They have a theory you’re only in band just to get close to the players… isn’t that why anyone was in band at all?

And if somehow, someone had managed to miss seeing you at all the practices and home games, they’d see you roaming around the physio centre where the players often visited for scheduled physiotherapy sessions, though Jungkook has noticed, you always seem to duck into the area reserved for the basketball team.

“Is Y/N a kinese major too?” Jungkook questions, peering up at Taehyung.

“She is,” He nods. “Sucker followed in my footsteps, always trying to copy me,” He shakes his head.

Jungkook had meant to ask what that meant but when he arrives at his assigned room, there’s so much commotion that he doesn’t even notice that Taehyung had long left. He lets out a deep sigh as he’s finally left alone for the evening, running his hand along the bandage wrapped across his head. He wonders if your head hurts just as bad as his did. He wonders if you’re alright.

You approach the band director early in the week, requesting for a switch out from the band that played for the football team, requesting instead to be put on the team that played for the hockey or basketball team. The director looks at you in shock, not understanding your wish to be pulled off the most coveted team but he lets you switch anyway, placing you into the basketball team band, a fact Jimin would probably be very happy to hear.

Though Jungkook has come out to say that the whole event was a misfortunate accident, you can’t help but feel it was entirely your fault. For the first time in the season, he is forced to miss the upcoming game under the advice of the team’s doctor and you don’t have to scroll through the announcement post to know that the entire student body hates you right now. For some reason, Jungkook and everyone involved decides to keep your name out of the incident report, the only knowledge made privy to the public is that someone from the band had been involved in the accident with their golden boy.

The band comes under heavy scrutiny, many asking for your identity to be released but the band community as a whole, stays silent… though that doesn’t mean they don’t hate you.

Quietly, you agree to all your seniors’ demands, that included running errands, cleaning their instruments for them and just about anything to make them hate you any less. You’re tired, upset and still feeling guilty but you carry on with your days, clocking into the physio centre when you’re finally done with all the band errands and all of your classes.

You power walk down the hallways, trying your best to avoid any of the football players or staff, before sliding into the room you’d usually find Taehyung in.

“Y/N, you’re looking chipper,” He comments, taking in your disheveled appearance and you only hold up a single finger as a warning.

“Let’s not go there,” You sigh, before you lift a small gift bag towards him. “Listen, can you pass this to Jungkook for me?”

“And here I thought you had brought me a gift for taking care of you that day.”

“I already bought you dinner yesterday to say thank you,” You grumble.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get a nice handwritten note,” He frowns, flipping it open to read it and you snatch it from him, placing it back into the bag. “Anyway, I’m heading over for his session now. You can give it to him yourself.”

You look at Taehyung incredulously, as if what he had just suggested was simply crazy, and to you it was.

“Just hand it to him for me, please,” You whine, passing the gift bag to him. “I have work to do too. See, Jimin’s already on my ass for being late,” You grumble shoving your phone in Tae’s face before you jog off towards the room Jimin was waiting in.

“Think fast!” Taehyung shouts as he barges into the room filled with football players, most laying atop table beds. Jungkook quickly sits up, catching the bag when it’s just inches away from his face.

“More gifts for the injured boy?” One of his teammates scoff as Jungkook looks through the bag, pulling out the letter. “Wow and fanmail! Cute. Did she attach a picture and leave a number? If yes, hand it over. You never call them up anyway.”

Jungkook unfolds the letter, ignoring his teammate, the smallest smile gracing his lips as he begins reading it.

Dear Jungkook,

I’m so so so sorry. I never meant to injure you, or hurt you and contrary to the comments going around, I didn’t do this to get your attention or any of the sort. I hope you’re feeling better despite the huge bruise on your head that was caused by me (sorry). I’m also really sorry that you have to miss the upcoming game. It’s my fault that you’re going to lose your freshman of the week streak but I mean, not to worry, everyone knows you would’ve been freshman of the week again if you were to play.

I know sorry can’t fix what I did but… sorry… again. Also, thank you for leaving my name out of the report. I totally appreciate it and I hope you and the team are resting well, knowing that I will no longer be on the field for any of the games for the remainder of the season. I hope Tae and the rest of the physio team treats you well and that you’ll be back on the field soon.

p.s: Tae tells me peanut butter cups are your favourite… so I bought you some… If you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I’m trying to buy your forgiveness with food. Please rest well and eat all of them (and forgive me).

Go Hawks!

(Also, one last time: I’m sorry!)

“What does she mean by she will no longer be on the field for any of the games for the season?” Jungkook questions as Taehyung begins to write down notes on behalf of the physiotherapist in the room.

“She withdrew from the football band team.”

“Who?” The player on the table bed behind Jungkook turns to ask.

“Our number one fan, the trumpet girl.”

“No! Why?” Asks the player sitting on the bench on Jungkook’s right.

“She thought it was for the best,” Taehyung shrugs. “She’s on the band for the basketball team now.”

“The ultimate betrayal,” The player gasps jokingly, referring to the friendly rivalry between the school’s football and basketball team. Both always in competition in who can bring more glory to the university’s name.

“Go get her back. We might lose without her.”

It’s some silly tradition the football team has but every year, they pick a freshman on the band to be their good luck charm and since they saw you everywhere anyway, they picked you. Their reasoning for that was that they knew you weren’t going to leave, that you’d be at every home game come rain or shine. So far, they seemed to be doing just fine, winning 3 out of 3 of their home games. Now whether that had to do with you or the mere fact that they had a solid team this year, nobody knows but, they didn’t want to have to find out either. They don’t want the next home game to come around and play knowing that their good luck charm wasn’t there, playing the trumpet from the stands.

“Huh?” Taehyung questions, unsure with what you had to do with them winning or losing the game but nobody answers him. “Why would you lose without her?”

Again, he’s met with silence and Taehyung simply brushes it off, chalking it up to weird football antics that he’s unaware about. Maybe they could hear the difference in the band if one trumpet player was missing and that affected their performance? Who knows?

“If you don’t want to do it, I’ll do it,” A player offers, a smirk on his lips.

“Yeah, no. I’ll do it, thank you very much.”

What the heck. No way would Jungkook turn down the first legit reason for him to go up and talk to you. I mean it’s not like he was dying to get to know you or anything… okay, maybe a little. Perhaps he wanted to win the stupid bet going on within the team too. Maybe he wanted to be the reason you watched them every practice. Maybe he wanted to be your favourite player like you were his favourite person in the band though he’ll admit he doesn’t know the slightest thing about band.

He remembers the first time he met you, it was a few weeks before school had officially started. The only people on campus at the time were athletes and band members, all called to campus early for training and in the band’s case, for tryouts as well. What you were doing that day in the athletic dining facility, he still hasn’t figured out till today but there you were standing in front of him taking the last available chocolate chip cookie and he lets out a low groan. It had been an exceptionally tough day for him, not performing as well in the benchmark tests as he had hoped. So there he was, standing in the dining facility drenched in sweat after having to run out in the hot sun for hours only to find that the only thing that could possibly make him feel better was in the hands of a complete stranger standing in front of him. With a huff, He moves forward to the cashier with his tray, hoping that his lunch could at least dull the disappointment he felt in himself. That’ll be $6, the cashier smiles and Jungkook reaches for his wallet only to find his student card missing and he groans, almost wanting to just scream at this point.

“Hey just put it on my card,” You call from behind him.

“What? No it’s fine…”

“Too late,” You smile as the cashier swipes the card you hand to her.

“T-thanks,” He looks to the cashier’s screen to find the name Park Jimin printed. “Jimin?”

Huh that didn’t seem right. Why would you have the same name as the school’s star basketball player.

“Yeah, you should be thanking Jimin,” You laugh. “Oh and have this… You seem like you need it more than I do,” You smile placing the cookie on his tray.

Before he can stop you, you’re scurrying off somewhere and his teammates are dragging him off somewhere else.

“You didn’t get a cookie? I thought you said that’s all you wanted,” Jungkook hears someone say.

“Ehh, didn’t feel like it anymore.”

He almost feels bad for letting you give him the cookie but as he takes a bite, he doesn’t really feel any of that regret anymore. Perhaps it was a mere gesture of kindness to you, paying for his meal and giving him that cookie but to him, it made his day, maybe even week and he remembers leaving the dining facility, phone in hand, scouring through the women’s basketball team to see if you were in there but to no avail. He didn’t see you for weeks, the picture of you smiling as you handed him the cookie was seared to the back of his mind, as if taunting him for not stopping to ask you what your name was so he could repay you. But then his teammate pointed you out, trumpet girl, that’s what they called you. Then he saw you everywhere which he wasn’t really sure was better because he always seemed to forget how to speak whenever he saw you on the field at the end of every home game.

Jungkook peers up every minute or so towards the patio during practice, hoping to catch a glimpse of you but for the first time ever, you’re nowhere to be found. He runs straight up there after practice ends to search for you but there’s no sign of you, not even crumbs of the pretzel pieces you always seem to munch on when you were watching the team play.

Luckily, the upcoming match is an away game, so they won’t be needing your luck but that doesn’t mean the team is any less anxious about the home game next week, one where at the moment, you’re not going to be attending. Jungkook tries to reassure the team that he indeed is actively looking for you but for the girl that used to be everywhere, this week you surely have made yourself scarce.

Taehyung refuses to tell Jungkook where he can find you, won’t even give him your number because you had warned Taehyung that if he gave anything away you’d make sure he’ll come home to a broken computer system. Your threats were usually empty but when it came to his computer, he wasn’t about to take any risks.

Since Jungkook won’t be playing the game on the weekend, he dedicates the rest of his week to trying to look for you. At this point he’s scoured every inch of the music building, the kinesiology building and the physio building. He even made the trip out to the band practice field at goddamn 6am to see you but apparently you weren’t at practice, instead off elsewhere running some errands.

“Do you know where I can find her? I just need to talk to her.” He mumbles. “It’s nothing bad I promise.”

The seniors in the band shuffle their feet around, not sure how to say yeah Y/N? She’s in the basement of the music building, cleaning up all of our gear as punishment for elbowing you in the head, for tainting the name of the band so, they simply shrug their shoulders. Jungkook finds the whole ordeal weird and unnerving because everyone was staring at him peculiarly, as if to say why are you actively trying to look for the person who assaulted you?

“You’re sure you don’t know where I can find her?” He asks again just to make sure and they simply shrug their shoulders, unwilling to tell him. Maybe it’s because they’re jealous he was looking for you. That the first time the star player graces their practice with his presence, he’s looking for the one band member that the band collectively hates at the very moment.

Time is still ticking and Jungkook has spent the good remainder of his week looking for you. He sighs, looking at his calendar only to find the words basketball neatly printed above the words football on the box reserved for the coming Saturday. Ah, that’s right. The first few games of the basketball season are to be played for the following weekends and to his knowledge… that’s just where you’re going to be, playing your trumpet for the men be considered to be his rivals on campus. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little hurt.

Jungkook manages to score last minute tickets to the game, attending it with a few others from his dorm. In some ways, he’s glad he’s got the weekend off, that he’s able to do what most other normal students would be doing with their Saturday. It’s a little odd to be participating in the cheering and chanting himself when most of the time he hears it from the field.

The squeaks on the wooden floorboards and the sound of the horn each time someone scores fills everyone with excitement. You could just smell the school spirit in the arena and of course it isn’t as grand as the football stadium but the excitement is all the same. Jimin takes the time to wave at you during the breaks and you shoo him away, not wishing to draw any attention to yourself, especially not when your band mates already dislike you… you didn’t want to give them anymore reason to hate you considering that you heard Jungkook had come looking for you just the other day and for some reason that had upset quite a few members of the band. You focus on doing your job and that was to play the trumpet (and silently cheer Jimin on). Though you feel even if you had been cheering for Jimin out loud, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He had fans aplenty and it’s no surprise because he’s been scoring three pointers all night, putting the team way in the lead.

The basketball game moves much faster than a football one and before you know it, it’s the end of the game and you’re playing the school song as one last hurrah before everyone leaves the arena. Perhaps it’s better after all being on the basketball band team… it left you with a lot more time on your hands anyway.

“How’d I play?” Jimin questions with a smile, slinging his hand across your shoulder as you grab your case, putting away your trumpet.

You shrug his hand off, glancing over at the remaining band members who were glaring at you.

“What? Why are you all looking at her like that?” Jimin growls out, making all of them look away, busying themselves with their equipment.

“Jimin,” You scold, quickly tugging him towards the exit. “You’re going to make things worse for me.”

“I just don’t understand why they all have their panties in a bunch over some stupid accident. Some of these band kids take all of this way too seriously,” He sighs, before he turns around to look back at them. “You think you’re all being slick with all that whispering but I can hear you!” Jimin shouts in the direction of the few remaining band members that were discussing you over hushed voices and you groan out aloud, wishing you could just swing your trumpet case at Jimin’s head.

“Jimin, seriously leave it,” You grumble. “You’re only going to make them hate me even more.”

“Are they actually still giving you shit about that stupid accident? Jungkook already—”

“Hey, uhh… Y/N?”

You jump in your spot when you feel someone tap you on the shoulder, whipping around to find Jungkook himself standing before you. You let out a worried whine, knowing for sure that rumours will be flying around come next band practice.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Jimin smiles. “Go on and tell her band mates that they’re being assholes for bullying Y/N over the incident between you and her last week.”

“They’re bullying you?”

“No, they’re not. Jimin is just—”

“They are! They’re working you like a dog and you’re just taking all of it for no reason,” He grumbles.

“It’s not—”

“Hey assholes look!” He shouts at them. “Jungkook has no problem with Y/N so stop being such fuc—” You slap your hand over Jimin’s mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence.

“Okay we’re leaving now before you completely destroy band life for me.” You exhale, pulling Jimin away as he continues to shout profanities once you pull your hand away from his mouth.

“Wait, Y/N!” Jungkook exclaims, chasing after the both of you. Jimin scurries into the locker room, leaving you alone and lost, completely defenseless. Son of a b—

Jungkook stops right in front of you, panting slightly and you really wish you were anywhere but here at the moment.

“Look, Jungkook” You begin. “I’m sorry for elbowing you in the head. I really am and I don’t know what everyone’s been telling you but really I’m trying my best to just lay low and if you could just pretend that I don’t exist, I would really —”

“I’m here to say thank you for the letter and the peanut butter cups,” He interrupts with a smile.

“Right… uhh that’s um no big deal. I mean I did knock you out so…”

“About that… How’s your head doing? Okay? I tried to break your fall but I don’t think I was much help,” He laughs.

“My head’s okay,” You smile. “The swelling has finally subsided but uh how’s your head? I’m sorry you know about—”

“I know,” He laughs. “You mentioned it about a 100 times in your letter. Really… it’s fine and you shouldn’t be apologizing anyway. It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” You frown.

“It isn’t. You were falling and I just jumped behind to try and catch you but it didn’t go down too well… obviously,” He laughs.

“I heard you quit the football band team.”

“Yeah…”

“Why?” He questions and your face scrunched up in confusion.

“Because you know I hit you in the head? And everyone hates me for it?”

“But it was just an accident.”

“Well, maybe… but you know you’re Jeon Jungkook, right?”

“And?” He asks, unsure what that was supposed to mean. “Anyway, just come back. I’d hate for you to have to leave over something so stupid.”

“It’s already done,” You shrug.

“Well reapply!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” You laugh.

“Look, you have to come back.”

“I can’t… and I don’t understand why this is so important to you,” You laugh.

“The band sounds horrible without you, that’s why. I heard them when I jogged by the band practice field. Out of tune,” He frowns, shaking his head.

“I doubt that’s true,” You snort.

“It is! You have to come to the game next week and hear it for yourself.”

“As much as I’d love to… I uhh have other band duties that I— Jimin!” You shout, as you see him duck out of the locker room. “All the best at the home game next week!” You smile before running after Jimin.

“Y/N— Wait!”

But you’ve already disappeared down one of the numerous hallways.

(this is a part of my unfinished fics collection! click here for more)

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Do you know what I need more of? Ania’s and Kevin’s friendship. Like I would die for them

This isn’t very much but I actually kinda like it so I hope you do too!

Ania hadn’t thought that Aaron could get any gloomier. 

“Never say never,” Kevin grumbled as they watched his sullen form slink around the dorm. From the kitchen, they could hear the crash and clatter of pots and pans. Nicky had grown uncharacteristically quiet in the days since Erin’s departure for Easthaven but the slamming of drawers and cabinet doors made up for his silence. 

“Are they going to be okay?” Ania asked in french. 

“They can still play,” Kevin replied. Aaron and Nicky weren’t like them. The upperclassmen might have dubbed the cousins ‘the monsters’ but the three of them had proved to be anything but. 

Monsters were heartless. Nicky had a heart of gold. 

Monsters were selfish. Everything Aaron did, he did for his sister. 

Monsters were soulless. Just because Erin didn’t love the way everyone else did, didn’t mean she didn’t love at all. 

Monsters did what they did, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. By that logic, Kevin and Ania weren’t monsters either. They were beasts; everything they did, they did to survive. They’d do what they did until their bones broke and their hearts stopped. That wasn’t true. Kevin had broken his arm and here he was, playing with everything he had. Ania’s heart had stopped before and yet here she was, running from her past as fast as she could. So long as there was even an ounce of strength left in their bodies, Kevin would play and Ania would run. It was all they knew how to do. 

She opened her mouth to tell him as much but stopped short at the look on his face. His gaze was focused on a point in the distance as he crushed the stuffed fox plush closer to his chest. It had been a present from Erin, won at a carnival that summer. 

“Look, it’s you,” Erin had said, presenting her prize to Kevin 

“That’s a fox,” he replied, his brow furrowed. 

“I’m getting tired of you acting like you’re so much better than us. You play for Palmetto now, Day. That makes you a fox.” She paused then, inspecting the toy. “Maybe he just doesn’t resemble you well enough.” Wrenching the toy’s front left leg off, she held the altered plush up for him to inspect. “Better?” she asked. The manic smile accompanying her words made Ania’s blood run cold. Glancing at Kevin, she saw his frightened gaze trained on the severed limb in Erin’s hand. He nodded dumbly and accepted the stuffed fox without another word. 

A month ago, the plush had disappeared. Ania had found Erin in the girls’ locker room with needle and thread, mending the toy. Their eyes met and Ania saw the challenge in Erin’s gaze. 

“You should use thicker thread,” Ania offered. 

“You’ll see the tear,” Erin replied. 

“And Kevin will always see his scar.” Erin considered that for a minute before pulling out the neat row of stitches she’d just placed. With a thick, white thread, she resewed the detached arm. Ania watched as Kevin cradled the toy when Erin handed it back to him. 

“Thank you,” he’d whispered. Erin had already started for the door but Ania knew she’d heard when she caught a glimpse of way Erin’s lips tugged upwards into a sad smile. 

“Hey,” Ania said softly, snapping Kevin out of his daze. “She’ll be back on the court in no time. 

“She isn’t like us,” Kevin countered. “There’s more to her than Exy.” And then, in a voice so soft that Ania thought she’d imagined it, he added, “She’s more than just an investment. She’s my friend.” 

Kevin’s words knocked the breath from Ania’s lungs. Immediately, she felt infinitely more alone. After only a year and a half at the Foxhole Court, Kevin was already more human than she was. To be fair, the foxes worked their magic pretty quickly. In the seven months Ania had been here, she’d found her own glacial heart starting to thaw. 

The upperclassmen were congenial and kind, giving without ever expecting anything in return. They all flocked around Ania, offering her comfort and advice the way she imagined normal parents would. The cousins were wild and reckless, their antics bringing quiet smiles to Ania’s face. There was Kevin and Coach, both strict and hard to please but supportive and fiercely protective of her no matter what she did. 

And then there was Erin. Drugged to the heavens, her snark matched Ania’s toxic tongue to a t. Sober, her cold and callous facade didn’t last long. Her curiosity almost always won out, evident in the mischievous glittering of her eyes. The pair of them danced on knife’s edge trading secrets as they shared cigarettes. 

And then there was that. A certain sense of… something pervaded many of their exchanges. From the barely there brush of Erin’s shoulder against hers to the conspiratorial whispers they shared while they taunted one another, there was something about it all that Ania didn’t quite understand. She’d long since given up trying to interpret what any of it meant. Even so, that didn’t stop the butterflies from flaring to life in her stomach everytime Erin so much as glanced at her nor Ania’s pulse from racing whenever she came close. More than likely, it was the adrenaline flooding her system to fuel her fight or flight response. 

Regardless, Kevin had grown a heart and Ania was growing soft. She’d have to leave soon. But not before Erin came home. 

Swallowing, Ania offered Kevin one of the few truths that truly hurt her to admit. “She’s my best friend, Kevin. You and Erin are all I have left.” Kevin turned an incredulous look on her. 

“But your mom-” 

“Mom told me that the only way I’d ever set foot on a court again was over her dead body.” Kevin frowned as he searched for the answer to his unfinished question. As the weight of her implication hit him, his face crumpled. 

“Ania,” he choked. A thin sheen of tears coated his emerald eyes. Ania shrugged as she turned her attention to the blank t.v. screen. Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms wrap around. Too surprised to move, Ania let Kevin draw her into his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“It’s not your fault,” she managed. 

“I know. I’m just sorry that I’m fifty percent of your assets.” At that, Ania laughed. She twisted in time to see Kevin’s watery smile. 

Thanksgiving break came and went. Aaron and Nicky spent it at Abby’s. Kevin and Ania spent it at the court. They ran drills from sunrise to sunset. More than once, Ania caught herself searching the stadium seats for Erin. Kevin caught on quickly and picked up the pace, keeping her distracted. It was little after midnight when Ania collapsed from exhaustion. Laying on the court floor, she realized that her legs were going numb. It didn’t matter. She had to get up. She had to keep going. 

“Junkie.” Erin’s voice echoed through Ania’s head. Ania closed her eyes and saw the mirthful, dopey smile that always accompanied the word. 

“Ania,” Kevin called. She pried her eyes open to watch him jog across the court towards her. Hauling herself up, she leaned heavily against her racquet. “Let’s call it a day.” 

“No. I’m fine.” No sooner had the words left her mouth when she pitched forward. She must have looked unsteady because Kevin was ready to catch her. Scooping her up with ease, he carried her to the court door. With some difficulty, he opened it. Setting her down on the bench, he propped her up against the wall. He began unstrapping her gear. “I can do it myself,” she said, making no move to stop him. 

“You can shower by yourself,” he said as though it were some consolation. Ania glared at him and he smiled. It was a wide, toothy grin that Ania hadn’t seen since she was very small. For the first time in eight years, she saw the Kevin she’d chased across the Evermore courts. Smiling at her, Ania remembered how much she’d loved Kevin, the only person in her life who’d made her feel normal. 

Nathan hadn’t had time to sit around and teach Ania anything that wasn’t directly involved with the family business. Her mother had been too wrapped up in her own misery to spare her daughter any attention. It had been Kevin that had taught Ania how to tie her shoes and spell her name. On the days that she visited Evermore, he’d been the one to shake her awake in the morning and tuck her in at night. He’d even managed to convince Tetsuji to let him go to Baltimore so he could hold her hand as he walked her to her first day of preschool. Kevin might not have been related to her by blood but he’d always been the closest thing Ania had ever had to family. 

After resting awhile on the bench, Ania found the strength to stand and make her way to the locker rooms. She showered quickly but thoroughly before tossing her gear into the laundry cart. Kevin came out not long after, clutching a clean towel. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” he said, motioning to her wet hair. Ania sat quietly as he dried her hair for her. Once he’d finished, he chucked it into the laundry bin beside the gear. Sitting down beside her, he wrapped his arms around her. Ania leaned into him instinctively. “One down, six to go,” he said. Ania deflated. Six weeks, six whole weeks, until Erin came home. 

“Kevin?” He hummed in response. “Will you sing for me?” She felt him work his jaw as he searched for a response. “You don’t have to.”

She felt his chest swell as he took a deep breath. Kevin’s voice was a soft tenor, untrained but enough to soothe Ania. Where Kevin had been raised on Exy, Erin had been raised on music. She’d sang from a young age as a coping mechanism for the horrors she faced in her negligent foster homes. At twelve, her foster mother, Cass, had heard Erin singing and sent her to class. Erin spoke about Cass in the most wistful tone, piquing Ania’s curiosity. In exchange for a few inconsequential secrets, Erin admitted that Cass had offered to adopt her. She’d turned Cass down in favor of moving in with Aaron. Ania had thought the whole thing strange but she hadn’t pushed. Knowing now that Cass was Drake’s mother, the pieces slotted into place. Of course, Erin had chosen to take her chances with Tilda rather than remain with the Spears. 

In the years since her departure from the Spear home, Erin had taken up smoking. The bad habit gave her voice a gravely texture that Ania adored far more than she cared to admit. Often, she found herself pressing her ear up against the dorm wall to catch the faint strains of Erin singing to herself. 

It wasn’t as though Erin didn’t sing in front of the others. In fact, she sang as she dressed at her locker beside Ania and in the car and on the bus and as they walked to the corner store. Drugged to the heavens, Erin sang seemingly lighthearted songs that grew dark as you registered the lyrics. However, returning from her early morning runs during their trips to Columbia, Ania always ran into a half-asleep Erin in the kitchen as she prepared breakfast. 

Sober but sleepy, Erin’s beautiful voice drifted through the kitchen, singing mournfully of partners past. Recently, Erin had begun to allow Ania to sit on the kitchen island while she worked. She sang wistfully of beautiful girls and eloping lovers as she swayed before the stove.

The morning before Erin left for Easthaven had gone similarly. Ania had been standing beside her, scrambling eggs to go with the bacon. Lighting a cigarette with the fire from the stove, Erin had turned to offer one to Ania as well. Ania had accepted before realizing that she had no light. Just as she was about to light it the way Erin had, Erin closed the space between the two of them. Cupping Ania’s face in one hand, she pressed the cherry of her cigarette to the unlit one between Ania’s lips with her eyes closed. 

As Erin drew away, she turned, returning to singing without missing a beat. As a kid, the children in Ania’s school had said that if one person put their mouth on something and then another person pressed their own lips to the same spot, they’d claim that it was an indirect kiss. If those were indirect kisses, then what was that? She didn’t know. 

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. She’d spent too much time here at Palmetto. She didn’t have time to figure out whatever game Erin was playing now. Six weeks until Erin would come home. Six weeks until it was time for Ania to leave. It would be lonely out on the run after living with so many people for so long. It would be cold too. With her face pressed up to Kevin’s chest, rumbling as he sang, and his warm arms wrapped around her, Ania felt her eyes closing. I’ve got six weeks to enjoy all of this. Six weeks and I’m gone, she promised herself before drifting off to sleep in Kevin’s arms. 

[multifandom--imagine]

ALDO RAINE

“ Mrs (y/n) if you receive this letter, please don’t regret it. The end is part of the journey and this is the right end that awaits me. Hugo Stiglitz and Willhelm Wicki died, many others are falling. The Kino operation is officially in danger and I’m sure it will sink together with all my crew. But if I have to sink I want to be a hero, I want to die by killing the people who exterminated families on families, for the sake of it. when I die I want you not to come and cry on my grave, I want you to look at that tombstone and to read that engraved name, proud and strong, proud of what the man who loves you to safeguard you and the future of our community. If they asked me to leave again with a small pack of kids to go and kill the Nazis, I would certainly do it a thousand times more, but before leaving I would make sure I kissed those wonderful lips of yours, in a decent and passionate way, like a real goodbye kiss. Your eyes had deceived me, making me believe that I would return to America to marry you, have a wonderful and long life with our children. But unfortunately I took my return home for granted, my love. I just want you to know that I love you so much and that I am the luckiest lieutenant in this world to have met you even if for a short time. Yours forever. “ - Lt. Aldo Rein

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DONNY DONOWITZ

“ Dear (y/n), You know very well that I am not good at writing, you yourself have always told me that I can hardly speak, but if I am doing it it is because I have my good reasons. The Kino operation is now complete, we will attack a cinema and blow up all those Nazi pieces of shit. You know that I will be the first to fight and therefore also the first who will probably die. The cinema is fucking filled with exhibits and it is obvious that we will be like fucking kamikazes in this situation. If I had been without a ball I would certainly have turned my back on Aldo and I would have come home to you in your arms, but this is not my job, this is not the way I will go in peace with myself. I want to kill that piece of shit Hitler with my own hands and then death will be free to take my breath away. I know what you think doll, my philosophy is horrible and blinded by anger. But I’m the bear jew after all, I’m an animal and you fell in love with a beast. I only want you to know that you will never be alone, you will not get rid of me so easily sweetness, my spirit will always protect you and whenever the pain will dominate you even if you do not see me feeling free to shout to the sky all the anger that try, I will listen to you and console you. I promise you. Tell my family that I love them and my father that he will have to look for another young barber to run his salon. Never forget me, doll. Goodbye. “

- Donovan Donowitz

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HUGO STIGLITZ

“ I was hoping to never write you this letter (y/n) but if you don’t see me coming home within a month, then know that I died fighting. I died for my ideals and died without fear. Your mother was right to tell you that she didn’t like me at all and she was right, you fell in love with a monster. Yet you have always been stubborn, you risked your life because of my position. I am a criminal, a traitor, an assassin, the Nazis want my head as a hunting prize. But this does not push you not to love me. That’s probably why I feel affection for you. Although he has always confirmed to you that there was no future with me, I could never have given you a family, not even married you, you know that I don’t believe in God. A God who loves his children would never allow this. Also on this you have always had to repeat, you said that if all this happened it was probably because it was destined to happen, even if all this seems a macabre nightmare. Ugly stubborn girl. I never told you in person, but maybe if I don’t do it now, I’ll probably regret it even in the underworld. I love you, (y/n) Take care of yourself. “ - Hugo Stiglitz

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WILLHELM WICKI

“ Hi sunshine, I have no idea if you are still alive, if the Germans have captured you, if your family is still alive. The only thing I regretted after leaving Austria was the fact that I didn’t have enough money to get away with me. But even if you could you wouldn’t have done it, you’re too attached to your family … I still remember those little moments of ours together, while helping your father at work. You, with that little girl’s face, who frowned in a very sweet pout when I made you share my jokes. And that afternoon we spent throwing water in the garden with the hose? Oh dear, only when I savor these old memories do I realize how much I miss my baby. Because you have always been, even though I never declared myself, even though I never kissed you, I just needed a smile to make me feel at peace with myself. Knowing that those Nazis have now torn you from your lips tears at my heart (y/n) I can’t stand the idea of ​​seeing you locked up in some concentration camp without having a name, seeing you lying on the ground in a pool of blood and perforated by bullets, hear you scream, hear you sobbing … see you with the lost and frightened look wander in this hell. What I want to tell you is that I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t be your mistake, I’m sorry I abandoned you. I don’t know if you’ll forgive me, but know that I’ll fight to the end to avenge the love I felt for you. If God still exists, I beg you, answer me as soon as possible. Below you will find an address where to deliver your letter. Yours.”

- Willhelm Wicki

✁ ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

OMAR ULMER

“ My sweet (y/n), the only thing that makes me calm is the fact that you are safe in America. At least you’re saving yourself from the horror I found here in France. It all seems so surreal, probably the worst of the war is the fact that the wickedness of humanity overcomes every border. Every time I close my eyes I imagine again and again our first and last exit together. We were you and me alone in that cinema, because we knew that many customers didn’t come at that night time. We had taken the best seats in the middle of the last rows, and only a big bag of popcorn was part of us, God bless those popcorn. It was at that precise moment that our fingers touched, desperate for some snacks inside that bag. Even if that room was dark, I know you saw my face go red, while I won’t be able to forget your eyes shining with a strange light. Jeez, how beautiful you were, I wanted you to kiss right now, but I know we were too shy to do it. But time seemed to be on our side, however, we left the cinema and it was raining outside, I pulled out my umbrella and you took my arms to shelter you. We were so close that my heart would have shot away, maybe you had sensed it and it was then that you turned and kissed me. I was so stupid that I dropped my umbrella and while we were both hanging around we laughed carefree, kissing each other again and again. My life began in that American cinema and my life will dwell in this other cinema in Paris, I will die (y/n), because a war is won with the sacrifice of us soldiers. I know you will be crying my sweet girl, please don’t do it. I am not afraid of dying, because I know that when I go back to sleep and this time forever, I know you will expect me in my dreams, in front of our cinema, soaked and with an angelic smile. I will love you now and in my next lives. Your soldier. “ - Omar Ulmer

✁ ―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

SMITHSON UTIVICH

“ Dear Mrs (y/n), I’m Smithson utivich, I don’t know if you remember me. We met at the military base in America, you were looking for your father but you found me, I would add in embarrassing conditions. Some soldiers were making fun of me, they didn’t consider me worthy of my mission and gave me misguided names. Without fear you threw yourself into that mass of idiots like a lioness and god, I still laugh in remembering how painful they took themselves off the stage. An ordinary man would have said that it was the most embarrassing and less virile day of his life, probably, but at least I met my angel. You gave me your hand and you made me get up from the ground, and then you introduced yourself. I never had the courage to tell you, but your name is something poetic and at the same time a badass. Like an Amazon. I took you to your father, but then as a fool I didn’t even dare to greet you. Probably the Nazis are right to call me “Little Men” and probably I don’t even deserve to think I have a chance to impress you. But know that you are the force that drives me every day to remove every scalp from every damned Nazi corpse, you are the force that taught me to drive during a chase, you are the strength that makes me grow. And maybe who knows? I will really die with the same tenacity with which you presented yourself to me. Maybe you won’t remember me as Little Men, but as Smithson Utivich.

ps. in case i returned would you do me the honor of going out with me?

Sincerely. “ - Smithson Utivich

#13

– Taiga 🐯

[darkwoods-darkdreams]

Imagine you’re on a game show (I)

You shifted nervously backstage. When you had received a letter in the mail that you would be able to get a cash prize that would cover your university fees in full, you jumped at the chance. But now, you were worried about what you had signed up for. It was the first episode of the game show. Maybe you should have waited until you watched a few contestants from home before deciding to participate.

“Now, are you ready to meet your first contestant?” The host asked. The crowd roared in response.

The woman standing next to you listened to something in her earpiece before ushering you forward, “Good luck,” You weren’t sure if you were just hearing things, but it seemed that it was more of a warning than anything else.

You walked out onto the stage, the crowd growing louder as you approached the host. You were so nervous. You had never been on TV before. You had called your family and told them to watch, hoping that they would be able to see you win a glorious prize.

The host was attractive, tall with dark hair. He had a cute little conversation with you about who you were and why you had joined the show. He was quite charming.

With a flourish, he returned his attention to the audience, “Well then. Are you ready to start the show?” The crowd screamed and waved, “Then let’s get started!” He gestured behind him, where the floor opened up to reveal a chair. You had never seen anything like it. You fidgeted nervously, wondering what it was for. The game show’s synopsis had been vague. You knew that there was some sort of punishment involved, but it hadn’t specified on the form.

The host led you over to the chair. You sat down. Metal bands immediately snapped over your wrists and ankles, keeping you in place. You were surprised, but didn’t fight back. It was probably for your own safety, so you kept still.

“In this show, we have a penalty that’s never been seen before,” The host explained, “First, a little dose of something special,” He revealed a needled syringe, sticking it into your hip and emptying it into your body. At first, nothing happened. After a few seconds, however, you felt your body grow hot. You squirmed in your chair, becoming more and more uncomfortable. You had never been so turned on before. You tried rubbing your thighs together to get rid of the ache, but nothing worked.

“Second, preparation for our show’s penalty,” He brandished a pair of scissors, cutting your clothes from your body. You tried to escape the chair, but you weren’t strong enough. You opened your mouth to tell him to stop, only for him to cover his microphone with his hand, “You signed up for this, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready,” He winked before once again turning to the audience. You couldn’t believe this. You were naked in front of hundreds of people. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You hoped that your family wasn’t watching. Sure, there were plenty of game shows involving nudity, but you hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” The host held out his arm toward you. The chair suddenly shifted. You were leaned back, your legs spread and knees bent. Your eyes widened, knowing that you were bare for the world to see. You tried to ask the host what was going on, only for something to prod against your entrance. Before you could react, it shoved itself as far as it could go. You cried out, the crowd drinking in your discomfort. You glanced to one of the screens that you could see. It was a tube. You forced yourself to breathe slowly. You were fine. You would win the cash prize.

“Now, it’s time to explain the show we have in store for you,” The host smiled, still so charismatic despite having you in such a compromising position right next to him, “You, my dear little contestant have been injected with a fertility drug. I’m going to ask you twenty questions. For every correct answer, more money will be added to your total. For every wrong answer, you’ll be impregnated.”

You froze, eyes widening. He couldn’t be serious. The crowd was loving it, clearly in on the whole ploy from the start. You were speechless. You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t get pregnant now. You were halfway through university. You wouldn’t be able to continue your education while caring and providing for children.

“Now, the real challenge is the bonus question at the end. If you get it right, you get all of the money you’ve earned and your pregnancy will be reversed. If you get it wrong, then you don’t get the money and you’ll have to carry your baby, or babies, to term. You’ll stay here with us on the show so we can check on your progress every week until you give birth, which will be a special after-show,” The crowd cheered once again, “So, are you ready to begin your quiz?”

You didn’t have a choice. You had signed up for this. The show was live. They wouldn’t let you go now. Besides, you needed that money. The show’s practice questions had all been based on elementary school level classes, so you were bound to get through the questions and get the maximum amount of prize money. You nodded.

“Alright, first question: who founded the Icelandic town of Hofn?”

This had to be some sort of joke. Such a trivial question was the opposite of what had been advertised in the game show’s pamphlet. You stared at the host, his grin only widening as you hesitated. You didn’t know the answer. You doubted anyone in the audience knew that answer.

“We need an answer, sweetheart,” The host gestured to the clock counting down.

You swallowed thickly. You were already off to a horrible start. Maybe they always made one question hard on purpose, just to add a bit of tension. You shook your head, “I-I don’t know.”

The crowd cooed in response, but you knew that they weren’t on your side. They were all fidgeting in their chairs, waiting for your punishment to begin.

“Oh dear,” The host pretended to be upset, though he still seemed as vibrant as ever, “You know what a wrong answer means.”

The chair whirred beneath you, a thick liquid bubbling up the tube and into your entrance. With nowhere for it to go, it moved further into your body. By the time the machine stopped, your belly was slightly distended. You watched the screen fearfully, waiting.

Pressure suddenly overtook your womb, swelling outward. You groaned in pain, a new weight added between your hips. The crowd cheered, some of them already quite aroused.

“Question two…”

They had tricked you. All of the questions were so specific. Even the ones that you thought you had known the answer to were still judged as wrong by some technicality. Each time you answered a question wrong and more fluid was pumped into your womb, your belly rolled outward with yet another child. By the fifth, you were sweaty and squirming as your breasts leaked milk. On the tenth question, the tube had started moving to distract you. They were deliberately sabotaging you. The pace increased whenever you were about to answer, rendering your words useless as your back arched with yet another orgasm. They hooked you up to breast pumps after the fifteenth question, adding further humiliation and arousal. Some of the audience members looked like they were about to jump out of their seats, pull the tube from your entrance, and fuck you until they were empty to add their children to your growing belly.

As a special treat for the audience, the show had a quick raffle after the twentieth question. Those who wanted to participate had to pay in order to get their tickets put into the draw. Men jumped up, emptying their wallets and draining their credit cards. You watched the screen in horror. You were already so full. You had answered all twenty questions wrong. There were twenty babies inside of you. And they wanted to add more. Your womb was filled to the brim. You weren’t sure if another would fit.

The host remained by your side, rubbing his free hand over your stomach as he talked into the microphone to sell more raffle tickets. The contents of your womb were displaced with his touch, the weight moving around. You were gasping for air from both arousal and the heaviness. Each little shift was sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. The tube was still thrusting inside of you, but its pace was lazy. They wouldn’t let you orgasm unless it was beneficial for them. You squirmed. You didn’t know how long the gestation would be, but you already looked heavily pregnant.

“Ah, all of the tickets have been collected, I see,” The host beamed. The same woman that had ushered you on stage carried a bowl full of tickets to the host, who swirled his hand around before pulling a single slip, “Number 2398!”

A man got up from a row close to the front, holding up his own copy of the ticket. He was brought in front of you. You could see the bulge in his pants. He wore a suit that looked more expensive than all of your university expenses combined. His gaze swept over your form, his smirk growing. He could clearly afford to buy countless tickets without putting so much as a dent into his bank accounts.

“You’re quite the lucky man,” The host grinned, “You’ve won the chance to get your own turn with our darling little contestant!”

The rest of the crowd either cheered at the notion of an intimate show or groaned because their ticket hadn’t been chosen. The man in the suit loosened his tie, slipping it from his collar. He unbuttoned his jacket as the tube was pulled from your body. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, only for the man to free himself from his trousers and thrust into you. Your breathing was ragged as he grabbed your hips and moved deeper inside of you. The pace he initiated was slow but rough. You gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to keep yourself grounded and focused on something other than what was buried between your thighs. But the fertility drug you had been dosed with was too potent and the babies rolling around in your stomach were bumping against every sweet spot you didn’t know you had. It wasn’t long before you and the man in the suit were both on the brink of release. His grip on you was bruising as each thrust became harder and deeper. You moaned with every movement. You couldn’t think of anything else but the heavenly orgasm you would have. Your family could be watching in horror as you were fucked on live television, but you merely begged for more.

You cried out, waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your legs quivered, chest heaving with each breath. Your walls twitched around the man, leading him to his own release. He buried himself to the hilt, the familiar heat pooling against your womb. Your stomach rolled outward again to accommodate your twenty-first child. He removed himself from your body and composed himself, though his hair was still disheveled and he wasn’t wearing his tie.

A bell sounded. You tensed a bit. It was the same noise they had used when you failed to answer a question.

The host frowned, though you could still see the amusement in his eyes, “Oh dear, you were so busy having fun that you were unable to answer the bonus question. That means that you’ve lost our little game. You’re be staying with us and you’ll keep your babies.”

“What?” They had tricked you again. They had distracted you so you wouldn’t be able to answer the question. You would have to carry all of your babies to term. All twenty-one of them. Tears filled your eyes, “No, you can’t-” You were interrupted by the tube once again thrusting into your entrance.

The host smiled, rubbing his hand over your stomach and keeping the microphone away from his face, “There’s just a few terms for your contract here with us. You’ll stay with us and we’ll provide you with everything you need. In exchange, the entire staff and anyone that pays well enough gets to use you however they like,” He winked, “Which includes me. You’ll give birth to all of your little darlings on a live special after the main show. If you go into labor before that, we’re going to keep those babies inside of you until the main show is over. We can’t be cutting into one program to show another,” He smiled, brushing your damp hair away from your face, “We’re also planning on a special season finale. All of the fan favourites will come back to play again with even more at stake. Since you were the first contestant in our show, you’re shoe-in to be selected.”

Two workers began to wheel you off stage, the breasts pumps and tube still whirring. You squirmed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The host waved as you left, then turned back to the audience, “Now, then, for our second contestant of the show!”

[honestsycrets]

Locked In III: The Breeding Barn

❛ pairing | ubbe x reader, implied ragnar x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | ragnar brings you to the breeding rings... err... farm?

❛  warnings | dub-con, abo, kidnapping.

Ragnar has this way about him. A way to know when someone was out of bounds. Rollo was way out of bound with his hand underneath your skirt, grinding your sopping pussy as you came down off of your heat suppressants. The pesky things never quite worked all the way, but you never appreciated them more than now.

“I’m sharing that one with Ubbe. Pick another.”

You would have bitten that bitch Rollo if you weren’t so tightly restrained, shackled to the seat in front of you while he flew the plane in toward the final destination. Which… honestly sounded just as scary as the movies when an alpha had his nose deep against your scent glands on your neck.

“We’re almost there. You can knot the first breeding bitch you see.” Ragnar glances back to his brother. He gets the message and good enough because, with Alpha males, they have this sort of fight in their system. They don’t back down. Neither do you.

But you’re saved by Ragnar when Rollo ceases his affections. Ragnar was a good guy for a guy that promoted his sons to trade copious amounts of drugs and women. Or maybe your reality was becoming distorted because you honestly don’t recall having such an appreciation for a man that respects your heats.

Rollo’s feet stomp onto the floor of the plane when Ragnar begins his descent. Alphas were known to hate any situation in which they weren’t in control. He definitely wasn’t. You think you might throw up, bobbing with the thought of the Ragnarsson who abandoned you.

You’re going to the breeding rings.

Two stringy rags make up your feet when you step off of that plane, that truck, that river spreading one crisp green land from another. Then suddenly, it's all luscious rolling green hills for miles. Rows of corn touch the deep sky.

“Where am I?” You ask the Alpha male, clearly the leader of his pack. Ragnar says nothing at first. You suppose there’s no reason to ask as anyone could tell that wherever you were, it wasn’t home now. Ragnar’s hand settles on the hot leather of his truck, rolling his window down for all too humid air to roll in. It’s caught in your throat like a mouthful of dry bread. The old man tacks his fat fingers onto metal buttons, clicking as they pop back up. A long beep chimes from what you can only suppose is the front gate.

“Welcome to The Breeding Barn.”

The air is wretchedly muggy, but the grass, sloshy like a bad bowl of French Onion soup. Your feet squish and slip past large rings with squealing pigs and follow Ragnar, your ankles slip in the mud.

This hardly looks like the institution you expected. You expected some… the basement of horrors. It looks like a farm on the sprawling five hundred acres you couldn’t count.

“The breeding barn? It’s a farm?” You ask the so-called king. He stays quiet, drawing his tongue over a jagged tooth.

“That’s what we would have you think.” Ragnar shoves you into an aged barn. The horns of some poor animal are mounted above you. Your bound hands collide with the splintered doorway, realizing that this place had been here some time. Ragnar plucks you up, grunting as he shoves you over his shoulder. Your fingers tighten against his smooth shirt as he moves past his prized mares, turning to where bound straw is kept. He moves each roll aside, tugging and huffing until he could toss them off a rod iron handle that he can lift the creaky door with his boot.

“Floki, close the door.” He calls. You squeal with every rebounding step, pounding down the wooden stairs. The door shuts with a strange, almost clownlike giggle. Ragnar disappears into a pitch black hall, with walls that almost pull together down upon the both of you. If the ceiling could move, you swore it would have. A jingling of keys unlocks another door-- then another, several feet down. Ragnar yanks the door back and synthetic light streams in.

“Ugh-- Ugh--”

The noises sound like a first-class porno, rippling in your ear so that your head pounds. The baying of willing omegas rooted deep in their heats. Since suppressants became safer, these noises in the middle of the night had all but disappeared. More than the noise, the smell hits you like a swaying rock. Other eligible omegas have the propensity to push a heat along. More than that, you think, it’s the smell of an alpha. Or a few, thick in the air. One scent stands out. It’s not Ragnar’s.

“Fuck.” Ragnar stills your rutting hips on his shoulder with a ringing spank, then voice booming, he commands the attention in the room. “That’s enough. Ubbe.”

“Who is this?” In a few achingly long, deep steps from the newcomer, you feel the man stand in front of Ragnar. His voice runs deep and heads straight toward your cunt as if your womb was pushing you into it already-- Alpha, there’s an Alpha, but a real Alpha you dumb bitch. Suddenly deeply attuned to his presence, you jerk as if you could hide on Ragnar’s back. A strangled protest chirps from your lips when strange hands reach out to cup your ass.

“Hvitserk’s newest acquisition.” He says, tracing his fingertips up the back of your thighs. You can differentiate Ragnar’s fingers from Ubbe’s. Ragnar’s are rough, tiresome and thick. He must have been in this business for years.

“One of Hvitserk’s?” Ubbe says, parting his lips in mock disapproval. “How diseased is this one?”

“You’re probably more diseased than I am.” You speak out of turn.

“She’s mouthy,” Ubbe says, almost absently. He flicks up the rim of your skirt, tracing the edge of your pleats from the panties that settle beautifully in between your cheeks. His index and middle finger trace down the slit of your pussy. Your hips jerk, then subsequently you kick out.

“Don’t touch me.”

“And disobedient.”

“Fuck off.”

“She has to be. She was a nurse. He was her patient,” Ragnar responds automatically, setting all of his weight on his right leg. Ubbe’s middle finger snakes around the flimsy fabric hiding your smooth skin. You jerk defiantly away from his fingers. Ubbe’s fingers curl into a fist.

“No wonder.” Ubbe husks.

You wonder what kind of ugly mug he might have. His brother was cute. Hvitserk had this puppy like energy to him, reflected in his uncle. Ragnar was handsome and in his youth, you would have been fawning over him outside of here. Not that he wasn’t desirable at all. He was… well, a daddy. You cease to find the dusty floor amusing, less so with nothing to look at but the back of Ragnar's boots.

Ragnar sets you down on two feet. He rakes his hands through your long hair, yanking it back so that you have to face Ubbe. That… was not an ugly face. In some baleful laugh, Ubbe looks over his shoulder, smoothing over his handsome ruddy beard

“Not what you expected, breeding bait?”

Breeding bait?!

You had enough. Not only had your whole life been effectively uprooted by this hell family but now they had brought you here to a place where you could hear the wretched moaning of women and men bound in pins of wood. Their hips on one side and faces on another. You don’t want to ask what exactly will become of you next. You hike up your leg, bound to kick him right where his precious cock was, but like many things, Ubbe was prepared. He hooks your leg under his arm, causing you to hop closer and closer until you can feel him against you. Ragnar throws his hands behind his head, barking at his son to stop playing around as he walks around him toward another area.

“You’ll regret that.” Ubbe growls.

You seriously doubted it. You hated him already.

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[butter-egg-toast]

Type of Dates Headcoans

What type of Dates would the Free characters would like to go on. Each character appears twice out of the fourteen 🤔

Fancy restaurant: Nao:

Most likely would go to a fancy place small and simple at downtown Tokyo.

A place with expensive wine.

Order foreign food.

A beautiful City View.

"You look so elegant in that dress (y/n)"-Nao

After dinner you'll both return to his apartment.

Concert: Natsuya, Nagisa, Seijour, Momo:

All four of them is energetic, what better way to express that in a loud place.

Most likely would have front row seats.

Would buy tickets to your favorite music artist or band.

Natsuya and you would travel to another country just to see that band or Artist.

Buy you some merchandise.

Dance with you to your favorite song.

Most likely would keep the party going by getting some drinks (natsuya).

Both Momo, Seijour and Nagisa would fan boy all over the band.

"How was the concert (y/n) chan? Did you have a great time?" -Nagisa

"I can wait to show Rin Senpai and Nitori Senpai these pictures" -Momo

"Hey (y/n) let's get a few drinks I'm in the mood." -Natsuya

Stargazing: Rei, Ikuya and Hiyori:

Rei and Hiyori is the type to do research before the date (especially Rei) just so they can impress you with their Newfound knowledge. (Book worms)

Ikuya would like the idea of stargazing because he would love the fact of being alone with you in a isolated place.

All three of them would love a quiet area

"We sure picked a beautiful night for this (y/n) san" -Rei

"Say (y/n) don't you think this is amazing?"-Hiyori

"There sure are a lot of stars out tonight..dont You think (y/n)?"- Ikuya

Potluck: Souskue and Haru:

Both boys are amazing cooks, so expect a lot of mackerel and pork.

Sousuke would practically make a buffet of food.

Haru and Souskue would probaly invite Rin and Makoto.

Probaly have a eating contest

"I tried a different mackerel recipe, how is it?"- Haru

"Don't take all the meat for your self (y/n)"-Sousuke

"Don't eat too much or you'll get a stomach ache" -both Haru and Souskue

Cooking together/staying at home:

All the boys: Seems like they can cook.

It's nice to take a break for once.

Nothing better than a home cooked meal with the one you love.

Plus stay at home dates are usual more fun, spending time together alone, watching a movie, playing games or other (wink wink*).

Mostly likely to lead to something to a little nsfw after a while (Natsuya, Rin, Kisumi, Nagisa, Asahi, Hiyori and Seijour )

Mostly likely to cuddle(Makoto, Ikuya, Nao, Nitori, Hiyori, Haru, Rei and Momo)

Expect a lot of teasing and tickling.

Scary movies (not for Makoto and Rei)

"..hey can we have a little fun"-Kisumi

"I'll watch this horror movie if you stay by my side"-Makoto

Aquarium: Haru and Rin:

Even though they visit the aquarium very frequently they both would love to share the experience with you.

"I wonder what it would feel to be a sea creature" -Rin

"Every time I come here I feel calm."-Haru

Cafe: Hiyori, Asahi, Kisumi:

Hiyori would take you to his favoite cafes around the city.

Asahi would most likely take you to his sister's cafe for a first date, he'll go in the kitchen and cook something up for you.

Kisumi would take you to a cafe that specialized in sweets, he'll feed you every piece.

"Hey you have to try this (y/n) it's sooo delicious!"-Kisumi

"Ahh this cafe is so peaceful"-Hiyori

"I know it's not much but I hope you like it"-Asahi

Beach: Nagisa, Seijour Kisumi:

They would love to share a snow cone or ice cream with you, play in the water or even play some beach volleyball.

Just chilling together

Expect them wanting to put sunscreen on you.

"That swimsuit compliments your figure (y/n)"-Seijour

"(Y/n) chan Lets build a awesome sand Castle"-Nagisa

"Can I rub some sunscreen on you?"-Kisumi

Museum: Rei and Nao:

Nao and Rei are pretty knowledgeable about Art.

They would show you to their favorite art pieces and sculptures.

A lot of talking.

Can totally imagine you getting lost in the museum because they (definitely Rei) got distracted by an art piece.

"This ancient art is beyond beautiful"-Rei

"What souvenirs do would you like/get (y/n)'- Nao

"Which one was your favorite"- Rei and Nao

Bowling: Rin, Natsuya, Souskue:

These three would make a simple bowling date in to a mini competition.

Definitely your competitive spirit will come out bowling with these boys.

Making bets on who would win.

"Loser has to buy drinks"-Natsuya

"Don't get upset when you lose"-Souskue

"You're on.. I'm most definitely not going to lose"- Rin

Picnic: Makoto, Nitori, Ikuya:

They may not be as good at cooking but they would still help you with the food.

All three would try to find a secluded or isolated spot away from the public to have some quality one-on-one time with you.

Most likely you guys would chat and take a few pictures.

Ikuya would specifically make a music playlist of his and your favorite songs.

Listening and relaxing.

Ikuya and Makoto seems like the type to lay their heads down on your lap as you feed them or stroke their hair.

Even though Makoto would be embarrass he would LOVE the idea of you feeding him your homecook meal.

Nitori would probaly bring a lot of food because he couldn't decide what to bring

"It's so relaxing being here with you"- Ikuya

"(Y/N) Senpai I hope you like my cooking" - Nitori

"Wow your home cooked meal is really delicious"- Makoto

Karaoke:

I can Imagine everybody doing karaoke.

There will be some of the boys that would get slightly embarrassed (Rei, Makoto and Nitori).

Some would take it over broad possibly singing every song( Natsuya, Momo, Asahi, Seijour, Nagisa and Kisumi) and then the others that wouldn't care much but still want to do it( Nao, Souskue, Hiyori, Ikuya, and Haru)

Expect a lot of group songs and duets.

Get ready for that random sex/love song.

Zoo: Nitori:

He's very knowledgeable on animals. Take tons of photos with you and the animals.

Would probaly make a mini schedule through out the day.

Pet a few animals

"(Y/n) let's get a picture with the panda" - Nitori

Arcade: Momo, Makoto, Asahi:

Momo's a big kid when it comes to games.

He would have a bag full of toys for him, you and all his friends.

Asahi would most likely would win all types of prizes for you (like cute key chains and stuff animals).

Asahi would probably lose every game you guys would play together.

Makoto would just be happy and excited that you're there with him.

Surprisingly Makoto is really good at shooting games but he absolutely hate horror games.

Makoto would buy a few toys for Ren and Ran.

"I had such a wonderful time (y/n)"-Asahi

"Look I can't beilve how much we won.. I'm giving these to EVERYONE!"-Momo

"I'm exhausted but I'm glad I got to spend the day with you"-Makoto

Amusement park:

All would enjoy the thought of a amusement park. Some of the boys would most definitely be too scared to go on the rides.

At the end you guys could go on the ferris wheel.

"What, you scared? Don't worry, you can hold my hand"- Natsuya

"Um, are you sure you want to go on that?"-Rei

"Lets seat in the front row (y/n) chan"-Nagisa

"I would rather go on the kiddie rides"-Hiyori

"Whaat..you scared? Tch..dont be I'll be right next to you"-Rin

"I think I want to go on that water ride first"-Haru

"I'm not a roller coaster person but I'll still go on with you"- Ikuya.

Let me know which one was your favorite 👌

[stories4africa]

Is there really more than this?

I know there is more out there. I cannot fully imagine how it looks, tastes or sounds like but I know it is out there. I am tempted to follow this burning urge in me to go and find it but there are a lot of backlashes that I am experiencing. Among them is EXPERIENCE. It is not the green-eyed monster that some people imagined under their bed when they were younger, I must just clarify that I am not among those people, nonetheless, EXPERIENCE is a very scary monster.

It is the one that whispers all these fears that I am trying with everything in me to block. It is the reason for the invisible glass ceiling over my head that I intersect whenever I am climbing the ladder of dreams and future plans.

I know that there is more to me than academics. Mam Khoza (my senior pastor) once asked me a question that left me thinking. She asked but did not expect an answer at that time, but she ignited a thought process that is still continuing in me. “Apart from your academics what are you going to do with your life?”

Perhaps the quotation marks are out of place because those were not her exact words, but they are the words that are on replay in my mind. For as long as I can remember, academics have always taken the highest priority in my life. I needed to be the best. Why? I was not always sure but I always knew that I needed to be the best. My whole life turned to a battlefield, with everything I did always ending up being competitive. You were either with me or competition that I needed to eliminate.

In retrospect, was it the best way I could have went about with my childhood? I am not sure. Anyway, we were discussing the need for more and the monster of experience and not my childhood. Still on the topic though…

Back at school, I guess I was competitive because I truly believed that more had to be out there. I am certain that my surrounding was one factor contributing to that. Daily, I travelled into Queenstown for school from Gqebenya (a village in Lady Frere, Eastern Cape in South Africa), where very little was there to inspire me.

That’s of course not taking into account nature. I must admit that I have always had a thing for the mountains and the sky. When the streets around you are dusty, dry and knocked off like those in my neighbourhood, it helps to find beauty elsewhere. The brewing of summer thunderstorms was always the best cloud-display one could get in the hood. I always secured a front-row seat, from the tiled stoep at the front of the house or by placing an abandoned Castle Lager beer case in the backyard.

Summertime is a little something like this in Gqebenya. The picture is taken from my backyard with Ma’Luja’s house being the white one on the right.

At least then, I would have very few eyes on me, not that people would go out of their way to watch what I was doing. After all, finding people just sitting outside was nothing new. More often than I would have wanted I would see people gathered at Ma’Luja’s house for a round of beers and umqombothi (homemade Xhosa beer). Their gatherings rarely ended peacefully, in contrast, statements drenched with vulgarism would put an end to the loud babbling that filled the whole street. Noise pollution like no other…okay maybe I am being a bit dramatic with the latter statement, but you get the point right?

From pre-school, I remember being introduced to a different world. One that was colourful and full of developments. One where, as a four-year-old, I did not have to fear that one day I was going to drown in the pit latrine and die from suffocation. No, when I was at school, I could flush my waste away and never see or smell it again when I went back to the toilet.

No matter how dreamy that world was, when the clock hit 4 pm I was probably back on my way home and would be forced to quickly face that fear from all the liquids I was drinking on the hour-long journey from town to home. I never really understood why we couldn’t have flushing toilets like the rest of the world (or what seemed to be the rest of the world to my four-year-old mind), but it was such questions that made me want to push for more. Before attending Thistledown Pre-school, I never questioned the way of doing things back home, because my home was the only standard I knew.

As I got older and wiser, not much physically changed around me. People continued doing things as they had always done. The roads and water supply were still a joke. Those with jobs continued with them and a vast majority who were unemployed continued to make umqombothi or attend imicibi (ceremonies/rituals to appease their ancestors) at every opportunity they had. It was not a surprise to see young boys/men my age gathered in a circle and passing a 5-litre enamel container filled with umqombothi around. For a number of years, my father seemed to always find a reason to host these but would put up a fight if I asked him for money related to my growth, but hey that’s a story for another day. We did get a DSTV at some point which accelerated my imagination of the bigger world that lay beyond Gqebenya. It was there that I saw kids with their own rooms, cell phones, cars and swimming pools. They were living the ‘posh life’ that I could only dream of, and dreaming I did do. More often than some would like. If I somewhat found myself getting distracted or too comfortable at school, having to use the toilet at home would always be the reminder I needed.

It was no longer the fear of drowning that haunted me, but the indignity I felt when having to walk to the toilet while some of my neighbours were sitting outside. I could not shake the thought that everyone sees you when you are doing your business and how long it takes you to get it done. Oh, the horror of it all! In reality, I was probably the last thought on people’s minds.

Nonetheless, I would always return from the toilet with the thought that I will change my life with any opportunity I get. So maybe that’s why I wanted to be the best. I felt the need to stand out, so that if anyone was going to be selected to go somewhere, that it would be me without a doubt. Maybe that is why I saw it all as a battlefield because some of my classmates did not walk a day in my shoes. Sure they had their own problems with growing up in townships, but at least they had flushing toilets…many of them.

From the first prize-giving at St Theresa’s Primary School in 2006, until my last one in 2011, I strived for the number one position. With my determination to be the best always being kept in line by the bigger picture embedded within, that a world with more was awaiting.

High School at Maria Louw High was no different. At first, I felt out of place because of the bigger pupil numbers, the taller buildings and the bigger schoolyard but quickly found my feet when I saw Elanor, the head prefect in 2012. She mesmerized me with her black school blazer that displayed badges of achievements on either side. My friends and I joked about how heavy the blazer probably was. Without knowing what the badges were for, I immediately resolved within me that I was going to be like her if not better. Giving God the glory, I did exactly that throughout high school.

This was taken on the prize-giving ceremony in 2013 (my grade 9 year). My mother, Kholisa Kasolo, is the beautiful lady in the picture with me.

It was through my endless involvement in whatever I could do that I saw my potential outside of academics. Without neglecting my school work I also made a mark for myself in leadership and public speaking. Yet none of my achievements would have been possible without the unwavering support of the teachers that stood behind me. The highlight of my high school career was being accepted to study at the Australian National University. The dream to go to nations was always there and that acceptance letter reaffirmed that I was not just some crazy kid with pointless dreams. Although I could not go because of the lack of finances I rejoiced in my victory. In January 2017, I prepared myself to go to Stellenbosch University, with the understanding that it was not my final destination, more awaited me. I still had no clue what the more was.

The level of culture shock I had when I got there, was equivalent to being in a different country. From the architecture, landscape, language and people everything seemed a bit foreign. Don’t get me wrong, it was a good yet intimidating thing. I never openly admitted that to anyone, but rather put on a brave face and ran with the pace that everything was being dished out with. And the first task was getting through welcoming week. Maties O-week is a spectacular, fast-paced and eventful week that one either enjoys or dreads. For the most part, I enjoyed it, but in some quiet moments, I heard the voices inside my head speaking.

If you guessed that experience was one of those voices then you are absolutely correct. That deceptive, vile and loud monster not only recited my shortcomings but constantly painted a picture of the disparity of my background with where I was. It honestly does not take a lot for one to see that the wealth disparity in South Africa unfortunately still exists. “Reality check girl, you don’t belong here. Look at them and look at you. This is their world.”

I continually and consciously fought the wall of separation this villain was building. With much effort, I put out the flames of a “them” that experiencing was busy fueling. This was after all my first time being in a white and Afrikaans dominated environment (in terms of numbers). Sure I did Afrikaans at school but was never exposed to the culture. My school only had Black and Coloured pupils. For the most part, my fight back strategy seemed to work and meeting numerous like-minded people made the journey worth a while.

In no time I learnt to wear my best outfit, my smile, wherever I went in Stellies. Photo credit: C-TheSixth

At the end of the day, we are all just people. I adored the diversity that I encountered like never before. You might think it simple, but being at university allowed me to make Afrikaans, English, Chinese,  Indian, Sotho, Tswana, Pedi and Zulu friends on a more frequent base than I was ever exposed to. It was here that I noticed and truly appreciated how unique we all are, but that the uniqueness is not appreciated by all. It was in Stellenbosch that I grasped a part of my identity, that hey I’m a young black, Xhosa female, but it was also here that I found part of my identity to be challenging. “What does it mean to be black in the context of where I am?” “Why am I sometimes treated differently from my white counterparts?” “Does coming from a previously underprivileged environment automatically mean I am incompetent as some people seem to think?” “Is my voice loud enough or does my skin determine the attention I will get?”

Amidst all these questions my resolve to be the best kept me going for the most part. Sure, I did not go to any private or model C school, I did not own a car or expensive clothes, but deep down I knew that those were all just superficial things. I was also not ignorant of the fact that they are not representative of everyone in Stellenbosch and so did not define me. So without fail, academically I continued to pursue the more and bigger picture in my head. I am humbled to say that I performed very well academically to the point of being a Golden Key Honours recipient and being on the Dean’s List for a number of my modules. 

So far, I would hope that it is clear how academically orientated my life was, but that’s not all I am about. On the contrary from primary school, I learnt to explore my creative side through writing poetry or stories but rarely performed them publicly. I also enjoyed drama, but because people already had this idea that I was a “serious-smart” child, I mainly kept my creativity to myself, after all, I had an image to uphold. This continued to high school and consequently university. However, I was doing pretty okay and so it did not really matter, until 2019. My year started with a bang, an extraordinary experiencing touring Germany, but that also left a painful marker on my life, which I cannot get into details about at the moment.

This is an image I took in Munich Germany in January 2019. Photo cred: Nalin Singh

The journey of recovery from that incident took a toll on my mentality. For the first time I stopped trying to see everything as good even when it’s not, I forced myself to be honest with myself. As if I did not have enough going on already I encountered parts of my degree that I just did not enjoy and struggled with grasping although it seemed everyone around me was having a jolly time with them. For a change, my identity which was strongly based on being an A-student was tested and I found myself going back to Mam Khoza’s question. “Apart from academics what will you do with your life?” It was also in 2019 that I truly experienced academic racial discrimination in my degree, which was my tipping point, adding to all I was going through.

After this, the battle for my mind became more fierce. My therapist called it a fight to overcome internal oppression. More often than not I wondered whether this was it. “No, there must be more. Your life will not end like this. You are all that and more.” The fighter in me would respond. So I made a frightening yet exciting decision to embark on a journey of searching, which meant cutting a lot of ties. I bid farewell to everything contributing to my struggle.

So have you found it now? Is there really more out there? You might want to ask, but I, unfortunately, cannot give you answers now. The journey still continues and daily I am learning to allow myself to BE more than to DO. The greatest battle is in my mind but I am a victor. So I walk with my head held high.

I’ll keep you posted.

I am Nomvo Faith Kasolo, but you can also call me Vee. Thank you for reading my story…

[rosietommasi]

breaking point || self para

WHO: Rosemarie Tommasi ( NPC Charlotte Smith, Sky and Reed Tommasi, various others mentioned from past school )

WHEN: Junior year of high school

WHERE: Arlington High School gym, Arlington, TX.

WARNINGS: Violence tw, blood tw, mental illness tw

Things had been a little low for Rosie, a slow decline down to what was leading up to an inevitable crash. She was irritable, unable to shake off of her shoulders as it weighed down on her. And it was building and building through this practice.

When she first came to this school, her second school in Texas considering the large state, Rosie was already feeling a little off. The last school she was at was one of her favorites, one of the hardest goodbyes she’d had in a while. She still remembered pleading with her parents, begging them to try and stay, that she was so happy here but...she was only sixteen, what did she know? The girl knew her parents weren’t purposefully trying to hurt her, if anything they were trying to provide for their daughter in the only way they possibly could. But with that came the expense of her emotions, seemingly having to toss them out of the window as she stuck her head out of it, waving goodbye to the group of friends she’d actually grown so attached to. The only boyfriend she’d ever had standing there, never to be seen again.

It stung. And the whole ride to the next city, for a week, Rosie felt this flip of emotions in her chest. She went from sad, teary eyed in the back seat, to resentful at her parents for a good couple of hours before teetering back to sadness for getting upset with them on top of her being upset she was going somewhere else, to pushing it away when she got her hands on a sweet treat at a rest stop. A whirlwind strong enough to give her whiplash by the time they arrived in Arlington.

The town was known for football, the high school team making it to championships most years and winning it a handful of times. In Texas, football was king, and she had barely made it to the cheer try outs by the tip of her finger. But she did, and considering how much she loved cheering, she made it. Momentarily happy to be back in something familiar, although, it seemed the girls on the squad were a bit more.....standoffish than her old one.

Maybe it was her emotions, or her mind just playing tricks on her, but she didn’t understand why she felt so off. Like one second she was having a great time, laughing along with the girls, before the next moment she was snapping at them for joking around about something she didn’t like. There was no grasp of how she felt, like her mind had just gone blank for a moment when she shifted from happy to angry to regretful back and forth, making her dizzy.

She resented herself for it.

This day was a big practice, and at this point, the girls on the team started to just ignore Rosie’s behavior. Saying they were mood swings, maybe it was the birth control she was on, maybe that was it. Either way, she didn’t feel so peppy. And she wasn’t blind to the little nicknames whispered behind her back; Raging Rosie, Big Red, or their personal favorite Nutso. Which, for the record, lacked little to no creativity like the first two at least attempted to do. She kept convincing herself that the first two were just...fun, like little fun names that she could endure. But the last one? It struck fire in her that she didn’t think she could handle if she heard it again.

Running another routine, Rosie took her place at the front right, hands on her hips as the captain counted. “Five, six, seven, eight.....”

Charlotte Smith, head cheer leader and ultimate leader in the nickname situation. Rosie didn’t want to get on her bad side, cheering was all she grasped onto with hope and bright eyed joy, the one thing she couldn’t lose. Today, the blonde seemed to be feeling rather vicious, eyeing Rosie’s every move and step in the routine. Tutting her tongue with distaste as she shook her head, raising her hand, “Okay, everyone, stop....stop!” She shouted, cutting the music and crossing her arms over her chest as she sighed. “Nuts----” Pausing, as if she didn’t mean to say it, smirking a bit as some girl’s snickered, “Rosemarie. Sorry, you do know that you have to extend your arms all the way....right, dear?”

“I....was?” The girl commented, swallowing down the way her skin grew hot, hands balling into fists at her sides. She knew Charlotte was pushing her, trying to get her to snap to cause a little show for the fellow squad that were now watching like hawks. Eyeing her. They wanted to see her freak out, took joy in the way Rosie seemingly shifted her mood like the flip of a switch, and she took a deep breath through her nose, “I’ll, just, try harder next run through.”

“I think it’s best if you just....sit and watch. I can’t have a mess right in the front row, it’s a major eye sore.” The blonde’s tone was harsh, hands firmly on her hips as she tilted her head to the side. Rosie had seen this in movies, she’d watched Bring it On a million times, but she never dreamed it actually took place in real life. “Do you understand?”

“Really, I can just...try again. I promise I won’t let you down.” Rosie said as she bit her lip, almost pleading at this point, “Please, I promise I won’t embarrass you, it’s just a practice....”

“Too late, Red. Read my lips, off....the....floor. Got it?” She snapped at the red head, and Rosie knit her brows together, shaking her head, hands on her hips now as she looked at Charlotte. She didn’t understand, and as her body buzzed with anger, she couldn’t keep a filter on her lips.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch?!” Rosie blurted out, not backing down, and she heard the rustle of her fellow cheerleaders behind her. Watching as the coach for their squad perked up at the sound of a swear, shooting them a look but that didn’t make Rosie move an inch.

“What did you just call me, Nutso?” The blonde spat, glare usually hard enough to strike fear, but at this point, Rosie didn’t feel fear. The emotion in her body was pure, hot, fueled rage that she couldn’t control. The worst she’d ever felt as it took over her body and the nickname was the final straw. She didn’t know where it came from, or when it happened, but Rosie pulled back her arm to connect a harsh punch right to Charlotte’s perfectly sloped nose.

CRACK!

It was a hard hit, connecting with a crack that had the coach rushing over, blood dripping onto the floor as the blonde held her face and screamed out in horror. But Rosie....she was smiling, glancing down at her hand to see the blood left over that was on her swollen knuckle. That felt amazing. And she knew deep back in her mind, the more rational part, that this wasn’t good. But in the moment, right now, with rage and adrenaline coursing through her at a million miles a minute, it felt beyond euphoric.

It didn’t take long for her to be hauled off to the principals office, parents called, and that was when she slowly started to crumple. What the fuck did she just do? It was obvious she was off the squad, you break the prized head cheerleaders nose and it went without discussion. Tears flooding her eyes as she shook her head, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She repeated it about a million times, in the principals office, in the arms of her parents as they held her while she walked out, she felt like she was going insane.

Why did she do that?

Sitting quietly in the backseat of the van she grew up in, she wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, staring out the window. Never had she wanted to actually hurt Charlotte. Yes she did. No she didn’t. An on going battle back and forth in her head as she buried her face in her arms, and her mother reached her hand back to run through her daughters hair. “Will you....come back here with me?” She whispered. And it wasn’t too long before she was curled up in her mother’s lap, letting her play with her hair as she sniffled and just let herself fall apart. “What’s wrong with me?” Rosie asked, voice as soft and shaky as her body felt, glancing up at her mother now. 

“Nothing honey, nothing is wrong. Everything will be okay, we’ll figure this out.”

God, she hoped so. Rosie hated being so angry, so full of this red rage that it consumed her enough to hurt another person. She didn’t want to be like this, like something in her brain was broken. Like she was broken.

She didn’t want to be broken.