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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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Filthy Fucking Pet

A/N: Here’s the next requested fic from my Dirty Little Secret – Super Kinky List! In which Jax Teller owns and abuses you like an actual animal… this shit is mad intense lol and Jax is an absolute alpha male asshole. **Please note the warnings: This fic is all about the kinks, please do not read if this is not your thing!!**

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dom!Jax, extreme degradation/dehumanization (master/pet kink, sweat kink, foot worship, ass worship, Jax humiliates you to the max, realistically this is not at all a healthy relationship) Request: This Dirty Little Secret request (anon)

Word Count: ~2.6k

**Please note warnings above**

Triggering content after ‘Keep reading’ cut…

Seriously, this shit is super savage and sick and twisted. You’re basically Jax Teller’s personal house pet. In addition to kinky stuff like rimming and the general vibe of extreme submission, this is also the first fic I’ve posted on tumblr that features foot worshiping (I swear I have no interest in feet irl really – as with pretty much all of the kinks in my kinkiest fics honestly, it’s just a theoretical fantasy that I have only for Charlie, and only in theory… since theoretically I have no limits with my sex god king…)

Anywhore, enough ado about nothing! 🙃 All of the kinks in this fic are mentioned in the above warnings, so please just be mindful of them before you jump in…

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You used to be human. But now... it feels as if you've never been.

From the day you and Jackson first met, way back when, you had fallen in love with the crown prince. Fallen to your knees to serve him as his bitch and that's all you have been ever since. Pleasing him is your business. You're his little whore, and his personal pet: nothing more, nothing less.

Anything but human honestly. You're whatever Jax Teller wants you to be. His kinky sex kitten, his filthy fuckpig, or his damn dirty dog on a leash. It's the best. You don't speak, you don't eat—not human food, at least—you just serve at his feet. This is your whole existence. And God, you feel so fucking blessed.

You spend all your days in his house, day in and day out. The castle of the king of Charming. It's such a gift just to live under the same roof as him. Whenever he's not home, you miss him so badly it hurts. But you keep yourself busy by doing the housework. Constantly crawling on all fours, you use your grubby paws to scrub the floor, and sweep the dust off of his furniture.

Then once you're done with all your chores, you kneel down by the front door, and wait desperately for your master. Just counting the seconds until he returns.

Every time that it happens, the moment you hear the smooth roar of the engine as his bike gets in... then his powerful footsteps approaching the entrance... your heart starts to beat harder, faster. On fire in the presence of Jax. There is always a butt plug stuck deep in your ass, with a big fluffy fake tail attached. You're otherwise naked except for your collar and tags.

And today, as your master comes home after quite a long time far away, you are happier than you can take—your whole body quivers and quakes, and your tail starts to wag.

When Jax finally walks in, you gaze up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. He's so damn beautiful you could cry. You yelp and whimper a few times in greeting, to express how excited you are to be seeing your king. By now your human brain has certainly stopped working. Your hungry tongue hangs from your open mouth, breathing needy and loud, as subhuman growls and thick gobs of drool keep spilling out.

He smiles down at you as he enters, worn out from a long day of being Jax Teller, the baddest motherfucker ever. He must be exhausted, no doubt.

But still his gorgeous grin is big and genuine, bright as the sun, his slicked hair such a brilliant blonde, eyes as deep and as blue as the ocean. Clearly pleased at the sight of your tail-wagging motion, a signal of your pure devotion.

"Happy to see me?" he teases playfully, as if he has to ask. Typical Jax.

You nod gleefully in response to that. Your perfect master reaches down to pat your head, stroking your hair now as you purr for him, showing how much you adore him, as his faithful little pet.

"That's a good slut," he coos. "Go on, you know what to do."

Lowering your face to the ground, as ever eager to go down, upon those words he speaks, you hurry to remove his shoes. Those famously white sneaks. Then tug his socks off with your teeth—damp with a long day's worth of sweat, getting you drunk on his intoxicating scent, the pure essence of Jackson—then press sloppy kisses all over his beautiful feet. Servicing him like this is everything you need.

Ugh, you've missed him so much... full of love and submission, arousal dripping from your crotch, you stuff his socks into your mouth both at once, then lift your face off of the floor and sit back on your heels in your usual kneeling position. Your paws are propped under your chin as you blink up at him. He knows just what you want.

"Look at you, cunt. You wanna play fetch?" he says, chuckling as you bob your dumb head eagerly up and down. It's so much fun when he rolls his sweaty socks into a ball and throws it all over the house, for you to chase around. Playing that game is such a privilege. "Hmm, I would... but I'm not in the mood. Master's too fucking tired. Too bad for you, bitch."

Aw. Too bad indeed. Wallowing in self-pity, you pout and hang your head in a deep bow, but you know better than to plead. He turns to walk away now, and you follow at his feet. Crawling as you are it's always hard to keep up with his speed.

He's yawning by the time you reach the master bedroom. Some nights he has more energy when he gets home. Sometimes he'd slam you up against the wall and fuck you hard in every hole, wild and savage as an animal, filling you with his thick creamy cum, so deliciously full...

Apparently not tonight, though. You can't blame him, you know. You can't blame Jackson Teller for any damn thing, to be honest. Of course not. Because he is your fucking king. Whatever he does, he's your master, your god; everything about his whole existence is flawless.

You watch in rapture as he strips naked, carelessly flinging his kutte and the rest of his clothes to the floor, and flops facedown in bed to lay his weary head to rest. Fit for the king he is, his bed is big and plush and luxurious. At this late hour, he's too tired to even bother with a shower, you notice. Fuck yes—that's how you like it best.

Hopefully he'll let you use your tongue to clean up all his glorious sweat. Then whenever he leaves next to take care of business, you'll still get to savor his scent in his absence, inhaling it off of the sheets and the mattress. Your thirsty mouth is watering just at the thought of it, as you scurry all over the bedroom to clean up his mess.

Gathering up all the clothes that he scattered, you can't help but take a deep breath. Inhaling the essence of this sinfully sexy bastard.

You indulge in a whiff, as you slobber and sniff—focusing on the pits of his shirt so damp and sweaty it's obscene, and the rich-smelling crotch of his jeans, soaking up all the musk of his cock and his balls and his ass which smells so good it hurts—and especially his underwear... before dutifully dropping them into the hamper, along with the socks that you brought from downstairs. Though you hate washing Jax's sweet scent off of anything, one of your chores, of course, is to take care of all the laundry for your master.

"Get over here, bitch. You should clean up after me faster," he scolds, dominant voice husky and low, somewhat muffled as his head is partially sunken into one of his deluxe pillows. "Did you just get distracted by sniffing my sweat? You're such a greedy, filthy fucking pet."

You instantly start whimpering in apology, overflowing with self-hatred as you hasten toward the foot of his bed. You would say sorry, in so many words, if you could, as you should.

But you can't, given that you're not human. And your master knows that of course. All you want is to worship his body, and show him you're sorry, but you need permission before you can move from your place on the floor...

"Crawl up onto the bed," he commands, well assured you will follow his orders as fast as you can. "Go ahead, you pathetic whore. Make yourself useful and worship my back. Can't you see I'm exhausted and need to relax?"

Oh, how you love when he lets out his inner beast and treats you to the absolute most savage side of Jax.

Though you also love when he is soft, when he treats you with sweet talk and cuddles you up... this is the side of him you adore even more. His abuse is just what you live for.

"I want a full body massage," he orders, as you set to work on his muscular shoulders. "Yeah, use those paws. And that dirty mouth of yours... so dirty... mmm, that's it, lick all the sweat off my body. Desperate fucking dog."

You don't need him to tell you—that is exactly what you're dying to do—but it's so much better when he does. So damn hot. It's insane just how much you get off on his dirty talk.

And he keeps going on as you worship his perfect physique. While your hands rub and knead every inch, your mouth traces a line down the smooth divine curve of his spine, running down the black ink of the reaper design, wet lips puckering into passionate kisses all over his dewy skin, slurping up each new bead of fresh sweat as it dribbles and leaks. Every so often, his degrading words and his delicious groans of pleasure cut to cruel sadistic laughter, whenever he wants to humiliate you for being such a freak.

That just makes you love him even more. You're his subhuman whore, reduced into a literal pig as the maddening scent and flavor of your master makes you fucking squirm, wriggling like a worm, every sound out of your throat a squeal or a squeak. His savage strength makes you so weak...

"Unghh God, you're such a fucking animal," he snarls as you salivate all over his sculpted muscles. "Get that worthless face lower down where you belong. Yeah, you know what you want. Suffocate in my asshole."

And that very instant, you do just as told. You wedge your whole damn head into the sacred space between his sweaty cheeks, diving in deep, digging for gold. It's salty and sweet and so so fucking hot. You don't even care whether you'll ever come up for air or not. He's everything you need and all you want to breathe. Your king Jax Teller is a motherfucking god...

When he growls and reaches back with both of his strong hands to push his palms against your skull and smash your face even deeper inside his crack, the pure aggression of the act gives you a goddamn heart attack.

Before you can even recover from that, he suddenly shifts—you gasp for a split second as his magnificent body lifts.

But the next thing you know, he is squatting low over your mouth, then sitting the fuck down till your tongue is lodged deep in his tight sweaty hole and his big heavy balls are completely smothering your snout.

Jax throws his head back with a guttural groan as he starts to grind, taking your mouth for a ride. You could die just from that fucking sound, from the taste, from the feel of his full body weight as he shudders and sighs, dominating your face. Degrading you just right. You could do this all night. Then he looks back down, bright blue gaze locking with your eyes, open wide, sex-crazed and lost in a mad loving daze.

Is this fucking real? Even as it happens, you honestly can't fathom how good it feels...

And there's no way that you wouldn't notice, in this position of pure bliss, your master's fucking enormous cock. While you drown in his ass, savoring your sweet feast, that massive piece of meat is throbbing right above you like a beast, hard as a rock.

"Fuuuck, that's it—eat my ass, you good-for-nothing pig..." Jax explosively grunts as his hot sphincter squeezes and strangles your tongue. "Look what you're doing to my dick. You're gonna make me fucking cum. That what you want?"

Ohhh Godddd...

He goes on before you can respond. "Well, that's just what you're gonna get. Ughh—such a good little pet..." he praises as he begins pumping himself, the pink tip of his dick giving off the rich scent of his juices, each sweet drop that glistens, all glossy and wet. Some of his precum drips to your forehead.

But that's not where his full load is going to land. No, that's all gonna go down your dirty whore throat. Jax then clutches the top of your head with one hand, fingers rooting hard into your scalp, making you gulp and gasp, as you suck on his ass, while his other fist jacks off his perfect dick, faster and harder with each fucking stroke. He's so hot it's a joke.

"Shit—gonna cum—take it, bitch... take it all till you choke..." he moans, pulling his ass swiftly off of your slobbering lips and then pressing the tip of his cock onto your twitching tongue. Blessing you with a huge load of sweet white hot cum. By this point you're struck dumb.

You can feel your eyes roll to the back of your skull, as you savor his flavor and swallow him whole. You are so goddamn grateful. Jackson Teller is feeding your body, your heart and your soul.

You're reminded right now of what you've always known: that you are his to own. He is more than human, so much more, all that you live for... and you are so much less and always have been. Falling in these roles just feels so fucking natural. He is a fucking god—everything you are not—and you're a fucking animal.

Once he is done using you as his subhuman cum dump, your master is gracious enough to let you clean him up. You wrap your lips around his flawless cock to lick and suck off every drop. Pressing French kisses all across his freshly drained balls and his perfect pink asshole. Hoping that your beloved master knows he's your entire world.

"Good girl," Jax sighs, as your face nestles in the space between his strong powerful thighs. "Bet you wish you could sleep with me here in this bed. But that would be wrong. Don't you know where you belong, you filthy little pet?"

Ah, yes—you could never forget. With a whimper of submissive bliss, you give your master one last kiss, right on the tip of his delicious dick. Admiring how even right after he came it’s still so stiff and throbbing and thick.

And then you climb off of his mattress and crawl into your tiny pet bed, set right by his nightstand. The spot where you're so blessed to sleep beside this divine god of a man. You curl yourself up nice and small, into a little ball, so you can fit. And all the while you're still squealing like a pig. You just can't help it.

The king of Charming huffs out one of his majestic snickers at the sound of you grunting and groveling, so low-down and pathetic. "Goodnight, pig."

Your heart flutters—so grateful and glad that he calls you that, just what you are to him, always will be... so fucking filthy... you know that he is pleased, and his pleasure is all that matters.

You already can't wait till the morning when he'll let you drink from his dick, hopefully. But till then you'll just sleep, knowing that all your dreams will be sweet, for you dream of one thing only: pleasing your master.

And you're living that dream, as unreal as it seems. Your real life is as good as it gets.

You'll go on forever loving every minute of living with Jax Teller—living for Jax Teller, now and forever—as his filthy fucking pet.

***************

… Sooo I know that was SUPER kinky shit, but I hope there are some filthy bitches who enjoyed it, and would love to hear if you did!! 😅❤️

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flamehairedwritings · 3 years

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hi! could you do some hcs about hopper and his gf going to a fancy event and him being all handsy?

I’m so sorry this has taken so long!! Thank you so much for requesting this, I hope you’re doing okay!

NSFW below the cut!

Hopper hates going out.

Actually, hate is a strong word.

He hates going somewhere he doesn’t know. He doesn’t like going out. If he could, he’d hole up in his trailer until the end of time with beer, his record player, crime novels and a TV.

That was before he met you. When he did... well, he kind of started to like going out, as long as it was with you. In your first few months of dating, you went to the cinema, to restaurants, to shops, to his favourite bar, over to his colleagues’ houses for BBQs and dinners and he found that maybe, slightly, a little bit, sometimes, he enjoyed himself. As long as you were back at his or yours by midnight.

‘oKaY CiNdErElLa’ you are oft to say as he pulls his jacket on and eyes up the door.

The Hawkins City Hall Gala is an event that happens every year, once a year to celebrate the bravest and best of Hawkins, with some citizens invited who are honoured, and officials and those from the police, hospital and fire department also in attendance. It sounds fancy? It isn’t. As much as Mayor Kline likes to put on a show, get all those invited dressed up to the nines and free champagne going, it’s just an adult version of a school awards assembly.

Hopper has to go. Has to. When he once tried to decline, Kline sent a huge gift basket to his trailer and to the Station every day until he called and said ‘ACTUALLY YES I WILL COME’.

Usually he goes with his work buddies and they bring their wives or girlfriends and they’ll hang around in a corner drinking and eating until the awards ceremony starts and then they’ll all sit together at the back bored out of their minds.

You’ve been dating for nearly six months when it comes round to it, and he invites you, in the way that Hopper would invite.

‘It’s just a shitty little ego parade thing for Kline, some people are good there, they deserve the awards sometimes, but more often than not it’s just some kids and old people gettin’ ‘em for living a long time or doing the most paper rounds or some shit like that, but the food’s good and the drinks are free ‘cause Kline wants everyone to have a good time and it finishes at about 11 and then there’s the after-party which is usually shitty, too, so we can just come home or go to a bar with the guys and their girls or just come home, I don’t mind.’

‘... So do you want me to come.’

‘Yeah. If you’re not busy or have anything better to do ‘cause really it is so shitty─’

‘I’ll come.’

‘You sure? It’s really shitty, it’s just the worst─’

‘Stop, I’m coming.’ you will be

On the night, you’ll be dressed up to the nines like everyone else, wearing your favourite outfit, which also happens to be Hop’s favourite outfit on you, but he likes anything on you so it doesn’t exactly count, and he’s in a suit, one hand in his pocket, the other holding yours.

After being greeted by Kline and his wife on the steps, the Mayor’s constant grin verging on maniacal, Hop’ll make a beeline for the nearest drinks and you’ll just have caught up with him when he’s heading to a corner, his colleagues already there with their partners. They’ll have hoarded some food and beer and champagne bottles already and you’ll resign yourself to the not so terrible idea of just hanging out here all night.

Hop’s hand will settle on your lower back and a conversation with start up about the food or the drink or Kline, in hushed tones, and that’ll be it.

Except you start to feel Hopper’s hand drifting down a little.

And then a lot.

Your back is to the wall, so no one can see, but you’re very much hoping no one notices your slightly widening eyes, your lips parting then quickly closing, and the hitching in your breath.

Hopper, on the other hand, is cool as a cucumber, nodding and carrying out a conversation with Powell without missing a beat. His hand is now fully cupping your ass, fingers splaying and gently caressing. You have to fight very hard to stop your back from arching.

You bastard...

What is it about him and his touch that has you turned on in seconds?

His fingers drift lower, sliding in until they’re near your covered pussy, and damn him...

Your attention is drawn away, momentarily, by someone standing at the other end of the room calling for everyone’s attention. As the preliminary speeches start, your little group quietens, but Hopper’s hand doesn’t move.

It slides even closer, his fingers caressing in slow, light circles.

You have to fight so hard to keep your breathing even, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

Hopper shifts his stance slightly, his head leaning down, and he murmurs into your ear so only you can hear;

‘I bet you’re wet already, aren’t you.’

Oh, fuck.

Clearing your throat, you smile politely at your group and excuse yourself quietly, saying you need to use the restroom. Hopper’s hand slides off your ass, but not before his fingers give a slight squeeze.

Message received.

You have to ask one of the staff where the restroom even is, hoping your slightly flushed and faintly jittery attitude will just be interpreted as confusion and a desperate need to go.

She points towards a grand staircase and tells you to go right before it. You do, your heart pounding with anticipation.

God, this place is fancy.

Hopper mutters all the time about how Kline has poured the majority of the town’s money into this place, and, hell, next time he mutters you’re going to join him.

There are three doors, all having a gold ‘W/C’ on them. You open the furthest one at the end of the corridor and step in, quickly closing the door behind you and leaving it unlocked before you survey the room. It’s very fancy.

Gold everywhere. Gold everything.

You pull a slight face at trying to take it all in, the slightly dim lighting shining off of it all.

Then, the door opens behind you.

Turning, you watch Hopper step in, your breath catching in your throat. His eyes are on you, darker, focused. Closing the door, he doesn’t even blink as he locks it.

‘Are you?’ he asks in a low, gravelled tone.

Your three seconds of silence are just to tease him.

‘Yes.’

He closes the distance between you in two seconds.

Hands cupping your face, he captures your lips in a fierce, demanding kiss, long fingers spreading across the sides of your neck. You return it instantly, hands gripping at the back of his suit jacket to both steady yourself and keep him against you.

He’ll take you hard against the counter, your hands having to grip the sink as he thrusts into you from behind, hands tight on your hips.

‘Look at me...’ he’ll growl, and you’ll lift your gaze, meeting his in the reflection of the gilded mirror as moans tumble from your lips. ‘... Yeah... Look at me while I fuck you, sweetheart... while my cock’s deep inside you... I want you to look at me while I feel you cum...’

No one will notice that it takes you both ten minutes to return, and that you’re still trying to catch your breath, and his shirt is rumpled, tie now knotted too tightly.

It’ll only take a few moments for his hand to return to your ass, and a smile will pull at your lips, his last words to you lingering in your mind.

‘Oh, you just wait until we’re home, sweetheart...’

—

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meruz · 3 years

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Aforementioned long ask post please excuse me while i try to figure out tumblr's new text editor. I’ll get into the art meme questions first and then the rest at the end.

Ok first of all thank you all for sending in questions! Giving me an excuse to talk hehe. I’ll address these in number order. Here’s a link to the ask meme for reference but also I’ll restate the question for ease of reading.

1. When did you get into art?

Super cliche answer but I don’t remember a time where I WASN’T the weird art kid! I started keeping a dedicated sketchbook when I was about 12? But here’s a page from my kindergarten journal about what I want to be when I grow up.

2. What art-related sites have you ever signed up for?

LOL this is a weird question. Not sure why so many people want to know. Anyways I definitely had a dA. more than one dA account. I used to browse oekakis when I was a kid but I think I was only signed up to some small ones that internet friends owned. What else...? Mangabullet,Tegakie, Paintberri, iscribble back when that was a thing, instagram if that COUNTs, I used to post art on livejournal and dreamwidth too. Patreon, I guess. Gumroad, inprnt, bigcartel, storenvy all for selling stuff.

In terms of resources.. I have a schoolism account that I’m sharing with friends. Used to take classes on coursera for free. I signed up to textures.com for work recently haha. I can’t remember if I ever had an account on posemaniacs. Did they have accounts...? I definitely used to visit all the time.

3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand.

Alright here’s me actually logging into my old deviantart account. These are from September 2008 So I was 13 years old. I don’t have a deviantart account from before then because 13 was the required age for having an account and I didn’t want to lie about my age because I wanted people to be impressed by how young yet clearly incredible at art I was LOL.

4. What defines your artistic style?

You guys are probably more equipped to answer this than me but uh... I wanna say... Focus on colors. And... a slightly heavy hand? Like confident... not always well-considered mark making HAH...

Also I think I have a pretty healthy mix of american comics/manga influences. I feel like people who are into american comics always think my art is too manga and people who are into anime/manga always think my art is too american. And I’m taking that as a good sign.

5. Do you practice other styles/have you tried other styles in the past?

I like to think I switch it up a bunch! I mean, these are pretty different, right?

I think I’ve mentioned this before but one thing I really took away from art school is that, for an illustrator at least, art style shouldn’t be consistent. Your greatest weapon is changing the aspects of your style based on the task, the emotions and message you want to illustrate etc. So depending on the project I’m working on, the fandom I’m drawing for, whether I want something to be funny or serious or dramatic, I’ll change things about my style all the time.

One thing I don’t rly post on here is really tight polished work and that’s because I do that for my day job haha. If you’re not paying me... I’m probably not gonna color in the lines.

6. What levels of artistic education have you had?

I have a whole ass diploma LOL. Bachelor of Fine Arts in Illustration. from the Rhode Island School of Design. And I had a great college experience tbh. Besides the student loans. If any of you guys are thinking about art school feel free to e-mail or message me questions or concerns, I’ll be happy to help. Be as honest as I can be.

7. Show us at least one picture you drew or sketched recently that you did not put on a public site.

heres the wandavision kids. Uhh what else do I have...I feel like I’m rummaging for loose change here...

assorted valentines prep doodles

8. What is your favourite piece that you have done?

Well, obviously this is gonna change all the time and generally it’s gonna be my most recent piece LOL. So yeah, why the hell not. I’ll say it’s this one. I have a pretty short memory which I count as a blessing for an artist. I don’t dwell that long on older work and it keeps me moving forward.

10. What do you like most about your art?

I like that it’s something that only I would make! I had this thought fairly recently and I wrote it down in my sketchbook, it’s pretty cheesy and rambling but it felt revolutionary at the time:

So yeah. I like my art best when it’s the most me and for me. And I like it least when it feels like I’m just making something for social media or for other people’s expectations or whatever.

14. What do you like drawing the most?

Kids in baggy clothing are like my go-to LOL idk if that’s obvious. but also I like being challenged so lately I’ve really loved drawing multi-character compositions, environments, weird angles, etc.

oh i LOVE drawing the underside of shoes lol. And bandages. People that are kinda beat up.. I think it comes from getting a bunch of cuts all the time. I’m always patching myself up and I want to patch characters up too.

15. What do you like drawing the least?

mmm I try to find something to like in every drawing but lets see... I don’t like doing commissions of people’s dogs. Just because it’s normally like... a family friend and my mom volunteered me without my consent and I don’t even really know what they’re expecting me to draw and I don’t even get to meet the dog. Also I’m not that great at dog anatomy. Trying to learn though.

18. What is your purpose for drawing?

This could have a million answers! Uhhh to GIT GOOD??? But also to express myself... and also to make money... I mean it depends on what the drawing IS. I draw fanart mostly to connect to people in the fandom so if you ever see me drawing fanart please take it as like an open invitation to talk to me about the character haha.

20. How would you rank your art? (poor, mediocre, good, etc.)

Good!!! I have a lot of self-confidence primarily born out of ignorance and a short attention span. If I don’t think too hard about how many other artists are mindblowingly unfathombly good... its easy to think I’m good too! LOL

In all seriousness though, I think the opinion a person has of their art is like a crazy balancing act, right? Like you have to think you suck enough to want to get better but also you have to think you’re good enough to not want to give up. I think we’re all walking that line, I know I am! But also I’m a glass half-full type of person so. Most of the time I feel good about it.

22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

This is a good question because I’ve been trying and failing to put together one of those “influence map” memes for like a full month now. What’s giving me a hard time is I feel like none of these are actually really obvious “““influences”““ in my art? Like it’s hard to see a lot of them in the work I make...? But idk maybe you guys’ll see what I can’t.

And these are just a couple! God there’s so many more. I could talk about other artists for ages, from all different genres of art. Daumier, Rockwell like every illustrator out there, Dana Gibson, Alex Toth, Hiroshi Yoshida, a lot of the Brandywine School. Lots of current working artists too, Karl Kerschl, frikkin Masashi Kishimoto lol, Jake Wyatt, Richie Pope, Edouard Caplain, Matt Cook, Sachin Teng, - lots of big internet artists, Sophie Li, Freddy Carrasco, Milliofish, Angela Sung... like all my friends from art school too. I could just keep going but I’ll stop for now lol.

24. Do you have a shameful art past? (recolour sprite comics, tracing art, etc.)

I mean if that’s how we’re defining shameful?? sure LOL. It’s not sprite comics but I used to do pokemon sprite recolors all the time. And I used to trace manga panels and color them... Granted this was all when I was like under 12 yrs old so it’s not even embarrassing. Can you really call it shameful when a 7 year old wets the bed or whatever? Not really. In fact some of these are cool as fuck. Look

25. Draw a picture!

Man I’m so tired now but here.

I used to get a lot of compliments for drawing people smiling lol but I don’t think I’ve drawn a lot of smiling lately.. here’s proof I’ve still got it.

OK MEME DONE. onto the rest.

I read this ask first thing when i opened my computer in the morning and it made me really emotional.. I’m so glad my sketches could help you!!

I think a lot of artists on social media talk about the struggle of making art but imo not enough people talk about the joy! Like I know it’s corny but. I really meant what I said at the beginning of that sketchbook about re-contextualizing art around process and progress > product and perfection. I think its super important..! The strength of messy, unfinished, and energetic art! For the feeling of it, for the love it!

That's crazy!!! I hope you like 'em. The whole line of x-books is really good rn imo.

Hi! I totally have the answer for digital stuff on my faq lol. But in terms of drawing on paper.. it varies! I tend to use sketchbooking and any on-paper doodling I do as a way to loosen up/warm-up or experiment. But right now my go-to aresenal is:

from top > bottom

- kuretake no.55 doublesided brush pen

- tombow fudenosuke

- muji 0.38 ballpoint

- medium size poscas

- grey tombow double brush pens

- good ol bic mechanical pencil

not EXACTly sure which inking you referring to from my sketchbook but if I had to take a guess it'd probably be the kuretake no55. That's been my main inker, lately. Great for sketching with the thin end too.

You can print out and eat my art if you like. Just please don't mass produce or re-sell. <3

Thanks! I've come to accept that my art is always gonna be sort of gestural and painty naturally. It's getting it to tighten up enough to be legible that's hard lol...

uh yeah lol I agree actually. I think yolei is great.

I assume these asks are related? LOL

1) Yeah totally true. I love David.

2) I don’t take requests, sorry! But if you want to commission me to draw Legion i would be MORE than happy to. Just e-mail me at [email protected].

<33333333333333333333333333

#ask #anonymous

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angryschnauzer · 4 years

Text

Superior Specimen - Chapter 8

Summary: One night when you are following the Archaeology tag on instagram you stumbled across a fun looking dig… and an even more interesting Paleontologist who soon follows you back. Over the following weeks you start chatting and a friendship soon grows.

Relationship: AU Henry Cavill x Female Reader (No race or body shape mentioned)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Warnings: Slow Burn, NSFW, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Drunken Piggy Back Rides, Oral Sex (Female Recieving), Drama, Theft, Amateur Heroics, Hospital Visit, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Blow Job, Fingering, Lavish lifestyle, Henry is loaded, The Shard, Expensive Gifts, Sixty nine, Unprotected Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Angst, Argument, Jealousy, Talk of car crashes, heroics, rough sex, use of safe words, Anal play,

I do not operate a tag list, but please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, as you will then be notified whenever i post something new.

I don’t have a masterlist, but all my works are on AO3, link here. Usually i post oneshots to Tumblr and AO3, and multichapters exclusively to AO3, but as this is my first henry story and its going to be a short series, i’ll post to both places.

Chapter 8

On the tube an old woman had offered you a tissue and had whispered quietly;

“He’s not worth crying over my dear”

You swallowed and smiled weakly at her;

“Unfortunately he was… he was just an idiot too”

“They all are my dear, they all are”

She got off at the next stop, giving you a pat on the arm before leaving the carriage, leaving you ride the rest of the way to Fulham Broadway on your own.

You were on autopilot when you arrived, walking through the small shopping mall that had grown around the tube station, grabbing a pair of overpriced knock-off designer sunglasses from the concession stand to hide your puffy and red eyes, swollen from crying. As you stood in the crowd at the lights to cross the road, a stream of Ambulances and Police cars screamed past, lights and sirens blasting, but it was London, every day there was a crisis or accident and you were used to them.

The walk to your flat was quick, just a few roads from the tube, and you were thankful you’d brought your small clutch bag from the hotel room that had your phone, wallet, and keys in. Once inside you pulled off your clothing, everything Henry had bought for you, tossing it into a heap on the floor before you climbed into bed and curled into a ball, sobbing into the pillow.

You woke to the sound of a metal on plastic crunch from the street outside, familiar with the sound and you knew it was vehicle vs wheelie bin, an all too familiar occurrence when collection day was on a Friday and people went out that night, so the street would still be littered with bins the following day. Staring up at the ceiling you heard the doorbell ring, glaring at the ceiling but refusing to move. You didn’t care if your bin that had ended up a casualty of a car not looking where it was going, so when the bell finally timed out you closed your eyes… only to be rudely disturbed by a loud knocking on the door a minute later, a muffled voice from the other side;

“Princess… it’s me; Henry… please, just tell me you’re ok… I’ve got to know you’re ok…”

You could feel your emotions rising within you; a heat, an anger, and as the knocking continued you grabbed the dressing gown hanging on the back of the door and was still tying it as you pulled the door open, but surprised to see state of Henry, his clothes a mess and his face blotchy;

“What the hell happe…”

Your words were cut short as he pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight;

“You’re alright… my god, you’re ok…”

“Henry, what is going on?”

He let you go and started pacing;

“I was an ass, I didn’t follow you, I was stupid… I tried calling you but you never picked up…”

“I had it on silent… I didn’t want anyone to disturb our date”

“And then the accident, I’d gone back to the hotel, I knew it was the closest tube to where we were...”

“Accident?”

“There was an accident, on the road outside the London Bridge Tube, a bus and council truck collided and ran into the queue… I stayed and helped the emergency services; I was trying to find you… but you weren’t there…”

Your hand was over your mouth, tears pooling on your lashes as you looked at him, and realised he cared so much for you that he had literally pulled people out of the wreckage of an major accident because he thought he had lost you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you cradled the back of his head as he slumped to the floor, sobbing into your shoulder and the softness of your dressing gown.

Finally he pulled his head back, a weak smile on his face as he looked into your eyes, and you saw a different Henry, one that was fragile, one that needed you as much as you needed him.

“C’mon, let me put the kettle on”

Sipping on sweet tea as you both sat at the kitchen table, dunking Digestive biscuits in the deep brown steaming mugs, you looked him up and down;

“You are a mess”

He glanced down and realised his shirt and jeans were covered in dirt, grime, and in some places blood;

“You’re right” he paused before looking back to you; “Look, I’ve got a suggestion… pack a bag. Comfy clothing, overnight things. We’ll head back to the hotel and collect our things, then head back to my place. I’ll cook dinner and we can talk… ask all those things we’ve both wanted to ask since we met, yeah?”

He looked at you like a hopeful puppy, his deep blue eyes watery where he feared you would say no, but as you nodded he let out the breath he had been holding, and a genuine smile spread over his face.

Henry opened the door to his place and stepped aside, letting you enter and look around as he shut the door, resting all the bags from the hotel room on the shiny white tiles that covered the floor.

“This is your place?”

“It’s home for the next few months” he shut the door and wrapped his arm around you; “I gave up on having a permanent place about five years ago. I would always come back to a dust filled nightmare and a fridge that was a biohazard. I keep a PO box for any mail and a storage unit for my things that I don’t need when I’m away”

You looked at him;

“It sounds very… lonely…”

He paused, considering your words;

“I’ve never thought about it that way… but, you’re right” he wrapped his arms around you, his gaze intense; “I’m sorry I over-reacted earlier… about your flatmate. I was just… I don’t know, so focused I guess on this amazing thing we have now, and what we were talking about last night… how those I fall for push me away when I have to leave… I could only think ‘this guy will be around when I’m not’...”

You reached up and cupped his cheek with your hand, realising in that moment that for all the bravado and confidence, beneath that Henry was just like you, like anyone else, and feared losing those he cared for;

“I would wait… I will wait…”

You pressed a kiss to his lips, and the pair of you just held each other for the longest time, before he pulled away;

“What kind of host am I? I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea!”

Laughing you followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the sparse worktops, all the cupboards pristine white. Even the appliances were just plain brushed aluminium. As the kettle bubbled away you pushed yourself up onto the central island, sitting on the marble countertop as you watched Henry move around the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the carton of milk, sniffing it and cringing;

“Okay, tea may be off the menu… the milk’s off”

Pausing he opened the cupboard, shoulders slumping when he saw the empty tea caddy;

“No tea either…”

Leaning back you pulled your phone from your pocket and opened google maps;

“This is Warwick Square, right?”

“Yes”

You pinched the screen and zoomed out, jumping off the counter;

“C’mon, there’s a Tesco Express just around the corner”

Walking hand in hand around Pimlico with Henry, it dawned on you that you had never visited this part of London, the sights and sounds much like most of the city, but where each little borough had its own character. Once you reached the supermarket he grabbed a basket and picked up the few things he needed, before his hand hovered over the selection of biscuits;

“Ok, make or break time to find out if we are truly compatible” his voice had an element of mischief in it as he spoke; “Milk or Dark Chocolate Digestives?”

You looked at the selection before you set your hand down on the bright blue packet;

“Trick question, we both know the true answer is Milk Chocolate Hobnobs”

He laughed as you dropped the packet into the basket, wrapping his massive arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest;

“I knew there was a reason I loved you” he turned to the row of refrigerators on the other side of the isle, unaware of what he’d said, and how your eyes were a little wider as you took in his admission; “Shall I make some burnt offerings for you tonight? I have somewhat limited culinary skills, but I can rustle up something with meat or fish…”

Nodding you were still a little stunned, finally finding your voice;

“Yeah, I’ll eat anything”

He cocked an eyebrow and you playfully batted at his arm;

“Oh shut up” you laughed

Dinner had been nice. An easy dish of roasted pork, Henry had thrown in some potatoes and had let them roast with alongside, and a simple salad. The one thing he did have readily stocked in his place was alcohol, and between the two of you an entire bottle of vintage Pinot Noir had been sunk over the course of dinner, and as you watched him stack the dishwasher you spread out on the massive white sofa that dominated the open plan space. You couldn’t help yourself but you popped the button of your jeans, letting out a sigh of relief.

Checking your phone you reopened your roommates’ email and read it again, before hitting reply. You knew deep down you wouldn’t be able to get a mortgage, but asked that you be kept in the loop and would start looking for another place come Monday. Having hit send you saw another email, this time from your Manager, requesting that you attend a review on Monday morning;

“Huh, so much for giving me a week off” you muttered to yourself, before looking up and seeing Henry approaching you, two full glasses of red wind in hand.

“Everything ok?”

Taking the glass you smiled;

“Yeah, work want me to go in for a review on Monday morning”

“Did they say what it was about?”

“No, but I’m guessing ‘playing heroics and injuring yourself on the job isn’t in your job description, please don’t sue us’ is probably on the agenda”

Settling next to you he rested a hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze;

“I’m sure you’re right” he sipped at the wine before setting it on the small table at the side; “Hey I meant to ask, does your roommate have an Instagram account or Facebook page?”

“Yeah, I’ll pull it up. Its where he’s trying to do more serious photography”

He nodded and tapped at his phone for a few seconds before setting it aside, raising his glass again and clinking it against yours;

“Cheers”

By the time the last dregs of the 2nd bottle of wine were drained from your glasses you were drunk as skunks and just an amorous. You were draped over Henry’s lap, his hand was attempting to sneak under your t-shirt as you curled one hand in his hair, wrapping a deep brown strand around your finger as you kissed him lazily. When his hand finally found your breast you moaned at his touch, his lips brushing against your neck;

“I think we should take this to the bedroom”

You giggled;

“With the amount of wine we’ve had? Can you still get it up?”

He pushed his crotch up against you;

“Princess I’m already ‘up’, now I need to be in, and I don’t care which hole, I just want to feel you around my dick as we have some nasty drunk sex”

You attempted to slide off his lap and land on your feet, but what really happened was you tumbled into a heap on the soft white rug, one leg still on the sofa as the other hit the coffee table and your ass in the air;

“Help!” you cried out, giggling as Henry stood and swayed, before wrapping his arm around your waist and carrying you under his arm to the bedroom like a misbehaving poodle in Harrods.

He dropped you onto the bed and in the light from the lounge you watched as he yanked his t-shirt over his head, and started to unfasten his jeans, letting out a sigh of relief when the massive bulge in his boxers was allowed more room to grow. With a growl be bent over you and pulled your jeans down your legs, your panties following suit, before flipping you over so you were on your front. He went to reach for your ass but had forgotten his jeans were still around his thighs, and he proceeded to trip-tumble onto the bed beside you. You couldn’t help but to giggle into the soft duvet, and it earned you a single spank on your ass that make you squeal.

Rolling onto your back you looked at Henry as he huffed and puffed to take his jeans and boxers off, and you spread your legs as your hands strayed to your pussy;

“Are you doing to fuck me, or shall I just get myself started?” you said with more sass than needed, but it earned you a low groan and you could have sworn you heard seams ripping as he finally rid himself of his clothes.

“Cheeky wench!” Henry pounced on you, pulling your top over your head before fumbling with your bra, finally getting you out of it as he flung it across the room and you heard it hit something in the darkness; “I’ll show you, gonna fuck you so good you’ll have to sit on a cushion when you go into work on Monday”

He flipped you over and pulled your ass up, and you instinctively arched your back and bared yourself to him, prone and ready, begging for attention. You felt his hands smooth over your ass before dipping between your legs;

“Already so wet for me, you need me to fuck this cunt Princess? Fill you up with my cum? Or should I cum over your beautiful tits, so you can watch me as I spray my load on you, huh?”

He slid two fingers into your soaked hole, stretching you as his thumb found your clit and he rubbed harshly at it, the wine making him lose his finesse but up his pressure. When he pulled his fingers out you let out a needy whine, only to feel him press his dick against you, rutting into your crease and smearing your juices over himself.

The friction was delicious, and you found yourself pressing back and eager for more, earning a low chuckle to rumble up from Henry’s chest;

“You like that Princess? Like me rubbing my dick against your asshole?”

“Oh fuck… fuck… more…”

You felt him spit on your ass as he lowered his dick and slowly but firmly filled your pussy. As you were getting used to be filled so deep you felt his thumb press against your asshole;

“NERD!”

Suddenly Henry stopped;

“Princess?”

You turned, looking over your shoulder;

“Look Hen, I may be up for some anal play, but lube… you gotta use lube…”

You saw him look back and forth between your ass and his bedside drawers, as if trying to work out whether to forget the ass play and just fuck your pussy, or to give up your pussy for just a few seconds and get the lube. In the end the lube won, and he quickly slid out of you, leaning across the bed and yanking the drawer open, before pulling out a small bottle of Durex Lube. You saw it and grinned;

“Ooh nice one. Make sure there’s enough for a tit-wank in the morning”

Henry paused and looked at you, and you could almost see his brain short circuiting at what you’d said as it fought through the wine haze;

“Fuck, if I didn’t want to fuck you doggy style quite so much I’d say let’s do that now…”

He settled behind you and rammed his dick straight back into you, making you squeal as he filled you. You heard the quiet squeeze of the pump on the bottle before the cool gel fell on the crease of your ass and his fingers started to massage against your back door. He ran his finger around and around your brown rose, and you could feel yourself relaxing and trying to push back to get him to go further, making you whine;

“Please Hen… do something…”

He ran his thumb over your asshole and rested it on it before finally pushing in, holding the digit inside just up to the first knuckle, and that’s when he started to move in your pussy.

“So. Fucking. Good. My dirty little Princess…”

You whined for more, for him to go harder, deeper, and he did so with glee;

“You want more? Fuck yes, take my dick, can feel your insides parting for me, you like my thumb in your ass? Like being double stuffed?”

“Fuck…” your head was swimming, your chest resting against the bed as you snuck your hand between your legs and started to strum at your clit, urging your orgasm on as Henry turned into a feral beast behind you, fucking you raw and dirty, you pushing back for each thrust to feel him deeper and split you wider.

Your orgasm happened without warning, screaming out his name as you came so hard he was sure if he hadn’t pulled his thumb out your muscles would have broken the bones in it. Your knees gave way and you slumped down onto the bed, Henry still deep inside you, fucking you as you lay spent on the bed;

“So close… almost there…

“Cum on my ass Hen…” you muttered as he railed into you, and you heard a groan as he pulled out of you, seconds later the splash of his hot seed landing on your naked ass, back and thighs.

For a moment everything went quiet before you felt him wiping his cum from you, and he moved you in the bed until you were curled up in his arms, the little spoon to his big;

“You’re fucking amazing Princess, I fucking love you so much” he slurred, before the two of you feel asleep in drunken stupors.

Chapter 9 >>>

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x you #henry cavill au

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mallowstep · 3 years

Note

I’m thinking about writing a short OC piece about Windclan and I’d love to see your notes about its culture and the hymns you’ve written so far, everything you’ve done for Windclan appreciation month has really inspired me :)

hello anon!

alright, first things first: please send me ur piece when ur done if you're comfortable doing so! i will publish it from you, or if you don't want to be associated with it in Any Way, i will also just read it and add it to the queue with no indication why it's there. or if you don't want me to share it at all, i'd still like to read it.

as for your ask,

hymns?

i'm working on it. however, underneath the read more, i'll include a few snippets for u.

culture

alright, i'm just going to post links with some commentary as i go. feel free to ask any more questions you have.

windclan (search) | windclan (tag) | wcam tag | five clans (narrative essays)

i would link the elders den, but there's no windclan stories in there ATM.

moving on, i'm just going to go through posts in reverse chronological order.

tallstar taking a mate admittedly, this is more about cats and sexuality than windclan, but i provide the commentary that windclan...has a particular view on sexuality and fluidity. one thing i haven't explored but should is the role visiting cats have in windclan.

whoops that's a code word, my plug for solacefruit has been activated. okay, as you may be aware, based on the fact that i have a whole tag for it, i'm obsessed with solacefruit. now, i love everything they do, but i would like to point you particularly to "make a mighty sound" for a fantastic exploration of this idea.

i don't want to spoil anything, but i do think windclan, and maybe cats as a whole, but windclan has a certain view towards relationships that very much breaks them into pieces. i'm a "love is a verb" person, so the idea that you can grow to love someone romantically by going through the actions of love makes sense. not to say you will, but you can.

(to be clear i'm not out advocating for arranged marriages just saying that they can work, they're not destined to be bad, and there's a difference between forced marriage and arranged marriage.)

anyway.

this was a lot of words to say, cats do not have a human (and particularly, western/american) understanding of relationships, which makes analyzing them in those terms difficult.

early hymn talk i'll probably say more below, but it is here.

general ibtwicm notes might get you into the headspace for some of my choices in ibtwicm.

i don't have a ton to say because this pretty much all holds, but uh, yeah.

poetry and language this isn't strictly about windclan, but it does explain some of what i think about when writing hymns.

obviously, i'm writing english translations, but these general themes are what i have in mind. it's also part of why i say i don't think i'll ever release a "full hymnal" for windclan, because i don't know if my weak worldbuilding heart could take it if i only had translations.

names part two very much not about windclan, but just some thoughts on names. as i've said before, i support all names and worldbuilding equally, but if you want my thoughts on names, go buckwild.

clan culture fic rec list just stuff i think does a good job, if you want other sources of inspiration.

general clan culture notes this is really old, but it mostly holds.

i've obviously expanded a lot on windclan since i wrote it, so shrug? idk man.

alright, i'm going to move into hymn discussion below the cut, but best of luck! and i hope u have a good time. it makes my brain shut down to read that i inspired you, straight up got brain juice pouring out of my ears, but i'm really, really happy to hear that.

windclan holds a special place in my heart. (i know my oc avatar is from skyclan shhh it's because of the backstory he sees ghosts.) but i grew up in this super sporty household as a lil asthmatic klutz, and running was a sport i couldn't mess up, so of course windclan appealed to me.

they're actually third on my list of favorite clans, but they. it's a special place in my heart that they hold, especially after reading dawn of the clans and moth flight's vision, where i got an asthmatic cat and an adhd cat, both in windclan.

god i should reread dotc it's good.

alright, here's the deal on hymns: i am not going to fight to get duets to post correctly. there's a 0% chance i can in tumblr's wonky ass new editor with no markdown, not to mention how difficult it would have been in the old editor. so i'm going to talk a lil about what i've got, and post some stanzas that i think don't get explored a lot in ibtwicm.

we're discussing these in the order that they go in. a reminder that these are all sections of one epic poem. that said, i don't know where the gaps are. like, i don't know what's between these, if that makes sense.

the wind

the wind, the very first hymn. this is an ode to, well, windclan. it's a song about everything that makes them them. it's filled with poetry about the wind, about the seasons, and it's just...well, it's a bit of a genesis, in a way.

The wind — like the rain, like the river — calls the name of each star in its breath. The wind — like the earth, like the stone — anchors us to our home. The wind — like the sun, like the sky — is knowable only by name.

i wanted to share this stanza because the last line doesn't show up in ibtwicm (at least so far, i cut the reference), and it really, really, makes a difference imo.

anyway, windclan is basically tying the wind in with every other fundamental part of their life here.

they are the wind, and that's that.

the hare

okay, this one has a line that comes up a lot in ch1, but i already talked about that, so instead, i'm going to talk about this stanza

Speak of the earth and the dens, and you will be answered: By the call of the howling gales, the open earth singing in response. But speak of that which grows above, of the grass and field, And you will be answered by the softness of the buds and the roots.

okay, we get deadfoot thinking about this when he's talking to yellowfang.

i like this stanza because it really tells us what the hare is about. now, hares are not something windclan catches. hares are huge, y'all, there's no way they take one down. i take liberties with ecology, but not that many.

(i.e., a team of cats definitely could take one down, but i know too much, and would prefer letting team hunting stay a plot thing, and not fundamentally alter the environment in the way it would.)

now anyway, all of these hymns come from the time of the tunnelers. and the point of this is, even though the work of tunnelers and moor runners is disconnected, they fundamentally affect each other.

a moor runner must trust the hollows of the earth beneath them won't collapse, and a tunneler must trust that the prey they chase up will be caught.

it's all very symbiotic and is, well, in a way, a love poem. plus i really like the line "the open earth singing in response"

of the warrens

so this has one line, one you might not even know is a hymn, in ch1, but i'll share the whole stanza.

And as for the subject of fallow fields: Fallowed fields make for hungry prey, Yet hungry prey makes desperate rabbits, Who leap into our claws.

and ig my big point is, the hymns are a cultural artifact. just like many of the rules in the old testament have to do with hygiene things being codified into religion, this whole hymn is about hunting advice.

the moon on the river

okay, out of all the hymns, this is the most complete, and because ashfoot and deadfoot sing it together, and deadfoot discusses it, i only have one stanza to share.

Under the coldness, you shine back at me, And I do everything to keep the clouds from threatening you.

now, this poem is about love, grief, and being separated. it's a particular kind of grief, and windclan discourages grief, so this is one of only a few ways to really, fully express it.

and this section, in particular, is about love in times of hardship.

i don't have. a lot to say here. but the way hardship changes how you love someone can be particular and intense.

(temporarily, this happens sometime before "Spare for my chosen few / All I have is given towards the distant ground.")

the gorse in the wind

oh shit! i have so fucking much to say okay first.

the series title does not come from this hymn.

second, this is a challenging hymn okay. fuck. i have so much to say. where to start so! moors are actually relatively wet. think british countryside, not, like, a cool desert.

this is something i always knew? i read the secret garden a lot as a kid. but. i've seen stuff about moors being dry, and it's just one of those things that really...starts to eat under your skin. anyway.

okay, so. gorse is a dry plant. it does not like rain. it grows in sandy soil, etc etc, and yet. aside from everything we know about gorse and warriors, it also grows in this moor. because i say so.

okay, so. so so so. the lines quotes here are really deceptive, and i bet no one understood why, and that makes me just a little sad, but i couldn't find a good way to explain it in text, so uh, yeah, anyway. there's an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot: "THE GORSE: You called me the heather and I grew stronger. / THE WIND: I called you the heather and brought rain for you to grow."

so...so do you see? do you see the point? it's about communication, needs, challenging each other. fadskj;l i love this. okay, so. the point is that heather is fragile, soft, pretty, and gorse is the opposite. the part of the wind is trying to be kind and complimentary, but the gorse is saying, fuck that, you are not being kind to me by undercutting my strength.

anyway, this passage is sung by the gorse:

In what good company have I set down roots, That even through snow fall I flower. You called me the heather and yet I've weathered, Far more than your sweet-named love.

so uh, yeah, this adds context. gorse! gorse is a hardy plant that continues to flower basically all season round. it's cool. it's cool. gorse is super cool. fuuuck y'all it's such a small thing and i've contained talking about it until now, but now it's too much. the floodgates are open, and i thought about this small detail too much.

okay. deep breath. gorse is a really easy plant to grow, but it's still adapted for dry environments. so the "even through snow fall I flower" part is a little tongue in cheek: gorse itself will flower in the cold, but snow is a type of precipitation, which as we've covered, is not gorse friendly.

then we have some rhyming and puns in the next line, and finally, "yet I've weathered, / Far more than your sweet-named love." like. yes. love as a form of softness is not necessarily helpful.

i mean, consider the damaging "soft trans boi" problem. same energy.

right. okay. so we've got all that? now if you remember, this is sung when deadfoot thinks ashpaw doesn't respect him, and ashpaw says she'll sing with him if she can sing the gorse, so in essence, she's telling him...not to back off, per se, but that...she is the "hard part" of the relationship. like, okay, i refuse to even bring up gender roles in human relationships, but uh, her point is very much, "i am the gorse, and you are the wind," and it's a very monumental moment.

it's anchored, i believe, in the other scenes, but this is a small thing that matters a lot to me.

like a lot.

okay, now that i've talked about like four lines for the length of this entire post, moving on.

the heather and earth

okay, this is the last hymn i have in concrete terms, and i cut a bit of it from the latest chapter, so yeah. it's also, uh, okay everything i have for it is only a line or two, but i wanted to share this closing line (sung together):

Sing a song of forgiveness, of growing together, and we will make madness, And madness from hence will everything beautiful grow.

and i just like these lines. they got cut, it was initially part of an exchange between ashfoot and deadfoot, but i can't share the part of it they talk about, because i'm reusing it for a later chapter and i'll 100% spoil shit if i try to talk about it.

but these lines? mmm they speak to me.

i don't have a ton to say about them, but i just. i like it.

if we apply the same ecology discussion from the gorse and the wind, we see heather is a plant that grows in acidic, infertile soil, and heath (which is not the same as a heather, but also kind of is) is a defining quality of heathland, which is...i'm not kidding, it's hot discourse about the difference between moorland and heathland.

i'm not getting involved, but my point is, if the gorse in the wind is a hymn about finding a working relationship, about mutual respect, etc., then the heather and earth is a hymn about working well together in a terrible situation.

god.

uh, wow! can you tell i like plants? because while parts of my ecology are dubious (see: everything regarding the rabbits in ch1), the plants part are well thought out. this shit is carefully detailed metaphor.

and that's why i won't be releasing a full hymnal. it's hard to as on top of this as i want to be. i'm not kidding, writing even four lines of a hymn usually takes me about twenty minutes, because i pull up a lot of research about how things work, how they interact with each other, etc., and then there's wordsmithing, cat worldview filter, etc.

but i hope this overview of what i've got is a good insight into my general thoughts. and i will eventually release more and more of the hymns i've got written.

#ask #anon #mine #txt #windclan #wcam #essay #long #warriors #warriors worldbuilding #windclan hymn project #mateo fanboying over solacefruit again

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tanoraqui · 4 years

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Grave dirt baby... 🥺✨

me, procrastinating my actual fic? no... GRAVE DIRT BABY A-YUAN

HEY TUMBLR FUCKED UP ALL MY BULLET POINTS ON THIS THE SECOND I HIT POST BUT IT’S 4AM SO I’M LEAVING IT UP ANYWAY. STUPID GODDAMN WEBSITE.

Wei Wuxian has been in the Burial Mounds for like 2.5 months out of what he doesn’t yet know will be about 3. He’s not even sure he’s going to survive yet. But he has managed to manifest an evil sword - the evil sword - out of the aether/ambient resentful energy/an attunement set with an unwise touch in the belly of an evil turtle

and he does know that he’s not going to survive if he doesn’t get the power of the Burial Mounds under some sort of control

so he cuts his arm and with blood running down the blade, draws something adjacent to the first demon-summoning flag but as an array in the dirt. He stands in the middle and - keep in mind that he more or less hasn’t slept in 2.5 months - plunges the sword into the center, still coated in his blood, and draws in all the resentful energy of the Burial Mounds

was it supposed to go into the sword? Into himself? Into just the single 4ft diameter array area, a column of bound death? who knows, not Wei Wuxian! it’s pure gut instinct

u know what else works on gut instinct, thought? Fairy tales.

And in a fairy tale, why, clay of the earth plus iron enough for a blade plus still-warm blood to show the way...

There’s an implosion and Wei Wuxian is standing - somehow still standing - in a small crater where the array used to be, and his evil sword is plunged into the belly of a baby

He yanks it out in horrified reflex, and realizes a moment later that the baby seems unfazed by this. If there was even a wound, it closes before his eyes, and the glimpse he had showed something more bloody clay than flesh beneath the skin

the iron sword crumbles as he pulls it away, as though rusted a thousand years. the baby turns its head from the iron shavings that falls on it, but then reaches up for Wei Wuxian with a cheerfully demanding cry

he picks it up, of course. (he’d think he was hallucinating if he wasn’t absolutely and utterly aware that he’s not)

it is, as far as he can tell, with physical and spiritual resentful inspection, an absolutely normal baby

oh, except when he looks really closely. Then he can sense the neutron star–dense knot of resentful energy where a golden core might (but will definitely not have room to) form. Also, it can command the dead, and when he holds it, so can he. He’s not sure if it’s a proximity-based power share or if he’s passing his desires through the baby, but even Wei Wuxian, at about 3 months with no food save the rage of the dead and no rest save the promise of final release, has to stop investigating at some point. He has things to do!

specifically, he has Wens to kill

so instead of the iconic shot of the dark flautist in the moonlight, we get the dark, uh...man singing a very spooky lullaby to his baby in the moonlight. It is still deeply creepy. It’s a making-it-up-as-he-goes tune based on a Yunmengi lullaby that he certainly learned from neither of his foster parents, and the lyrics are along the lines of, “let them remember what they did, sweet little potato, let them remember why they’re dying”

yeah he’s been calling this child “Little Potato” for 2 weeks

why

is that not how you name a child

sometimes when he’s more annoyed at it, he calls it “Little Radish”, or even less appetizing root vegetables

by the time he walks in, the baby is asleep in his arms and he’s not singing anymore, just letting the dead do his will. This is what Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji see. The subsequent conversation, Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu at their feet, goes like this:

LWJ: Wei Ying. You have a baby.

WWX: Oh, uh...

PLAY DUMB!

WWX: What baby?

NOT THAT DUMB!

WWX: Oh, this baby! Haha yeah. I...found it.

JC: What the fuck

WWX: Yeah, weird, right? Right near the, uh...

LWJ: They said you were in the Burial Mounds

WWX: Yyyyup. Yes that is. I found this baby by the side of the road after I walked out of the Burial Mounds.

JC, briefly too morbidly fascinated to think about either the demonic cultivation they just watched or the fact that he wants to hug his brother like he’s never wanted to hug another being in his life: What did you name it?

WWX: ....

JC, desire to hug intensifying together with exasperation: oh my god

Sometime in the next couple days - after sleeping a bit, maybe - it occurs to Wei Wuxian that his raw instincts were right and things will go very badly for little A-Yuan (his siblings insisted he name it) if anyone finds out that he’s a not-yet-walking, not-yet-talking little neuron star of resentful energy. So he takes the iron shavings that are all that remain of the Stygian Turtle Sword and forges them into a Tiger-shaped Seal. He also carves a bamboo flute, like he’d been thinking about before the whole...baby thing. He loudly proclaims both to be dark and terrible weapons

(it really is helpful. The sword was...kind of A-Yuan’s other parent, after all, in addition to their third partner, the Burial Mounds. Chenqing gives him finer control of whatever stray resentful energy he chooses to pick up, and the Stygian Seal lets him channel A-Yuan’s power at need, even when not touching him. Which is good - a battlefield is no place for a baby)

even if that baby thinks ghosts and ghouls exist to pick him up and rock him or toss him around (babies like to be tossed)

Wei Wuxian puts so many goddamn spirit-repelling charms on that child, and lets it be marked down to the paranoia of a survivor

using whatever resentful energy he picks up is generally more effective, actually. Less strong, but it quickly becomes clear that the way this works does, in fact, involve Wei Wuxian communicating his desires through A-Yuan, or at least A-Yuan has to put up with the loan of power. There’s nothing quite like abruptly losing control of a field of corpses because the baby got abruptly uncooperative with anything that wasn’t barfing

the baby does eat, for the record. As far as Wei Wuxian can tell, he doesn’t actually need to, but once WWX fed him once, when they first left the Mounds, he wanted it all the time

he still takes A-Yuan with him when he can. That is the paranoia of a survivor. A-Yuan is...

“A battlefield is no place for a baby, A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says gently, as he sets out from Carp Tower after another stolen visit, another failed attempt to convince Jin Guangshan off his ass. “And you are...so busy. LanlingJin takes in orphans, you know...”

“A-Yuan...he’s my blood,” Wei Wuxian says quietly. He’s never been good at lying to his shijie

Whatwherewhenhowwho, he’d see on her face if he was looking at it. But he isn’t. It’s not shame, though, she can see (it really never is, with Wei Wuxian). Fear of disappointing her, slight resignation...but mostly acceptance. Determination. Something almost like contentment.

(When Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangj first took him back to whatever resembled a base camp - somewhere in Qinghe, probably, or maybe Lanling - he had to let a trained healer look at A-Yuan, physical and spiritual examination, and he held his breath and calculated how many people he’d have to kill to get out of here, how fast he’d have to move to not hurt his brother or any particular friends; thought, oh, he’s mine, in a way he hadn’t before - as a child, a son, not just a very strange weapon -

“He’s quite healthy,” said the doctor, mildly surprised, bouncing A-Yuan on one knee. A-Yuan gurgled happily. “About three months old?”

the longer Wei Wuxian took to answer, the more disapproving her stare got. But that did make sense)

Then all else can be dealt with later. “You should still leave him here,” Jiang Yanli says firmly. “You need to look after yourself and A-Cheng out there. I can look after A-Yuan.”

It takes a bit under two years to win back the lost and burnt territories, scour the Wens out of every crevice, corner Wen Ruohan in his precious Nightless City and bring it tumbling down. Nobody will know the timing but A-Yuan sleeps through the final battle, smiling at dreams that would make a grown man weep in horror. Somewhere, his father is playing a lullaby

About a week later, Jiang Cheng stalks into Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, which he shares with A-Yuan. One of the first rooms rebuilt in the new Lotus Pier. A-Yuan is there, too, playing with blocks while Wei Wuxian idly drafts talismans

“A-jie said the kid is yours,” he says, crossed arms. “Like, yours-yours. When the fuck did you do that?”

(Wei Wuxian has thought about this, by now; gone over the pros and cons of every possibility, the politics and potentials and maybe even the giddy possibility of telling something like the truth)

(the guiding principle is: he has no interest in drawing on the “Stygian Tiger Seal” ever again. The Sunshot Campaign is over. His loved ones are safe, and he sees no reason why they shouldn’t all live long, happy, normal lives)

(also/though, he will burn Jin Sect, Carp Tower, and all of Lanling to the ground before the new Chief Cultivator should touch his son)

“In Caiyi,” he lies. “Right before I got kicked out. I, uh, snuck out a lot more often than you noticed.”

His brother squints at him suspiciously. But Wei Wuxian can also watch him do the math in his head and reluctantly admit that it works.

“So are you claiming him or what?” he challenges. “’Wei Yuan’? You have a courtesy name - wait, no, you are not naming that kid again. You’re going to make his courtesy name be Carrothead or something.”

“Should I let you pick it, oh wise and noble shidi - no, shushu?!” Wei Wuxian teases, as A-Yuan gets tired of his blocks and starts climbing up him like a jungle gym

Jiang Cheng sighs like the north wind - gusting long and hard, with just the faintest chill to suggest that the skies will be weeping, soon

But...

Despite some evidence to the contrary, Wei Wuxian is generally fully aware of when he’s about to cross a line that cannot be backtracked over. So he meets Wen Qing in the city, and before going to Lanling, he nips into Lotus Pier and picks up A-Yuan

He might leave A-Yuan with Wen Qing in the city when he goes to Glamour Hall, but Qiongqi Pass happens with a toddler watching silently from Wei Wuxian’s hip. Does Wei Wuxian tell him to look away, bury his face in baba’s shirt, or does he not bother, knowing the sort of song that makes up A-Yuan’s sweet dreams?

The Wens become the second through 51st or so people who learn what A-Yuan is. Wei Wuxian briefly considers trying to hide it, but, honestly, there are dead things everywhere on the Burial Mounds, and despite his genuine efforts, he cannot convince A-Yuan that a fierce corpse is anything but the ideal patty-cake companion. (They’ll play with him for hours! It’s a two-nearly-three-year-old’s dream!)

(he doesn’t want to convince him, not really. The last thing he wants to do ever is give A-Yuan anything to be scared of)

nor could he possibly wish that A-Yuan not be...obviously hale and hearty, running rosy-cheeked and strong around these hills of death that slowly seep the energy from any humans, animals, or even sturdy root crops

“So, uh, this is actually my demon baby,” said Wei Wuxian as they all settled in

“this day has been so weird already, this might as well goddamn happen”, said the Wens collectively

“You created a living child out of dead earth, so I’m going to take that as a yes that you can bring my brother back,” said Wen Qing specifically

“...fuck. I mean, yes. I mean - fuck,” said Wei Wuxian. “I- of course I will.”

(it doesn’t work like that, though)

The 52nd person to find out what A-Yuan is is Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian very much does not tell him. They have a pleasant toy-shopping trip and lunch in town, and then the alarm talisman goes off and Wei Wuxian grabs A-Yuan and Lan Wangji tugs them both onto Bichen and when they arrive, Wen Ning is roaring. Lan Wangji knows what’s important; he takes A-Yuan so Wei Wuxian’s hands are free and he doesn’t have to worry about his son

except Wen Ning, black-eyed with rage, throws Wei Wuxian into a tree hard enough to crack a rib, and even as Lan Wangji raises Bichen, A-Yuan shouts,

“Uncle Ning, stop!”

and Wen Ning stops

(as a rule, Wei Wuxian can’t take over with himself and Chenqing anything A-Yuan is controlling, unless A-Yuan lets him, and vice versa. To eliminate variables, Wei Wuxian had made sure that any reins on Wen Ning were his (Wei Wuxian’s) alone. But in that moment, before Wen Ning came fully back to himself, his reins were swinging free - and they were back within the bounds of the Burial Mounds, where A-Yuan was always strong)

and Lan Wangji puts several pieces together at once and prays to every single god in heaven and every ancestor he’s disappointing right now that this was a miracle of love and a very cute child piercing through a fierce corpse’s mindless rampage. That he simply...hallucinated the burst of resentful energy he just felt from the child in his arms

but he’s absolutely, utterly aware that he didn’t

Wei Wuxian explains, stilted and awkward at the bottom of the hill. Challenging and terrified. Holding on to A-Yuan.

Lan Wangji promises to keep the secret.

Wei Wuxian takes Hanguang-jun’s word

Remember, oh, remember, that Wei Wuxian walks A-Yuan back up the hill until A-Yuan gets tired and Wei Wuxian picks him up, on their one-and-a-half–man plank bridge through the dark. Remember remember remember that before he can finish speaking that line, there is light - the clearing is lit with lanterns and secret-keepers 2 through 51, and I suppose 53 now that Wen Ning is awake, are waiting with dinner and warmth and welcome. Reader, remember this.

But then...

Aunt Qing and Uncle Ning had gone, and then, with a terrible expression on his face, so had A-Yuan’s baba. Now his baba’s anger and sadness is so strong that the weight of it makes A-Yuan cry from hundreds of miles away, and he curls into Granny’s arms and sends his baba everything he can. Will everything be okay, then? Will everyone come home; will they be able to smile again?

(oh, A-Yuan...)

(No.)

A-Yuan - Wei Yuan, Little Potato (when he’s good for baba or bad for Aunt Qing) or Little Radish (inverse); one day to be Lan Yuan, Lan Sizhui - was born in the good old fairy tale way of earth and iron and blood. It’s a hard thing for any child to lose even a single parent - in one day, in one minute, A-Yuan loses two of three, as the father of his blood burns away in hand the last shreds of Stygian iron, and promptly loses control of his own resentful energy

(the Tiger Seal does nothing like explode, in this world. It was never more than a prop - but a vital one. the benefit of proving it destroyed would be worth the loss of a parent, if only a second didn’t follow on its heels)

A-Yuan has been a dead thing (or close enough) come to life all his life, and both dead and living have been his friends and family. But he’s never felt the transition the other way: from life to death

It’s no wonder, really, that he can’t remember it afterward. No wonder that even on the land that was the last part of him, he was feverish and barely conscious when Lan Wangji stumbled, bleeding, off of Bichen, and took in his arms. No wonder that he remembered very little at all, including the dead.

But he would be okay. Under physical and spiritual inspection, he’s a perfectly normal boy. He may not be able to form a golden core (there's something in the way), but there are...workarounds. He’ll grow up in one of the most heavily spiritually warded enclaves in the world, safe and loved as he relearns (mostly in secret) what he can do

(For the sake of this story, and A-Yuan’s survival as something close to canon, let’s say there are some truly dark things in the forbidden section of the Lan Library, that could only be used for nefarious purposes - though, I suppose we already knew that. Let’s say there are talismans that will disguise the very nature of qi, so resentful energy may appear spiritual. Let’s say, Lan Xichen becomes the 53rd to know the truth, because his brother needs help - and it’s Wei Wuxian’s child, okay? It’s just Wei Wuxian’s child, quiet and unsure rather than laughing as he always was. If you were in the inner circle of leaders of the Sunshot Campaign, you have absolutely met this child, probably held him and bounced him on one knee)

(What keeps Lan Xichen up at night isn’t the concealing amulet he helped his brother make, which Lan Yuan wears at all times around his neck. It’s the silence he keeps every time he meets Jiang Wanyin’s eyes over a diplomatic table. If anyone had the right to know Wei Yuan survived... But Sandu Sengshou killed Wei Wuxian, everyone knows that, and now he hunts demonic cultivators - what might his pride drive him to do to his nephew, if he ever learned the truth? (Selfishly, Lan Xichen know that if Lan Wangji lost A-Yuan, even just to living at Lotus Pier, Lan Xichen might lose his brother. That fear ebbs with time passing, but the the longer he hasn’t spoken, the worse it would be to do so...))

They don’t restrict Lan Yuan to the Cloud Recesses, no more than any other novice. For memory of their mother, neither of them could bear that. Jiang Cheng does eventually see him at a conference, and stops dead. Years have passed, but that is an entire goddamn nephew, right there. But - how? No, it can’t be. That’s...everyone knows Lan Wangji hated Wei Wuxian. It’s just...and someone would have told him. The Lans value propriety above all, after all.

Anything that can be done with spiritual cultivation can be done with demonic cultivation, save heal. Lan Sizhui makes up for it with an encyclopedic knowledge of undead and monsters, and a prodigal talent for Inquiry

On their first night hunt, the young juniors face ghosts. Unfortunately, this is when Lan Jingyi learns that he’s terrified of ghosts. He’s hiding behind Lan Sizhui and panic is contagious, and the senior accompanying them is in a different room of the abandoned house, and Lan Sizhui forgets that he’s holding a sword and just shouts, “Stop! Go away!”

the ghost, of course, obeys

Lan Jingyi peeks out form behind him. “Did- did you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Lan Sizhui admits (except that he’s absolutely sure he did)

There’s another flicker of movement, just the wind blowing ashes but Jingyi whips around with wild eyes. “Can you do it again?”

[friendship. my point is, he’s a demon baby but he has family and friends who love and accept him.]

And one day, some absolute fucking morons are going to bring him back home, where he can never be anything but strong, and threaten his friends and family? And the threat is an army of his old playmates, commanded by an attempt at recreating some combination of Chenqing and the Tiger Seal? He couldn’t manage it in Yi City, but now A-Yuan, Wei Yuan, Lan Sizhui stands on earth that has never stopped being part of him, or maybe he’s never stopped being part of it. If he closed his eyes he could feel every foot on it, living and restless dead. And they’re threatening his baba - who he remembers, as the earth remembers its old partner, even though the blood is changed - and his father Hanguang-jun, and his extended family and friends?

No.

#lyratalus #mdzs #the untamed #ficlet #lan sizhui #wei wuxian #uh who else is here #must i tag them all? don't wanna #my fic #hmm need the speaker for the dead variant to get more childhood stuff; they're similar there

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f33itan · 3 years

Text

💛⚜️Pᴀʀᴛ 1: Tᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ⚜️💛 (From my Wattpad)

A/N: Ok, this was something a mutual of mine said here on Tumblr, and I decided to write a oneshot about it. Might be very VERY slight angst, nothing bad enough to actually be put under that umbrella though, anyways, enjoy this, and ty for the reads! :)

CW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEGRADATION, AND MORE FOUL WORDS THAN USUAL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

B/N: Your Mother's boyfriend's name

M/N: Mother's name

꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂

"Oi, Y/N! Go get me another pack of beer from the store!"

"Yes father!" Damn that pig looking bitch. I'm just some fucking girl, trying to protect her mom from this demon of a person! Heck, he's not EVEN a person! He's the devil himself!! Man, I wish dad was here...

When you were in about 7th grade, your real father got killed in a massacre a couple cities over. He was not only a police officer, but a great father and husband as well. He treated you and your mother amazingly, and you thought life couldn't get anymore perfect, but soon that all went down hill. After his death, your mother's health depleted and she felt empty inside. She needed somebody else to make her complete. She decided to call an old friend from high school, and next thing you know he moved in. He seemed like a nice guy at first, but soon enough he was beating you guys mercilessly, enough to leave large bruises and scars whenever you didn't do exactly what he asked, in your eyes though, it was more of an order. You hated being ordered around, but you hated your mother getting beaten around even more. It seemed like a blessing that he hasn't tried to rape her, but god knows what he'll do, he's unpredictable

With all of this happening, you decided to tell him you were doing some "extra curricular" classes in college, but what you were actually doing was taking the Hunter's Exam and learning nen. Your biological father was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but he was also strict and sometimes a bit harsh, though he always meant well. Before his passing, all three of you would go out on the weekends to train, exercise, or do something that would enhance your body power and brain power. Because of this, all of you were exceptionally smart, and bodies all well toned. Sometimes your excursions would be going to a park and practicing a sport, driving to the snow and sledding, skiing, snowboarding, and every once in a while going to another state to zip line, try animal encounters, or take a family friendly class in that state's heritage and customs.

Since you were accustomed to hard core training and events, you thought the Hunter's Exam was quite fun, and was a test to your skills. After that, you were scouted out by a strong nen user by the name of Biscuit Krueger. You and her had lots of fun training, and with her pushing your limits to the utmost best, you turned out to be a specialist.

(Whenever I imagine myself in Hunter x Hunter, this is always my nen type and stuff LMAO)

Your power was called, Black shadow. You could have up to 10 weapons on hand, completely subjected to doing your bidding. These weapons were linked to you through blood, and they were surrounded with a substance that appeared to be black mist. The weapons you most preferred to practice with and use were your katana, blood string, and scythe. You could also make a weapon yours by cutting a fingertip and letting the blood drip onto the weapon, altering the appearance then gaining that black "mist", showing that it was now yours. The downside to this technique was that those "shadows and mist remnants" were your sleep. The darkness in your mind and the shadows all around you were taken and used for that power. In turn, you were always tired, yawning, and had bags under your eyes. Another plus side though was that you had a nen created chamber that had every weapon you owned. A girl can have some fun toys, can't she? You had tools for torture (whenever you took an opportunity to try it), many varieties of weapons, and of course, more snacks. But unlike B/N, you didn't have just fatty snacks. You had regeneration potions, healthy snacks, and special nen created "snacks" to help with different things, which all of these you had collected through pulling some strings. Your mother was worried, but you said it was all just college things. Yeah, just college things..

Ill make that pig bitch pay for what he has done to my mother!

Feitan POV -or whats going on with him- :

"What time, is it.."

"8 AM Fei!"

"Shut up, green eyes, too loud."

"Oh Fei don't be rude! It's mean!"

"That's, the point."

"Oh wait, Shalnark, what this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This... gold string?"

"OI SHALNARK, FEITAN, COME ERE' REAL QUICK!"

"Phinks, what, do you, want-" Phinks just ignored his question and pointed to the TV.

This is Channel 12, reporting live from York New City Town Square. People all over the city are claiming to be seeing a string tied to their left ring finger, leading them to some unknown destination! What is this string? Who put it there?-

"AY AY IM ON TV! THE STRING THINGY JUST LEAD ME TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND NOW WERE DATING! SUPER AWESOME!"-

I apologize for the interference, but this string appears t be leading people to.. partners? Soulmates? Find out tomorrow morning, this is Amy Starwick from Channel 12, signing out.

"What. The. FUCK."

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOODNESS HOLY SHIT FEITAN YOU HAVE A SOULMATE!!"

"Nope-"

"YESS YOU DOOOOOOO"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CHEERY BITCH-"

"No❤️" Since Feitan was on his last nerve with Shalnark, he decided to stomp over towards Chrollo in the main room, but Chrollo just chuckled.

"Wanna go find your soulmate? See if that things real?" Feitan just stared at the ground, lightly shifting his feet.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Just, doing it, out of, curiosity."

"Mhm, curiosity, go find them." And with that, he was dismissed. Feitan wanted to say it was curiosity, but deep down he had this feeling there was something else, but what was it? It made his stomach tingle and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to ignore all of this, and just shrugged it off...

꧁꧂꧁꧂TimeSkip to Next Day꧁꧂꧁꧂

Your POV + some Feitan POV:

"Alright, today's the day, he'll be at his work, and on his break, i'll set the plan in motion.." Both me and mom don't like him, and I don't know about her, but I sure hate him, every ounce of him. The plan is simple: 1. Capture mom's boyfriend, 2. Take him to an abandoned building, 3. Torture him and get all of the answers I need, and 4. Kill him. His break is at 12, and he usually goes to get takeout every other Friday, what a pig. I'll give him a taste of his own medicine.

Time: 11:30 AM

Ok, I have everything ready. Fully energized to the utmost extent, Elixirs to bring him back in case he passes out too early, and- what? He's leaving for lunch early? PERFECT! You ran behind some buildings and hid in a two-way alleyway, waiting for him to pass by...

Here we go..

One..

Two..

THREE!

You covered his head with a sack, and took his phone out of his back pocket. Before heading over to your post, you laced the inside of the sack with some sleeping powder and pressed it against his nose and mouth. Within moments he passed out, and you typed in what you hoped to be his password, which was correct. Around 12:30, you were going to text one of his coworkers that he would be "going to a restaurant across town, and ditching work for a day, not wanting to see his stupid good for nothing girlfriend or his dumb daughter." You knew he called you both this because of going through his text messages when he wasn't looking or when he was sleeping. Little did you know that somebody was watching you from afar.

"Hmm... So, she, my, what do people, call it.. soulmate? Seems, interesting..."

Time: 12:00 PM

"Jesus, I new he was a fat ass but I didn't know he weighed this much!" You were tugging him from his legs through the back ways of York New. You wanted to find a secluded area, where once you were done with him you could just toss him somewhere for the birds and maggots to eat. After walking for what seemed like hours, you came across a set of abandoned buildings, specifically the one you laid out some extra things. A couple extra weapons, some towels, a change of clothes, a chair and some rope, a couple of flashlights, and of course, some snacks. Lucky for you, the douchebag you've been dragging around like a rag doll was still out cold, so you picked him up and tossed him on the chair, tying his wrists, ankles and neck to the chair.

"Maaannn, this is boring!! When the hell are you gonna wake up?!" As if on queue, you saw his eyes start to flutter open, and you immediately grabbed your box cutter. It wasn't a weapon used by your nen, but it was quite effective.

"What.. who.. wait- Y/N!? WHAT THE FUCK?! UNTIE ME NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!!" you didn't notice it, but Feitan was watching from the building over.

What, the fuck? Why she kidnap him? That pig? Why? Confusing, gotta keep, watching.

You shoved the box cutter into his left cheek, and you bathed in the glory of hearing his screams of pain.

"How does this feel, you bitch? Everything you've done to my dear mother, everything you've done to me, and heck, YOU WERE PROBABLY BEHIND MY DAD'S MURDER DURING THAT FUCKING MASSACRE!!" B/N noticed the tears in your eyes, and took this to his advantage.

"So what if I was? Both of your parents were pathetic anyways."

"NO THEY AREN'T! YOU'RE THE REASON WHY MY MOTHER'S LIKE THIS NOW! YOUR THE FUCKING REASON FOR EVERYTHING SHITTY THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!!"

"Heh, hehe.. hahaHAHAHA! YOU KNOW GOD DAMNED WELL THAT ALL OF YOU ARE PATHETIC! WANNA KNOW WHY I GOT WITH YOUR MOM!? BECAUSE SHES HOT. AND SHE HAD GOOD MONEY FROM YOUR FUCKING DAD. YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA DO?! YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK OFF EARLY TODAY?! I WAS GONNA RAPE YOUR MOTHER AND MAKE YOU WATCH, THEN KILL BOTH OF YOU AND RUN OFF WITH ALL OF YOUR MONEY!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S IRONIC?! I DON'T HAVE ONE. SINGLE. FUCKING. REGRET. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAD, YOU SOULDN'T HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO DO THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!!"

You couldn't handle this anymore, tears were falling down your face rapidly as you grabbed the duct tape and closed his mouth shut.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say.. I'm going to kill you here. This is your grave. Someday, I'll join you in hell, and when I do, I'll torture you again, and the Devil will laugh. You just watch and ducking wait you, you.. PATHETIC WORTHLESS PIG ASS SLOPPY ASS NASTU FUCKING BITCH!" With that, you grabbed a couple super worms in each hand and shoved them into his ears. Even with the duct tape, you could hear his screams of agony as the worms dug deeper into his ears. You then got our your katana and slashed him across the stomach, and shoved even more worms into that open wound of his. Quickly, you poured a large bottle of the elixir you had brought over him to keep him from dying so quickly. Box cutter still in hand, you carved small lines all over his arms and legs, then ripped off the tape to hear his desperate cries. You imagined he wanted to be dead, but you didn't care. His pain and you pain mixed together and you just started laughing. You through your head back and let yourself laugh. all of the pain this man has caused you and your mom will be repayed today.

But the pressure and stress was too much to handle. Your laughing of victory soon turned into screams and more tears, as you let yourself fall to the ground, not even noticing you didn't hit it hard, something had caught you, or someone..

What the shit am I doing?

Am I really going to kill him?

What's wrong with me?

What will mother think?

What would dad do?

What am I doing with my life?

You soon snapped out of all of those negative thoughts though, as you noticed something caressing your face lightly.

"Rest, now. He, won't die, so quickly. I'm, Feitan." You were a sniffling and crying mess, so all you could do was rush into Feitan's chest and cry. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had no idea what he was doing, for he had only seen this kind of skin on skin contact in movies. So, he did what those people in the movies did.

"Don't, worry... It's all, going to be.. okay."

Word Count (Including author notes, etc) : 2251

-Wrote February 3, 2021-

Unedited sorry about that lol-

Part 1...

#hxh #hxh oneshot #hunterxhunter #feitan #feitanportor #pov #feitanxreader

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theinnernerd · 3 years

Text

I got a Twitter and kinda ditched tumblr... :( this is my attempt to change that.

This is Altean Lance from a scene in my fic The Shadow of a Prince ✨🤗✨

I’ll post an excerpt below because I CAN!!!! OmG I MISSSD the tumblr platform. I’m so FREE! I can write HOWEVER MUCH I WANT about this post.

Maybe it’s nostalgia but tumblr>>>>>Twitter. And that’s on that.

It was in the dead of the night when an alarm on Keithek’s suit started beeping.

He had been trying to doze off, not feeling like readying himself for bed, but feeling sleepy enough that if he sat down and rested his eyes for a bit, he could get a decent few minutes of sleep that would sustain him for the day tomorrow. But the beeping pulled him out of the sleepy haze he had managed to sink under in an instant and he was suddenly wide awake again.

Keithek sighed. Lance had left his room.

Standing, he went to go find him. Rounding a few quick corners before he finally got to him, the boy still seeming to glow under the low light of the hall as he walked quietly down the hall.

Keithek sighed again, shaking his head, annoyed. Did the prince really think he was being sly? He knew that this was something his sister had decreed would be strictly forbidden until the threat was neutralized. Clearly, the prince still didn’t care.

He walked up behind him silently and as soon as he was within a foot of him he cleared his throat and tried not to take pleasure in the way the prince squawked with surprise and shot his gaze over to him. As soon as his blue eyes landed on Keithek’s, they instantly narrowed with anger. He let out an annoyed humph and groaned, thrusting his hands into his already tousled hair as he turned back around, clearly annoyed.

He was devoid of any jewelry or other adornments. He wasn't even wearing his crown. Seeing him without his usual get up was... strange. More strange than he thought it would be. The blue marks beneath his eyes were almost more apparent without the usual amount of decoration, and his natural features, in Keithek's opinion, were enhanced.

“I don’t think I need to explain to you that you should be in your room right now your highnesses. You aren’t safe to walk the halls alone at night.”

“How the hell are you even- you’re- it’s literally the ass crack of dawn and you’re in full quiznacking uniform?! Do you sleep? What the hell?”

The questions felt directed more to himself than they were to Keithek or anyone else. He muttered them unhappily, glaring at Keithek with almost as much distaste as the queen herself. Keithek pretended he didn’t notice the similarities in their unhappy facial expressions from the shape of their pointed faces to the curved narrow slits of their eyes. He ignored the feeling of slight discomfort he felt when seeing the queens face resembled so clearly in the princes annoyed and exasperated face.

“I’m alerted whenever you leave your room. It’s my job to be ready to stop you from making stupid decisions.”

It seemed that both the prince and himself were a bit surprised at the forward ness of that comment and the slight lack of professionalism that Keithek had let slip.

The prince brushed it off though and turned around, ignoring him as he pushed forwards where he had been going down the hall. The glare that Keithek received from him when he had stepped in front of him and stopped him from moving forward was vicious.

“Move.” He said shortly. Staring Keithek down, using their slight difference in hight to his advantage.

“You know I can not do that your highness. Keithek replied tiredly.

Lance groaned sliding his hands down his face in demonstration of his irritability. “What's your fucking problem, man?! Can't you just let me go for a walk around my castle at night if I want?”

“No.” Keithek said. “It's still dangerous.”

The prince looked visibly exhausted, running his hands through his hair and sighing. “Fine. You know what? Fine! Asshole! God! My life is the most pathetic…” He kept mumbling as he turned on his heel and began walking down the hallway again to go back to his room, getting far enough away after a while that Keithek couldn’t hear what he was saying anymore, and suddenly Keithek felt guilty.

He could sympathize, in some ways, with the prince, even if what he was doing was irresponsible and they both knew it. He wanted to be left to his own devices. He wanted to live his life. Having someone like Keithek on his back had to be frustrating. So for whatever reason, he took pity on him and blurred out something he really hadn’t expected he would actually say.

“I can accompany you however.” Keithek said to Lance’s back quickly. If you would like.

Lance halted in his steps, pausing a bit before turning back, giving him a skeptical look.

“Technically I am instructed to keep you in your room, but…” Keithek hesitated. He wanted to earn Lance’s trust. To show him that he was on his side, and that he trusted him too. He chose then to drop formalities, letting his spine relax a bit, offering Lance a look of solace.

“Look, I get it.” He said. “Sometimes You need a distraction, and trying to sleep just doesn't work. My job is to keep you safe, and I'll do that. But Nobody has to know about my breaking minor rules if it helps you relax…”

Lance just stared at him seeming as though he didn't believe his words. His eyebrows furrowed, but he turned around.

“Ok....” he said, drawing out the word. “Then I'm going to the kitchens.” He began walking forwards again and Keithek quietly trailed behind him.

Lance stretched, rolling his shoulders and yawning as they reached the entrance. He walked languidly to the counter and began collecting an assortment of food on his plate. Keithek stood at attention by the door, watching him. He filled a glass with some liquid Keithek couldn't name, and took a seat at the table, draping himself over the edge, one arm propping him up.

He was about to lift the glass to his lips when he looked up at Keithek, like he was only just realizing that he hadn't sat down with him.

Lance drew his eyebrows together and gave him a slightly irritated look of confusion.

“What, you're not allowed to sit either?” He asked sarcastically, gesturing to the seat across from him like it was ridiculous that he wasn't already there, his face twisted in annoyance.

“No, I'm allowed but for your safe-“ Keithek began but Lance cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“Oh my god, Just fucking sit down.” He said.

Keithek bristled in surprise but obeyed the prince, walking tentatively to the seat across from him, Lance’s eyes following him as he chewed, seeming to inspect him, looking him up and down.

When Keithek sat, Lance looked back at his plate, chewing and looking to be deep in thought. A long quiet ensued as Lance ate before he spoke up.

“How old are you.” Lance asked unprecedentedly, still watching the food he was pushing around.

Keithek was taken back by his question but answered after a moment of hesitation. “Twenty four,” he responded.

The prince quirked an eyebrow. “Geez, your pretty young to have such a giant stick up your ass.”

For perhaps the umpteenth time that night, Keithek didn't know how to respond to one of the princes unexpected comments.

“Do you ever, like, not take things so seriously?” He asked. Meeting his eyes.

Keithek's heart skipped, without permission when their eyes met, shocked at just how strikingly blue they were under the dim glow of the kitchens lights.

The prince was presenting himself to Keithek in ways that he had never seen him. Away from nobles, citizens of Altea, and even his sister, Lance was incredibly more casual. Almost like how he had been with the big Altean with yellow markings. Just less… friendly. He had a snarky sarcastic sense about him that Keithek hadn't assumed of him when they first met. Rather he seemed to be the professional, stubborn, hard ass that he was accusing Keithek of being now. Why he was choosing to show this side of himself to Keithek of all people, he didn't know.

When he didn't respond, Lance continued. Taking another sip from his glass. “Look. He said. I don't like being smothered, and I don't like unnecessary tension. But if my sister is going to sick you on to me for the rest of time I'd rather get over all these stupid formalities, and tell you that you are the last thing I want in my life right now.”

He paused, allowing himself to chew and swallow his food.

“But, he continued,” I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get out of this, so if you start treating me like a person rather than a fragile little flower, and loosen up a bit, we'll get along fine. Let me live my life and if there's ever someone going to stab me in the back, then you can stop them. But I'm not going to tolerate coddling and whatever other shit rules Allura gave you on how to treat me, got that?”

With his words, Keithek finally felt that he was starting to understand the prince. At least in some ways. What he was asking for was respectable, and Keithek was willing to give him that, as long as he knew that he was going to be with him at all times, like Allura had instructed him to be.

The prince was becoming more real with every interaction they had. Here, in this room, watching him slump over the table and eat his food with the most unamused face Keithek thought he had the ability to make, without his royal attire and glittering adornments, he looked normal.

Keithek nodded. “Yeah. He replied. I get it.”

“Great.” The prince said unenthusiastically, before he lifted himself back up, downing the last of his drink and then walked to put away his dishes. Keithek pushed away the mild surprise he felt upon witnessing an Altean royal wash his own dishes, his hands soapy as he scrubbed the surface of the plate before rinsing it off with water.

When the prince grabbed the entire bottle of the drink he had been sipping on earlier, Keithek looked curiously at him and asked, “what is that stuff.”

The prince frowned, looking down at the bottle. “If it’s any good?” He said, “It will help me forget that we ever had this conversation.” And with that, he took a big swig, right from the bottle, meeting Keithek’s eyes in a deadpan stare before he turned and walked out the doors. Keithek followed him silently back to Lance’s room, watching as he wordlessly scanned his hand to open the doors and walk inside, leaving Keithek in the hallway without another word.

#SoaP #shadow of a prince #klance art #klance fic rec #galtean klance #vld klance #klance fanfiction #klance fanfic #klance fic #voltron klance #klance #klance fics #prince lance #altean lance #my art

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eldritchteaparty · 3 years

Link

Chapters: 8/20 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Rosie Zampano, Oliver Banks, Original Elias Bouchard, Peter Lukas, Annabelle Cane Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I'll add characters and tags as they come up, Reference to injuries and blood, Character Death In Dream, Nudity (not sexual or graphic), Nightmares, Fighting

Summary: Following the events of MAG 200, Jon and Martin find themselves in a dimension very much like the one they came from--with second chances and more time.

Chapter Summary: Following their misadventure at Hill Top Road, Jon finally takes some time off; Martin remembers something disturbing about the archives’ collection of books.

Chapter 8 of my post-canon fix-it is up! Read at AO3 above or here below.

Tumblr master post with links to previous chapters is here.

***

“Jon, take the pills.”

Jon, wrapped in a blanket and staring out over the railing of the flat’s small balcony, stayed silent.

“Fine, I’ll just wait.” Martin set the vitamin bottles and the glass of water on the sturdiest-looking part of the railing, and shifted the second chair enough so he could sit down.

“You’re going to get cold,” Jon said.

“Yeah, probably.” Martin was dressed in a light jumper with only a t-shirt beneath it. It had been warm enough earlier in the day—the weather was getting nicer—but as the sun started to go down it was cooling off.

“Your choice.” Jon picked up his lighter from the small table between them and lit another cigarette, and they sat together as the sun continued its journey below the horizon. It really was beautiful, Martin thought. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to observe any part of nature in a long time. It hadn’t ever been much of a priority to him, but there was something nice about taking in the colors that spilled across the sky—deep yellows and oranges that gave way to pinks and purples, and eventually a dark glowing blue that was only barely distinguishable from black.

Martin wrapped his arms around himself.

“At least get a coat,” Jon said.

“At least take those pills.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” Jon readjusted in his seat to pull his legs up under the blanket a little more.

“Pot and kettle, Jon.”

“Why should I take them? You heard the doctors, there isn’t anything actually wrong with me. They’re just grasping at straws.”

After an hour or so on the porch at Hill Top Road, Martin had calmed enough to make the decision to go to A&E. Although Jon had protested, the fact was that he had been too weak to do anything about it, and Martin only felt a little bad taking advantage of that. As he’d said then, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t insisted on doing it before; he’d become so used to not being able to get help, that he hadn’t really considered it until then. He wasn’t going to mess around anymore, though, especially now that he realized he might not always be able to help on his own.

After hearing about Jon’s recent fatigue and his fainting episode, the healthcare staff had run a lot of tests. They’d hooked him up to monitors, measured things, done blood draws. Martin had to admit Jon’s description of their conclusions wasn’t far off—they didn’t find anything explicitly wrong with him. There was no diagnosis they felt comfortable giving, although they had pointed out a few possibilities that they should monitor. And they’d recommended the vitamins, of course.

“They did say you have nutritional deficiency—”

“—minor nutritional deficiency—”

“—and your vitamin D levels were actually quite low.” Martin shivered involuntarily in the cool night air.

“God damn it, Martin.” Jon fidgeted with the lighter on the table, but didn’t actually reach for another cigarette. “Will you take the blanket, anyway?”

“Will you take those pills?”

“They won’t help with anything,” Jon protested. “We both know that. This is ridiculous.”

“Speak for yourself,” Martin countered. “I’m not assuming anything about what will help. Beyond that, given how you’ve been eating, they can’t hurt. And finally, yes, I am being ridiculous, and I don’t care.”

“I didn’t say you were being ridiculous.”

“No, I said it. I’ll own it. I am being ridiculous, because I don’t want to lose you, and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you now any more than I did when we were walking through an apocalypse together, or when you were being kidnapped by actual monsters every week, or when you were taking unannounced holidays in coffins or whatever.” Martin shivered again. “Look, it’s just not that hard to take them, Jon.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’m behaving like an ass,” Jon sighed.

“Now I didn’t say that,” Martin replied. “I’m not trying to ignore what you’re feeling Jon, and I know there’s not a quick fix for any of it. It’s just that it’s—it’s such a small thing, and if it helps, at least it’s something.”

Jon grumbled.

“And not to bring this up again, but—I mean, it might help if you would just talk to me?”

Jon shook his head. “I can’t. When I try to put it into words, I—it never comes out right. I sound like a—well, a monster.” Jon seemed to shrink back into the blanket even more. “Or maybe I am one, and I can’t face you knowing it.”

“Jon…” Martin hesitated, but decided to finish the thought. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve asked myself if—if you are.”

Jon turned to him. “And?”

“And I don’t think so,” Martin said simply.

“Why not?”

“To be completely clear, it’s not the most rational reason. I just don’t think I could love you like this if you were. You’re just not bad. You’ve only ever wanted to do the right thing. You’ve only ever wanted to protect people, to protect me, even if—” Martin cleared his throat. “Even if we haven’t always agreed on what that looks like.”

“I see,” Jon said softly, turning to look over the railing again.

“So, if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.” Martin leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, blowing warm air into his hands. “But in that case, it’s vitamins and freezing myself.”

“May I ask a favor first?” Jon said, eyeing the glass of water warily.

“Depends on the favor.”

“Will you make me some tea?”

“Of course.” Martin was relieved; that was one thing he imagined he’d always be happy to do. “But you’ll take those pills if I do?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “You’ve made your case.”

He reached down to kiss Jon’s head before he walked back into the kitchen, and noted with comfort that Jon leaned into him as he did.

***

That was Sunday evening. Since they’d returned from A&E, Jon had spent most of the time before that afternoon sleeping. He’d been restless, and Martin had slept on the couch for a few nights to try to let Jon get as much sleep as he could. Of course, he had woken anxiously every few hours needing to check on Jon, so he was more than ready to go to bed after their discussion on the balcony. He ended up turning in before Jon, so he was a little surprised to find him already awake and sitting back against his pillows when he opened his eyes on Monday.

“Hey,” Martin said, moving closer to rest his face against Jon’s hip, throwing an arm over his legs.

“Hey.”

“Did I keep you up?” Martin asked.

“No.”

“What time did you get in bed?”

“I don’t know exactly. Not that long after you. I’m just not that tired. Maybe I finally slept enough.”

“That makes one of us.” One night of sleep hadn’t done Martin as much good as he had hoped.

“I’m sorry.” With his eyes still closed, Martin felt Jon’s hand come to rest on his head, gently rubbing his scalp just above his ear.

“I’m going to have to cut my hair soon.”

“I like it,” Jon said, gently tugging at a few strands. “I mean, I like it shorter, too. I guess I just like your hair.”

“Flatterer.” Martin yawned, then pressed his face into Jon even harder for a moment before rolling back to his side of the bed. “Just so long as you know it’s not getting you out of those pills. Do you want to shower first?”

“Actually, I was thinking I might not go in today.”

“Really?” Martin sat up to look at Jon. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He picked at an invisible spot on the quilt. “It’s more that I’d just—I’d like some time to think. If you’re ok with it.”

“Yes, of course I’m ok with it. I’ve been trying to get you to take it easy ever since we got here. We can—” He stopped when he saw the look on Jon’s face and realized what he was actually asking. “Oh, you meant—just you. Yeah, no, of course that’s fine. That’s great.”

“Are you sure? I mean—if you want to stay too—”

“No,” Martin interrupted. “No, it’s really fine. It’s not a problem. I mean, I know I’ve been really irritating with the—”

“That’s not it,” Jon said reassuringly. “It’s really not. I’m—I’m glad you’ve been here for me. It’s just my mind’s been so cluttered, and it finally—I feel like I can gather my thoughts.”

Martin nodded. “I get it. I do.” He did, mostly. “Would it be ok if I called to check on you?”

Jon smiled. “I’m sure I’d worry if you didn’t.”

So Martin went in by himself. He told Tim and Sasha the truth, mostly; Jon had blacked out after therapy, of course, not in an abandoned house in Oxford where there existed a possible gap between dimensions and realities, but the part about going to A&E and Jon staying home to recover was straightforward enough.

“Glad something slowed him down,” Tim said, and Sasha gave him a look. “Well, something was bound to happen, and at least Martin was there. It could have been worse. He was pushing himself too hard.”

“You’re not wrong,” Martin agreed, and Sasha patted him soothingly on the shoulder.

He went in by himself the next day, too. Jon seemed to be doing well enough. They didn’t talk much; Martin was tired and Jon seemed lost in his thoughts. Martin wasn’t sure what Jon was doing most of the day, though it didn’t seem to be much of anything. He was eating—well, drinking the nutrition shakes Martin had picked up for him—and Martin suspected he was sleeping a little, based on how the bed looked when he came home. Jon managed to eat solid food at supper again that second night, and reached protectively for his half-empty plate when Martin assumed he was done.

“Sorry,” Martin said with his hands up in apology, leaning back into the couch. “Does that mean—maybe you’re feeling better?”

“I think so. Starting to.” Jon stretched out his feet to rest them on the bottom ledge of the coffee table. For an instant, Martin already missed the feeling of Jon falling asleep against him—but this was better, he knew. He pushed the mournfulness away.

He went in by himself again on Wednesday. A little after noon, Sasha joined him and Tim in the assistants’ office.

“Want to come to lunch?”

Martin assumed she was asking Tim, but when he didn’t hear an answer, he glanced up to find both of them looking at him.

“Oh—me?” Martin asked.

“Yes,” Tim replied, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Might be nice to take up some old habits again.”

Martin didn’t have to think for too long to figure out what Tim was referring to; memories from this world came easy now. Not long after his mother had died, they’d started going out for lunch together once a week. It had almost certainly been for his benefit, but no one had ever admitted that to him; instead, they’d all acted like it was a spontaneous idea that for some reason had never occurred to any of them before. Martin had been so grateful for the company that he’d simply accepted it without thinking about it too hard.

“We’ll miss Jon, of course,” Sasha added, “but he can come with us next week.”

“Oh, whatever,” Tim said, elbowing Martin good-naturedly as they left the office together. “This just makes up for those times Jon couldn’t wait and stole Martin out from under us.”

Martin remembered that, too; there had been a few times when, despite their best intentions, he’d been overwhelmed by the thought of lunch with the whole group. Jon had somehow understood and anticipated those days, and had come up with some reason he had to go early, asking Martin if he’d wanted to join. They hadn’t said much when it had been just the two of them, nothing important, but that had sort of been the point, hadn’t it? It was a nice memory, anyway, and Martin was glad he had it now. He wondered if Jon had remembered it yet.

***

Lunch was pleasant enough, if a little bit awkward. Martin hadn’t spent much time with Sasha, at least not compared to how much time he’d spent with Tim, and he could tell she was being careful with him. She was polite, keeping the conversation easy, deliberately avoiding topics that held anything other than surface interest. After he finished eating, he decided to ask her some things he’d been wondering about, and hoped she’d chalk up anything strange about it to him being a little thrown off from last week.

“Sasha,” he asked, setting his fork down, “do you—like being the head archivist?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, leaning toward him slightly over their table.

“Do you like it? Is it a good job? Is it—is it how you thought it would be?”

Sasha crossed her arms in thought. “Well, I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, the Magnus Institute has its issues, I suppose. It’s an academic joke, of course, but it’s not like the respect of my peers was ever that important to me.” She laughed at herself. “And some of our benefactors are… well, a bit full of themselves? But I suppose that’s true anywhere. I am quite happy with the job security, and it pays well enough for what it is. Plus I’m actually using my degree, which is more than I can say for most of my classmates.”

“Have you ever—wanted to leave?”

Sasha frowned slightly. “No—no, not really. Why?”

“No reason,” Martin said as casually as he could. He couldn’t exactly say just wondering if you’re trapped here. “Just been doing some thinking, I guess.”

“Well,” Sasha said, “I’ll admit the job’s felt a little bit different lately. Hard to say exactly how… I guess I’ve been struggling a bit with—well, I’m still not sure how to handle the—incidents, I suppose? It doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’m responsible for the people who come here to talk to us. Like I should be keeping track of their stories, somehow. I just don’t know what to do with them. Honestly, I’ve just started asking them to write everything down. I feel bad, but I just can’t listen to some of them. I’ll have nightmares.”

“Oh. They’re still coming in, then?”

“Sometimes. Not every day, but enough.”

“I—I didn’t know. Does Jon know?”

“He’s been there for a few, yes.”

Martin took a few sips of water. Jon hadn’t mentioned that specifically, but it probably wasn’t anything.

“What about—what about Elias? He doesn’t seem too fond of the Institute. Why does he stay?”

“You’ll have to ask Tim,” Sasha said, poking at what was left of her salad with her fork again. “They’re best friends.”

Tim laughed. “We are not best friends. However, I do think you should spend a little more time with him outside of work. You’re missing out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on.” Tim poked her arm playfully with the tines of his fork, and she batted him away. “He and Allan are a trip.”

“Exactly,” she replied.

“What I meant was, they’re funny. Especially Elias.” He turned to Martin. “Now the key to understanding him is to recognize that he has money—and also that he hates money, even though he has no idea how to function without it. And people with money, he especially hates. But at some point, I suppose, his father wore him down, and he has now accepted his position in life with as little grace and composure as he can.”

Martin thought back to what little he knew about Elias Bouchard, the actual Elias Bouchard, from his own world. “That… makes sense, actually.”

“And it makes him a pain in the ass when I need something,” Sasha added. “But on the positive side—he does leave me alone to do my job, for the most part.”

Martin remembered Allan’s name too; Martin remembered he had died after finding an old book. “So Allan is—his roommate?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “That, Martin, is none of our business.”

“What?” Martin was genuinely confused before he realized what Tim was getting at. “Oh—oh god, no, I didn’t—”

“However,” Tim interrupted him, “if you find out let me know, because I believe Sasha will owe me 10 quid on that day.”

“Doubtful,” Sasha said, grinning over the phone she was now scrolling through. “Very doubtful.”

Martin could feel his face turning red, so he was grateful for the distraction when Sasha leaned forward with her phone.

“Speaking of working at the Magnus Institute—look at this,” she said, attempting to angle the phone so both Martin and Tim could see at once. “I cannot get over how much she’s enjoying her retirement. I never thought she’d leave, but then it was like she was just up and done one day, and she never looked back.”

It took Martin a moment to understand what she was showing them, but it was a picture of Gertrude Robinson—a Facebook picture. He might not have known it was her, if it wasn’t for the name posted above it. The biggest difference was that in every picture he’d ever seen of her, she’d been wearing her hair in the same tightly-pulled grey bun; here, she was wearing her hair down, and it flowed softly past her shoulders. The next most obvious difference was he didn’t think he’d ever seen her smiling in a picture before, and she looked quite happy in this one, drink in hand, next to an equally-cheerful looking older man who had been holding up the phone to snap the photo. The caption read catching up with an old friend.

Sasha pointed at Martin to emphasize his surprised reaction. “See, that’s what I’m saying. I guess you just never know.”

“Who—who’s in the picture with her?” Martin asked.

“Oh right, I forget you never met him in person. That’s Jurgen Leitner.” She shook her head. “I didn’t think she was that fond of him, really. Must be another retirement thing.”

Jurgen Leitner—what was his connection to the Institute here? It’s not like he would have been living in the tunnels, there was just no—

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The Leitner Room. In this world, the Magnus Institute was home to every book Jurgen Leitner had ever collected. He had collected them, of course, only his library had never been destroyed because there was nothing to make that happen. When he’d decided to downsize in his later life—when he didn’t feel quite the same sense of pride in them—the archives had been the perfect home for his books. Of course, up until now, it meant nothing except a new collection and a nice endowment for the Institute.

What did it mean now?

“Are you ok?” Sasha asked. “You look—”

“You look like you just got run over,” Tim finished.

“Sorry.” Martin pulled his hand away from his mouth; he hadn’t even realized he had put it there. “I just—I just remembered something. It’s, um…”

“Do you need to get back?” Sasha asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Martin answered, apologizing with his voice. “Yeah, if you don’t mind. You can stay, if you want—”

“No, I’m done.” Tim took one more drink to empty his glass. “Sasha?”

She shrugged. “I’m ready.”

“Thanks,” Martin said. “I—there’s something I need to take care of for Jon.”

***

After they got back, Martin tried to look busy at his desk, hoping they’d think that he was taking care of whatever it was online. He took the opportunity to review the records in the system, and was comforted to note that nothing in the Leitner group currently had any special notations connected to it. All of the books were, at least in principle, on the shelves, and no one had requested access to any of them. He’d been hoping that was why his attention hadn’t been drawn to any of them previously, and it seemed like he’d lucked out. It was an obscure collection, and there were a lot of restrictions on them at Jurgen Leitner’s request; not just anyone could come in and browse them, and only a very specific set of research purposes qualified for special permission to remove them from the library.

He relaxed a little, and then waited for an opportunity to leave the office without attracting attention. He had to wait a while, but eventually Rosie came in with something for Sasha to review. A moment later Sasha called Tim in to her office, and Martin took the opportunity to leave. He just didn’t see a reason to risk drawing anyone else’s attention to the Leitners, especially since it seemed they were all but forgotten as they were.

He walked out past Rosie’s desk and back into the stacks; the room really was quite out of the way, buried deep in a corner of the shelving units. It wasn’t a large room, and if you weren’t looking for it, it would have been easy to miss. Even the sign above the door, emblazoned with the word Leitner, was barely distinguishable from the metal door frame behind it. The room was kept locked, but as an archival assistant Martin had a copy of the key. He held his breath and turned it.

Walking into the room was anticlimactic; it didn’t feel like much. There was no threatening aura; there was no sense of danger. It felt like nothing more than a small room full of musty old books, like many other small rooms of musty old books Martin had been in before.

He took a quick look at some of the titles on the shelves. At first glance, he didn’t see any he had heard of before, but of course he hadn’t heard of most Leitners. He continued to look, straining his eyes at words written on faded spines, occasionally pulling one gingerly off the shelves to check the front cover; he just needed something to prove to himself he wasn’t overreacting. Finally he found one he knew: a thick, black paperback labeled The Boneturner’s Tale. Martin felt a shiver run down his back as he involuntarily jerked his hand away from it.

He closed the door to the room, locking it behind him, and pulled out his phone. Thankfully, he had service, and he immediately dialed Jon’s number.

“I ate,” Jon said when he picked up.

“No,” Martin said. “Well, yes, I’m glad, but—”

“Martin, are you—what’s going on?”

“I—I don’t know how to tell you this. I’m…” Getting Jon to remember for himself was going to be much easier than explaining it.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, I—well, all right. At lunch, Sasha showed us a picture of Gertrude Robinson. On Facebook.”

“Oh,” Jon sounded puzzled. “I knew she had retired, but I hadn’t thought to—”

“Well, that’s not it. She was with someone in the picture.”

“Who?”

Martin took a deep breath. “Jurgen Leitner.”

There was a prolonged silence before Jon spoke again. “Oh. God.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re there, aren’t you? Right now.”

“Yes. I’m—I’m not sure what I should do.”

“First, don’t touch anything.”

Martin didn’t respond.

“Ok—don’t touch anything else, then.”

“All right,” Martin said.

“Damn it. I should be there. I should be there with you.”

“No—no, it’s fine. I just—what should I do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I—ok, can I destroy them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like—” Martin swallowed. “Ok, I’m sure this isn’t the best idea, but—what if a fire were to start in here? Or—something?”

“Do not,” Jon commanded. “Martin Blackwood, I have never been more serious in my life, do not do anything of the sort.”

“Ok, ok,” Martin said. “I said it probably wasn’t a great idea—"

“Some of those books would—let’s just say burning them would not have the desired effect. Or wetting them down, or chopping them up, or—”

“All right, all right. I get it. I mean—that’s not surprising, I guess. So what do I do?”

“Did you check the system? Are any checked out, or reserved, or—?”

“No,” Martin answered. “I mean, yes, I checked the system, and they’re all—they’re all here, in theory. No one’s asked for any of them.”

“Ok.” Martin heard the relief he’d felt earlier echoed in Jon’s voice. “That—that’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jon spoke again.

“You’re—you’re not going to like this, but—I think you should go. For now.”

“And just leave them all here?”

“Yes. Believe me, I’m just as frustrated as you, but I don’t think there’s another option just yet. They’re relatively protected there, and hopefully they’ll continue to not draw attention.” He paused, and then added softly, “Right now, I just want you out of there.”

Martin sighed. “Right. Ok. Um… I guess… I can at least set up an alert so I get notified if anyone puts in a request?”

“That’s a good idea. And I’ll—I’ll keep thinking. Are you leaving yet?”

“Right after we get off the phone. Just in case. I don’t want to attract attention if someone else is down here.”

“All right. Message me when you’re back at your desk.”

“Sure.” Martin hung up, disappointed there wasn’t more to be done, but Jon was almost certainly right—it would be much too easy to do damage instead of prevent it, if he acted rashly.

Before he left though, he had one more thing he wanted to do.

***

That night, when Martin got home, he found Jon on the small balcony in back again; that was what he’d been hoping for. He grabbed the small metal trash bin out of the toilet in the hallway and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

“Martin,” Jon said, stamping out a cigarette in the ash tray on the small table as he stood up. “You startled me. You’re a bit early—we can go in.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to—I should have said something. Actually, I wanted to catch you out here. I brought you something.” He set the bin he’d brought out with him on the balcony, between the two of them.

“It’s a trash bin,” Jon observed.

“Well, that’s only part of it.” He picked up the lighter Jon had left on the table and handed it to him.

“If this is commentary on my smoking habit, I think the ash tray is big enough. Besides, I don’t plan to keep—”

“No—no, that’s not it. I don’t care about the smoking. Well, I don’t love it, but that’s really not it.” Martin sighed. “Look, I know you said not to touch anything in the Leitner Room, but—well, here.”

From behind his back, he brought out a small, square book; he could see Jon didn’t need to read the title to recognize it in the dim evening light.

“Martin,” he whispered. “I—”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t think, don’t open it. Just—take it. Burn it. This one should be fine. I can do it if you don’t want to.”

Jon reached a hand toward the book, running his fingers hesitantly over the scribbled black spider webs illustrating the otherwise plain white cover. He spoke as if he were in a dream. “Yes. I imagine this one would be ok.”

“Light it,” Martin encouraged him, reaching for the hand that held the lighter to pull it closer. “Now.”

It seemed too easy; he was afraid it wouldn’t catch, or that Jon would change his mind, or any number of other things would go wrong—but nothing did. The cardboard cover caught beautifully, the yellow-orange flame spreading elegantly out from the corner in less than a minute, swallowing the book front and back.

“Now let go,” Martin said, as the flame began to spread, and Jon nodded. They dropped it together into the trash bin, and Martin watched as the title words A Guest for Mr. Spider were consumed, slowly, letter by letter. They watched together, transfixed, until the fire burned itself out and all that was left was a smoking pile of ash.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me,” Jon said quietly. “Going through the shelves—taking it out—it could have been dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you said the web was probably still weak, and—” Martin reached for Jon’s arm. “Anyway, it’s done now.”

“Thank you,” Jon stepped carefully around the trash bin, and then his arms were around Martin’s waist and his face was in his chest. “Thank you.”

#the magnus archives #tma #mag pod #tma spoilers #jonmartin #tma fanfic #my writing

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is0gild · 3 years

Text

Ice Cream and Fire Oven Pizza - Bonus Chapter 1

Pairing: Elsa x Lea/Axel || Side Pairing: Riku x OC

Summary: Modern AU. She's an introvert ball of nerves who works at Ice Palace, a mall food court ice cream shop. He's the outgoing, sassy goofball who works at the Pizza Planet across the way. Hilarity, snark, and fluffy romcom hijinks ensue.

Word Count: 12,577

FIRST CHAPTER || PREVIOUS CHAPTER | | NEXT CHAPTER

Credit for super friggin’ cute and super friggin’ amazing cover art goes to the super friggin’ talented ky-jane here on tumblr!

"Do you think Kristoff is cute?" Anna asked, elbows propped on the table and chin in both hands as she watched the man in question from across the food court.

"You kiddin'? The dude's a hunkasaurus. Total dreamboat," Lea replied distractedly, not looking up from his current task. He was seated atop a different table, this one behind me, his feet perched to either side of me on the armrests of my chair as he played with my hair, slowly braiding and unbraiding it only to rebraid it again. "Better snap him up quick. If you don't slice yourself off a piece of that beefcake, I might beatcha to it."

My sister blew out an amused pft through her teeth as she looked over at him. "Sure, like he'd even give you the time of day."

"Oh-ho, trust me. If I wanted that boy, I'd have him."

"Anna," I sighed, interjecting myself back into the conversation. "Focus, please."

She blinked owlishly back at me, clearly having already forgotten my question. Or quite possibly not even having heard it in the first place. "...on…?" she asked at last, dragging the word out uncertainly.

I exhaled softly. "About Mother and Father?"

Her eyes darted to the left as she squinted and tried, "As in… do they think Kristoff is cute?"

My eyelids drooped and I gave a flat, "No."

Today found me with not one visitor on my lunch break, but two. Lea came as little shock. Even though he had the day off, he'd lately taken to doing his homework here in the food court whenever I was on the clock. That way, he could spend my lunches with me, not to mention score free ice cream throughout the day. Anna, on the other hand, had been an unexpected surprise, but always a welcome one of course. However, it was quickly becoming apparent that it probably wasn't really me she'd come to see.

Not if the way she kept eyeing my coworker as he ran the ice cream counter was any indication.

It'd been a few weeks now since her rather explosive breakup with Hans. Given that she normally got over past boyfriends in under a day, maybe two tops, the fact that it'd taken her this long to quit moping over him said something. But it seemed at long last she was back to her old, perky self again and all but wearing a "cute, single and ready to mingle" sandwich board sign. And apparently it was Kristoff's lucky day, for it seemed my sister had set her mingle-crosshairs on him as her latest conquest.

I didn't know whether to congratulate the guy or tell him to run. My sister would eat him alive.

Anna was now staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to elaborate. I bit my bottom lip, looking down as my fingers absently began to trace the snowflake pattern of my stockings. "I just… I was wondering… how Mother and Father were doing, that's all."

I'd still yet to speak to them since the little blowout at their house the weekend of Grandfather's birthday. If they weren't going to contact me, I certainly wasn't going to make any effort to reach out to them either. Still, I couldn't deny that it weighed on me a bit. I'd mostly been trying to keep my mind off it, trying to distract myself by throwing all my attention and energy into rehearsals.

She frowned then puffed out a heavy breath, causing her lips to flap. "Ya know, I'm not sure really… Fine, I guess? The same? They're not really on speaking terms with me since they found out about me and Butthead."

If you couldn't guess, that was her oh so charming nickname for Hans now.

Not to mention the only name anyone was allowed to refer to him as in Anna's presence these days.

"Ah," I breathed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my work skirt. "...I see."

Her lips pursed to one side. "Now that I think about it though… them and Grandpa haven't really been on speaking terms either lately. But no clue if that's so much as his choice or theirs."

"Oh? Huh…" my brow furrowed and my head tipped to one side.

What could it mean?

"You should talk to 'em, ya know," came Lea's low voice suddenly as he hunched down next to my ear.

A tiny scowl twisted my face as I glanced over at him. He quirked an eyebrow back at me from beneath my Ice Palace cap, which he was currently wearing backwards. I huffed and crossed my arms, "If they want to talk to me, they know where to find me."

He snorted and sat up straight once more, his fingers returning to gently combing through my hair, eliciting a tingle in my scalp that made me shiver. "Someone has to be the first one."

"Yeah. Them," I harrumphed.

Now he pressed his lips to the back of my head before his hand ruffled my bangs. "You can be so stubborn sometimes, ya know that?"

No comment.

"Right!" Anna was abruptly hopping up to her feet and pumping a fist as she set her determined eyes on Kristoff once more. "I'm gonna march up to that boy and work my magic! Prepare to have your socks knocked off, you big sexy manbeast!" She then smoothed a hand over her hair, tugged on the neckline of her dress to flash a little more cleavage, and took one confident step towards the Ice Palace.

That was as far as she got before, "Hold it!" A hand shot out to snag her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. "We need to talk to you."

Anna blinked down at the offending hand, then at its owner, Rayne. She'd just shown up with a grinning and waving Kairi at her side.

Where'd they come from? I hadn't even seen either of them approaching.

"...me?" Anna asked, pointing at herself as both eyebrows flew up her forehead.

My roomie nodded then turned her eyes towards me to clarify, "Both of you."

Huh. This now brought the count up to four people dropping by to see me on my lunch break today. Never before had I been in such high demand.

Had I become, dare I say it… popular?

Dear god, I hope not!

Rayne's gaze narrowed on Lea. "Beat it, Red. This doesn't concern you."

"You beat it!" Lea shot back as his arms hugged me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. He made a small hmph that I more felt than heard as he rested his chin atop my head, "This is my El Time. You're not allowed to cut in on it, you live with her."

She rolled her eyes. "You two have plans together tonight once her shift is over, right?"

"So?"

"So you can give up five minutes of your precious El Time for me and Kai here to have a quick chat with her. Now go on, shoo," she dismissed him with a bored flick of her wrist.

He grumbled, "Ugh, fine. Looks like the kiddos just punched in over at Pizza Planet, so guess I could go grace their sad existences with my glorious presence." Releasing me, he pulled my elastic band off his wrist so he could tie my hair back into its ponytail. Then he was nuzzling his face into my neck, planting a quick peck there before whispering in my ear, "Be back in a sec. You'll miss me, I know, but try to keep the tears in check, hm?"

In response, I turned my head to kiss him on the nose… followed by smothering his face with my hand and shoving him away. He sniggered, pushing himself off the table.

"Hope you're ready to have your ass curb stomped tomorrow, Organization scum," Kairi slyly smirked at him.

"Big talk coming from someone's who lost the last two years runnin' now, Princess twerp," he tugged down his left lower eyelid with his middle finger and razzed his tongue at her before turning and jogging off, still wearing my cap.

Eyes flicking back and forth between him and Kairi, Anna asked, "What was that about?"

"Laser tag," I grinned softly as my gaze followed Lea for a second before I reached back to tighten my ponytail and glanced at the rest of ladies once more. "It's practically all he's been talking about for the last week."

"Mm-hm," Kairi nodded as she and Rayne pulled up chairs to sit with us. "It's also what we want to talk to you about. We're here to recruit you two!"

My head rocked back slightly. Then my brows knit together as my eyes darted about. Uh, heh… no thanks! Checking my phone, I stood up quickly, "Er… would you look at the time? I'm due back from lunch! I should go cloc-"

"Sit!" Anna snagged my wrist and jerked me back down into my seat with a firm thud. "You still got at least another ten minutes, liar!"

"Snitch," I grumbled back.

Lifting her chin with a smug little smirk, she looked back at the other two. "Please, continue."

"You know Space Paranoids, right? The laser tag place here in the mall?" Rayne began, addressing Anna more so than me, seeing as how I already had some clue as to what was going on, thanks to Lea. "Well some years back, a buncha us rented the entire place out for like a whole day and it was a total blast. We all had so much fun that we decided to make it an annual thing. More and more kept joining every year and as people kept getting more and more competitive, it wasn't long before two official teams were formed. Lea's group calls themselves the Organization."

"Such a buncha dorks," Kairi shook her head with a snerk. Then she was pointing back and forth between her and Rayne, "Our team is way cooler. We're the Princesses."

Anna bit back a grin and cocked one eyebrow at my roommate. "The Princesses? Really?"

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, "Kai's idea. It stuck."

"Hey now. Princesses are cute and kick serious butt," Kairi cockily flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

"Anyway," Rayne chimed back in, "we thought this year those Organization losers were gonna have to forfeit because they were down two teammates that moved away recently. However, not only did those jerks manage to snag the mall security guards as replacements, but now we're down two people ourselves."

"Really? Who?" Anna eagerly leaned forward in her seat, thoroughly invested now.

"Me," she muttered, face twisting sourly as she gestured down to her belly. At five months along now, she was starting to look very much pregnant. She huffed indignantly, "Some people think it might not be safe for the baby."

By the tone of her voice, I was guessing "some people" included her husband.

"You are getting pretty big now, Ray-Ray," Anna snickered. "Maybe it's a good idea-"

"Shush!" she glared, striking up a finger in warning. "I get enough of that from Riku!"

Kairi spoke up once more, "Our other person who's out this time round is Ariel. She's got bronchitis."

I blinked. "Again?!"

"Again," she and Rayne groaned in unison. Kairi then beamed, clapping her hands together once, "That's where you two come in! Could ya please, please, pretty please help us outta this major jam here and top off our team? Whaddya say?"

"Sweet! Count us in!" Anna declared, excitedly balling her hands into fists in front of her chest.

"Correction. You can count her in," I touched Anna's shoulder, then placed a hand over my chest, "and me out."

Kairi's face fell, "But we need you!"

I snorted, "No you don't, I'm the last person you need. I've never played laser tag before. I've never even held a, uh… um…" I grimaced, floundering for the right word before saying lamely, "...laser… beam… shooter… thingie ever in my life!"

"You can just call it a gun, sweetie," Rayne cooed, reaching over to pat my hands.

"But that's the beauty of it! That doesn't matter! We don't need you to be good," Kairi argued before a tiny, wicked smile broke out across her face. "We just need you to take care of Lea."

My head tilted to the right as I frowned. "...Lea?"

Rayne nodded, "Yup! He's one of their best players, along with Xigbar and Saïx."

"Saïx?" I echoed, squinting at her. "You mean to tell me he's awake during the daytime for this?"

"There's three days a year that dude'll brave the sun, and our yearly laser tag game is one of those days. He takes it surprisingly seriously," Rayne explained solemnly.

Wrinkling my nose up at the ceiling, I inhaled and exhaled loudly. "I still don't understand how I'm supposed to help you with Lea, especially if he's as good as you say he is."

"Simple!" Kairi chirped. "You just need to keep him distracted! Mess with his head a lil. Throw him off his game just long enough for the rest of us to knock him outta the match early."

I furrowed my brow at her. "...and how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She gave me an impish wink. "Use your feminine wiles."

"My…?" A crease formed between my eyebrows now as I stared down at my lap. "...do I even have those?"

Kairi laughed, "Course you do! All girls have them."

"Yeah, even you, Sis!" Anna pinched my cheek. I shut one eye against it, swatting her hand away.

"Trust me, all Elsa has to do is exist around that boy and he's a total goner. He'll be eliminated so fast, he won't even know what hit him," Rayne muttered to Kairi, who nodded in agreement. Then my roomie was locking eyes with me once more, "So how 'bout it, sweetpea? Will you help us out?"

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. "I… uh…"

Anna nudged her shoulder with mine, "C'mon, Sis, pleeeeeeeease? I'm super friggin' pumped, this sounds like so much fun!"

Clasping my hands between hers, Kairi pleaded, "Help us, Elsa-Wan Kenobi! You're our only hope!"

"Well, I… er…"

Then they did it.

I was the victim of a triple-decker puppy-dog-eyes pout.

Perhaps I could have withstood one, even if it was Anna's. And maybe, just maybe I could've even resisted the combined force of two. But three?

I defy anyone to say no to that.

Shoulders slumping, I gave a long drawn out sigh. "...what time tomorrow?"

All three of them threw up their hands and cheered. After they took a few seconds to settle back down, Kairi said, "Don't worry, we'll get all the deets to you soon! And remember, you're our ace in the hole. Our secret weapon!"

A tiny gulp. "I am?"

"Yup! So don't breathe a single word of this to Lea!"

And breathe a word I did not. Thus, the next day…

"What the…? Oh, hell no!"

At Lea's outburst, I glanced towards him as Kairi, Anna and I walked out into the Space Paranoids lobby. We'd just been freshly geared up with blasters, half-helmets and vests - and by vests, I meant small, impossible-to-hit (at least I thought so anyway) targets over our hearts held in place by glow-in-the-dark, suspender-like straps that latched back behind our shoulders where a second target was located. The helmets also had targets on them, as well as see-through plastic visors that covered our eyes.

The lobby seemed to be split by an invisible line, with what looked to be the Princesses grouped up together on one side and what I could only assume was the Organization on the other, given that Lea was standing with them as he glared daggers at Kairi from across the room. She merely shot him a cheeky smirk and called, "Problem, beanstalk?"

He marched over, crossing enemy lines to glare down his nose at the considerably shorter redhead. "Uh-uh. Nope. Not allowed. I call foul. Objection!"

She snorted, unconcerned as she checked her nails and shrugged. "Dunno what has your panties in such a twist, big guy. Care to enlighten me?"

He jabbed a finger in my direction while still directing his snarl at her, "Get her outta here. She's not part of this, find someone else."

Kairi scoffed, "There's nothing in the rules declaring girlfriends off limits. In fact, there are no rules."

"Well there should be! In fact, I'll draw some up right this damn second!" he huffed, tucking his blaster into the back of his pants before storming over to a counter, behind which a pasty-complexioned employee currently stood. Lea snatched a pen off the countertop before stomping back over to us, angrily jamming his hand into one of his pockets and fishing out something crumpled. Then he slammed it to the wall and attempted to smooth it (without much success), uncapped the pen with his teeth and began scrawling across it.

"Rule 1…" he enunciated as his pen furiously scribbled, "...no… girlfriends…" He paused, then amended, "or boyfriends…" Another pause, then he scribbled it all out and started over. "Rule 1… no… smooch-buddies…" he underlined those first two words three times before continuing," ...on opposite… teams. Period. That's it. That's all… the rules." His pen stabbed down hard with finality before he shoved the crinkled thing with his handwriting all over it in front of Kairi's face. "There. Rules. Happy?"

Kairi dully stared at what he was holding, unfazed. Then her eyelids drooped. "...that's a napkin."

Lea rolled his eyes, "So what? Doesn't make 'em any less ironclad!"

She gingerly took "the rules" from him, eyeing them with a thoughtful nod for a second. Then she looked him dead in the eye as she ripped them in two, forcing a horrified gasp out of him as the shredded halfs fluttered to the ground. "Sorry, I don't recognize your napkin rules. She's playing, so suck it up."

He narrowed his eyes down at her. "I'm onto you. I know what you're doing."

"Oh? What, pray tell, is it that I'm doing?" she asked all sugar-sweet like.

His face pinched and there was a low, annoyed growl in his throat. Then he pointed two fingers at his eyes, then at her, then back and forth a few more times. "I see you, villain!" he hissed before turning away from her to address me now, his face and tone softening. "...can I talk to you real quick? Please?"

I fidgeted with my gun, struggling to keep a straight face after the sheer ridiculousness of the tiny spat I'd just witnessed, especially with them both wearing their little cheap, plastic helmets the whole time and looking absolutely absurd. At my nod, he slipped his hand into mine and led me over to an empty corner of the lobby where we could chat with some small amount of privacy.

"If those girls pressured you into doing this, you can ignore 'em, ya know," he told me quietly, shooting the Princesses one final scowl out of the corner of his eye. "You don't hafta do this if you don't want to."

I bit back a grin. He actually kind of looked adorable right now, sulking like an overgrown child behind that silly eye-visor he was wearing. It was hard to take him seriously. "It's okay. Really. I'll admit, I was a bit nervous and hesitant at first, but this also sounds like it might be kind of fun. It's fine. I want to play."

"But I don't want you to," he frowned, his fingers reaching out to idly fiddle with the tip of my braid. I don't think he even realized he was doing it. "...some of the guys don't hold back, El. Once that starting buzzer blasts, all bets are off and it can get pretty rough in there. You could get seriously hurt."

I slowly shook my head, "But the other girls-"

"-have played this before and know what they're getting into. You don't," he insisted.

I made a small hmph in my throat as my stubbornness began to spark. "How bad could it be? Really?" Glancing back towards the Princesses, I pointed out one of them in particular. "What about her, right there? She's, what… ten? Eleven years old? If you got grade schoolers playing, I think I'll be fine."

"She's one of their scariest players. Seriously, they hop that kid up on a mega shit ton of sugar from the Wonderland candy store until she's stark raving mad, then set her loose to wreak unholy hell in the laser tag grounds."

Huh. On second glance, the little girl did look twitchy. Almost freakishly so.

Sighing, I looked back up at Lea once more. "Look, I told Kairi and the others I would play, and that's what I'm going to do. I'd feel bad backing out now as I doubt they'd be able to replace me at the last second like this. I can take care of myself, you know. I promise I'll be careful, but I am doing this," I brought a comforting hand up to stroke his cheek, my eyes crinkling slightly. "So suck it up."

He snorted, dragging a hand along the nape of his neck and puffing out a heavy breath. "Fine, I guess I can't stop ya. But know this," he hunched down to my eye-level, tapping me lightly on the nose, "if we cross paths in there, don't think I'll go easy on ya."

"Good," I grinned back. "Neither will I."

"Oh-ho, pretty sure of ourselves, are we?" he smiled, rubbing a finger over his chin now. "In that case, care to put a lil wager on this?"

I turned my head to one side, shooting him some side-eye. "...I'm listening."

"How 'bout… whoever is the last one standing between the two of us, wins. And if I win…" his eyes hooded as he ducked down next to my ear, his voice silky and low as he continued, "...you ravage me senseless tonight. Maybe while wearing that lil mini skirt I like ya in so much."

My face warmed. Flirting was a part of relationships that I still wasn't fully accustomed to just yet. Hans had never really done it and it's not like I could simply brush it off as Lea's empty teasing anymore. Clearing my throat, I just asked, "And if I win?"

He gave a soft chuckle, nipping at my earlobe. "Then I'm the one who ravages you senseless."

A tiny smirk tugged at my lips. "...maybe while you're the one wearing the mini skirt?"

Lea shot up straight, eyes wide. Then he laughed, "Deal!"

I stared at him blankly. "I was joking."

"I wasn't. Be careful whatcha wish for," he singsonged, wagging a finger in my face. I merely drooped my eyelids at him and he snerked. Then his hand was cupping the back of my head, pulling me in for a sound kiss to the lips and murmuring, "Good luck."

"You too," my arms hugged his neck as I gave him a light peck in return. "You're going to need it."

"You have way too much confidence for someone who's never played before," he snorted and I just shrugged. Then we reluctantly parted and started making our way back to our respective teams.

I glanced around as I walked, getting a better look at the lobby. It had a very retro futuristic feel to it, what with all its hard angular lines that glowed neon blue and red decorating the walls, ceiling and floor. Even that pale employee behind the counter was dressed head-to-toe to match the room. His nametag read TRON - I had to wonder if that was an actual real name or (more likely) just the name he was assigned while on the job. On the wall beyond the two teams were a pair of doors, one that was dark grey and blue like the colors of the Princesses' helmets, while the other was white and red like the Organization's. I could only assume each group would enter through their matching door once the game was about to start.

Opposite the room from there was a wall made entirely of thick glass, through which could be seen the front desk where customers came in to sign up and pay for laser tag rounds. That area had several flatscreens hanging on the walls showing live feeds of various sections of the laser tag arena for onlookers to observe the match in realtime, so the place was currently packed with a small mob of people who'd come to watch our little face-off. It seemed this annual event drew quite the crowd.

While I didn't recognize most of the faces, there were a few familiar ones here and there. Aqua, Ventus, and Terra grouped together on one side… Yuffie and Leon on another… and over next to Sora, I could even spot Naminé there with a sketchpad in hand. I think she was drawing us players all decked out in our gear. And was that… Vanitas, of all people, trying to cozy up next to her? She seemed oblivious to him. Rayne, on the other hand, most definitely was not. She shoved her baby bump in between the two of them, forcing Vanitas to stumble back a step as she plucked Naminé's art pad from her hands and smacked the goth lord across the face with it. She then handed it back to Naminé, who just went back to sketching as if nothing had happened. Then Rayne was smiling and waving at me through the glass as Riku stepped up behind her to slip his arms around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder.

As I waved back and took my spot next to Anna with the rest of the girls, I heard a wry voice coming from the enemy team, "Trouble with the lil missus, Flamesilocks?"

"Bite me, Cyclops," Lea snapped as he rejoined his team, his sour mood apparently resurging.

"Heh. As if," that same smug voice shot back. It belonged to a tall man with a jagged scar on one cheek and an eyepatch that looked rather odd to say the least when paired with his helmet's visor. His long black and grey-streaked ponytail swished as he then bent low into a dramatic, mocking bow directed towards another guy with long silver hair who I recognized as the supervisor over at Cinema XIII. "If I may do the honors, oh illustrious leader?"

The man - presumably their team captain - said nothing, just gave an uninterested flick of his hand.

That was all the go-ahead Eyepatch needed. Raising his voice so both teams could hear, he called, "Alright, listen up, scrubs! For most of you, this ain't your first rodeo, but I'll give a quick rundown anyhow seeing as we have a few first-timers in the ranks today. Here's the short and skinny of it: This first round - as in the only round that really matters - is one shot, one kill. Meaning all it takes is one hit and," he smirked, dragging his thumb across his throat, "you're out. Luckily for you gals, friendly fire has been disabled. This is where we separate the real men from the thumb-suckers. And there are zero points this first match, so when all you pretty, pretty Princesses are KO'd-"

"When?" Kairi sneered, narrowing her eyes at him from across the room.

He flashed her a toothy grin. "You hard of hearing, Strawberry Shortcake? Must be all that glitter and unicorns jamming up your earholes. Yes, when all you ladies are down for the count," he jerked his thumb to his chest, "we win. And for any boohooers out there who wanna play by points and multiple lives, don't worry. All the matches after this one are wimp-friendly. But might I suggest instead of relying on those lame handicaps, you all just get good like me?" he puffed up his chest, planting one hand on his hip while twirling his blaster in the other.

Suddenly the target on his vest lit up red and started beeping loudly, indicating he'd been hit. His assailant - a chick on our team with long, wild, curly red hair - lowered her gun with a snort before roaring with laughter while several of the other girls joined in.

Eyepatch chuckled, "Nice potshot, Hotshot. Save it for the game."

I had to wonder if this guy was Xigbar - one of the Organization's three best players besides Lea and Saïx, or so I'd been told. He certainly seemed cocky enough, that was for sure. Then again, cocky didn't necessarily mean he was any good.

As I eyed the other Organization members, I spotted a few I recognized from around the mall. The team leader wasn't the only one from the movie theater - that kid with the emo haircut was there too. So was Larxene, the blonde chick sporting the funky hairdo. I'd finally had a chance to learn her name, seeing as how she was assistant director in the musical I'd joined. The director himself, Marluxia, was there too, as well as Demyx who was helping provide our play's music and who also worked at The Blue Sitar, if I was recalling correctly. Then there was Roxas and Xion, who were doing their best to perk up a still slightly pouty Lea. Saïx was near at hand to those three, although he seemed to be keeping to himself and concentrating… or more like… meditating? Maybe... honing for the upcoming match? Wow, he certainly did take this seriously!

Next in the lineup were the two mall security guards who I'd met that night I'd accidentally pushed The Anger Button on the soft serve/milkshake machine - their names were escaping me at the moment. And lastly, there were two blondes. The first one had a goatee and piercings and I believe I remembered seeing him working at the magic shop here at the mall. The other one wore his hair long and had a chilly expression. I don't think I'd noticed him around the mall ever. In any case, I suppose there was a chance one of them could be Xigbar too.

A siren blast suddenly blared out through the overheard speakers, making me jump as the team doors slid open. Whoops and hollers from the players filled the room as they all started shuffling into their corresponding doorways. Anna hooked her arm through mine, flashed me a grin and dragged me along to follow the others.

"Don't worry, big guy, we'll try to return her to you in one piece," Kairi gave Lea one last parting shot. In response, he merely flipped her the bird as he disappeared through his door and all the Princesses erupted into cackles.

Beyond the doorway was a long winding hallway that got darker and darker the deeper we went, the only light source now coming from those neon glowing lines above, below and all around us. The further in we got, the more it began to look like we had somehow found our way inside a ginormous computer from the 80s. Eventually it brought us to another big room that was decorated in nothing but blue lines - our team's HQ, if I had to take a guess. There were three more sealed doors that would probably lead out to the rest of the map once they opened up, with huge, light-up timers over each one counting down until the start of the match. We had less than five minutes.

Quick introductions were made - I actually knew a handful of the Princesses already. There was Snow White and Tiana, who were in the musical with me. Aurora, who I remembered from auditions. Belle from Friday night drinks at the 7th Heaven. Then some girls I recalled seeing around the mall and was just now getting to know their names: Cindy from The Glass Slipper, Jasmine from Cave of Wonders, and Rapunzel from Hair, Here, Everywhere - gosh, how was she not going to trip over all that hair of hers while she ran around playing laser tag?!

"And this," Kairi went on, gesturing towards the redhead who'd landed a hit on Xigbar earlier during his little speech, "is Merida from over at DunBroch Goods, the camping and sporting goods store. She's our best shot."

"You're damn right I am!" she declared proudly in a thick Scottish accent. "And I've been putting extra time in over at the archery range! All those scaffy dolts aren't gonna know what hit 'em!"

Next Kairi was nodding towards the little twitchy girl. "This here is Alice. She's Luxord's baby sister from over on the other team." I smiled and Anna began to wave, but Kairi grabbed her wrist and lowered it with a subtle shake of her head, whispering, "Try not to make eye contact."

Apparently lost in the sugar-rush sauce, Alice just gave another twitch.

"And last but most certainly not least, this is Kida from Atlantis Electronics," Kairi pointed to a girl with long white hair and a blue face tattoo who grinned big, "annnnnnd Moana from Heart of Te Fiti, the lil surf outlet we have here." The chick with a mane of frizzy black hair next to Kida wiggled her fingers in greeting.

"Right, that's everyone! Now, onto the plan of attack!" Kairi clapped her hands and rubbed them together with an evil gleam in her eyes. "Everyone knows their positions except for the newbies. Anna, stick close to Alice and Punzie."

"Got it!" my sister nodded before giving a tiny squeal and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Ahhh! I'm so excited!"

Kairi then looked to me, "As for you, you're with Merida and me. We'll keep you safe until we can track down your boy toy. Then it's all up to you to do your stuff!"

My forehead wrinkled. "My… stuff?"

"Ya know," she waggled her eyebrows at me. "Work that groove thang, girlfriend!"

...first it was feminine wiles. Now apparently I also had a "groove thang?"

I was learning so much about myself within the past twenty-four hours.

"Once you got him good and distracted and all puddy in your sweet lil hands, Merida and I will be sure to put him six feet under," Kairi smirked, squeezing one eye shut as she aimed her blaster and mimed firing it, shouting, "Blam!" before blowing the imaginary smoke away from the barrel and beaming.

"Blue combatants prepare to enter the Grid in sixty seconds," a synthesized female voice announced over the sound system.

Kairi glanced up at it, then added, "Now! Real fast before the game starts, let's show you ladies how these bad boys work!"

In the scant time we had remaining, Anna and I were given a quick rundown on how to aim and reload our guns. Then we broke into smaller groups that stood ready at each of the three doors that would soon open. As my teammates started giggling and counting down the final seconds in a loud chant, I swallowed hard.

All that confidence I'd been flaunting to Lea earlier? Yeah, nothing but talk. Now that the time was finally upon us, icy anxiety began to flood my veins and my free hand came up to twist at my braid. On its own, playing laser tag for the first time was scary enough since I really had no idea what I was doing. But all this talk tossed around about feminine wiles and, er… groove thangs? Wasn't helping. I wasn't sure if I could pull off what the Princesses were asking me to do.

...Rayne had said me just existing around Lea would trip him up. Maybe that would be enough? Maybe-

Another siren blast startled me once again and those big metallic doors slid open. Alice let loose a blood curdling war cry that was surprisingly loud for one so small before charging off out of her door. Anna mimicked her with a bellow of her own as she and Rapunzel raced after her. "Come on!" Kairi snagged my elbow and I staggered into a run between her and Merida as we exited through our own doorway with Moana and Kida bringing up the rear.

The place was an absolute maze inside. We took so many turns that it wasn't long before I was utterly lost and couldn't have found my way back to HQ if I'd even tried. Each new section we entered looked exactly the same as the last. It was all just dim lighting and those glowing blue, red, and now orange lines. Part of me was beginning to wonder if we were just running around in circles.

I could hear muffled shouts and digital blasts echoing from beyond the walls surrounding us, coming from somewhere that sounded far away and making me wonder just how big this map really was. Regardless, each zip and every zap that reached my ears had me flinching and almost stumbling over my own two feet as I ran. I was getting more and more on edge with every passing second.

Alright, Elsa, deep breath. In and out. Nothing to worry about. This is easy. This is fun, in fact… or so I'm told, anyway... Just relax and have a good time. It's a new experience. We like new experiences, right? New experiences are great. New experiences can be liberating. New experiences-

"Watch our backs!" Moana suddenly yelled.

I jolted and started to spin around to look back at her, "Wha-?"

She shoved me out of the way, getting us both around a corner to use for cover just as the sound of laser fire reverberated down the hallway we'd just come from. Breathing heavily, Moana gave me a firm nod and a fierce grin. "You're welcome!"

I just stared wide-eyed back at her, panting to catch my breath after all the running. Then she was ducking low and darting across to the other side of the hall, laying down cover fire as she went.

"Damn," Kairi hissed as she and the other two girls pressed their backs against the wall next to me. "How'd they get around behind us so fast?!"

"Embrace the nothingness!" someone roared from the other end of the hall before several blasts went off.

Returning fire, Moana called over to us, "Sounds like its Xemnas! He has someone else with him, but I can't quite make out-"

More rapid laser zaps cut her words off, followed by someone else snarling, "Grovel before me!"

Wait… I knew that voice… but no, there was just no possible way it could actually be-

"Crap," Kairi hissed, face turning stark white. "Saïx."

I stand corrected. Apparently, it could be and in fact was him.

Talk about being a completely different person! It seemed laser tag turned Saïx from Dr Jekyll into Mr Hyde.

As the gun fight grew louder around me, my heart began to pound in my ears, my knees shook, and my mouth went dry. I felt totally paralyzed and had to keep reminding myself that this was fun. Just... oodles and oodles of fun!

Oh dear, I was hyperventilating a bit…

...hyperventilating from all the fun, of course!

Kida was suddenly in front of me. I think she'd sensed my anxiety, because she was gripping my shoulder tightly and giving me a warm reassuring smile. "All will be well, Elsa," she told me calmly, soothingly… right before her face twisted ferociously as she leaned around the corner and shot off her blaster several times while letting loose a banshee shriek, making me flinch. Then she pulled back to reload and look me in the eye again, face serene once more. "Be not afraid."

...right. Okay. I came, I saw, I experienced… I'm done. Where's the exit to this ride? I want off.

To Kairi and Merida, Kida said, "The three of you keep going, find the target! Merida and I will keep them busy here and get them off your backs. Go!"

"Roger! Let's get outta here!" Kairi snatched my wrist, pulling me along with her. Merida shot off a few final blasts down the hallway behind us to help the other Princesses before dashing after us. I took one last look back to see Kida and Moana locked in a heated laser battle with our opponents before I lost sight of them as we took a sharp turn down a new corridor.

We hadn't been running for long when a tiny, red vertical slash lit up in the upper right corner of my visor. Huh… so these things had some kind of display built into them? But what did it-

The overhead speakers let out a long, resounding beep followed by that female announcer voice again, "Red combatant derezzed."

"Yes! We drew first blood! Take that, Organization trash!" Kairi crowed happily.

Ah, so the display was showing me a sort of… death count? I guess? I don't even know. There was a lot going on and I was just struggling to stay sane and-

"Freeze!" a new voice abruptly shouted.

So I did.

I froze.

Because, I mean, that's what you're supposed to do when someone yells that at you, right?

Apparently not. At least, not when you're playing laser tag.

"What are you- ugh, get down here!" Kairi was suddenly yanking me to the ground where she and Merida had dove for cover behind a low barrier just as I heard more blaster shots going off, presumably aimed right where I had just been standing like a deer caught in the headlights. Shaking her head at me, Kairi sighed, "Never fall for that. It's the oldest trick in the laser tag book. Vexen tries it every. Damn. Year."

As enemy fire abruptly died down, presumably so they could reload, Merida sprung up to her feet and released a torrent of zaps from her gun, roaring, "Choke on my laser, ye gutless, lily-livered bawbags!"

"Yeah! What she said!" Kairi popped up from our hiding spot as well to blast off a barrage herself.

Not wanting to feel left out and just now remembering I was in fact holding a gun that I'd all but forgotten about since the match started, I squeezed my eyes shut, lifted said gun up above the barricade and pulled the trigger, blindly firing several shots into the fray and hoping for the best.

Woo, look at me. I'm helping.

As my two teammates ducked back down to reload, Merida shouted, "Don't think I didn't see ye skulking behind that pylon, ye namby-pamby, scone-guzzling twat! Best get running with your tail tucked between those toothpicks ye call legs cuz we got ye outnumbered three to two!"

"My my, that does sound pretty grim for us, doesn't it?" a male, distinctly British voice called back. "But maybe the odds are more in our favor than you realize. By my count, we're the ones who have you outmanned four to three."

Merida and Kairi exchanged a look. Then Kairi scoffed, "You're bluffing!"

"Maybe… then again, maybe not… do you really want to roll the dice and risk it?"

Now Kairi lowered her voice so only we could hear her, "Definitely bluffing. Merida, let's go see if we can sneak around and get the drop on 'em." She then glanced towards me. "Stay here. I'll call out when it's safe for you to follow."

I blanched. "But-"

"You'll be fine, trust me. Just stay down, keep your back to this barricade, point your gun that way," she nodded towards the corridor we'd come from, "and pull the trigger if anything so much as moves. The advantage is yours from this position. We'll make it quick, so just keep your head down and wait for my signal." And with that, the two of them slipped off into the shadows and I quickly lost sight of them.

So I did as I was told. I stayed on the ground, knees hugged to my chest as I aimed my blaster and waited. There was a slight tremor to my fingers. The sound of blood rushing in my ears made it hard to hear much else.

Gosh, this was really just… so much fun.

It felt like an absolute eternity, but it was probably only seconds before I heard the fighting break out from beyond the barrier I was using for cover. Sounded like the girls had found them, as their maniacal laughter mingled with the digital blasts filling the air. Then Kairi was yelling, "We got 'em on the run! C'mon, Elsa!"

Jerking at the sound of my name, I scrambled to stand only to catch my foot on something and crash back down to the floor hard.

Ow.

Elsa, Queen of Grace and Dexterity.

Picking myself back up and dusting off the knees of my leggings, I ran towards where I'd heard her voice coming from…

...only to find no one there.

The area was completely empty except for me.

Fudge, they'd probably gone chasing after Vexen and that British guy, thinking I was right behind them. Which I would have been if I hadn't tripped over my own two friggin' feet. Worst still, I had no clue where they'd gone and three different archways to choose from.

Now what, oh Nimble One?

...should I just wait here and hope they come back for me? That'd probably be the smartest call. Better than blindly picking a direction to run off in and getting myself even more lost.

Several far-off blasts from behind me made me wince.

...then again, I was standing out in the open and an easy target. Maybe it would be better to just select a path, start running, and hope the next person I came across would be one of my teammates. But now, how to choose which way to go?

Eeny… meeny… miny…

More laser fire went off from behind, this time closer and making my heart leap up into my throat.

Screw it, that one, just go!

I didn't even know which hallway I'd picked, I just took off and didn't look back. My feet propelled me forward, not hesitating whenever new forks in the road appeared. I'd just take a turn on impulse and keep going. A left here, a right there, and another right. Far too soon however, I was puffing for breath. I couldn't keep this pace up, I needed a break.

As I slowed to a walk, sweating and chest heaving, I held my gun up at the ready. I was jumpy as I crept along now, twitching at every distant hollar, laugh, or laser burst. Something rattled behind me and I gasped, spinning on my heel and jerking my blaster around to point at… nothing. I narrowed my eyes and kept my weapon aimed behind me as I started inching backwards, heart jackhammering and breathing shallow.

If anyone was back there, they certainly weren't going to get the jump on me! No sir! I was vigilant. My eyes were keen, like that of a hawk! No one was going to be sneaking up on me, nuh-uh, not today, not-

"Pssssst."

The sudden low noise in my ear sent a chill running up my spine, making me yelp and nearly drop my gun. My hands desperately fumbled it for a second before catching it at last and I whipped around to target-

"Lea?!" I squeaked out.

Quite valiantly, I might add.

He'd already leapt back to put some space between us with his own weapon trained on the target over my heart.

So there we were. Locked in a mortal standoff. Our fated clash to the death would soon be upon us. You could all but hear the-

"You're holding your gun backwards, ya know," he said flatly, eyelids drooping.

...so I was. Heh… oopsie. I hastily corrected it, almost dropping it again before managing to direct the barrel at Lea instead of myself.

Now where was I...? Ah, that's right!

So there we were. Locked in a mortal standoff. Our fated clash to the death would soon be upon us. You could all but hear that whistling tune that plays in cowboy movies right before a pair of desperados have a shootout. Only one of us would be walking away the victor here.

...was it wrong that I was starting to relax and feel comforted by Lea's presence?

Yes. Yes it was. He was the enemy! And I had a job to do! To be fair, that job had only just been to play decoy while somebody else took him out. But seeing as how I was the only one here, looks like I'd just been promoted to executioner.

But now, how to get that killing blow? It wasn't just as simple as shooting. I could see the way he was warily watching me. I knew the second I started to squeeze my trigger finger, Lea'd be dodging out of the line of fire and then it'd be curtains for me. I had to catch him off guard first, distract him somehow or-

Ah-ha! This was it! The moment we'd all been waiting for! It was my time to shine!

Alright, feminine wiles… go!

...aaaaaany time now.

Hmmm… nothing.

Alright, you're up, groove thang. Care to take a crack at it?

...I'll take your silence as a no.

Well, fudge. Now what?

...wait! Hold on… something was possibly stirring…

Yes, I think I might be feeling a feminine wile coming on!

Oh yeah. This was definitely it. Get ready, here it comes…

I clicked my tongue and winked at him.

Nailed it.

Lea blinked at me. Then he snerked and choked back a laugh, shaking his head, "What was that?"

I hesitated, shifting my feet awkwardly. "...my, uh... my feminine wiles?"

Now he spluttered, struggling to keep his gun pointed at me. "El. Sugar-darlin'. Honey-boo. I adore you, you know I do. I worship the very ground you walk on and think you're smart, gorgeous, perfect and God's gift to all mankind. But babe… you wouldn't know a feminine wile if one came right up to you and bit you on the nose."

My spine snapped straight and I blushed. "I would too! I… I have feminine wiles!"

"Uh-huh, sure ya do. By the way," he pointed at a spot behind me, "what's that?"

I rolled my eyes at him, "You really expect me to fall for-"

In the blink of an eye, he'd kicked my blaster out of my hands and sent it clattering to the ground.

Huh. Guess he didn't even need me to fall for it. Apparently it was enough for me to just be irked at him for thinking me so easily tricked.

Crud, he was way better at this whole distraction thing than I was.

"Say goodnight, babydoll," he smirked, aiming his weapon at the target on my chest once again. I held my breath, screwed my eyes shut, twisted my face into a grimace, balled my hands at my sides and waited. Any second now, my target would vibrate and beep, announcing I'd been hit and taken out.

...only nothing was happening.

Why was nothing happening?

Slowly, I creaked one eye open. Lea was still standing there, still with his gun pointed at me… but for some reason, he hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Gone was the smug look on his face, now replaced with a tiny, sour frown. He grit his teeth angrily, his blaster wavering slightly before he lowered it and growled, "Goddamnit!" Then he ducked down and snatched my gun up off the floor, holstering it into the waistband of his pants at his hip.

I cocked my head at him. "Lea? What are you-"

That's as far as I got before he was then picking me up by the waist and flopping me over his shoulder like a rag doll. With one hand maintaining a grip on my legs to keep me secure while still holding his weapon in the other, he took off running.

I grabbed at the back of his shirt to prop myself up and turned my head so I could yell at him, "Just what exactly do you think you're doing?!"

He didn't break stride, just kept speeding straight ahead. "What's it look like I'm doing? I'm taking you hostage!"

"But that's not how the game is played!" I snapped back, making a grab for a metal bar sticking out of one of the walls as we rushed past, my fingers latching on.

He stumbled and nearly toppled over backwards, but caught himself. "Shit! Leggo, you lil..." he pried my fingers free before taking off again. "And I can play the game however I damn well like! Deal with it!"

Huffing out a grumbling breath, I just hung my head and let myself be carried off to wherever it was that he was taking me.

Turned out to be the Organization's HQ. I mean, that was my best guess anyway by the look of it, considering how similar it was to the Princess's HQ. The only difference was there were nothing but glowing red lines decorating every surface in here instead of blue.

"Now what?" I heard a voice unhappily mutter. Sounded like Larxene but I couldn't see her to verify, not with ninety percent of my vision being filled up by Lea's upside down backside and the other ten percent taken up by a lovely view of the floor.

"Whaddya mean, now what? What are you guys still doing in here?" Lea asked as he slid me off his shoulder and unceremoniously plopped me down onto one of the benches that lined the inside of the HQ's walls. I started to stand back up, but Lea narrowed his eyes at me and held a finger up in front of my face, "Ah-Ah!"

I sighed through my nose but stayed put, crossing my arms and slouching down into my seat.

Now that I could see the rest of the room better, I was able to confirm that it was indeed Larxene who'd spoken, with Marluxia in here as well. Larxene quirked an eyebrow at me but apparently decided not to comment just yet, instead opting to answer Lea's question. "We're trying to drag this dumb loser off his lazy ass and get him out into the fight," she ground out through her teeth, pointing at-

Oh! Apparently Demyx was in here too! Almost didn't spot him cowering behind that column over there.

Lea groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Crap, this again? He does this every damn year! We seriously need to stop recruiting him!"

"That's what I keep saying!" Demyx piped up. Or rather, his voice did. The guy himself remained in hiding.

"Dude. Why do you bother signing up every year if you don't even wanna play?" Lea shook his head.

"Because Larxene always threatens to taze me until my nose lights up brighter than Rudolph's if I don't," he whimpered, just barely poking his head out now. Then he seemed to spot me for the first time. "Oh! Hey Elsa!" he waved cheerily.

"Hi Demyx," I mumbled, returning a halfhearted wave myself.

Larxene slammed the sole of her boot against the column, making him squeak and hide again. She snarled, "This fuckwit's actually a halfway decent player whenever we finally manage to chase the damn baby out of his hidey-hole and-"

"Lea! There you are!" Roxas suddenly came barreling in through one of the doors, his sneakers skidding to a stop as he doubled over, wheezing for breath. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Xion was hot on his heels, stumbling to a halt beside him and huffing, "You shouldn't have run off on your own like that! Why'd you come back- oh, hey there, Elsa!" she blinked at me in surprise, tilting her head slightly. "What are you doing here?"

Marluxia settled his cool gaze on me, "Yes… why indeed?"

Larxene pulled a face and spat, "Ugh, Firecracker! Please tell me you didn't sneak back here so you could make out with your little girlfriend! You seriously need to stop thinking below the belt all the time!"

"Agreed," Marluxia nodded with a frown. "You should learn to show some decorum. Xemnas will be most displeased when he finds out you were squandering precious game time to nurture your budding romance."

Shaking his head and rapidly waving his hands back and forth in front of him, Lea said, "Guys, guys, it's not- Ah!" he exclaimed the last syllable in warning to me as I tried to get up again to tiptoe off. Placing a hand on my shoulder and pushing me back down firmly into my seat, he addressed the others again, "It's not like that! I just-"

"We don't have time for this!" Xion cut in. "Why is half our team just chilling back here at the base? Get all your butts out there before everyone else gets slaughtered!"

Lea batted his hand through the air, "It's fine, Xigbar's out there! That psycho could take out the whole other team solo with one hand tied behind his back!"

As if on cue, two blue slashes suddenly lit up in the upper left corner of my visor opposite of the red one from earlier. Overhead, that synthesized female voice announced, "Blue combatant derezzed," twice, one for each mark.

"See?" Lea pointed up towards the speakers triumphantly.

"Wait…" Roxas's brow furrowed. "...those were the first two kills our team's gotten… meaning…" he was eyeing me now.

"Son of a… she's not dead yet?! Firecracker, you dumbass!" Larxene hissed, whipping her blaster up and aiming it at me.

Lea was quick to jump between her and me, his hands shooting up in a placating gesture, "Woah now, easy there!"

Not lowering her weapon, she yelled, "The hell do you think you're doing, bringing her back here alive?! Just shoot her already!"

"C'mon, give her a break, it's her first time playing!" Lea argued back. "I just wanna make sure she has a good time! She can't do that if she gets eliminated right out the damn gate."

Larxene made a noise of disgust in her throat. "You are seriously whipped, numbnuts. What'd she do to get you to fold like a wet paper towel, just bat her lashes and pout and go," she poked a finger into her cheek and mockingly cooed, "pwease don't shoot me, I'm just a poor, defenseless widdle girl!"

My shoulders tensed and I snapped, "I most certainly did not-"

"Butt out, Princess! This is Organization business," Larxene growled.

Roxas sniggered as he flumped down beside me on the bench, "Ignore her, she's just cranky."

"Yeah, we lurve you," Xion sat down on my other side, beaming and making a heart with her hands.

Lea was rubbing the back of his head with his gun. "Look, I just wanted her to have fun, is that so wrong?"

A scoff erupted from Larxene. "Yeah, sure, cuz getting taken hostage is so much fun!"

"More fun than being dead in the first five minutes!"

She was glaring down at his hip now, something having caught her eye there apparently. "Wait a minute, is that…? For fuck's sake, you brought her gun too, bonehead?! The hell is the matter with you, are you trying to get us all shot?!"

Rolling his eyes, Lea brushed it off, "Relax, I won't let her get her hands back on it. I just didn't want it to get lost or totally busted and for them to charge her with some bullshit replacement fee for the thing. And trust me: me taking her hostage is a good thing."

Larxene fixed him with a dull stare. "...I think your brain is what's lost or totally busted."

"No, hear me out!" He tossed a hand in my direction, "El is valuable to the Princesses and they know she hasn't been eliminated yet. Once they realize we got her prisoner, they're gonna make stupid moves trying to get her back. They'll be easy pickings!"

"It would seem to me that you're the one making stupid moves," Marluxia deadpanned.

Lea snapped his fingers and tapped his nose, "Exactly! That's why the Princesses'll want her back! To make sure she stays in the game and messing with my head! But if we keep her here and alive, then I'm less likely to screw up while the Princesses keep tripping all over themselves trynta to rescue her! It's a win-win!"

The silence stretched for a bit. Then Larxene sidestepped so she could point her blaster at me again, "I'm just gonna shoot her."

As Lea moved to block her again, Marluxia placed a hand on her weapon and gently pushed it down. "No, let's hold off. His plan, ridiculous as it may be, holds some merit. Let's see how it plays out."

Larxene wrinkled her nose and gaped. "You have got to be shitting me." However, Marluxia's stern look brooked no argument. Curling her lip with a tch, she grumbled, "Fine, whatever. But you!" She marched up to Lea, stabbing her finger into his chest several times, "This is your dumb idea, so your stupid ass gets to be the one to watch her!"

"Lea has so just earned himself a date with Larxene's taser after the match," Xion whispered with a giggle.

Roxas snerked under his breath as he looked to me, "Hope you like your boyfriends with enough electricity coursing through 'em to power a small toaster oven."

"What are you two twerps snickering about?!" Larxene turned her wrath on the pair of them now and they both yelped. "Get off your asses, get out there and bring me those Princesses' heads on pikes or don't come back all!" They leapt up to their feet and bolted out of there as if their lives depended on it. Which, let's face it… they very well might've.

Now Larxene's dark scowl zeroed in on the column that Demyx was using for cover as she snarled, "And you!" A terrified squeak could be heard from beyond the pillar. Muttering a long string of curse words, Larxene stomped over and disappeared behind it as well. Then there was a high-pitched scream before Demyx tore out of the base like a bat out of hell. Re-emerging and dusting her hands together, Larxene smirked with a satisfied sigh, "I do so love being part of a team. The feeling of encouraging and uplifting my fellow players can be so rewarding."

Retrieving her blaster from where she'd tucked it into the top of her pants, she glanced to Marluxia and jerked her chin towards one of the doorways. "Now let's go snuff out some Princesses!" However, as she was moving past Lea, she stopped to narrow her eyes at him. "...swear to god, Firecracker, if we lose because of your bullshit here, I'll-"

"Yeah, yeah, my head will be the one on a pike, I get it! Will ya just beat it already?" Lea lazily shooed her away with his gun.

She glowered but said nothing more, simply stepped outside the door and waited for Marluxia. As for Marluxia himself, he walked over to Lea and fixed him with a hard stare. "I trust when the proper time comes, you won't hesitate to pull the trigger," he told him, shooting a meaningful look my way out of the corner of his eye.

"Not for a heartbeat," Lea waved a dismissive hand. Marluxia squinted at him. "What, I won't! I hate losing just as much as you do, Mr Bubble Yum!"

If Marluxia felt reassured, he didn't show it. Regardless, he faced me now. "No hard feelings, of course. See you at rehearsal tomorrow."

"...looking forward to it," I muttered back as he slipped out the doorway to join Larxene, the two of them stealthily sprinting off.

Now that it was just down to the two of us, Lea glanced towards me with a tiny frown. Then he looked away and readied his weapon, poising it in front of him. He began patrolling from one HQ door to the next, keeping an eye out for any foolhardy, would-be rescuers.

The minutes slowly ticked by. Save for the occasional announcement whenever another player had been derezzed, the silence was absolute. Were this any other time, Lea would probably be cuddling up close to me and delightedly chatting my ear off. But not now. Not while there was a laser tag game to be won. Apparently, laser tag was very serious business. At least, if his expression and posture as he stood guard right now were any indicators, that is.

After a time, I released a low sigh. If anyone was trying to come save me, they were certainly taking their sweet time about it. I felt restless. My muscles were stiff from sitting still for so long. So, I gave a small stretch and began to rise to my feet.

In a flash, Lea had his gun's crosshairs centered on me. "Hey, hey, hey! Plop that cute lil butt of yours back down, Missy!" he ordered, gesturing the barrel of his blaster down towards where I'd been seated.

I hitched my chin. "The bench is hard and uncomfortable. Just let me stand and stretch my legs for a min-" I took a step forward and I winced, a soft hiss escaping me. "Ah, my ankle!"

He blinked, then his eyelids drooped. "Please, that lame ol' trick? Nice try, but I wasn't born yesterday."

"It's not a trick, I think I'm really hurt!" I huffed. Then setting my lips into a grim line, I gingerly tested putting some weight on it. "...you must have smacked it against something while you were manhandling me earlier and- ow!" My ankle gave out and I stumbled forward.

Lea instinctively moved to catch me, his arms wrapping around my waist while mine latched around his neck for support. But then his eyes were immediately suspicious and his empty hand clasped protectively over where he had my weapon holstered.

I rolled my eyes at him with a scoff. "You actually think I would go to this much trouble if I were only faking it? All just to get my stupid gun back? Seriously?"

He continued watching me skeptically, his hand remaining steadfast over my blaster. "...maybe, maybe not. Jury's still out."

"Damn it, Lea, this really hurts!" I snapped at him.

I felt his muscles relax somewhat as he puffed out a breath, bringing his free hand up to ruffle at his hair now. "Then why ya standing on it, dummy? Go on, sit back down."

"No," I turned my head to one side with a tiny hmph. "I told you already, that bench is uncomfortable."

"Whaddya expect, it's a bench. You'll live," he laughed incredulously. Then he was carefully shifting me around, mindful of my ankle as he took a seat himself to demonstrate. "See? Perfectly fine. Now c'mon El, please, if you would just-"

I finally sat back down.

Right on his lap.

I felt him tense beneath me. Then he was shaking his head with a chuckle as he brought up his hand to tweak my nose, "Cheeky."

Slipping my arms back around his neck once more, I drew in a deep breath before giving a pleased little exhale. "Ah, much more comfy."

"I would hope so," one corner of his lips twitched up. Then he was setting his gun down on the bench beside him and readjusting me in his lap a bit so he could more easily reach down, gently feeling my ankle. I flinched, sucking in a little breath. His eyebrows knit together, "Sorry… hm, doesn't seem to be any swelling, so probably isn't sprained or fractured. Guessing it just got banged pretty good. Probably only gonna leave a nasty bruise."

My eyes crinkled as I watched him. "...it's sweet."

"What's that?" he asked absently, still cautiously inspecting my ankle.

"The way you always take care of me." I leaned in closer to murmur into his ear, "It's sweet."

Lea stiffened, then cleared his throat as he straightened back up in his seat and laughed sheepishly. "What can I say? Gotta make sure my lady's taken care of!"

I gave him a warm smile before resting my head on his shoulder, my arms hugging more tightly around him as I sighed against his neck with a soft, "Hmmm."

He shivered and echoed a low, "Hm?"

"Nothing really." My fingers began to lightly toy with the hairs at the nape of his neck as my lips brushed along the side of his throat. "Just trying to think of how I might show you my gratitude later."

"...well, I might have a… few suggestions…" There was a gruffness to his voice now as I felt his thumb idly stroking along the curve of my hip.

"Mm, I'd love to hear them," I hummed a quiet laugh as I trailed my hand down his chest, avoiding the target strapped to it as I went. Then I lifted my head once more to meet his gaze while using my other hand to press a fingertip to his lips, silencing him before he could answer me. "But first… told ya."

His eyes hooded as he playfully nipped at my finger before ducking his head down to press kisses to my jawline as he whispered, "Told me what?"

"That I have feminine wiles."

His whole body went rigid. "Motherfu-"

Too late. I already had my gun back, barrel directly up against the target over his heart. I pulled the trigger and-

"Red combatant derezzed."

"Ha!" I dropped the blaster and shot up to my feet, hopping up and down in triumph on my fine, healthy, and one hundred percent pain-free ankles. Lea groaned and slumped down in his seat, thumping the back of his head against the wall a few times. His moping only made victory taste all the more sweet. Giggling, I lightly clapped my hands a few times before holding my palms together, pressing my fingertips to my huge grin.

My tiny victory party of one was interrupted however as someone else suddenly came charging inside the base. I turned and gasped as their feet came to a screeching stop, revealing the person to be none other than that weirdo with the eyepatch.

He took one look at me, both eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "What the…?" Then with a bemused smirk, he aimed his weapon at me, "Oh-ho no, not on my watch. As if!" He fired and, well… as you could probably guess…

"Blue combatant derezzed."

With a self-satisfied snerk, Eyepatch twirled his gun and took off running once more, disappearing out the door opposite the one he'd come in through.

...well then.

My stint as a legendary, professional laser tag assassin supreme may have been brief, but it had been undeniably glorious.

"That was a cheap, dirty underhanded trick ya pulled," Lea said, pulling my attention back to him as he stood up and removed his helmet, shaking out his crimson spikes. Then his lips stretched into a crooked smile, "One I completely saw through, by the way."

I arched an eyebrow at him, biting back a small grin. "Oh really?"

Tucking his helmet under his arm, he then reached out to undo mine as well. "Mm-hm! You were as transparent as a soap bubble."

"If I was being so obvious, why'd you play along then?" I challenged, crossing my arms.

"Rather, the question you should be asking is... why wouldn't I play along?" He ruffled my bangs before offering me my helmet with a wink. "Never have I more thoroughly enjoyed being proven so totally wrong."

I felt heat creeping up the back of my neck as I took it from him, averting my gaze with a dignified sniff. "I don't believe you. I don't think you saw through it at all."

He snorted, scratching a finger behind his ear. "Alright, ya got me. Can't blame a guy for trynta salvage what lil dignity he has left! But damn, El, you've been holding out on me. Where've you been hiding those lil moves of yours this whole time?"

Rocking on my heels a bit, I mulled over it for a second. Honestly, I'd even surprised myself a bit there. Only reason I hadn't been blushing furiously the whole time was because I wasn't really here to fraternize - it'd just been a means to an end. I'd had a job to do. Finally, I gave a tiny shrug, "Suppose I just needed the right incentive."

"That incentive being making me eat crow on this most holy of battlefields that is laser tag."

I smiled brightly. "Bingo."

He crinkled his eyes at me, then sighed and dragged a hand across the nape of his neck. "Shit, the rest of the team is gonna be out for my blood when they find out 'bout this. We're talking torches, pitchforks, the whole nine damn yards." However, he was next flashing me that dimple of his as he retrieved both our weapons, holding them together in one hand. "Still, was definitely worth it for this lil revelation. I'm telling ya, never woulda thought you had it in you, especially not while we were entertaining an audience no less."

"An audience?" I repeated, frowning. Then I slowly shook my head, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you forget?" A half grin tugged at his lips as he pointed up at a corner of the ceiling where one of the arena's cameras could be spotted. "Big Brother's watching."

Just about every last drop of blood drained out of my face.

Fudge, the cameras! All over this damn arena! Feeding a live stream of events as they unfolded here back to anyone watching in the store front! And there had been a lot of people there, meaning…

...every single one of them had just had a front row seat for watching me seduce my boyfriend.

Bolting behind Lea to hide from the camera, my arms clutched around his waist as I buried my now roasting face into his back.

Oh, what I wouldn't give for the cold, sweet embrace of death right about now.

Laughing softly, Lea patted his hand over mine, weaving our fingers together but not removing it from where I still had it clasped against his stomach. "C'mon, we're not s'posed to linger this long after getting KO'd. Let's find a way out. Your adoring fans await."

Remaining firmly latched onto him from behind, I staggered as he began to lead us towards the nearest exit. "I don't think I can face any of them ever again," I muffled into his back. "I am never going to live this down."

"Well, we can hole up in one of the equipment rooms between matches, but that'll only buy you a lil time. Sooner or later they'll hafta kick us out when this place closes up for the night." As he pushed open a door beneath a glowing green EXIT sign, he glanced back at me over his shoulder with a smirk. "But you got bigger problems to worry 'bout now, boo."

I glanced back up at him, gnawing on my bottom lip. "...what do you mean?"

"Now that I know you've got feminine wiles, I'm gonna expect you to start using 'em more."

Author's Notes: It's the face-off of the century, the battle you've all been waiting for… Organization XIII vs The Princesses of Hearts! Gosh, now I want fanart of all of them decked out in laser tag gear and glaring each other down! Could look hella badass! Anyhoo, I think this chapter might have been even more jam-packed with references than that 7th Heaven chapter xD I went with OG Org as you can tell cuz, one, they're my fave incarnation of the Org, and two, let's face it… old man Xehanort would probably break a hip playing laser tag xD And of course, all the official Princesses of Hearts made an appearance, plus a few extras, any of which would get my vote for being one of the mystery New 7 Hearts that were never revealed in KH3! Minor fun fact: If you didn't recognize them, Xemnas's and Saïx's lines were direct battle quotes from the video games. I would've liked to have done the same for Vexen, but I couldn't figure out how to make any of his battle quotes fit, so I took the lame, cheesy way out by just having him shout "Freeze!" xD As for which team won this first match… Princesses finally managed to break the Organization's winning streak, woo! Yeah, Lea barely survived the wrath of his fellow teammates after their crushing defeat xD I was originally trying to figure out a way to fit this laser tag chapter into the main story, but decided in the end it would be more fun if Lea and Elsa were already a couple for it - certainly had more fun with the chapter's ending that way at least ;D

Thanks for reading, I super duper appreciate it! And an extra BIG thank you to those of you who’ve liked, reblogged, and followed so far, seeing those lil notifications always brings the biggest, goofiest smile to my face!

See ya next week for the next bonus chapter, which will have a lil more substance than this one xD Your clue phrase this time is... hair dye. What could that possibly have to do with next chapter?! Stay tuned and find out!

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

On a quick mission with Jason to deal with pirates in the Caribbean, Bruce finds himself ejected overboard and accidentally lost at sea. Being a castaway gives Bruce ample time to indulge in self-discovery and survivorman-ing, as Jason boats across Pit-green waters in search of this dumb, fine man.

Or, things go incredibly wrong for Bruce and Jason while out at sea, but with help from a dedicated boat captain, The Fellowship Of The Rings, and banana-leaf-pants, they're actually unstoppable.

Written for the @batfam-big-bang, beta’d by @kuraness, @sultcnah, and hassan, with art by @pikachica, @succulents-and-fairy-lights, and @mandolinplayer (thanks everyone)! Special shout-out to @setsailslash for being the wind beneath my wings.

And! Thanks to the mods for organising this massive, chaotic event c:

Please enjoy the first part of a story about a damp and determined Bat and the struggles a a dapper young man’s gotta face to save his dank ass dad 🙏

On tumblr below the cut c:

Pulling a disappearing act is something Bruce should be good at; he’s had years and years of practice by now sinking into the night. Keeping secrets is pretty important in being invisible too, which is why the files outlining the increasingly severe piracy problems in the Caribbean are so heavily encrypted they may as well not exist. After all, at any moment any of his children could be using the Batcomputer to do anything from figuring out how to topple a corrupt government remotely to buying an unreasonable number of chew toys for Ace, and given that they’re all so ridiculously nosy, a security breach is more a question of when rather than if .

Nosiness is a good trait for vigilante detectives, but it makes it hard to work covertly without tipping anyone off. International travel isn’t a good idea for anyone this deep into a pandemic, and while Bruce Wayne being an ass and swanning around the Bahamas in a yacht is pretty believable as far as cover stories go, he’s not keen to subject anyone else to the sort of vitriol that behaviour will garner.

So the plan is simple, with as few moving parts as possible. Three, maybe four days tops being loud and visible on his biggest, ugliest yacht in the hopes that pirates will decide to come after him, and then maybe a couple of days after that to dismantle the bulk of the operation after he’s tracked them back to their base. There’s less of a chance of failure than his usual work, but it still leaves him feeling uneasy.

It’s a long way away from Gotham, and he’s not exactly excited to leave, but his comfort’s not more important than a greater good. The League really does need to sort out a presence for Central America though, and that goes on his notes for the mission too.

So he had planned in secrecy so complete not even Alfred was informed, because Alfred can be notoriously casual in his flagrant betrayal if he disagrees with Bruce’s plans. He’s skulking around the cave at 11 AM on a Tuesday when most of the family is either at work or asleep, and half an hour later he’s climbing into a Beemer, ready to roll out. He has a moment of smug certainty that he’s gotten away with this before the door to the passenger’s side is ripped open, and Jason climbs in with a little battered suitcase, a pair of aviators that reflect metallic blue, a genuinely heinous red wig, and what can only be described as a noxious Hawaiian shirt.

Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever seen a shade of yellow so bright, but it’s now imprinted on the back of his eyeballs, so that’s that.

“Jason, what are you doing?”

Bruce doesn’t even know if he’s referring to Jason’s presence, his outfit, or his hair (oh god, his hair ).

“Tim was supposed to be the one to tail your ass on this mission, but he’s still way too concussed after last week’s fight with Clayface so he got pulled out.” Jason chucks his suitcase to the backseat and pulls his seatbelt on, still fastidious about traffic safety despite it all. “Then Dick wanted to sub in but Blüdhaven needs him more than you do right now. So they called in the big guns to look out for you, and when I get back everyone’s gonna owe me favours. Sounds like a damn good deal for a week of work.”

Favours are a currency way more important than cash within this family, but Bruce struggles to see how a few favours is worth a few days in the company of a man you loathe.

(All right, loathe may be a bit dramatic, but it’s how Bruce feels about himself in reference to Jason, and it’s mind-boggling that a boy can wake up in a coffin and be driven to lunacy by the Pit and still, somehow, end up in this car with him in an ugly shirt and an offer of support).

He decides against asking if Jason’s really going to be all right floating in a sea of green in bad company, and doesn’t make Jason leave. It’s the rule of things; if he fails to out-sneak his children, he must deal with their demands, because it’s the only way he could get them to agree to his more paranoid measures in return.

So Bruce makes an effort not to think about it, in spite of himself, and gets the car in gear.

It really is looking like a damn good deal for a week of work; with good company, how badly can things go wrong?

Karma really wants to make him eat his words.

Years and years on the job, near-death experiences well past a hundred by now, active involvement in everything from petty theft to intergalactic peace missions, and it’s a little incredible that this is somehow the first time he’s been held at gunpoint while wearing the skimpiest pair of Speedos he could force up his thighs.

A billion dollars for a dressing gown, Bruce thinks but very carefully doesn’t say to the pirates who have commandeered the yacht. It’s all part of the plan, minus his questionable outfit.

Whoever’s manning the screens at the Cave is likely having a grand old laugh right now, but if it’s Stephanie he hopes she realises that he is using her trick with waterproof concealer and translucent powder to hide his scars, and it’s working like a charm. The Speedo was meant to feed the paparazzis that are currently stalking him in their little fishing boats that are weighed down with telephoto lenses, and L’Oreal 24 Hour Max Hold Extra Dewy Outlast! Long-Wearing Concealer makes him look happily whole from 40 yards.

He hadn’t expected the pirates to come on the one day he had planned to parade in front of the paps, but luck is a lady and it looks like Bruce just will not be getting lucky tonight.

The leader of the gang is yelling at the captain, clearly assuming Bruce cannot speak Spanish and isn’t worth speaking to regardless, which is fair. The leader is also standing far, far too close for a man without a facemask in these sickly times, and Bruce makes a show of tripping over nothing and landing in between Pirate Captain and Captain Luis, building space in between them. Half a dozen vaccine trials down, he’s as close to confidently immune as he can be, so he just strikes an entirely embarrassing pose and grins up at Mr. Pirate. “Sorry, sorry, not every day you get hijacked. Listen, you,” he waves at the assembled gang of ne’er-do-wells, “take my stuff,” he waves to indicate every gaudy expensive thing not nailed down in this frankly ghastly ship, “and leave us alone, okay?”

It’s tempting fate to be extra loud and extra slow like he’s talking to somebody extra dumb, but eyes on him are eyes off civilians, so that’s what he does.

It’s the point of information-gathering with the entire force of his Bruce Wayne Billionaire Playboy personality after all, even if Jason hasn’t stopped mocking him relentlessly for his outfits and table manners and affect (and so on and so forth) every time he breaks into the Master Cabin to help cover up Bruce’s many, many back scars.

The Pirate Captain appears to not appreciate being spoken to like a concussed toddler, and backhands Bruce right across the cheek. Bruce dutifully sets his tooth in so that he gets a dramatically split lip, and tries to look suitably cowed as he wonders about the man’s hand hygiene. Where is Jason, anyways? The standard response in this situation would be to evacuate civilians to safety, and even if the captain is currently stuck with Bruce, hopefully the stewards and the cooks are being shown to the panic room. It’s only in doubt because it’s a Thursday, and Thursdays are Jimmy-the-steward-boy’s day off. What that means is that Jason is likely in his bunk listening to audiobooks while half-asleep, and if it’s the Lord of the Rings and Jason’s hit a particularly engaging part, they could be firing cannons on deck and he wouldn’t hear.

It’s still fine, probably. Jason’s good at showing up when you least expect him.

There’s enough pride and bull-headedness in Bruce’s veins that he still officially objects to having back-up whenever he follows a case abroad, but times like these it’s really hard to feel anything but grateful that his children don’t trust him not to get himself killed in suitably dramatic ways as soon as he leaves Gotham. It’s even easier to feel glad that he and Jason have gotten good enough with each other that laid up on the ground of his yacht with blood in his mouth, Bruce knows that everything’s going to be alright.

“Please,” he says, and his voice trills like a well-trained bird, “please don’t hurt me. I have so much money, if that’s what you want. Somebody just needs to call my PA, we can do a transfer right now.” Oh, good, the captain is slowly backing away while all eyes are on Bruce and his tiny swimwear.

Thank you, Stephanie, for recommending a concealer that doesn’t even smudge as he dramatically cowers on the ground. The captain’s taken shelter behind the big outdoor dining table, a sturdy, immovable beast made of aluminium, and Bruce has a semi-circle of reasonably menacing men he could potentially incapacitate without definitely dying. Things are looking up already.

Pirate Captain (Pirate King? Pirate Lord? Pirate Admiral? Who knows how a hierarchy works for the lawless, after all) is barking orders for one of his men to handcuff Bruce and move him over to their boat, because this is now a kidnapping-for-ransom situation. In casual dress, Bruce wouldn’t have minded it much; there’s enough untraceable kit in his average pair of slacks to get him out of most situations.

Again, the cursed Speedos are hugely, disproportionately problematic despite their actual size. At least there’s the tracker and the lockpicks in his watch, because thankfully no one questions why a rich man who is mostly nude would be decked out in a fantastically expensive watch.

A gangly boy who can’t possibly be much older than 20 hauls him to his feet and starts to tie his hands behind his back, which is fine. The boy also deftly unbuckles Bruce’s watch and sleight-of-hands it away, presumably into the pocket of his beaten up jeans, and that is decidedly less fine. Still, as long as the tracker remains in his vicinity, it won’t take much effort for him to be found.

Things are still on track, even if they’ve gone off the rails an alarming number of times since he woke up this morning and nicked his face while shaving for the first time in, oh, a decade? More? Hopefully there’ll be a sack or something he can fashion into a tunic on the pirate boat; he doesn’t imagine this entire ordeal will outlast his long-lasting concealer, and given that the yacht’s currently bobbing in the ocean somewhere between Nassau and Port-au-Prince, help’s not far away (so long as Jason has also called the Coast Guard and is not still in his bunk, listening to Gandalf telling an overlong story).

It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, until it’s not.

Honestly, Bruce takes worker well-being very seriously, whether it’s the COO of the Hong Kong branch of WE or the tired cab driver who inadvertently helped the Bat on an undercover case at 3:30 AM one morning. Fair pay, fair working conditions, every benefit that’s the industry standard and a few that he secretly encouraged the unions to demand. It’s a point of pride that people who work for him enjoy it, and it’s a way Bruce Wayne can help people in a way that Batman can’t even dream of.

It’s important that people who work for him are treated well; them becoming a little protective over him when some journo gets particularly nasty on Twitter is frankly rather sweet.

It’s significantly Less Okay that when they meet him in real life, ‘a little protective’ becomes ‘Captain Luis, seeing his bumbling dim-witted but ultimately not a bad guy boss getting carted away by pirates, finds strength from deep within himself to pick up a chair, start screaming, and try to bumrush half a dozen heavily armed men’.

Time slows down in times of crisis, thank god. Jason’s still nowhere to be seen, and reality narrows to Bruce running through every possible thing he could conceivably do to keep Luis safe. In the first fraction of a second, a trademark Bruce Wayne clumsy stumble is discarded as an option; two of the pirates already have their guns up. He doesn’t have smoke bombs or stun grenades or any of his million gadgets, and his hands are tied (literally and metaphorically), but playing dumb and letting Luis get shot to preserve his identity doesn’t even feature as an option.

And so, half a second after Luis starts his war cry, cracked voice and all, Bruce is actively working to dislocate his thumb to get out of his bindings, weight tipped forward in the hope that he can body slam half the men to the ground before they can get to their guns.

It doesn’t work; he gets shot in place of Luis, what feels like a clean through-and-through by the hip that hopefully missed anything particularly important. He does manage to bring a couple of the men nearest to him down with a heavy whumph , and little victories are still worth savouring even while lightly bleeding out on the ground.

He hears a lot of shouting, both from the direction of the pirate boat (reinforcements?) and from the grand double doors that lead to the inside dining room (reinforcements!) but he just keeps moving. Best case scenario, Luis knocked somebody out with one of the absolutely hideous chrome-and-leather chairs before beating a hasty retreat, and now Jason’s tag-teaming in for clean up.

Worst case scenario, he and Luis are about to be killed, and the news might be broken to his family by unflattering pap shots gone viral on Facebook. It’s an unbearable thought, so he doesn’t think, and just keeps moving around like an angry bull intent on sharing his displeasure.

There are a lot of gunshots, and something clips his ear as he knocks another man to the floor. While the pirate groans, Bruce headbutts him unconscious with a helping hand from the metal plates that help hold his skull in one piece. He thinks he hears Jason’s voice, but he knows Jay’s there for sure because no other weapon on Earth seems to crack the air quite like his Jerichos, and it’s like light at the end of a tunnel.

He hopes that Jason’s wearing some manner of face-covering; Bruce Wayne smashing a bunch of skinny pirates to the ground in a feat of great clumsiness and luck is entertaining enough to be acceptable, but a master marksman taking out a horde of sea-faring villains isn’t as likely to come off as normal.

Bruce doesn’t have the breathing room to turn around and check because more pirates are scrambling aboard with their own weight in weaponry, even if in his mind’s eye he imagines that Jason is wearing a pillowcase on his head with holes shot out for the eyes.

What an absurd quantity of guns. The number of ways Bruce hates the damned things is uncountable, and if Jason is actually on deck yelling blue murder in pyjamas, things can tip over from ‘scuffle’ into ‘bloodbath’ real damn quick.

Only one thing for it, then. He rolls away from a well-aimed kick and staggers to his feet, keeping his hands behind his back even though he’s worked his way free already. Pirate Captain man is angrily waving his rifle like he’s never known a day of joy in his life, but shooting Bruce might break the streak.

“Stop, stop!” Bruce shouts, aiming to look as non-threatening as a man who has mowed down a series of pirates can. “You can take me, just don’t hurt my staff.” Stand down, Jason , is implicit, while stand down, Luis , is implored.

It’s enough to get the man to bark for his men to stop shooting, as he tries to grab Bruce by the throat in a presumably threatening manner. This is what you get for modern-day piracy where there’s a lot less rigging and ropes and a lot more outboard engines; his grip strength is laughable, but Bruce gamely pretends to struggle to breathe anyway.

Pirate Captain hauls Bruce towards the cluster of his men, looking smug before he turns Bruce to let him see the wreckage of the outdoor lounge of the yacht. It’s bullet-riddled and messed up, but this far from the engine and the bridge, the damage is almost exclusively cosmetic. Thankfully Luis seems relatively whole even if he’s got the remains of a chair leg in his hands and a snarl twisting his face, and so does Jason. No pillowcase head-covering, unfortunately, but his steward-boy curly ginger wig is on and his oversized sleeping t-shirt is bulked out in a suspiciously bulletproof-vest shaped mass (thank God).

There are headphones hanging around Jay’s neck, so Bruce assumes he’d gotten it right about the morning lie-in and audiobook listening. Even mid-emergency, it’s still a rare, nice feeling to see that he knows Jason well enough to guess at least this correctly. Bruce tries to communicate with his eyes that everyone just needs to calm down and let him be taken. Pirates don’t tend to shoot billionaires dead, what with the invisible hand of the free market ensuring trigger discipline and all that, so it’s fine. They can rescue him afterwards, and there’s always help to be had. Superman might be off-world at present and Aquaman might take his own sweet time because he’s a sea king moonlighting as a massive asshole, but as long as no one gets hurt badly, a delay doesn’t matter to Bruce.

Jason’s scowling, but he does point his guns down. There’s hope yet that this is going to end relatively bloodlessly, but then the Pirate Captain lets his little victory get to his head. He’s got Bruce in an ineffective chokehold, and now he’s chuckling and waving his gun around and telling Jason that you’re not so confident now that we’ve got your boss, huh?

Even at a distance, Bruce can see that Jason is just barely holding on to his temper, jaw tight and teeth clenched. Having close to a foot over his captor and a hell of a lot of muscle mass on top, the ‘chokehold’ registers more like a messy cuddle, so it’s fine.

It’s all fine.

Until, of course, it isn’t.

Because Pirate Captain isn’t completely done flexing, because he takes it into his head to further press his advantage and slam the point home, he holds the muzzle of his rifle to Bruce’s temple, and shouts bang!

And of course Bruce has been held hostage before, of course he’s had weapons brandished in front of his face, of course there’s nothing exceptionally terrible about this situation when compared to the dozens of exceptionally terrible situations he’s been stuck in.

It’s just that he’s always, always hated guns, and he particularly hates guns held to people’s heads (a goddamn mystery why), and it’s just a little beyond what he considers tolerable, to find himself on the other side of a situation where a parent is about to be shot in the head in front of their child.

It’s something he’ll be ashamed about for the rest of forever, but hindsight’s 20/20 and not even an iron will could stop the tiniest of flinches when the thought of Jason’s going to have to see me die and he isn’t even the one pulling the trigger goes through his head at great speed.

It’s a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment, but Jason hadn’t blinked, and it’s just that inch too far.

Lord, if Luis had been fearsome before, then Jason picking up a steak knife from the dining table and throwing it so viciously, so hatefully that it goes right through the back of a pirate man’s hand is an absolute vision of terror. While Bruce gets the side of his face coated in blood (he’s pessimistically hoping it isn’t from an arterial flow), Jason is scooping up Luis and chucking him overboard. It feels like barely a second has passed from when the first splatter of blood had hit his cheek before Jason appears right in front of him, one hand holding both guns (cool-looking but hilariously ill-advised) while the other is wrapped around the bulky plastic case of the emergency life raft.

Someone tries to drag Bruce back, and the man is met with two gun butts to the nose with a resounding crack! . A moment after that and Jason has Bruce pulled behind him, wig askew and kicking a different man right in the family jewels. The Pirate Captain is screaming and waving at them even as Jason hustles Bruce towards one side of the ship, shoving a life jacket down over his head and tightening the straps before Bruce can get his hands through the armholes.

It is, clearly, on purpose. “Jason,” Bruce warns him, growling even as he keeps the name as quiet as he can. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason kicks a stack of sun loungers over to act as a barricade against the approaching pirates, but he’s completely unharried as he turns to look at Bruce. “B, you’re banged up to fuck and back, and these guys are just massive assholes who’ve been pillaging ships carrying aid during a goddamn pandemic. Your plan’s not working out, so I’m going to handle it my way. Just go hang out in the water for a while, okay,” Jason pauses and shoots over the top of the mass of wood, before ducking down to reload. “On God, I’ll swab the decks clean-ish before I pull you back up. That’s my plan.”

An errant chair arm by Jason’s side explodes into splinters from the return fire, and it’s getting really hard to avoid kill shots in order to have a civil conversation. They’re running out of time, and Bruce knows , knows without a shadow of a single doubt that this is restraint and thoughtfulness and care from Jason, to hold back on what he thinks is right just because he knows Bruce doesn’t like to see a case devolve into death. There’s also a chance that the gun to his head shook both of them up more than they want to admit. This could well be a really touching moment for everyone involved.

But a dozen pirates are advancing, and more than wanting to stop Jason from murdering a bunch of people, Bruce simply refuses to let him face this alone, so he just shakes his head and starts trying to work his way out of the vest.

Unfortunately, it’s at about the same time the pirates decide to go on an all-out siege, running towards them and knocking the stack of chairs over in their haste. Bruce doesn’t have time to think, just steps forward so that he can body block Jason and hope that polyethylene foam can take a shot or 12.

Jason disagrees with this course of action, and he makes it exceedingly clear. One moment Bruce is standing firm between his son and almost-certain death, and the next he finds himself being flung over the side of the yacht, Jason executing a frankly gorgeous Judo throw. A blob of bright orange follows him down, the instant raft deploying in midair.

“Fly, you fucking fool!” Jason screams at him, and Bruce’s last thought before he hits the water and the hard outer shell of the raft hits him in the head, is that he was right.

Jason had been listening to the Lord of the Rings.

(And Bruce is really regretting leaving the Shire).

It’s going to be a hell of a story to tell the gang; hijinx on the high seas, and if Jason can convince Bruce to take a picture of him looking suitably pensive while the sea breeze flutters his hair and open shirt, they’ll have a cover for the book deal that inevitably follows Jimmy the Red-Haired Steward’s dramatic rescue of literal billionaire Bruce Wayne.

It’s almost anti-climactic in the end; he sends Bruce overboard and is polite enough to chuck a raft down with him so that the man won’t have to find out that not even Steph’s go-to brand of makeup can stand up to the open ocean, and minus an overbearing parent idiotically trying to take bullets for him, Jason’s free to just go right the hell off.

By his count, there must be close to 20 pirates now, and just one of him.

Damn, what fun odds. He knocks out 4 guys the moment they pass his barricade, and they definitely won’t be dying from those wounds. There’s a slightly messier kerfuffle when he kicks a tabletop off its legs and flings it at the guy who thought setting off a rocket-launcher in a luxury yacht is a good idea, and casualties from that are self-inflicted, so there’s no sweating it.

A half hour of screaming and shooting later, and at this point he’s just showing off when he leaps off the upper deck and gets a trick shot out into the knee of the man with the biggest rifle. At the end of it there’s a lot of moaning and groaning on the ground, there’s blood everywhere, and barring rocket-man, the Pirate Captain’s still the worst off because a serrated steak knife thrown at high speed will do a number on anyone. It’s exactly what he deserves.

Jason putters about securing the pirates with fishing line, and shoves handkerchiefs into the deeper wounds as he does a headcount and takes deep pride in having not killed anyone even though his temper’s the most frayed it’s been in a while (his history with bodies of water is bad and his track record with parental figures is even worse).

He leaves the captain tied up on the sun deck, because a sunburn’s the least the man deserves after holding a gun to Bruce’s head and being so proud of it. If Jason had trod on his hand a little heavily on his way off the deck, well. Some lessons just need to be worked in with some elbow grease.

Cleaning takes a while because B can be so damn picky about appearances , and it’s easier to do without the man himself anyways, so he doesn’t think twice about leaving Bruce to sulk in his floating inflatable tent while Jason works. When he hears noises from the pirate ship while he’s going around disarming all the weapons, he ends up finding a gaggle of kidnapped fishermen stuffed in the hold, and he wants to go step on the Pirate Captain’s hand all over again.

He frees the fishermen and moves them onto the yacht, where the staff who have crept out of the panic room with knives in their hands and murder in their hearts welcome the poor fucks and make them something hot to eat. Really, being a crusader’s a lot easier without Bruce’s presence, and it’s like a victory lap at this point. No one’s dead, even more people have been rescued than when they started, and the Coast Guard should be rolling in any minute.

Jason cannot wait to show off to B just how damn good he is at his job.

Everything wrapped up and a dozen shoulder-slaps from the crewmembers later, Jason makes his way down to the back of the yacht, where a platform can be lowered and the canoes and jet skis can be set out in the water. He’s fully expecting to see Luis hanging on to the ladder near there, with Bruce tethered like an errant puppy. Jason’s already grinning as the platform swings open with a quiet splash, but the sight that greets him isn’t one for smug eyes.

Luis is there, looking a little cold but ultimately quite calm and relaxed, and smiles when he sees him. “Jimmy!” Luis calls out, hauling himself up onto the platform and taking his shirt off to wring it dry. “You crazy bastard. I’m glad you’re okay! Is Mister Bruce also all right? The pirates are gone?” He eyes the bobbing pirate ship with great distrust, and overall gives the impression of a man ready to pick up a kayak oar and go to war.

Jason’s leaning as far off the platform as he can, craning his neck to try and see the bright orange floating raft. “Pirates are taken care of,” he tells Luis, and doesn’t let his unease show. “Everyone’s fine, but I threw Mister Bruce off the boat too, with the little tent raft. Did you not see him, captain?”

Luis shakes his head. “You must have thrown him overboard on the other side, Jimmy.” He turns a frightful shade of pale, and leans back out the yacht to help look. “Can Mister Bruce swim?”

Everyone in the family is an accomplished swimmer; for reasons that probably only make sense when you’re a paranoid patriarch, all of them had to prove that they could swim a mile in full gear before they were okayed to patrol close to the waterfront. It’s also common knowledge in a family with a collective competitive streak a mile wide that Bruce once rescued 3 full-grown adults in the open ocean while fully kitted out, so yeah.

“Yeah, he can swim.”

So why in the hell is he not right here?

Jason takes a deep breath, and reminds himself Bruce always has a tracker on him somewhere, so even if he was carried away by the waves, actually locating him shouldn’t be an issue. What’s more likely to be a pain in the ass is the Coast Guard boats plowing through the sea towards them. Jason’s cover as a steward is enough to fool local police, but if he’s pulled in for questioning re: owning and using his guns, it’s going to become A Problem.

A problem that would take a lot of time to handle, and that’s not something Jason’s got in spades if Bruce is missing.

Ah, shit. He’s going to have to call this in, and that’s not going to be possible in an itchy wig on a ship crawling with officers. It’s time for Jimmy to disappear, looks like.

He considers his options, and decides to just go with his gut. Luis seems like a good guy; civilians who step up in a life-or-death situation despite common sense telling them not to usually are. And compared to B, Jason’s always been quicker to trust, anyways.

“Listen, Luis,” he tells the man, face serious. “I’m actually Mister Bruce’s bodyguard. If he’s missing or drowning, I have to go find him. He’s…. like family.” Thank God that no one else is here to hear this. “But if the Coast Guard comes and takes us all in for questioning, I can’t start looking for him. Can you tell them I jumped in the sea after Mister Bruce, and to send people out to find us? I need to grab the tender and sneak off first; he’s been in the water for a while already now, so I just don’t have time to wait.”

Everything is probably completely fine, but you don’t live and then die and then be reborn and then continue to live as a successful vigilante by hanging your hat on ‘probably’. Jason’s itching to get on the little tender and check in with Alfred, but Luis covering for him would be really fucking helpful.

It feels real good when his instincts pay off. Luis doesn’t even bother saying ‘Yes’ and ‘Of course’; he’s already striding to the little box by the light switch that has the keys for all the gear, and after a quick rummage around he throws the boat’s keys to Jason.

“I’m going to believe you, Jimmy. Go find Mister Bruce, and I will tell the police how you saved us and why you left. Do you need anything more?”

Luis is just hitting homerun after homerun today, wow. Jason grins, and shakes his head. “I’m going to get my stuff from my bunk and climb out the porthole in the kitchen right onto the boat. See you when I see you, captain.”

And Jason’s gone.

Bruce comes to a couple of hours after his inauspicious disembarkation, if he’s judging the sun right. His face is an achy sunburned mess, but he supposes it’s preferable to being unconscious while facedown in water. He regains consciousness quietly and calmly, an extremely important skill when you are regularly abducted and knocked out, but when he cracks his eye open all he sees is the sea, all all of it.

He takes stock of the situation, and notes with some resignation that his yacht (the Pretty Penny, and worth every cent for the look on Alfred’s face) is nowhere in goddamn sight. He’s still cocooned in a life jacket, but luckily a loose buckle had wrapped around the ropes lining the life raft. It takes a bit of finessing, to work his way free and then haul himself up into the raft when he’s disorientated from being sunburned and injured and groggy, but he manages eventually.

The raft had managed to inflate all the way up, and the little tent provided blessed, blessed shade. If he was marooned on a liferaft with his children, or with a civilian, Bruce would be all action by now, cataloguing injuries and rummaging around to find what equipment they have. That’s just the exact right thing to do, in a survival situation.

But he isn’t marooned on a liferaft with anybody else. He’s by himself, his face feels like it’s on fire, he’s a little concussed, and he doesn’t know if everyone’s safe on the yacht. Instead of doing something meaningful, Bruce just groans and lays out as flat as he can get on the small raft, with his legs hanging off over the side.

Might as well get sunburnt knees, make a set of it.

It’s starting to feel like he’s just not meant to have a casual fun time out here in the Caribbean, and this far away from shore, nobody can hear him swear.

His legs are starting to sizzle a little by the time Bruce re-finds his will to survive, and he eventually drags himself upright, looks down to once again despair that he’s literally in swimwear and nothing else, and tugs out the dry bag filled with survival equipment tucked into a pocket near the back of the tent. He’s sure it’ll have much more kit than the average equipment bag, but because he can’t remember the last time he took it into his head to pack survival kits for non-Bat vehicles, everything is likely several years out of date.

As he digs around, any hope of finding a tracker that can ping! loud enough to alert the Batcave disappears. There’s a brick of a satellite phone, but failure to keep it well-maintained means the battery is completely flat, and trying to fix it in a bobbing liferaft that’s constantly letting water in…. ill-advised.

At least being in the Caribbean in the summer means that the current is more likely to have him drifting across the archipelago instead of sweeping him out to the Atlantic. Deserted islands are a dime a dozen here, and Bruce shudders at the thought that he might meet his end here, where it’s warm and sunny and beautiful, instead of bleeding out into a puddle of what might be rainwater or piss or both in a dark alley in Gotham, which is what he thematically deserves.

If only Alfred were here to hear him loudly think about his death after maybe 3 hours of being at sea with his own grim thoughts.

At least the kit bag reflects his personal preferences. Enough energy bars to keep a man physically functioning for at least 2 weeks, and half of them are white-chocolate-and-cranberry flavoured. There’s a rain poncho made of the same material his cape was about 5 years ago, which means it’s light and breathable and incredibly strong. He puts it on, because where Jason presumably gets power from wearing either leather or garish beachwear, Bruce unfortunately counts himself closer to goth than not, and a black raincoat is enough to make him feel at least marginally better.

He digs around some more and finds the usual suspects: a multi-tool with a blade sharp enough to gut a camel (tried! And tested!), 3 flare guns, a little floating solar still, a first aid kit that could keep you alive through increasingly alarming injuries, wax matches and some solid fuel, and a little tin mug that had some fishing line and a bunch of hooks. God, there’s even sun cream in here, and that’s as Classic Alfred as the tiny glass bottle of exquisite whiskey. The reach of one elderly butler’s tender loving care extends really alarmingly far, and Bruce salutes the sky in his honour before taking a carefully-rationed glug of Stranahan for moral support.

It burns smoothly down his throat, and it’s as close to a second wind as Bruce is likely to get out here. Bruce sets up the solar still and has it floating on a tether right by the raft, even if he’s got at best a couple of hours of daylight left. Dinner for the night is either a protein bar or fresh-caught fish if he can swing it, and the bottle of good whiskey needs to stretch for 2 weeks for the worst case survival scenario, because that’s around when Superman comes back from his off-world mission and can come play fetch.

Best case scenario, Jason’s going to pull up in the BatWing any moment now, and Bruce will gaze upon a hideous ginger wig and once again get to marvel at the miracle of Jason alive and coming at him.

The Batman hasn’t survived so long off the backs of best case scenarios though. Fantasy revelled in, Bruce starts divvying up his resources and makes his peace with potentially having his body be found in a poncho 3 months from now by deeply unlucky fishermen.

Hell of a legacy to leave for his children, but it’s better than pearls and a dark alleyway (he sure would have appreciated a larger bottle of whiskey).

Escape was the name of the game, so Jason doesn’t burn time on thinking, just grabs his supplies and steals the tender, gunning the engine and gone out of sight before the Coast Guard could board the Penny. It’s pretty hair-raising, literally; throttle opened to full he almost loses his wig to the whipping winds.

Fifteen minutes after separating from Captain Luis, Jason’s dropping anchor in a tiny lagoon and pulling out his Bat-issued laptop. First things first, he runs through all the trackers Bruce is most likely to have on him. No point in alerting HQ if Bruce just got washed ashore on a little beach a couple of miles away. He could do without the rest of the family calling him out for simultaneously being both Bruce’s back-up as well as the main reason Bruce is currently missing, thanks. There’s already plenty of self-recrimination going ‘round.

The internet’s pretty slow considering the private BatSatellite beaming it right down at him, but it only takes a few minutes before he’s run through the checklist of the dozen or so standard trackers Bruce could have chosen from. Almost everything is deactivated, probably because a mother-of-pearl button and a tie clip aren’t options that mesh with swimwear too often, but one of his watches is active and blinking a cheerful green from the other side of the island, moving swiftly towards land.

Jason thinks hell yeah! at the start but then logic comes a-calling; neither the current nor a very determined man could move that quickly, and the blip is moving in a straight line away from the yacht. He takes another look at the list, and groans when he realises that what likely happened was that Bruce’s shiny golden Rolex was liberated from him pre-getting-thrown-overboard, and is now likely enjoying a pleasant ride to Nassau in the pocket of some pirate on the Coast Guard’s ship.

“This is why I told him to get a goddamn belly button ring,” Jason shouts down at an errant starfish, who fundamentally does not care. Garish intimate jewelry work because they can stay on regardless of the state of undress, and because not even the most determined thugs tend to be super interested about groping around a man’s navel to get half an ounce of cheap tin and silver. An ugly piercing is by far the best option for discreet trackers.

Just classic goddamn Bruce; too good for gun violence, too good for tacky piercings, too good to just stay the hell still. Jason half-heartedly goes through the rest of the list, on the extremely off chance that Bruce slapped on the temporary tramp stamp with its special magnetic ink, or decided to opt for the cute anklet with dangling shells that’s a Cass design, but no go.

There’s not a blip anywhere, and if Bruce is really really lost at sea, time’s not something either of them have a whole lot of. Jason starts up the boat and decides to head right to the outermost chain of tiny islands, because the vital thing here is making sure that Bruce doesn’t get swept right out into the open ocean. One hand on the wheel, with the other he pops an earphone back in and presses a complicated code using the volume up/down buttons. It’s another few seconds of the Fellowship coming through before the comm connects, and it’s Alfred.

“How can I help, Master Jason?”

“How much of what went down did you catch, Agent A?”

“I must confess to a little chuckle when I saw Master Bruce being thrown overboard. The onboard cameras caught the rest of your fight, and may I just say, splendid aim with the steak knife. I doubt I could have done better myself.”

That’s a blatant lie if Jason’s ever heard one, but he’ll take it. “Thanks, Alfie. Thing is, uh. Thing is, I might have misplaced B.”

There’s a short pause, and Alfred’s voice comes back on with polite inquiry. “What do you mean by ‘misplaced’, Master Jason?”

“You saw me chuck B over and leave him a life raft, right? Yeah, well, when I went ‘round to do a pick-up, he was gone. And he doesn’t have any kit on him, so.” Urgh, this is going to live on in infamy. “So I might have lost Batman somewhere in the sea.”

There’s another pause, a little longer this time, filled with enough character that Jason can just imagine Alfred with his head tipped back, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to chase off a headache that has given him no peace presumably since B was born. “I see. Do you know if he is injured? Or if Master Bruce is missing as per some sort of plan?”

“Think he might have been grazed by a couple of bullets, but nothing life-threatening. And this could be a dick move that’s part of a bigger plan, Alfred, but he knows you’d be real passive-aggressive if he runs off without telling anyone. He pulls that kind of bullshit when things are apocalyptic, but it’s just a bunch of pirates not social-distancing.” Jason worries at his lower lip, and tries to feel more confident about the absence of serious injuries. “I don’t know, maybe he hit the water wrong and passed out and got swept out, or something. I just know I’m not leaving this as is.”

God literally save B if this does turn out to be some dumbfuck ploy to go off and Rambo a mission solo, that’s a Jason Todd guarantee right there.

“I believe not trusting Master Bruce to be all right is generally the right way of thinking, unfortunately.” Alfred sighs, and it comes off as static in the earpiece. “I will make some inquiries, and see what resources we have for a search and rescue mission. In the meantime, Master Jason, do what you think is best. Master Bruce may not have any of his usual equipment, but so long as he has the raft, he should survive for a good long while.”

Knowing how extremely over-prepared Bruce is in almost every aspect of his life, Jason wouldn’t be too surprised to know that all WE rafts came prepared with spear guns and a bar of solid gold. Best case scenario, he’ll find Bruce in time for dinner, and they can have an(other) awkward meal where Bruce does his damnedest to be inoffensive and haltingly the best father he can be, while Jason tries not to get ticked off by every third word out of the man’s mouth.

Jason tells Alfred that he’s going to whip out some maps and do a lap around all the tiny little cays that dot the sea to try and find Bruce, and half his head’s thinking about a memorial service where Clark will presumably burst into tears while stood in front of a casket that’s got a symbolic Speedo in it, and that’s how Bruce is going to go down in history, which is what he deserves.

The other half decides that now is a good time to remember how Bruce had once gone all-out on a search-and-rescue mission for Jason too, many many years ago, and oh, look how that turned out.

What a fucking feast or famine man.

Fishing is an accursed activity for accursed men. Bruce is somebody whose hobby slash raison d’etre involves getting dressed up in armour and perching on a gargoyle somewhere high up in an unmoving manner for hours at a time, and he still finds himself bored almost to tears by the lows and lowers of idly holding a fishing line in his hand, being convinced something has gotten hooked, and pulling up absolutely nothing (again and again and again).

It’s blissfully sundown by now and there’s no fresh fish on the menu, but he has a mouthful of fresh water thanks to the solar still, and he’s got half a protein bar in him for dinner. The moon’s nowhere near full and the stars are obscured; he’s completely enveloped in the kind of darkness that’s so, so foreign to a city like Gotham.

It’s all blackness as far as the eye can see, which is not very far, and all he has for company are his thoughts and the quiet splish splish splish of little waves pattering against the side of his raft.

It’s deeply unnerving even for Bruce, a man who has on occasion described himself as The Night. He has a fire starter and nothing to start a fire; he has a phone and no way to connect to anyone. He has a lot and very little all at once, and despite his best efforts, no amount of focus can get anything done .

So Bruce sits with his back to the opening of the little tent, and over the next couple of hours finds himself slumping and sliding lower, til his head is thrown back across the edge and all he sees is nothing.

Stoicism in the face of terrible odds is an important part of being the Batman, but Bruce has no cowl and no cape; he’s just him right now. As he stares at what may or may not be the North Star, he finds himself thinking about how dinner was supposed to be scallops and baked fish with a side of exquisite wine, and gently mourns just a little. If his luck held, Jason would have swung by later to help himself to the dessert tray that Bruce has delivered straight to his room, and he could have sat there and basked in the unending pleasure of Jay's healthy and hearty and whole company.

Instead, he’s stuck out at sea trying to guess how close or far away he is from 10:47 PM, which is the default time to throw up a signal in cases where a team’s been broken up. In Gotham, even if he didn’t have a watch or a phone or a comm unit or a car, he could usually guess the time down to 15 minutes, just based on which shops were open and which shops were closed, what buses were running and what colour the WE building was lit up to, by the presence or absence of the tinkly elevator music that accompanies the fountain light show in the main plaza.

Here, there’s nothing. The position of the planets would be a bit of a hint on a good day, but on a bad day with heavy clouds and a concussion he’s not confident Venus is real. The outdoors are a mistake, and laid out in a raft miles and miles away from the nearest cityscape Bruce feels homesickness so keenly he has to turn over and throw up a little bit.

At least the concussion is keeping him company.

The first hour after nightfall he had taken the initiative to just sit there and count time out, but there’s something spectacularly soul-sucking about counting down seconds. Bruce was somewhere in the 3000s when he came to the conclusion that he would rather not reinforce his concept of mortality by literally calling out each moment he comes closer to death, thanks. It’s been a while since he stopped counting, but time’s a mess in the absence of manmade context.

He’s also, shamefully, a mess in the absence of manmade context.

Bruce has 3 flares and a son out there somewhere looking for him. Having a predetermined time to launch a signal is not a fundamentally bad idea, but it’s not practical when out in the field, and right now he’s even willing to go so far so as to admit that using the time of his parents’ passing is both extremely grim and extremely unkind to all parties involved.

All factors considered, it’s as good a time as any to get the flare gun. If he’s lucky, Jason will be ‘round to pick him up in under an hour. If he’s less lucky, it might be a different band of roving pirates that come for him, though by this point the company of sun-dried criminals is greatly preferable to just his own.

If he’s really, really unlucky, the flare’ll explode big and bright up in the sky to the attention of absolutely no one, and when that happens Bruce can begin to doubt his reality as much as he doubts Venus’.

“Please let it not be 10:47,” he says in the vain hope that karma’s looking out for him as he sticks his upper body out the tent flaps and shoots at the sky.

The flare goes up straight and true and explodes into bright bright light, and all of this would be a thing to be happy about if the presence of light didn’t highlight the clear, helpless absence of everything else.

For the first time in a very long time, the fearsome big bad Bat of Gotham turns in early for the night, but nobody is even around to appreciate it.

(He will find out that it was, in fact, just around 9 when he shot off the flare, or just about 3000 seconds after the 3000 seconds he’d already counted.)

(The invention of time was a Mistake.)

[1/2]

#batfam big bang 2020 #batman #bruce wayne #jason todd #whale writing #the vibe is v much that specific kind of humid depressed u get in summer #when ur not feeling great but #the overwhelming presence of the sun tells your body to #keep on keeping on #anyways i love the sea thanks for coming to my community tedtalk

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

another kind of green (8/10)

Emma Swan spends her days in pretty white dresses and heavy layers of makeup. Day after day and dress after dress, she poses for pictures and acts like she’s in love and having the happiest day of her life with the man standing next to her.

It’s not. This is all a gig, and at the end of the day, she’s no longer the girl in the pretty dress who’s faking getting married for a magazine cover or a wedding convention. Instead, she’s the girl who probably never wants to get married.

Little does she know, she already is.

Rating: Mature

a/n: as always, this is for @xemmaloveskillianx as part of my fic giveaway, and this chapter is also for @carpedzem because I accidentally made her think I’d written some more of Indirect Deposit yesterday 🙈

ao3: beginning | current

Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

-/-

“I am so bloody exhausted that nothing could keep me awake.”

“Have you tried caffeine?”

“Three cups of coffee.”

“Ah,” Ariel sighs, “you need a nap. If three cups of coffee aren’t working, you’re beyond the point of caffeine helping.”

“Can’t nap,” Killian yawns, his eyes watering. “I’ve got to study these laws for my practical tomorrow and then head over to Emma’s.”

Ariel clicks her tongue.

“What, A?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She pauses, and unlike Ariel, Killian holds his tongue. She’s obviously about to tease the hell out of him. He knows that without even having to see her face. “It’s just that you’ve been spending a lot of time with Emma lately, and you’re going over to her apartment for her birthday. That seems like kind of a big deal.”

“Aren’t you also going over to her apartment for her birthday?”

“I am.”

“Well, you don’t see me making it a thing with you going.”

“That’s because I don’t have a thing for Emma.”

“I do not have a thing for Emma.”

“I wish you could see my face right now. I’m majorly rolling my eyes.”

“I can imagine it. I’ve seen it enough times.” Killian sighs and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes and pinching his nose with his free hand. “Emma and I are friends, and she mentioned the thing tonight that Mary Margaret and Ruby are having at her place. I was supposed to take her out for dinner anyways, so this kills two birds with one stone.”

“Wow. You’re such a romantic,” she jokes. “You should take her out for dinner anyway. She’d love that.”

“I will see you tonight, love,” Killian tells her as another yawn takes over. “Try not to be an asshole while we’re there.”

“No promises. You should bring her flowers. I can ask Mary Margaret what her favorites are for you.”

Ariel hangs up before he can protest, and he’s left sitting in the silence of his apartment. Will is at the bar working a double today, and it’s quieter than usual without his nagging and curses under his breath about every little thing. Killian’s thirty years old. He really shouldn’t still be living with a roommate, especially when he can afford his own place, but living on his own has always been few and far between.

After Liam died, his apartment felt barren and like it could never be full again. Everything was full of Liam from the items in the fridge to the novels on the shelf. When Milah moved in shortly afterward, the place had been full of Milah and her clothes and the smell of her perfume on every pillow in the place. He thought maybe, just maybe, having her around more would make the emptiness better. But then she’d left, and the only trace of her was the ring she left on the kitchen countertop.

Maybe he needs his own place where everything is his and his alone. That might be nice for a change.

Emma Swan: Did you know Boston is named after Boston, England? I feel like that’s a sign or something for you being here.

Killian snickers and drops his phone to his chest before picking it up.

Killian Jones: Why do you know that?

Emma Swan: I got a pamphlet listing fun facts about Boston with my lunch takeout.

Killian Jones: Fancy.

Emma Swan: I know. You still coming tonight?

Killian Jones: Aye.

Emma Swan: I’ll have to regale you with more facts about Boston.

Killian Jones: I look forward to it.

-/-

He brought her flowers like an idiot.

They’re lilies with a few other flowers and stems mixed in. Killian’s always enjoyed flowers, but he’s never taken the time to know anything more than the most basic of brands. He didn’t know what Emma liked, didn’t want to ask someone despite Ariel’s offer, but the damn thing was what put the idea in his head. Emma specifically said no gifts, but he showed up with a gift card to their smoothie place and flowers.

What the hell is this woman doing to him that he actually wants to do things like that again?

Possibly making him crazy while also driving him crazy with how she looks tonight.

Emma’s wearing a white sweater that dips down her back, showing the curve of her spine and the freckles on her back until it stops right over the curve off her ass that’s shown off by a pair of sinfully tight jeans. He’s not sure how the damn sweater is staying on or how she even managed to get those bloody jeans on. All he knows is she looks absolutely stunning, and if he stays in this apartment for much longer, he won’t be able to handle himself.

As if he’s fifteen and not thirty.

And there’s not a lot of places for him to look around. Emma lives in a studio apartment, and as spacious and open as it is, it is still one big room with what he assumes is a bathroom in the back.

What has he gotten himself into with this woman?

If he asks himself that question enough, maybe he’ll figure out an answer.

“If it isn’t the husband,” Ruby exclaims when she sees him, and Emma quickly turns around so he can see her face. It’s no less distracting than the view of her from behind. “Fancy you coming to your wife’s birthday party.”

“Is this going to be the joke we all make all night long?”

“You two got drunk and got married in Vegas. I have to make fun of it every single day. It’s the greatest thing.”

“For the record,” David starts, “I don’t think it’s the greatest thing.”

“David, right?”

“Yes.”

Killian sticks his hand out to shake David’s, but the man doesn’t take it. Instead he crosses his arms over his chest and stares Killian down. Well, this is certainly going great. His wife is obviously the nicer one.

“Oh my God,” Emma grumbles, walking over toward them and slapping the back of David’s head, “don’t be a dumbass. I’m an adult, you’re not my guardian, and every person in this room knows my history with Killian. We fucked, we drunkenly got married, and now I kick his ass on our morning runs. Does anyone have anything else they’d like to say?”

“I mean, I’d say that we made love, not – ” Emma turns to slap him this time, and he deserves it. He was fully expecting her to do that. In response, he dips down and brushes his lips over her cheek. “Happy birthday, Swan.”

“Thank you, asshole.”

“The flowers are for you.”

She takes them out of his hand and examines them, a small smile still pressed to her lips. “They’re beautiful and definitely against the no gift policy.”

“Cut the man some slack,” Ruby huffs. “He’s just trying to woo his wife with flowers.”

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret interrupts, “do you not have any plates?”

“Of course I have plates. They’re…shit. I don’t have enough plates. Someone text Ariel and ask her to pick some up before she gets here.”

“How do you not have enough plates for eight people?”

“I live by myself and don’t have much company. I don’t need eight plates.”

“You knew we were coming over.”

“I was also told that you would take care of everything since I didn’t want to do anything big to celebrate.”

“And I am, but pregnancy brain is a very real thing.”

“Your wife is pregnant, mate?” Killian asks David, not wanting to intrude on Mary Margaret’s conversation with Emma. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful!”

David is still studying him, and Killian might as well have committed some unspeakable crime. Eventually, though, the corners of his lips turn up. It’s very obviously got little to do with Killian, though, and everything to do with his love for his wife. “Thank you. We’re excited.”

“Alright, lover boy,” Ruby sighs as she wraps her arm around his shoulder, “I’m going to save you from David. Mulan wants to talk to you about how you’ve been keeping Emma out of her gym.”

“I feel like that’s not a safer conversation.”

“Oh, it’s definitely not. You were not smart for showing up here.”

He’s definitely in over his depth when it comes to all of Emma’s friends, and while David should terrify him the most, he thinks Ruby might take that crown.

“I’m starting to pick up on that.”

His life gets significantly easier when Ariel and Eric show up, especially since they come with a small bag of paper plates so everyone can start eating, and with more people there, less attention is on him. He rarely shies away from it, can usually handle it, but he doesn’t know Emma’s friends enough to be truly comfortable with it all.

That is until everyone – except Mary Margaret of course – gets a drink or two into them and is full of lasagna and overly sweet cake. They all settle in Emma’s living room area, Ariel and Eric on two barstools from the kitchen, Ruby and Mulan sitting on the bed, Mary Margaret and David sharing an oversized chair, and he and Emma sitting on her couch. Emma’s got her feet curled underneath her and her head propped up in her hand. She looks relaxed, comfortable even, and it’s a wonderful thing to see after the last time he saw her.

They haven’t managed to go on their runs in the past week. He’s been too tired from training and she’s had shoots in New York and in Connecticut, and the last time he physically saw her he’d taken his teasing too far and tried to get her to share information she wasn’t ready to share. They seemed to have mended things over their texts, but he could never be sure until now.

Three months ago when he knocked on this front door and had it slammed in his face, he never could have imagined he’d be so willingly let inside.

That he’d be invited inside.

It’s easy to get swept up in the way that everyone here is comfortable with each other. Even with Ariel and Eric here, he’s the odd man out, but that doesn’t matter as he gets to hear stories of Emma and her adventures with tequila, a pair of heels that were one size too small, and she, Ruby, and Mary Margaret having to hide under a table in a bar from a man who was not too happy with Mary Margaret losing her dinner over his shoes.

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, Mary Margaret,” Ariel snickers.

Mary Margaret shrugs. “Give me some tequila, and you can see that side of me.”

“After the baby is born, we’re going out then.”

It’s fun and relaxing, and Killian likes learning more about this woman who slowly but surely is allowing him to know and understand her layers. He doesn’t know much about her past, but he knows how she is now: funny and graceful and fiercely protective of the people she loves.

As well as a badass runner who likes hazelnut in her coffee and smoothies and spends far too much time trying to decide what to watch on TV until she ends up not watching anything at all.

How did they get so lucky to have to work together at that convention? It could have been any two people who work in this insane industry, but all of the bumps and stops and goddamn roadblocks enabled him to meet her.

He’s so damn screwed when it comes to her.

Killian looks down to see Emma’s fingers ghosting over his wrist and moving up and down his forearm until she’s messing with the rolled up cuffs of his flannel shirt. He doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it. She’s been slowly inching closer to him all night, and he can feel every single breath that he’s taking.

He’s got training in the morning, so while he’s only had two beers, he might as well be drunk on Emma.

And really, he should get up and leave. Everyone else has left, giving their excuses and saying their goodbyes over an hour ago, but he’s stayed and kept watching episode after episode of Friday Night Lights. Mary Margaret had put it on. It’s older, but it’s apparently what she’s been watching while working lately.

“I know I didn’t attend high school in America, but is this what it was like?”

“I was a foster kid. I didn’t exactly have the quintessential high school experience. I don’t know, maybe if you’re athletic and look like you’re thirty when you’re sixteen.”

“Those are actors, love.”

Emma scoffs and squeezes her nails into his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. So this wasn’t what it was like for you?”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head from side to side. “God no. I – ” She stops, turning to look at him, before looking away and moving her hand down his arm again. She’s going to mark him with her nails if she keeps this up. “It’s nothing.”

“What? You can tell me? You were secretly prom queen, weren’t you? Did you play a preppy sport? Or were you on the debate team? You’re damn good at arguing. I mean – ”

“I slept with an older guy who apparently had a thing for girls much too young for him and got arrested for his dumbass crimes that he fucking framed me for, so I didn’t get the high school experience like these obviously too old actors.”

Wait. Where the hell did that come from?

“Swan – ”

“I think it’s so ironic that one of the only jobs I’ve been able to get because of Neal is modeling wedding dresses. He made me not want to ever get married, and yet here I am having to pretend I believe in some kind of happily ever after. What if I’d wanted to go to college? What if I’d wanted to be a cop or a teacher or something? What if I didn’t have to check the box on job applications that says I’ve got a felony to my name? But it’s fine. It’s normal. It happened, and I don’t care.”

She likely doesn’t even hear how contradictory she’s being.

He’d like to punch that asshole and break his nose so badly it can never be repaired. Of all of the shitty things that have happened to him in his life, at least no one ever ruined his life for work. Any troubles he’s had have all been his own doing. He can be as fucked up as possible emotionally, but at least he can work wherever he wants.

At least he can follow his dreams.

At least he can be a regular human being without restrictions.

“What that bastard did to you isn’t normal, Emma.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

Emma stands from the couch and walks to the other side of the room, arms crossed over her chest as her feet keep moving back and forth. He has a feeling she’s going to be like this all night. He may not have been in the foster system, but he had a rubbish father who left him after he’d had to move countries to be with him and a mum and brother who both died. Birthdays haven’t been happy days for a long time, and if Emma is anything like him, her emotions are running a little higher than they would normally be.

Birthdays aren’t truly the same when you haven’t lived your entire life having someone to celebrate them with.

The two large glasses of wine swirling around in Emma’s stomach likely won’t help. At least she hasn’t had any tequila.

“You know,” Killian starts, figuring he might as well just go for it. He’s nowhere near buzzed, alcohol not giving him any liquid courage, but Emma makes him want to let her know him. Something about her makes him want to share, and he’s never been able to pinpoint what it is. “I was with someone for a long time.”

She stops pacing and turns to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Aye. She was brilliant and beautiful, and without getting too much into it, I proposed to her. For months she wore the ring on her finger. She had been with me before Liam died and when Liam died, she was the only thing that kept me from…she kept me from lashing out at the world, and then one day she left the ring on the kitchen counter with a note telling me she was going back to her husband and her child. I didn’t know they existed, but looking back, I should have seen the signs. So, the not wanting to get married part, I get that.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“People are such assholes.”

“You’re speaking a lot of damn truths tonight.”

Emma huffs and then walks back toward him until she plops down onto the couch and shifts. “I’m sorry about your fiancée.”

“I’m sorry that bastard did what he did to you.”

“It’s okay.”

Killian knows that it’s not and that Emma knows it’s not, but if this is the way she wants to deal with things, he can’t change that. Just because he wants to channel his anger and his disappointment over life into some kind of action doesn’t mean Emma wants to. And the way that she’s biting her lip and tapping her leg makes him think maybe she doesn’t want to talk at all right now.

That’s fine. He can be the one to fill the silence, not that they really need that. So he tells her of his mum and her kindness and the way she would sing him lullabies even as he grew older. He tells her of his father and the way he left and how Liam was basically his father despite only being five years older than him. He tells her the simplified version of most everything, at least the big moments, but as easily as it was to fall into spilling his heart, it’s even easier to fall back into talking about the simple things: favorites movies and hobbies and telling stories about their friends or the weird things that have happened to them on the job. Neither of them have made their livings in a conventional way, and it will never not be nice to talk about how insane the industry could be.

“So what do you want to do, Swan? If you could do anything.”

It’s verging into dangerous territory, and he fully expects Emma to tell him to shove the leftover birthday cake he’s eating up his ass.

She shrugs. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

“Try me.”

Emma hums as she scoops up a glob of yellow icing and licks her fork clean. Killian shifts to adjust his jeans. She’s eating cake. He should not in any way be thinking about how her lips wrap around the fork.

It’s two in the morning. His thoughts are not his own.

He’s really getting old if two in the morning feels this late to him, but it’s that time of the night where the world is muted in a way. Either every noise is cause for alarm or nothing quite seems real, a place between sleep and awake where there could be something new at every turn.

Where there could be a new set of green eyes that aren’t actually new and a silhouette he hasn’t yet learned to trace and where things might actually work out for him for once.

If only, if only.

“I don’t know,” Emma sighs after about a minute of silence. “Maybe I’d want to work with foster kids, tell them that it gets better even when it doesn’t. Maybe I’d like to be a cop like you or David or Graham. I always say I would never, but I think it could be interesting. Maybe I could do something a little less emotional and be a freaking party planner or be an Instagram Influencer and promote, like, charities instead of one-hundred-dollar lipstick. I don’t know. I don’t…I’ve never thought about it because nothing has ever felt like a possibility.”

“You know, some people will see how young you were on this record and see that it’s non-violent, and they will give you an opportunity because it’s been a decade. You could try to get your record expunged or even sealed since I’m assuming it’s not. And then when you decide that you want to quit modeling for every wedding dress designer and boutique in New England, you can find something else you love.”

“Can I be a professional birthday cake eater?”

Killian leans his head back with laughter. “I’ll look into that for you. I’m sure there’s something like that.”

“That would be the dream.” Emma huffs and turns her head to hide her smile. “Are you scared the same thing is going to happen to you? That happened to Liam?”

He swallows as his heart races that little bit quicker. He wasn’t expecting that. He’s never expected that despite thinking the question himself almost daily. “Aye. I know the risks. I know the possibility. But if there’s one thing you need to know about me, Swan, it’s that I’m a survivor.”

“Good.”

They both end up eating two more slices of cake, something he regrets no later than fifteen minutes after putting his plate down, but he soon forgets it all as they sleepily watch a movie, the flickering of the television lights now the only thing illuminating the room and casting Emma in a subtle glow. He should get up and go home. It wouldn’t take much, no longer than ten minutes, but with the heat of Emma’s body radiating toward him and little strands of her hair tickling his skin, he can’t find the motivation to be anywhere but here.

Bloody hell.

They’ve spent the night together once before, but he got up and left before she could wake up. That feels like a lifetime ago, and he doesn’t think he’d make the mistake of walking away again.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, love?”

Emma leans forward so he gets a glance of her bare back, her sweater having shifted even more. “Do you think you’d ever change your mind about not wanting to get married?”

Tonight is full of all of the questions, he guesses. All he hopes is that she doesn’t regret this in the morning.

“I imagine if I met the right person, maybe. I’ve never been completely opposed to marriage or falling in love again. I think, maybe, I simply needed reminding that I could.”

If he fell in love again.

If he trusted again.

If he felt the way he’s feeling right now where his stomach can’t seem to settle and his mind is pretty much the same.

She blinks at him, her mouth parted and the smallest bit of yellow icing on the corner of her lips. Without thinking, he reaches forward and thumbs it away as little sparks of electricity move from his fingertip up his arm and eventually down his spine, joining in on his unsettled stomach and the nerves that can’t seem to settle. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss her. How many times has he thought that? Tonight and this week and over the past few months. The night they met they couldn’t keep their hands – or their mouths to be honest – off each other, but now, every touch burns him alive.

There’s so much at stake, so much to lose, and he never thought this woman would be anything more than one night.

He never thought she might be the one to remind him that not everything about love is terrible. He’s not there yet, but he could be.

It’s all in the possibility.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, falling back to the couch so her shoulder hits his and the outside of her thigh brushes his thigh. He can feel the heat of her skin through his jeans even more now, and he’s thankful that she was the one to move first and stop their staring contest. “I guess I can understand that.”

-/-

There’s a bang of a door and Killian startles awake.

He blinks, looking around at the blurred furniture only to realize this is Emma’s apartment. Shit. He fell asleep.

Shit. He’s got to be at training in…he looks down at his phone on the coffee table.

Fuck.

He’s got to be at training for his exams in twenty minutes.

Quickly, he grabs his phone, sticking it in the pocket of his jeans, hitting there to make sure he has his wallet and his keys, and his mind is in such a panic that he doesn’t notice that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot by the door until he’s standing in front of her trying to walk out.

His breath has got to be horrible right now.

“Emma, sweetheart, I’ve got to – wait, what’s wrong?”

She blinks up at him, her green eyes bright even with the smudged and flecked mascara underneath her eyes, and he’s so entranced by her that all he wants, even now, is to lean down and softly brush her lips over and feel the gloriousness of her mouth once more. That feeling has only been in dreams for so long, but it was real once, even if the circumstances were different.

“N-nothing,” she stutters, backing up to the door. “It’s just that, um, I went and got my mail because I hadn’t in a few days, and our annulment papers came in. We’re officially no longer married.”

-/-

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